#my entire body is fucking screaming from all that time kneeling hunched on the floor while I worked

[shadowsandstarlight]

The painting is done. It is currently in the process of being flattened, I don’t want to take pictures until it’s flat so it won’t be warped. It’s far too nice an artwork to share photographs of it warped.

[sparkbeast20]

The Auction (Mammon X MC)

This a one-shot angst/fluff

Note: So, I don't know if I'm able to do all the brothers before Halloween is over. But I want to do some angst/fluff one shot with scary/horror/gore in them. knows as "he snaps series" for October.

So, I'll try my best to make them.

If want to see your favorite demon next, please asks. I have Beel and Satan (which I save him on his birthday).

Warning: Mention of Blood, Violence, Killing, Gore, Panic attack's, and Demonic nature

It’s been a month since you when back to the human world after the exchanges program, Mammon has been down in his luck, Asmo being the cheerful brother that he is took Mammon to buy and sale event happening outside of town.

He, Mammon and Satan went the latter wanted to see if there’s powerful items being sold there to use against Lucifer.

After hours of looking around and buying rare items, Mammon was getting a little better, until he saw you walking with another demon by your side.

His heart start to beat fast, as he pushes other demon in the crowd try to get to you, but Satan grab him by the arm.

“Moron! What are you doing?” Satan angry whisper in his brother’s ear.

“I saw MC with another demon”

“Are you obsessed or something, they’re in the human world there is no chance in our hell they’ll be here.”

Has he truly obsessed over you to the point he sees you everywhere?

No, it can be, he knows that it was you.

“Mammon come on, Asmo is waiting for us in the event hall” Satan drag Mammon away from the crowd and towards event hall entrances where Asmo is waiting, with his arms cross and his foot stomping in place with a pout on his face.

“Ugh… finally, let’s go the main event is starting” Asmo pushes the doors open, as the three demons when in and took their seat in the middle row with the perfect view of the stage.

The auction has begun, and started showing charms, trinkets, and spell books first.

Satan and Asmo are starting their bidding, while Mammon is not focus on the auction but with you and the demon, you’re with.

He can’t get it out of his head, you walking with another demon here, in this kind of event. It hurt him, but should he be hurt by that. By you being with someone else.

Him and you aren’t an item yet, so why is it bothering so much, when you’re with one of his brothers he had to deal with the jealousy of seeing you with any of them, in that moment he regrated how he mask his feels for you to show, that he wasn’t interested to being with a human like. But in reality, he couldn’t be happier even content with you and him being together.

But then something snaps him out of his self-regretting thought, The smell of blood.

He looks around and start sniffing with Satan doing the same thing with Asmo covering his nose, if something that Asmo don’t want to smell then that means is something bad, blood is one thing. But is whose blood being it that really concern Mammon.

Then he notices some demons licking their tongues and grinning exactingly while rubbing their hands together, like they been waiting for this a long time. Then they announce the final item for the auction, calling the demon who is selling the item in stage.

As the demon got up to the stage, Mammon’s eyes widen to see is the demon he imagines you are with, then a coffin is brought up in stage and place in the center stage with blood stain on it.

He doesn’t feel good with all of this, not just the demon on stage but the fact he can smell something familiar and yet he doesn’t want to smell ever again. Your BLOOD.

Then the demon start talking

“Incubus and succubus all over devildom, I know we are in the dark times, are once powerful ruler Lord Diavolo has ban of eating human here” The crowd start booing with one demon screaming ‘not are king’ and the demon in stage gesturing them to keep their voice down. “But that doesn’t stop me from going to the human world, and snatch this” he slams the coffin then it opens up, then Mammon let out quiet but painful gasps when the body in coffin fell out and drop down on the floor of the stage.

It was you, tied up your clothes ripped to shreds, and visible injury on your arms and back.

Satan and Asmo let out a gasp with Asmo covering his mouth in shock.

“It looked damage” all three brothers whip their heads at the demon who said that, with Mammon eyes and brow narrowed down and his pupils shifted back and fort with his mouth slightly open as he starts breathing heavily. Piss off to the demon

“FUCKIN’ DAMAGE!!! THEIR BLEEDING YOU FUCK!!”

“Ah! You might reconsider, once you seen who this human is” the demon walks over to you mangled body kneeled and grab your hair and pull you up to your feet, showing everyone in the room your face.

Mammon’s ears starting ring and he start hyperventilating when he saw your face.

Your left eye is swollen, your right cheek has three cuts with little blood still coming out of them, and your lip is spilt open.

“WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU”

“Behold the human who started this whole thing” the demon pulls your hair, you to let out groan in pain, causing Asmo to yelp with you as well Satan and Mammon gasping in pain seeing you put in to more pain but the voices were drown down by the crowd cheering in seeing you.

“Now, now. It wasn’t easy to get this human trust. After all the seven lords did teach them to be careful with demons, and the reason they gone soft” the crowd started to booing and curse at the mention of the brothers.

Mammon, Satan, and Asmo aren’t angry about the booing at them, their angry at the cheers you gotten when you were groaning in pain.

“So, I had to out think them, by using the person they loved the most” demon grab the stone in his necklace and it started to glow then his body started to change.

Mammon clenches his chest and bend over, and start breathing heavily to what he saw. The demon shifted his form in own. Then the demon start talking in his voice.

“Oi, human what ya think, how much to ya think your worth”

Mammon looks up, with a dead pan stare at the stage. He snaped.

He got up from the chair and quickly hide with Satan who is fuming and Asmo with his cheerful charm gone and replace with cold and umbratile rage.

“Now, let’s start the bidding at~” suddenly Mammon drops down in his demon form right in front of you and the demon, who is shock. Without a second to react, Mammon grabs the demon by the shoulder with one and drive the other to the demon’s stomach piercing jamming his entire arm through the demon. He quickly pulled out his arm out of the demon, who let you go.

As you start to fall Mammon catches you and quickly hook your legs carrying you, bridal style. As he watches the demon change back to his true self with his hands hovering over to the hole in his stomach.

He looked up to see Mammon emotionless face looking down at him, before dying and fell on the floor.

One brave demon, launches at the stage but quickly stopped by Asmo who uses his claws to slice the demon’s neck, he stops dead on his tracks before his head fall leaving the body still standing.

Asmo turns around to face the crowd with a craze look on his face in his demon form while licking his claws of the demon’s blood.

Then two demons start running to the exit, when Satan stops them with his hands grabbing hold n their face and slamming them on the ground. Satan let out monstrous roar, as he burns the demons with his green fire, their scream of agony fills the room, causing the other demons to start panicking and try to get out. But Satan put a spell on all the exits. Asmo laughs at the demons attempt to escape as he got closer to them and Satan who is in his wrathful state hunch over with his clawed fingers twitching wanting to kill more until his anger is filled.

As the scream for demons being killed in the background, Mammon when backstage to wait for his little brothers to finish, as he sat on the floor, cradling you in his arms, apologizing and telling you that your safe and that his here with tears from his eyes falls on your face.

You felt his warmth, and move in closer to him nuzzling into his chest, let out a satisfied hum.

He felt your action, and quickly hug you tight and not letting you go.

“I-I miss you….. Mammon” your voice is tired but comforting, he sobs and chuckles happy to hear your voices.

“I-I m-miss you too! And I’m sorry” his voice cracks as he nuzzles his face on your head.

“I thought, I never going to say this to ya…... but know that I love you….”

“I love you too, Mammon”

[raggaraddy]

Intruders.

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Another long one. This one doesn't have so much of the worried reaction, cause I wrote it to fit the Mafia! Jungkook character. It's still fun though ^-^ Thanks again for the request. 💜💜💜

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Taehyung

Summary: When a loose end breaks into Jungkooks house with guns drawn, you get a first-hand lesson that maybe Jungkook isn't as invulnerable as you had thought.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, gun usage, blood, murder.

Jungkook

Mafia! Jungkook

Fighting to get free, you're kicking your legs. Squirming. Squealing as you shove your hands against Jungkook's chest, pushing him back as hard as you can. Tears starting to fill your eye line.

"Stop, stop, stop," you shout, with no effect. Struggling harder.

"Admit it!" He yells back, a smile on his face.

"Never," You scream. Not able to hold it back anymore. Your screech morphs into forceful laughter as Jungkook continues to tickle you. Your cheeks aching from how widely you're smiling. Your sides hurting as you keep thrashing for release.

"Admit I could beat up the Hulk, and I'll let you go." He insists again, pressing you down with a massive grin.

"Okay, okay!" You squeal, finally conceding. Groaning in relief, when his fingers stop tickling your stomach. Your limbs dropping down to rest. "You could totally kick the Hulk's ass." You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

"Damn right I could!" He bursts into laughter also. Easing back with a sigh now that he no longer has to hold you still. Neither of you phased by the movie that started the debate still blaring in the background.

Roughly you punch your fist into his chest, intentionally knocking the air out of him. Taking advantage while he is caught off guard to push him flat onto the carpet beside you. Straddling his lap, you lean over him pinning his arms to the floor before he has a chance to argue. Not that you think he would. The fun-filled smile doesn't leave his face for a moment. Completely amused by you, while you try your best to put on an intimidating act. Trying to stop yourself from smiling again.

"Jeon Jungkook. You cheated." You playfully scold, "And if you can't have a grown-up discussion, then you can't do other grown-up things either." You accentuate your point by grinding down. Feeling his hips push up as you tease him. Lifting up right away, shaking your head as you remove the contact. "Nah uh. Cheaters don't get that." You smirk.

"Don't be mean just cause I won." He runs his tongue inside his cheek. His gaze showing desire and a want for you to continue. But you're not done toying with him.

"You didn't win." You poke your tongue out, rocking your hips a single time more, "Confessions under duress are not admissible anyway."

"No, but it's good leverage to have." He answers a little too honestly and without thinking. Not entirely talking about your play fight anymore.

Chuckling awkwardly, you shake off the train of thought that wants to evaluate what he just said. Not wanting to let your mind remember that part of him right now. Trying instead, to return to your spirited banter. But he gets in before you.

"Nope," He easily breaks out and overpowers your hold wrapping his arm around your waist, carrying you as he stands up. "you admitted I'm stronger than the Hulk, and I'm never gonna let that go." Bending down, he throws you over his shoulder, slapping your ass to tease you back.

His shoulder digging into your gut stops you from taking a full breath or making a snippy comeback. So you slap his ass in retaliation instead.

"Come on Kitten, you have to give me a prize for winning." He purs suggestively, carrying you out of the living room into the foyer.

He's going to take you upstairs, but you don't make it to them before both of your heads snap towards the entrance. A flurry of gunshots exploding just beyond the front door. The commotion silencing as quickly as it started.

Jungkook slings you off his shoulder. Becoming another person in an instant. Purely focused. Opening the coat closet, he pulls a Glock from his jacket.

"Get upstairs, now." He barks.

You don't have to be asked twice, running to the stairs. Gasping as the garage door next to the steps opens, two hooded men storming in with guns drawn. Jungkook reacts quickly, firing past you. Shooting one of them, missing the second who ducks instead of firing back.

At the same time, blowing open to the left of you, the front door is kicked in. Swinging wide, four more masked men rush the house. Firing rapidly and wildly. Scarcely missing Jungkook who is moving preemptively and is 3 steps ahead. Running forward he shoots the second man in front of you. Grabbing your arm, dragging you over their dead bodies into the garage with him.

Shutting you in just as bullets explode through the wood door at your back.

Jungkook forces you to keep up, throwing you behind the car. The automatic shots continuing to decimate. The four-wheel-drive being the only thing that keeps either of you from getting shot.

Panting and on the verge of tears, you're crouched beside Jungkook. Watching him, waiting to react to anything he says. Knowing he is all that stands between you and death. But also knowing that with him in this mindset he could do just as much damage to you as one of those other men might.

The gunfire stops. Distorted voices shouting behind the door's remains. Jungkook cautiously raises up, leaning over the hood. He lines up a shot as the door opens warily, taking down another of them. Slouching behind the car as a new wave of bullets comes in response.

In front of you, the shelves covered in storage boxes and the workbench full of tools is ripped to shreds. Things erupting in every direction. Covering you in debris.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he shoves it in your lap.

"Call the first number!"

Your brain is stalling, your hands are shaking, but you follow the order as best as you can. The way your fingers are vibrating making it so much harder.

"What's up Boss?" You can hear the faint sound of his first lieutenant, as the firing ceasing again. Jungkook snatches the phone, speaking lowly and calmly.

"My house is breached and we're under fire. At least 3 guys. Semi-autos. We're held up in the garage and I've got maybe 15 rounds left." He passes the information over precisely. Remaining organized and in control.

"We're 10 out," the first confirms back, yelling orders to people on his end of the phone.

Your head jolts towards the garage door as it heavily clunks, starting to lift along the tracks. Exposing you on two sides.

"Fuck," Jungkook exclaims. "We don't have 10 minutes."

He stands, staying low. Opening the car door, tossing the phone in, followed by you. Your limbs hitting everything as you try to keep up with his pace. Making it onto the seat in an awkward heap.

"Stay down," he growls, slamming it, sealing you in. You're ahead of him this time, already kneeling under the steering wheel. Pressing your chest and head into the seat as flat as possible.

Inside the car, you can only hear the sounds of blasts for a few moments. Heavy things being thrown in every direction amid tense silences.

Outside the car, Jungkook fires off 3 shots, aiming for the legs he sees as the garage opens. The angle is wrong, and he doesn't hit them. Having to retreat back. Throwing the workbench down, using it as a meagre form of barricade. Blocking himself into the corner, hunched behind it. It's barely wide enough to protect him at the front and on the side. The height of the desk only just covering his head. He aims over the bench, hoping to keep the front two from coming in with suppression fire.

However, his attempt is unsuccessful. As he raises up, a bullet wings his right arm. Involuntarily dropping his gun, he shouts in pain. The Glock falling on the wrong side of the table.

It only takes him a second to compose himself, lunging over to pick up the weapon. But it's a second too late.

One of the men charges from inside the house. Booting the table into Jungkook, throwing him off balance. Holding him at gunpoint as he hits the floor.

Briefly, you see the other two men through the window as they pass the car. You're too terrified to move. Your hand cupped over your mouth, muffling the panicked breathes and whimpers that you can't hold in.

Working as a unit, one of the men clears the table out of the way, another picks up Jungkook's gun, while the third ushers him out of the corner and onto his feet, keeping the sights tightly fixed on him.

Getting in his face, the lead man removes his balaclava. Seething hate filling his expression. "You remember me?"

While he isn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, Jungkook is certainly perturbed by the reveal.

It was nearly 5 months ago that he had ordered this man and his family killed. It drew far too much attention when he refused a deal Jungkook made him. So an example has to be set. The man's wife, two children and his visiting brother were murdered in the gruesome display. And Jungkook was told that the man standing in front of him now was also killed. But it seems the men charged with the hit got complacent. They didn't confirm the kill.

Mentally, Jungkook was already recalling the four men on task. If he made it out of this they were going to suffer greatly for their mistake.

Seeming infuriated by Jungkook's lack of fear and stoic glowering, the unmasked man slams his fist into the Mafia King's face. Shouting as he does.

Methodically, the three intruders begin to tear Jungkook apart. He put's up a fight as best as he can, but the men are trained and three against one isn't fair odds in this situation. Knocking him between them, they strike with their knees, fists, feet, hurting him in any way they can manage. Beating him into the ground. Pulling him back onto his knees whenever he drops back or falls forward.

Biting your palm you're trying to stop yourself from crying out as you sob into your hand. You can hear the hits. The thumps from him being tossed around. His groans of pain. The slough of abuse they spit at him while they work him over. Cursing him. Mocking him.

Suddenly, the car door jerks open. One of the masked men dragging you out by your hair. Making you produce an ear-shattering scream. One he silences with a fist to the face. Your body collapsing, slapping into the concrete.

Groaning in pain, your sobs can no longer be restrained. Loudly bawling, tear stream your face, hardly able to breathe as you panic.

Your heart aching as you see Jungkook across from you. Hunched over on his knees, he's gushing blood. It's running down his face. Matting his hair to his forehead with the sheer volume of it. He's splitting it up, his mouth dripping with it. His shirt soaked in it. Flowing down his arm from the bullet wound also.

You'd never have thought you would see your Boyfriend in such a state. You've witnessed first-hand the power he has when he's the one responsible for this kind of damage. In your mind, you saw him as invincible. Unbeatable. A cruel monster driven by hubris that could never be stopped.

The times you'd seen him beat people like this, the times he hit you like this, you had privately desired for him to suffer the same fate one day. For karma to return everything he had dished out.

But now that he was, now that he was the one being treated without mercy, even with it being justified, you can't feel anything but fear and sadness. Regretting ever having wished this upon him.

"Jungkook," you gently call.

He's disoriented. Too many headshots having made him dizzy and unfocused. But your soft voice cuts through all of that. Looking up from the ground to you, his eyes go wide seeing you in harm's way again.

"Y/-" he starts to get up, only to be interrupted and held down. The unmasked man's hand coming down on his shoulder. The barrel of Jungkook's own gun being aimed at his chest as the man hovers over him.

"You know, your guys didn't kill my wife right away." He digs the gun tip into the bullet wound on his arm. Twisting and stabbing into the raw flesh making him grit his teeth to bear the pain. "They shot her where he knew it wouldn't kill her. Then they let her bleed out. While I could only watch. While my kids watched." The pure rage in the man's voice is finally softened. Instead, sounding horribly grieved and agonized over the memory. "Someone like you, you're probably not capable of love," he spits, pushing off Jungkook to stand straight. "But whether you love her or not, I still want you to watch her die."

The words register, but you can't absorb them. You can't react.

"Wait. Wait!" Jungkook yells after him.

Your body is throbbing in terror. Watching him advance on you. Watching him raise the gun at you.

The shot hits you in the stomach.

"No!" Jungkook howls. The two men punting him back down as he climbs to his feet. Extending the barrage of hits to impress upon him that he shouldn't try to get up again.

In shock, you delicately dab at the hole in your side. Blood pulsing out of you. The pain is more than you could have imagined. You can't pull in a full breath. Short gasps are all you can manage. Doubling over onto your hands and knees, you weakly shriek unable to deliver a solid scream.

They drag you by your arm, hurling you at Jungkook, your torso landing in his lap. He clings to you, drawing you in tight. His face twisted in anger.

"Y/n." He growls. "Don't you dare-" he can't bring himself to finish that thought.

"Don't worry darling. It won't take long." The leader says above you, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "You though," he redirects, snarling at Jungkook. "you're gonna die slow."

Not able to breathe and the blood loss is making your head light. The room feels like it's spinning. Your eyes rolling back as they close. The reprieve of rest calling you into unconsciousness. And you can't resist.

With his hand held to your heart and his chest tight, Jungkook feels for a beat. The irregular rhythm assuring him you're still alive at least.

"I hope you really did love her. Like how I loved my girl and my boy. My wife. I hope you can feel that type of pain."

Jungkook is shaking. Unfiltered loathing ravaging his thoughts. A murderous expression concealing his heartache as he feels your pulse gradually start to slow.

Moving begrudgingly like it's his duty, the leader pulls one of the few remaining tools from its place on the wall. Wringing the handle of a large Philips Head screwdriver.

Working together, the three of them rip your unconscious body apart from Jungkook. His efforts to keep you close having little impact. Numerous injuries having sapped his strength.

Stretching him out, holding him down, they pin him with their weight. One of them securing his legs. Another holding his arm and torso, the majority of his heft used to force Jungkook's face into the cement. The leader kneeling all of his weight on his left arm to keep it flat.

As the tip of the screwdriver is pressed into his palm, Jungkook grapples to keep his hand closed to no avail. The shank piercing the meat of his palm. Screaming as the length is stabbed in and yanked out. Hissing through his teeth while the sharp point trails up. Reaching about halfway up his forearm it digs into the muscle. The blade slowly forcing its way into the skin, causing him to roar again.

All at once, a shot rings out. One of the intruders taking a bullet in the back. An assault of gunfire spreading across the height of the garage, sending the other two into a panic. Scrambling for their guns. Releasing Jungkook in the frenzy, who cradles his wounded hand for a moment before jumping on the attack. Finally having sufficient reinforcement to fight back.

Picking up the screwdriver with his good hand, he lunges at the surviving masked man. Dragging him off balance. Straddling his side. Stabbing down and around to drive the tool into his chest over and over. Burying the metal in the man's throat as a final strike. His damaged hand slamming down on the top of the screwdriver, forcing it through the other side of the man's neck.

Some of Jungkook's rage having been vented, he falls away panting watching the man, satisfied as he quickly bleeds to death.

The leader of the assailants, the source of all of this woe, is completely unmatched by the dozen men who suddenly surround him. They don't grant him the opportunity to even raise his weapon, shooting him in the shoulder, knocking him down. Incapacitating him and restraining him swiftly as he tries desperately to get loose.

There are a few seconds when the dust settles, where everything is quiet again. Only the sounds of wheezed breathing and footsteps taking any space.

Apart from the few men busy with securing the house and the area, all of them are at attention looking to assist their battered leader. Wanting to help. Waiting on an order.

"Her," he signals in your direction. "Get her to a hospital."

"You too, Boss." His second lieutenant leans down, helping Jungkook stand. Getting him to solid footing.

"I'm not dying in the next 20 minutes. Let's wrap this shit up first." He dismisses the gesture. Shirking off the pain at risk of appearing weak.

"And this one?" His first aims a gun at the intruders head.

"Patch him up. He's gonna die slowly," Jungkook's voice deepens as he repeats the man's own threat back at him.

His eyes following as he gets picked up and thrown into the trunk of one of the cars. The Mafia leader in him already, concocting ruthless plans in specific detail over all the ways he is going to torture him. And how he's going to silence any doubts about his strength that this attack may have caused.

Carried in another man's arms, you're taken to the back seat of a car. The movement string you awake. The pain keeping you immobilized and dazed.

Jungkook limping slightly follows after you. He presses his hand to your chest again, relieved as he feels your heart still beating, as he sees your eyes fluttering.

Your head laying on the seat, he leans over resting his forehead upside down on yours. "I'm so sorry baby." He whispers. His hands bunch tightly around your arms, pulling at your skin. The war of both sides of him crashing together. His eyes going cold, his breath becoming ragged.

Struggling to remain conscious, your eyes close again. Jungkook's bloody hand slapping down on your face, shocking your eyes back open. Tears instantly returning to your cheeks.

"Don't you dare die!" He hisses. His hand curls around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "I'm not going to let other people think they can come at me. Take my things. Try to hurt me." He growls, speaking just loud enough for only you and him. "So you're gonna keep living Y/n. Cause until I give you permission, you don't have the right to die."

[ptergwen]

could you write about actress!reader getting stressed, anxious because of a movie she’s filming or something like that and tom taking care of her <33

yeahhhh aw 🥺 i love this so it actually ended up being a lil long

you’ve been filming quite possibly the biggest movie of your career so far, and it’s going wonderfully. you get on well with your costars, your director is lovely, and the crew even took a few suggestions you made into account.

today is the day you lose all the confidence you gained. there’s a huge breakdown scene for your character being filmed. screaming, crying, breaking everything around you and collapsing into a ball on the floor. you aren’t sure you can pull this off.

you’re portraying a girl battling mental illnesses, who ignores them until they eventually consume her in the end. the content of the film is heavy, no shit. what’s kept you sane is your supportive friends and extremely supportive boyfriend. he’s insisted on being there for the shoot because he knows you’re worried and wants to get you through it.

you’re in hair and makeup with tom seated next to you. he scrolls through instagram, holding your hand and brushing his thumb over the back of it. you watch in the mirror as your makeup artist paints on dark circles under your eyes.

at this point in the movie, your character hasn’t slept in days. her mom calls her out on it. she cries about how she wants her to get help, but you refuse because you’re in denial of your situation, and you spiral into the breakdown.

“look up for me,” your makeup artist requests, you switching your gaze to the ceiling of the trailer. you go over your blocking for the scene in your head. walk downstairs for school, go to the front door, open it, wait until “don’t bother. i’m taking you to the doctor.” run for the stairs again... or is it the kitchen? fuck, goddamnit.

you’re due on set in fifteen minutes. you can’t be forgetting such a major part of the scene this close to call time. you grip tom’s hand tighter, like that will magically put the blocking back into your mind. he notices and shoves his phone in his pocket with a knowing smile.

“nervous?” tom asks you, your makeup artist finishing up on your eye bags. she prepares what she needs to make your lips look chapped next. when you look over at tom, your eyes hold more than nerves. they hold fear. he drops his smile for furrowed eyebrows. “love, what’s wrong? you’ll be amazing. you-“

“i don’t remember what to do,” you admit in a hushed tone. tom is silent for a moment, deciding if you’re playing around or not. the way your lip wobbles, and the way you bite down on it, tells him you aren’t. “what do you mean?” he speaks at the same volume. “i forgot... i forgot my blocking for, like, half the scene.” you’re now bouncing your leg up and down.

tom being the pro he is already has a solution for you. “alright, so we’ll look at your script. i’m sure it’s written in there,” he says completely calm, you pulling your hand from his to rest your head in it. your entire body hunches forward. “it’s more than that. i can’t do it. i can’t do the scene,” you murmur into your lap. tom frowns at your sulking figure and gets up.

he taps your makeup artist on the shoulder. she hums for him to talk. “um, can you give us a minute alone?” he asks her politely, and softly so you don’t hear. he averts his eyes over to you as an explanation. after seeing the state you’re in, your makeup artist nods, her lips in a line the same as tom’s. “we’ll finish on set, y/n/n,” she says, putting a hand on your arm as she passes you on her way out.

you don’t thank her like you usually do. you only press your palm harder into your forehead, tears filling your eyes. it would be awful if you cried off the makeup she just put on you. another way to ruin the scene.

“love, darling,” tom coos and gets onto his knees so he’s kneeling in front of you. he moves your hand away from your face, once again linking it with his own. “what is it? tell me what’s bothering you.” you tilt your head up carefully, not wanting your tears to smudge the makeup. your voice comes out as a whine.

“i don’t think i’m ready for something like this. i look at- at everyone else, other actors, and i can’t convince people like they do,” you cry out, tom’s wide eyes meeting your glossy ones. he’s been in your place. taking on a role bigger than he thought he could handle, giving in to the pressure. it kills him to see his absolute love going through the same thing. he learned how to ignore the doubts, though.

“y/n, they chose you for the part, right?” tom questions, a certainty to his voice that makes you feel silly about this. you’re having an actual breakdown before the fake one. “yeah,” you whimper out. tom uses his free hand to tilt your chin up slightly. his thumb and index finger hold your face as he speaks. “then, they know you have it in you. i know, too.”

you don’t respond right away, considering the information. tom keeps going and now uses his thumb to dab at the corners of your eyes. “i’ve seen what you’ve done already in this film. i think you actually really care about your character. you can definitely get into her head enough for this scene.” his words are so genuine and honest. he’s always honest with you. you give him a weak smile.

“what if i can’t cry on cue?” tom breathes a laugh out of his nose. “you’re crying now. should i get the director?” he succeeds in making you laugh along with him. you thread your fingers properly through his and sniffle. “thank you for believing in me, tom. you’re one of the best, so i trust you.” “aw, y/n/n,” he pouts at you, bringing your connected hands to his lips, where he leaves a quick kiss on yours.

he then gets off the floor and back onto his feet. “are you ready to go? or, do you wanna look over your script one more time?” you exhale out of your mouth, standing up in front of him. “i’m okay. i was too freaked out to remember before, but now i’m good.” tom nods, arms going around you for a hug, which you instantly reciprocate.

he rub circles on your back, then pulls away. his hands stay on either side of your waist. “i’ll take you over.” “can you stay for the scene? i feel better when you’re there,” you mumble, shifting on your feet. you’re still a bit anxious about the whole thing. you’d prefer having tom around to get you out of your head. his arms circle your middle for another hug.

“sure, darling. anything for the star.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

monster ii, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Once again, mafia boss Min Yoongi and his bodyguard Jeon Jungkook have some fun with you. Nah, you didn’t do anything this time. They’re just horny. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, m/m masturbation, a cock ring is involved, threesome (kinda?), unprotected sex [get tested please], creampie); abuse; non-idol!AU - mafiaaboss!AgustD!Yoongi (black-haired Daechwita AU), longhaired!tattooed!Jungkook; mercenary!reader; Jungkook has a praise kink; you have a pain kink

I wasn’t actually going to post this, but it seemed like a lot of people enjoyed monster so this is my gift to you. :)

--

The first reason you woke up was sound. 

The second reason was pain. 

You didn't open your eyes yet, focused on the pins and needles of your legs from being in one position too long. Holy shit. Whatever tranquilizer they gave you fucked you up, hard. Your head throbbed, hazy and disoriented. You weren't even sure you were awake yet. There was a firmness against your ass. A chair. The wood dug into your back and shoulder blades. You were sitting and your arms were sore. You tried to move them but realized they were tied to the back of the chair with rope. Not the normal, lazy kind of tie, no. Intricate knots, beautiful handiwork. Shibari. 

Park Jimin's work.

You were wearing a ridiculous black lace lingerie set and matching stockings, the kind that was completely see-through with select... openings in certain key places. What was even the point of these things? Surprisingly, the openings at the nipples and crotch weren't freezing you to death. There was a warmth around you and you cracked your eyes open to see a black velvet robe draped around the chair and your body, the lace accents matching the set.

Very pretty, if you gave a shit.

You could hear the sound of skin on skin. Even though the light in the room was low, it hurt to open your eyes. This is why you hated tranquilizers. You ended up squinting. 

Again, you heard the familiar whimper.

Your neck was killing you. Part of you wanted to continue playing dead. The other part of you remembered the last words Kim Taehyung told you as he pinned you down for the injection.

“Hyung doesn’t treat his other women like he treats you.”

The anger that flared within made you raise your head. 

A hotel room. It didn't matter which hotel or where. The only thing that mattered was that Min Yoongi was standing at the foot of the bed. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt that revealed his pale chest and silver chains. Black hair pushed back from his forehead, the red scar on his right eye out in the open. Black jeans and black underwear at his knees, because he was stroking his dick.

His pale hand moved up and down, slowly, as if he was relishing in the pleasure. The muscles of his arm flexed as he moved, his index finger leisurely spreading his pre-cum over the angry red head. Yoongi wasn't making a sound. 

The one making noise was Jungkook.

He was on his knees in front of Yoongi, completely naked, feverishly stroking himself with his right hand as his eyes transfixed to Yoongi's hand getting himself off. The tattoos on his right arm seemed to dance with his movement. His other hand was on his thigh, nails digging into his skin as he whined.

"Hyung, let me suck you off," Jungkook pleaded, tearing his eyes away to look up at Yoongi and his teasing smirk.

"Take your hand off. Let hyung see what a good boy you are."

Jungkook whined again, removing his hand from his dark red, throbbing cock. Ah.

The fucking sadist had made Jungkook wear a cock ring. Poor thing couldn't even cum.

Yoongi seemed to sense your burning hatred because his eyes flickered towards you. You cracked your neck in attempt to relieve some of the kinks, not taking your eyes off him. His smirk grew wider. The entire time, your hands were searching for a way to get out of your restraints but Jimin was a fucking pro. How annoying. 

"Look, Jungkook, your favorite cockslut is awake."

Jungkook turned his head to look at you. You weren't sure how long Yoongi had been teasing him, but it must have been a while. His long black hair was sweaty and sticking to his forehead, pupils blown wide with lust, pink tongue licking his lips as he panted. His jaw was tight, sharp with tension. He looked thoroughly fucked out and you could guess Yoongi hadn't even let him orgasm yet. 

You didn't say anything, not because you didn't have anything prepared, but because you knew Yoongi was doing this on purpose. He was trying to get a reaction out of you. Yoongi barked Jungkook's name and the younger man faced him abruptly.

"You've been a good boy," Yoongi purred, low and deep. Jungkook bit his lip, looking up at him expectantly.

"Open your pretty mouth for me."

A strange feeling coursed through you. It was like your veins were on fire. You realized your mouth was open and you shut it immediately, breathing hard. You watched Jungkook open his mouth, tongue lolling out, hungry and desperate. Begging his hyung as Yoongi stepped up, stroking himself faster. You saw his jaw tighten with effort as Yoongi shut his eyes, softly moaning. Why were you so angry watching this? Every muscle in your body wanted to ram into Jungkook to push him out of the way. After a moment, Yoongi snapped his eyes open and stared directly at you. Directly at your hunched form, body half-shrouded in shadow from the robe, eyes fixed on his dick, breathless.

Yoongi came with a hiss, all over Jungkook's tongue, shooting thick white liquid down his throat, splattering on his chin and cheek. Jungkook groaned, swallowing greedily before opening his mouth again to receive Yoongi's last residual pumps of dripping cum. Yoongi was breathing hard, exhaling as he came down from his high. After a moment, Yoongi removed his hand and held it out. Jungkook licked it clean, palming himself despite knowing he couldn't get off. 

You blinked slowly, finding your entire body tense. Your eyes drifted over Yoongi's form, his long legs, his defined waist, his large hands, his broad shoulders. You finally stopped at his face to see him smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

Yoongi chuckled and tucked himself away with one hand, pulling up his pants. The other was wet with Jungkook's saliva. He tilted his head as he walked towards you. You wanted to kick him in the nuts, but you must have been on some fucking horse tranquilizer or some shit. Your legs felt like lead.

Yoongi didn't say anything. He just slapped you across the face with his wet hand. Your head jerked to one side from the force, skin stinging sharply from his open palm. He wasn't wearing his rings because he had been masturbating, otherwise it would have been much worse. 

Silence. 

Centimeter by slow centimeter, you turned your head back to face him. Your face stung with pain but it was nothing compared to the daggers you were glaring at him with. 

Yoongi grinned. “I love it when you’re angry.”

You bared your teeth and snarled.

His hand shot out and clamped around your throat, pushing your head back and forcing your spine to arch painfully. The velvet robe fell onto the floor, leaving you exposed to the cool air as Yoongi’s hand tightened around your throat, jamming your shoulder blades into the chair. You tried to fight him but he slapped you again, harder, making your see stars.

“Fuck you,” you choked out, strength draining with each passing second.

“Not tonight,” Yoongi said calmly, slapping your tits repeatedly. You flinched at the contact, trying to twist away. Jungkook was losing his mind. You couldn’t see him very well, but he was moaning, probably jacking off to Yoongi smacking you around. Bastard.

Yoongi pinched one of your nipples, hard, and you bucked, black spots dancing in your vision. He released you and kicked the chair. Your whole body toppled and you hit the ground hard on your knees, thankfully having enough strength to twist and skid across the carpet with your shoulder. Your shoulder burned painfully and all three points hurt from impact.

You were breathing hard, neck on fire, your entire body rattling as it struggled to breathe. Your eyes flickered upward as Yoongi looked down at you with a bored expression. Something must have pissed him off because Yoongi wasn’t usually the one who beat you. Usually it was Jungkook, Jimin, or literally anyone else. He also usually let you fight back because he enjoyed watching you fight. You cackled, tasting iron in your mouth.

“This is how you treat the other women, huh?” you taunted.

You saw him pause. His black hair was shrouding his dark eyes so you couldn’t read his expression. Your knees were fucking killing you. You exhaled sharply and leaned your face against the carpet. After a moment, Yoongi reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He moved around your body and cut the top of the rope, freeing you from the chair. You tried to pull your arms apart but, of course, they were still tied.

Fuck.

Yoongi yanked the chair out from under you, smacking you right in the shoulder blades. You hissed, twisting your body to get on your knees. Yoongi just calmly grabbed your arms by the rope and dragged you along the ground, throwing you onto the bed. It was unceremonious. He continued to shove you around until you were on your face, kneeling, ass up in the air. You tried to lift your upper body but he pushed you down roughly. You suddenly felt his lips next to your ear.

“Jealous?”

You froze.

What?

Before you could even fathom what he meant by that, you could hear Jungkook climbing onto the bed, and the next moment you were almost screaming into the bed as Jungkook plunged his thick, rock-hard cock right into you. A loud, wet squelch paired with Jungkook’s wail of satisfaction. Fuck. You were wet from Yoongi hitting you. You hadn’t even realized it. Jungkook’s rough hands grabbed your ass and began to thrust into your roughly, already hitting you so deep that you gasped in pain.

“Jungkookie,” Yoongi purred patiently, still holding you down with a hand on your upper back. “You forgot to take the cock ring off.”

Jungkook whimpered, slowing down a bit as he sank fully into you.

“But hyung…”

You could hardly register what the fuck was going on. You could barely breathe being face-first into the sheets, Jungkook was setting your hips on fire with how tight he was gripping you and you were sure the head of his cock was smacking your cervix with every thrust. His cock throbbed against your walls. Tears stung your eyes.

“Hyung, I thought you liked seeing me with it on…” Jungkook was saying. You could imagine the unsure look on his face, the hesitant lip bite. “I’ll do anything you want, hyung. I want to make you happy.”

This guy was fucking whipped for Yoongi. You couldn’t even begin to think what that was like.

You felt Yoongi shift his weight and lean forward, pressing your further into the sheets. You didn’t even bother making noise. They were in their own world. Maybe if you passed out you wouldn’t have to remember any of this.

“Take it out for me. Let hyung see your pretty cock.”

A soft, choked sob came out of you as Jungkook pulled out, cock glistening with your juices. You prayed Yoongi didn’t hear, but his nails digging into your back told you otherwise.

“Come.”

Jungkook groaned as Yoongi freed him. There was a thunk as the cock ring hit the wood of the chair before falling to the floor.

“Show me how much you can give her,” Yoongi murmured, leaning back. “Let hyung see how full you make your cockslut.”

Jungkook rammed himself into you once again. You winced, your entire body shuddering as he began to thrust into you mercilessly, strong hands holding you in place as he fucked you. You felt cool metal against your skin as Yoongi sliced your ropes free. Before even computing you could use your arms again, you were gasping in pain was pins and needles ravaged your arms, sputtering as Yoongi grabbed you by the hair to lift your head up. It took all of your power to claw for something, anything, to give you some hold. You found yourself clutching his shirt, gasping as you looked straight into those dark eyes, that familiar red scar. Your body was jerking forward from the force of Jungkook’s thrusts but you could only helplessly stare at Yoongi as he smirked at you, flashing his white teeth.

“This is the way I treat you,” he breathed.

You clenched your jaw, your hands clenching into fists on his shirt. “I hate you,” you grinded out.

Jungkook moaned so loudly that it was almost a scream. Your eyes widened as suddenly a torrent of cum was shot inside you and you pitched forward, scabbing at Yoongi’s shirt and holding onto him. Oh, fuck. So much. So fucking much that you couldn’t even think straight. It felt like your pussy was being stretched out and at the same time you could feel it oozing out of you, splattering onto the sheets. Oh, fuck, you could even smell it. Your hips felt numb as Jungkook began to rolling his hips into you again, groaning at the slick sensitivity. Your thighs were shaking, covered in Jungkook’s cum mixing with your juices.

Yoongi chuckled.

You looked up, face to face with him. Eyes wide, panting, clutching onto his shoulder and shirt for dear life as he grinned at you. Your pussy felt like it was going to explode with the amount Jungkook shot into you. In fact, it was actively dripping and making a puddle underneath you two. Something touched your face. You froze, feeling Yoongi’s hand against your cheek, thumb running over your lips. He sighed, dark eyes finding yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Want to fuck your mouth so fucking bad. Want to feel my cock being squeezed by your throat.”

Something inside you snapped. You heard a moan, a long, wanton, pleading moan – oh, fuck, that was you. Pleasure racked through every fiber of your being as your walls clamped around Jungkook, forcing another orgasm out of him as you came, Yoongi’s name leaving your lips like a fucking prayer. His eyes widened at your reaction, lips in a soft ‘o’ as you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to you, teeth sinking into his neck as you screamed in pleasure.

His skin, his taste – it filled your mouth and seared its memory into you. Was there ever anything that tasted so good? So erotic? You could feel the wave coming again and moaned against Yoongi’s neck as you came again, licking your bite, pressing your lips against his skin. Your hands snaked around him, splayed against his back and digging your nails into him as Jungkook pulled out, gasping, splattering cum on your back and ass. Who was mumbling Yoongi’s name like that, so soft and sweet as if you were lovers?

You.

And then the pain came crashing down and you couldn’t think anymore.

-

click here for part iii

--

masterpost

[hobidreams]

june 1868.

but trust is a fickle, fragile thing.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: angst words: 1.2k contains: historical au, character death. historical context: “mama” is the korean equivalent of “your highness” & the proper address for a queen. a/n: this drabble is sponsored by a donation to Black Lives Matter.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble five. start from the beginning?

In the long decade since the night you swore utter allegiance to the crown prince, you have done everything within your grasp to uphold the heart of the commitment you’ve made. Even as the prince becomes a king, even as beloved companions submit to the passage of time, and even as the adolescent declaration of obedience itself matures into instead a steady, affectionate support, you keep your word on all but one occasion. But it is this exact decision, this single withheld secret, that shifts both your worlds irrevocably.

“You must tell my son that it is a common illness. A simple recovery, and nothing more,” the queen had commanded you on a somber day in winter the year before as you knelt beside her bed, wiping blood from the corner of her pale lips.

“Daebi-mama.” Your voice broke on the last beat. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“Please.” Though her elegant fingers were weak, she covered your hands with a warm, pleading palm. “He doesn’t need any more distractions. Not now. Especially not ones that don’t have… simple solutions.” She squeezed then, with what strength she could muster, silencing all your protests. “If you want him to succeed - don’t tell him.”

And so, you hadn’t.

But while you agreed with the queen’s intentions, you continued to fight against the inevitability in a way that only you could. The last six months have been a frenzied haze. You blistered your feet scouring the markets, begging foreign traders for rare or sometimes strange ingredients that you could incorporate into draughts. You sought documents written in symbols you did not recognize, paying translators to parse out a phrase or even a glimmer that could help. You can’t even remember all the nights that you spent brewing, steaming, straining until the sun came over the horizon. But with each subsequent draft you secretly delivered to her bed, the queen only grew weaker.

All of this, you kept hidden from man you cared for most, justifying the guilt to yourself whenever he inquired after his mother.

But now. Now, when the king is staring with unblinking eyes at the pure white cloth draped over his mother’s body, you find that you don’t know a damn thing about what’s right anymore.

You feel splinters in your chest as he takes one unsteady step towards the bed that you stand beside, hands folded in an act of repentance. His mouth opens, then closes, not a single noise passing between them for a century-long minute. All of your instincts urge you to turn away and allow him private space to grieve, but that’s your own cowardice at being faced with his sorrow, manifested in the quiver of his lip. You must put him first. You must be his witness, his pillar, even when your own heart tightens with grief.

“Mama.”

He stumbles forward, feet clamoring over each other until he’s close enough to draw back the cloth, just enough to expose her face. His short, forcibly-suppressed exhale hits the wall. Yoongi jerks his hand away as if scorched, lets it hang numbly at his side. It’s with an indescribable expression that he takes in the familiar, softly wrinkled eyes. The pink lips that were so often curved in a warm smile. The arms that were generous enough to encompass an entire nation, but never neglected the ones closest. “Mama,” he says, voice still so tight as he takes another unsteady step, as if he needs to be closer. He’d seen her just last night. He had left her alone, and now—

It’s when his knee knocks against the hard wood, when he can truly go no further, that he plummets to the stark floor and a lonely sob rips straight from his throat. Goosebumps shoot up your arms at the noise, the visceral howl and all you can do is watch as Yoongi breaks with a shuddering gasp, “Mom.”

In this moment, it’s not a king that kneels before you, but a son. Someone’s precious child, with no one to stay strong for any longer and so he throws the entire mask away. Lets the tears finally overflow, staining the bedsheets with salt and heartache before he crumples them in a weak fist. Yoongi cries like he has never done, not since he was old enough to learn how much the word responsibility weighed on his head and how many millions of lives his body, not him, is worth. A stray tear falls on the queen’s cheek and his red-rimmed eyes follow how it rolls down her face as if she weeps at the thought of leaving him too, and he cries. He just cries, with the delicate perfume of plum blossoms fast fading around him.

Uselessly, you wish you could do something.

You wish you could have found a cure, a miracle or anything that could have bought him more time, even if it was only for a season more, or a single day. Really, it’s your own failure. You remain so fucking inexperienced, even after all these years. You should have told him. You should have tried harder. And it’s this shame that makes you reach out for him before you can think better of it, wanting nothing more than to hold him to offer a whisper of comfort and to say he’s not alone.

But when you touch him, he startles. Shifts back. Shifts away from you and you think he gathers the pieces of his crown and stitches them back together before you even have time to blink.

“Jeonha—”

“Su-uinyeo-nim.” He cuts you off with the deliberate use of your full, formal title. He’s never called you such before, preferring your name during the weekly reports you made to him. The words feel sluggish on his tongue as if he thinks, as if he knows, you don’t deserve the role too. You find the strength to meet his watery, but no less intense stare, and hear him carefully ask— “Did you know?”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Your fingers, lingering just an inch away from him, freeze and falter. Crumple into themselves, because you can’t give him the answer his darkening eyes say he hopes for. Or maybe that’s just you thinking too highly of yourself in his heart.

“Did you know?” He presses again, tone a little higher, voice a little more desperate.

But language is your next failure, and he is left to take your silence for the admission of guilt it is.

“Get out.” He stands, hovers protectively over the bed as if you are the danger, the outsider. “Your services—and you—are no longer required for her. You’ve done more than enough.”

Your legs shiver as you sink into a bow, quick. “Y-Yes, jeonha.”

Then your slippers are slapping against the hard floor, feet aching from the pace with which you flee from the suffocating room. Your chest burns with the want to scream that you loved her too. That you wanted to tell him so many times, almost did with a slip of a tongue, but wanted to spare his already overtaxed mind. That you tried your damned best but you just couldn’t save her, and so you lost her. And from that last glimpse of him through the closing door, hunched over alone and silently breaking, you know that you’ve lost him too.

[arahxdjarin]

Wicked Desires

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: throat fucking, some angst, some fluff too!, dom reader if you squint, unprotected sex, Loki kneeling, rough sex

Notes: I've decided to change this from a 5/6 chapter fic to a 9/10 chapter fic! so expect more from Loki and reader! I will warn you guys, next chapter is very angsty, I'm going to try to update about once a week but that may be subject to change. Enjoy besties!

Wicked Desires, Chapter 3

You place the thin, dark emerald dress on your body and tiptoe out of Loki’s chambers, two guards are stationed outside the doors, they don’t even move as you walk past them, you raise a hand in front of one of their faces, he doesn’t flinch or show any sign that he sees you there. You look down at the pendant and smile a bit realizing Loki’s magic is working. Making your way back to your chambers, you look down at the dress as it moves around you. It was quite a beautiful dress, a soft satin that clung to your skin, the entire dress being held up by two thin straps that wrap around your neck, the neckline dipping all the way down your torso, barely covering your breasts. Your back is completely exposed to the warm Asgardian spring air. There’s two high slits on either of your thighs, showing your entire leg when you walk forward. The immodesty of it caused you to blush, but you couldn’t help feeling powerful in it, it looks like you belong at Loki’s side.

You hurry into your chambers, glad to find them completely empty, you had nothing to do today besides crafting a dress for the upcoming spring celebrations, you sigh as you sit next to your sewing station deciding to busy your mind with creating a pattern until you leave for Loki’s chambers once nightfall comes.

A low whistle pulls you away from your work, you turn to see your best friend and chambermate come through the door, her arms filled with fabrics and flowers.

“Quite an extraordinary dress, does this have anything to do with why you were gone all night?” Her fingers grab the material by your hip, her eyes widening once she feels how luscious and expensive the fabric feels.

“Actually yes Risa, I was gone all night putting it together, I was hoping to use it for the spring festival but I made it a bit too risqué so it’ll be saved for a more appropriate event.” Risa’s eyes crinkle, she could always tell when you were lying but she decided to just nod her head and set the rest of her supplies down next to you.

“Well, I have to leave again but I thought I would bring you some more fabric. Are you still ok with making my dress for the festival as well?” You nod your head slowly, her harsh blue eyes still holding yours, she smiles a bit as she turns to walk towards the door again.

“You’ll have to tell me who he is at some point.” The door closes behind her but her words continue to bounce around the room, she knows you too well, of course she would notice if something was amiss. You grip the edge of the table trying to calm your breath, maybe you shouldn’t go see Loki tonight, it would be too suspicious if you were gone two nights in a row.  The logical part of you knew that is exactly what you should do, but the illogical part of you, the selfish part Loki has brought out is screaming for you to go to him, let him devour you whole, feel his hands burn their mark into your skin. You clench your thighs together thinking of his words last night,

‘The smell of me, the taste of me, the feel of me, will be burned into your mind always. Because you are mine.’ How right he was, one night of passionate fucking and you were ready to throw everything to the wind to feel his lips on your skin again.

You loosen your grip on the table and slump back into your chair, staring at the fabric in front of you, your fingers run over the smooth fabric of the dress, the motion soothes your racing thoughts. Your fingers pause, you stare at the fabric and then back to the sewing machine, a small smirk tugs on your lips as a devious thought pops into your mind.

You’re hunched over your table putting the final touches on your dress when there’s a soft knock on your door. You stand up and smooth the fabric of your regular everyday skirt walking to the door to see who was behind it, you open it slightly and see a guard. He just hands you a simple piece of paper and turns to walk away. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, you open the note. The words cause you to shut the door quickly, as if anyone who walks by can somehow read the words that were obviously meant for your eyes only.

“Darling, I’ll be all yours shortly, wait for me in my chambers, if you aren’t wearing my dress then I expect you to be wearing nothing at all.”

Yours,

L

You fold the note up and place it in the small pocket of your skirts, moving back to the dress you just finished working on, you quickly drop your average dress to the ground and step back into the gorgeous dress Loki gave you, now with slight modifications. You fold up your dress and set it on a chair in your room, closing the door tightly. You move quickly around the common room to tidy the mess you left before finally exiting your chambers to make your way to his.

The walk is shorter than you remember, or the nerves are just higher this time. Once again the guards don’t notice your presence at all, you quietly slip into his chambers, you expect to be alone but Loki is sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand. His eyes widen as he takes in your attire. He sets the glass down and stands up, never taking his eyes on you. He holds his hand out and you walk towards him, placing your hand in his own, he twirls you, the dress fans out showing him all your additions.

“Is this the dress I gave you?” His voice sends a shiver through you, it's full of curiosity and amusement.

“It is, but I needed to add my own touches to it.” His hand drops yours to touch the soft gold glittery fabric you added to cover the bodice and skirt, his hand roams across it before reaching up to touch the gold gems you added to the neckline, his hand lingers on top of your chest, his eyes meeting yours again, he smirks as his fingers inch their way underneath the neckline to rub against your nipple.

“You added to its beauty, but I do believe my note specified for you to be wearing my dress. Since you’ve gone and added to it, it’s now no longer my dress, but yours. Strip.” You glare at him as you move the straps off your shoulders letting the fabric fall off your body to pool at your feet.

“Is that better, Your Highness?” Your words drip off your tongue with malicious sarcasm. Loki’s eyes harden but the smirk never leaves his lips, he moves so quickly you don’t have time to dodge his advance, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. You try to wiggle out of his hold but it’s impossible, he begins walking towards his room. He lands a loud smack to your backside before dropping you on the bed unceremoniously, you huff as your body bounces on the soft mattress. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, heat fills your body as your mind replays the events of last night when you were in quite a similar situation.

“Turn around and hang your head off the bed.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but do as he says, you hang your head off the end of the bed, now looking at Loki upside down, you take in his appearance, he’s wearing his usual leathers, his hair looks the same but he has an unmistakable glimmer in his eye, you repress another shiver when he meet your eyes. He works to undo his trousers, letting them fall to the floor before he works to undo his top, quick enough he’s as naked as you. Loki bends at the knee until his eyes are level with yours, his hand wraps around your throat as his lips crush into yours, he kisses you fiercely, his tongue making quick work into your mouth, you let out a small whimper as he nips at your lips before pulling away. He looks in your eyes, his hand tightening slightly.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now, if you need me to stop, tap my right thigh three times, do you understand?” You nod, Loki places a soft kiss to your lips before standing, breaking the kiss. You stare at the underside of his hard cock as he strokes it, his eyes fixed on your face. You open your mouth and press your tongue against the head of his cock, eliciting a soft hiss from Loki, he rubs his head against your lips for a moment, teasing both himself and you.

“Use me Loki. I’m going to enjoy this just as much as you do.” That was all the encouragement Loki needed to slam his hips forward, his cock burying itself inside your mouth, your throat constricts around him fighting the intrusion. Loki brings his hand to the side of your neck massaging gently, helping your muscles relax. You open your jaw wider, shifting your head allowing Loki to thrust with ease, his fingers shake on your skin, you let out a small whimper as the pleasure of feeling him claiming your mouth with his cock. Loki hisses through his teeth and drops his other hand to the bed next to your shoulder. You open your eyes momentarily and can only see Loki’s body looming over you, his balls moving next to your forehead. You squeeze your eyes shut and move your tongue, trying to stroke the underside of him.

Loki’s hand tightens around your throat, his fingers still caressing the muscles there, keeping you calm. His thrusts are controlled and even, like he’s trying to refrain from possibly injuring you. Your mind is finally wrapping around the situation, your hands snake up from where they lay at your side clutching the duvet to scratch against his defined stomach, his hips pause for a second. Your hands move from his stomach, running over the smooth skin and muscle to his hips, you dig your nails in and swirl your tongue around him, letting him know you didn’t want him to stop. His hips resume their controlled thrusts, he lets out a soft whine as your fingers dig in deeper to the skin of his hips.

The sound was like music to your ears, you clench your thighs and rub them together, thrusting your hips upwards. You never thought you could gain so much pleasure from pleasuring someone else, but here you were writhing underneath Loki while he used your mouth and body as if you were nothing more than a pretty toy. You enjoyed it too, you loved feeling like you were his own personal sex doll, the feeling of him filling you was intoxicating and you were falling head first into an unhealthy addiction. The thought almost made you laugh, you were addicted to Loki, it was the best way to put it. The way his fingers touched you, the way his tongue seemed to know you better than you knew yourself, the way his cock felt buried deeply inside of you. It was intoxicating, addicting, you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Which you knew you should, you should stop this. It’ll never end well, if the circumstances were different then maybe — you push the thought from your mind, you don’t need to worry yourself with that, not when Loki is moaning and groaning above you because you’re bringing him pleasure. You refocus on the moment and drag your nails down his hips, his thrust stutters, the hand by your shoulder moves and you know he’s getting close.

You think back to last night when he explained he enjoyed being hit with the crop, maybe he enjoys a bit of pain with his pleasure. You move your lips, allowing your teeth to scrape against the sensitive skin of his cock. He hisses in pleasure before he rips his cock from your mouth, he bends his knees until his eyes meet yours again, his hand tightens around your throat.

“You’re getting brave little fox, I love watching you explore pleasure” his hand moves from your throat to stroke your face, his breath is labored and his eyes still hold a look of unbridled lust. “And as much as I would love to cum in your pretty little mouth, I have so much more planned for tonight, kneel on the bed in front of me.” You scramble up quickly at his command, you sit back on your heels, looking up at Loki’s face. Even kneeling on his large bed you were still several inches shorter than him. His hands move to either side of your face, his thumbs gently caressing the skin of your cheeks. You let him lean your head back, his hands move from your face to your neck. Loki leans forward and brushes his lips against your own.

“What do you want darling?” Your breath hitches as Loki turns your head to the side to run his nose along the side of your face.

“You.” Was all you were able to croak out, Loki’s warm breath fans across your face as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“And you have me, but I’m asking what you want right now.” Loki slips his tongue out and licks a stripe up your neck, he hums quietly, blowing cool air over the spot he just licked. Your fingers reach out to tangle in his hair, you turn your face to meet his eyes.

“I want to ride you, I want to feel you deep inside me. I want to shatter around you until I can no longer think of anything besides your name.” Loki’s eyes light up at your words and before you can even comprehend what’s happening he moves onto the bed pulling you onto his lap.

“Who would I be if I didn’t oblige every one of your desires and fantasies darling?” You sit straddling his lap, your fingers interlock behind his neck, he presses his forehead against yours as he guides his cock to your entrance. You both groan as you sink onto his length, his hands grip your hips to help you move. You bury your face in his neck as his cock stretches you open, you bounce up and down, cherishing the feeling of his cock buried deeply inside you. Loki’s hands massage and pull at the flesh of your hips eliciting another loud moan from your throat. His steady hold helps you keep rhythm. A sheen layer of sweat forms on the back of your neck as you continue to work yourself on his cock, the drag of it coupled with the new intense position was quickly working you to your climax.

You turn your head from his neck to capture his lips. Loki lifts one of his hands from your hips to crush your face against his. His tongue consumes your mouth in a sloppy, passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth as he pulls your body closer to his, your clit catching on the skin of his groin.

“Loki — Loki I want us to cum together.”

“Then I suggest you hurry little fox, you’ve had me on edge since you walked through the door in that dress.” Loki’s hands on you tightens, he moves his hips to meet each one of your thrusts, the pressure builds quickly in your lower stomach, all the skin in contact with Loki heats as you race towards your climax.

“Loki, Gods I’m going to cum!” Your orgasm hits full force, you slump against Loki’s chest as he continues to thrust upwards into you, he lets out a loud groan and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“I’m your God darling, only me.” Loki’s chest rises and falls quickly. He falls back against the bed, holding you close to his chest. His hand moving to brush your hair away from your face. You shift your hips, feeling Loki still inside you. You try to move off his lap but he holds you against his chest. Locking you in place on top of him.

“Loki, I need to go back to my own chambers tonight, my friend brought up how I didn’t come home last night. It'll be too suspicious if I’m gone again tonight.” You try to pull away again but Loki doesn’t loosen his hold on you.

“You can spare a few more hours darling.” For some reason his words anger you. You push with all your might and he finally releases you.

“Loki, you are not risking anything by seeing me, I’m risking everything. I can not be caught up in this. I will not, I’ve worked too hard to have it crumbled by you.”

“Little fox, I’ve promised you safety, I meant that. Stay with me a while longer, we’ve just gotten started.” You stand from the bed quickly, trying to ignore the wobble of your legs, you walk from his bed chambers back to where your dress lays against the ground.

“No, I need to get back before anyone else notices my absence. I’m willing to bruise your ego to make sure my reputation is not defamed.” You turn to see Loki standing naked, his face looks pained for a moment before it returns to it’s normal stoic expression. He turns his head to the side, the green glow appears, he’s suddenly fully dressed again.

“Very well then. It seems I misunderstood our arrangement.” You narrow your eyes at his words.

“Our arrangement? If I remember correctly last night we only talked about my selfishness? You allowing me to explore pleasure. Now who’s the one being selfish?” You walk closer to him, until your chests are touching. You stare into his eyes with as much intensity as you could muster.

“Then stay and continue to be selfish darling. Can you look me in my eyes and tell me that you want to leave right now?” His hand comes up to touch the side of your face but you move away and look at the ground before he can.

“It’s not about what I want Loki, I can’t be swept up into rumors.” Loki moves quickly to wrap his arms around you, his fingers moving to the straps of your dress, he slowly pushes them off your shoulders. You want to move, you know you should move but his soft touch keeps you firmly planted in your spot.

“You’re right you shouldn’t be swept into rumors, and I’ll see to it that you're not. I can charm a double of you to go to your chambers, it’ll walk past everyone and go straight to your room to sleep.” Loki pushes the straps completely off your shoulders, letting the fabric pool around your feet for the second time tonight. He pushes your hair behind your ear and kisses your lips with fervor. You finally move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Loki easily pulls you off the ground, walking towards the couch. He sits with you straddling his lap, your lips fight his for dominance, if you’re going to stay he needs to give up control. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull his head. He stares up at you in amusement.

“If I’m staying you’ll have to make it worth my while.” Loki tries to move his head but you keep a firm hold.

“I fully intend to, darling, all you have to do is ask for what you want.” You lower your mouth until it's close to his face. You feel him shiver when your lips press against the sensitive skin of his neck just below his ear.

“I want to be in control darling .” Loki’s normal term of endearment falls off your lips smoothly, his hips buck up into you as his arms tighten around you.

“Anything you wish for, little fox, the control is all yours.” At his words you pull his head up and lick into his mouth.

“I think I’d like you better on your knees.” His breath catches but he’s quick to set you carefully on the couch before kneeling between your legs. “It’s a bit unfair that you're fully dressed, why don’t you change that?” The green glow appears around Loki, once it disappears you take in his full nude body again. You meet his eyes and you’re captivated by the intensity behind them, you notice his small smirk, he seems fully amused at the stunt you’ve pulled. You didn’t think you’d make it this far, your mind goes blank trying to think of how Loki commanded you last night. You just wanted to prove a point, but now you're determined to see it through.

“I think I rather like you being in charge.” Loki presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh as he speaks. You lean forward to grab his jaw, tilting his face to look up at you.

“Don’t speak unless I say so, now be good and bury your face between my legs, you said the night had barely started, why don’t you show me what else you had in mind.”  Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, he presses an open mouth kiss high up on your thigh before dragging his lips closer to your center. Your fingers stroke his hair as he licks a long stripe up to your clit, his mouth latches there. Your head falls back and you let out a high pitched whine, his mouth is fucking magical. Loki wraps his fingers around your thighs, pulling them onto his shoulders. His tongue continues to swirl around your clit and the surrounding area. You tug on his hair pulling his head even closer to you. You look down and see his eyes are still trained on your face. You push the stray hairs away from his eyes, whispering praise to him. Loki hums, his eyes closing as he drives you closer to your peak. You roll your hips on his face to create more friction. Loki’s hands tighten around your thighs, his fingers scraping against your skin.

“Fingers— add your fingers, I’m so close.” His right hand peels away from your thigh and works its way to your entrance, he teases you for a moment before sinking two of his fingers into your cunt. His fingers mixed with his tongue pushes you over the edge into another mind shattering orgasm, your grip tightens on his hair as you buck your hips into his face, he moves with you and lets your orgasm work through your body in full. Loki places a few soft kisses to your inner thigh before pulling away to look at you.

“What else would you like, little fox? I’m here for you to use.” His words send another shockwave through your body. You sit up further and turn around, your fingers grip the back of the couch as you arch your back. You turn your head to look at Loki.

“Take me from behind, and don’t be gentle.” You watch as a devious smile spreads on Loki’s face, he stands to his full height, towering over you. You turn your head to keep his eye contact, he lets his fingers trail down your spine as he lines up with your entrance. You feel the blunt head of his cock rubbing against your cunt, sending more pleasure through your body. The head of his cock presses inside of you and he pauses for a second. His hands moving to your hips. He pulls you back roughly until he’s buried deeply inside of you again for the second time tonight. His fingers dig into the bruises he left the night before as he viciously thrusts into you. Your head falls forward to touch your forehead against the soft fabric of the couch. You swear this is the deepest Loki has ever been inside of you, his thrusts continue relentlessly. You arch your back more, the angle changes causing both of you to groan. You reach a hand between your thighs to rub at your over sensitive clit. Loki catches your hand and places it back on the couch before sneaking his own hand between your legs.

“Your pleasure belongs to me darling — oh I’m sorry am I allowed to talk yet?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You throw your head back to look at him and aren’t surprised to see the signature smirk on his lips.

“Shut up and fuck me harder.” Your words wipe the smirk right off his face, his thrusts become brutal, abusing your poor cunt. His fingers speed up on your clit, yet again launching you closer to another orgasm.

“You’re so worried about your reputation darling, yet you aren’t worried for them to see you limping for the next week?” Your fingers tighten on the couch, your nails digging into the fabric deeply. If you weren’t so close to your release you would push him off you and leave right now. Loki feels you tighten and flutter around him, he leans over the couch moving his hand from your hip to cover your own.

“Stay with me tonight little fox — please.” Loki’s voice sounds strained against your ear, your heart stops for a second, you’ve never known Loki, the God of Mischief, to ever beg anyone for anything. Your fingers spread letting him interlock his own with yours as he continues the brutal rhythm.

“Just for the night.” You whisper back to him, turning your face to look at him. He lips meet yours desperately, he murmurs something against them but you're to swept up in your own pleasure to figure out what he had said. Your orgasm peeks on a particularly violent thrust, you flutter around Loki, pressing your hips back further to grind against him. Loki shifts behind you, wrapping both his arms around your stomach, his forehead presses against your spine as he continues to thrust into you, slower now. His arms are the only thing holding you up at this point, your entire body has liquified with the power of your third orgasm. Loki lets out a soft groan behind you, his teeth scraping against the skin of your back. He hips slowing to a stop. He pulls out of you as gently as possible but you still hiss at the feeling of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls. Loki lays your body against the soft couch, he gets up and works his way into the bathing room and returns quickly with a steaming towel. He presses it between your thighs to clean you. The intimacy of the action causes heat to rise to your cheeks.

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, his hand gently working the soft, warm towel between your legs, you almost giggle at how focused he looks. Once he’s satisfied with his work the towel disappears in a green glow and his eyes move to look at you.

“Lets go lay down” Loki helps you stand on your shaky legs and places a hand on the small of your back, leading you to his bed again, he places a kiss to your lips before he pulls back the duvet for you to lay down.

“I can’t keep disappearing every night to come here.” Loki sighs at your words as he gets into the bed on his respective side. He pulls you close against his body and begins to mindlessly play with your hair.

“You’re right, what about every other night?” You prop yourself up to glare at him.

“Once a week.” Loki narrows his own eyes at you. You hold his gaze until his features soften again.

“Once a week it is then, but just now you’re welcome in my bed any day of the week, you have an open invitation to my rooms.” You settle back down against his chest, his fingers move back to your hair.

“I’m only here right now because you asked so nicely, I didn’t think you had manners, it seems I was mistaken.” Loki lets out a small laugh at your playful insult.

“You’re the only one who will ever receive that treatment from me.” You turn your head to look at him, his eyes meet yours, he looks so tired, not just physically, he looks mentally exhausted.

“And why is that Loki?” Loki’s eyes light up a bit, a soft smile tugs on his lips.

“I’ve told you little fox, you’ve piqued my interest, your presence is intoxicating. I’ll do anything to keep you at my side, including asking nicely — and maybe I’ll even admit I’m wrong at some point, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late, I think my ego could rival yours now.” Loki laughs again, his fingers rub at your scalp and you’re quickly lulled into another peaceful sleep tucked next to Loki’s side.

[beomglocks]

unlikely allies ; txt x reader

part: four.1 ,,,, next chapter / previous chapter

plot: when a zombie apocalypse breaks out in your town, you’re forced to team up with a group of boys from very different social standards in your school.

genre: fluff, angst, horror i guess?, not really that scary but alright, some funny moments

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: blood, gruesome scenes (kind of really detailed), cursing, everyone hates each other, definitely some major injuries, zombies duh, everyone kinda pining for mc

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"we are going to find more people y/n. we need to make up for beomgyu," taehyun spits. beomgyu walks up to him with anger taking over his features. "im still here you know! and i'd just hate for the kang taehyun to get bit because wouldn't that just be soooo fucking tragic! news flash, everyone's dead! you're not famous!"

"stop arguing!" you pull them apart but yeonjun shoves you away from them. "why? why should stop arguing?"

"we're all gonna die anyways," soobin says casually from his spot on the ground.

taehyun rolls eyes, walking straight into the library without any hesitation. "wait-" before you can warn him you all see something that makes you freeze.

you swear you remember that kid from somewhere. his fluffy hair is covering his eyes and instead of his baggy sweater covering his frame, it has ridden up to showcase his nonexistent abdomen. the zombies have absolutely ravaged the kid's body, leaving nothing but a lone carcass. there are still zombies lurking around his body, trying to feast on whatever part of him is left.

something beside the boy's body catches your eye and you realize who he is.

"ah shit," they mumble. you snap out of glaring at yeonjun to see a boy on the floor with books scattered around him. "shit im sorry! i should've been looking at where i was going," you apologize kneeling down to help the boy pick up his books.

"oh don't worry i shouldn't have taken up carrying so many books to the point where i couldn't see!" the boy's voice is so cheerful it makes you smile. you're glad he's not mad at you.

the boy is really cute too. his boyish features suit his face well and his hair is messy but looks like he stylized it that way. he's dressed comfortably in a huge sweater and baggy jeans with a molang keychain attached to one of the belt loops.

"where are you even going with all these books?" you ask. "i offered to take these back to the library for my english teacher, in hindsight i really should've just taken two or three not the whole stack." he chuckles sheepishly. he gets back up, picking up as many as he can.

you cover your mouth, trying not to let out an audible sob. even though you didn't know the freshman too well, this boy had left an impression on you with his cheeriness. that and the fact that this is the second time you've seen someone get eaten alive.

"hueningkai?" taehyun whispers. he takes several steps forward as if he's in a trance. "taehyun wait-"

"kai??" he raises his voice more but it cracks. the zombies in close proximity of you all snap their heads up at the sound of taehyun's voice. "tae we need to get out of here right n-"

"y/n!" you hear soobin call. you turn around to see beomgyu convulsing on the floor wildly. "w-what happened?" soobin shakes his head frantically. "he might be turning." you want to cry at the sight of your friend curled up in pain. you can tell he's trying to hold back his screams as to not draw attention to the group and get you all killed.

it's too late though because the zombies that were eating kai alive are now running towards you all. "what do we do?" yeonjun cries. you don't know what to do at this point. there's absolutely no saving beomgyu, who is currently turning. you go to grab taehyun's arm to at least try to save one person from your party but the zombie at the front of the group has already pounced on him. "NO!" you yell.

even though the zombie has sunk it's teeth into taehyun's ankle, you still try to drag him away in hopes of saving him. he's kicking at its face with the tiny sliver of strength he has left after being thrown to the floor. "don't worry taehyun im not leaving you," you huff.

you don't think you've ever had this much determination for anything ever. all you know is that someone's life is on the line and if you just try hard enough they might survive.

you're suddenly pulled back by your shirt when the entire group of zombies get to taehyun's idle body. "wait!" you reach out to him but it's too late. they've already began gnawing away at him. taehyun puts up a good fight but it's no use. there are too many of them.

he lets out a string of pained screams and all you can do is close your eyes.

"we have to go! we have to go," yeonjun screams. he shakes you to get you to get up but you have already given up. not one but three of the people who you've met have died. it hurts to know that they were once alive, smiling brightly with hope and life shining in their eyes.

it's not even the fact that prior to a zombie apocalypse happening you most likely gave no shits about these people but the stakes and circumstances have changed. of course now you care because you hoped they would love to see another day.

yeonjun sucks his teeth and picks you up. it takes a bit of extra strength on his part and he knows it'll slow him down tremendously but he doesn't care. "it's gonna be ok!" he reassures. you get a better view of soobin and beomgyu when he lifts you up and it makes you want to look away.

beomgyu's arm now has discolored veins that scale all the way up to him face. his eyes are glazed over and now white colored. you can see trances of dyed tears on his face but he's too far gone. he's dead and he's a threat to you all now.

"soobin r-!" yeonjun slaps his hand over you mouth so that you don't attract the zombies on taehyun to start going after you both.

soobin tries to hold his own against the now undead beomgyu and you can't exactly tell what's going on. yeonjun leads you away from the library and you can only hear a scream from who you assume is soobin.

"where are we going we can't just leave soobin behind like that!" you try to stand and halt the both of you but yeonjun harshly pulls you along. "yes we can and we will!" he barks. "there isn't a chance in hell that we could've saved him. it's us or him!"

he shoves you into the electrical room of the school. the door was thankfully unhinged otherwise the door would've remained locked.

there's nothing but silence minus the rapid breathing coming from you both. you go through what just happened and start to burst into tears, haphazardly wiping at your face but failing when more tears come down. yeonjun sighs, letting himself fall on the floor.

he doesn't even have time to rest before he hears a pounding coming from outside the door. "y/n? y-yeonjun? l-let me in!" you look over to yeonjun who's already looking at you wide eyed. "soobin?" you mumble. you go to stand but yeonjun launches himself at you. "hell no! soobin go away!" he yells.

"please open the door! they're coming! please!" soobin pleads. you shake your head, "yeonjun we have to help him please!"

yeonjun contemplates for a little bit longer than you'd like but he suddenly stands up. he gets to the door however he doesn't open it all the way. "are you bit? there's no way you came out of that unbitten."

soobin looks around unsure of himself. he grips onto his arm tighter from what you can see and you silently hope and pray he's not bit. however yeonjun also notices his suspicious behavior. "you're not coming in," he says. he starts closing the door again but soobin shoves past him.

yeonjun runs after him and tackles him to the ground. you look back at the door and you can hear the zombies that were following soobin approaching. you make a run for it to shut the door but yeonjun yells at you. "we have to leave it open for when i throw this asshole out of here!"

"but-" you wince when yeonjun punches soobin square in the face. it doesn't seem to phase the other boy as he growls and turns the tables on yeonjun. soobin has always been a bit stronger than yeonjun so it's no surprise that especially at this moment he's overpowering the other boy.

you rack your brain trying to come up with a logical plan. though you aren't being given many options. it's either wait until yeonjun manages to throw soobin out meaning you risk the group of zombies reaching you all or you lock yourself in the electrical room with an already bitten soobin.

you bite your lip watching soobin throw as many punches as he can with an unusable arm and yeonjun blocking them as best as he can. however, soobin was steadily getting weak and you could tell as well as yeonjun. with one swift push, soobin falls back onto the ground and yeonjun punches him again for good measure. 

you can't see them well in the dimly lit electrical room however with the sliver of light pouring in from the door being open you can somewhat make out yeonjun's face. soobin sure did a number on him. his nose is dripping blood and his lips are bruised and swollen. his eye is also bruised and swollen and you're not sure if he can even see from it. god, he looks miserable.

he looks up at you and spits some blood out from his mouth. "lets get him out of here," he mumbles. you watch him get off soobin but he stumbles a bit. "yeonjun please hurry i think the zombies are coming," you tell him. he groans but says nothing in response.

yeonjun picks soobin up but once he has soobin's arm around his shoulder soobin starts shuddering. "you're gonna turn soon," yeonjun mumbles. soobin chuckles in between his shaking, "you care about me all of a sudden. i thought we were sworn enemies?"

yeonjun rolls his eyes, "whatever." if this were happening at any other time you might have smiled at them. you smile sadly when the two boys reach you at the door. you lean down to soobin's hunched over state and hold his face in your hands. "im sorry," you say. he shakes his head but says nothing to you. 

"t-the gun," he mumbles in pain. you can see the veins starting to crawl up his shoulder and onto his neck now. "if we shoot you then the zombies that were after you are sure to start running towards here," yeonjun frowns. "soobin i don't think any of us are willing to k-kill you," you say as a tear rolls down your face. 

his head snaps backwards violently then he slumps forward. "please," he manages to croak out.

you shut the door, closing your eyes. "y/n..." yeonjun says. "we can't let him die as one of those- those things!" you shout. yeonjun sighs, putting soobin down onto the floor. "think about this, you're about to kill another living being!" 

"WHAT OTHER OPTION IS THERE?" you lash out. yeonjun stands there shocked at your outburst and the expression on his face makes you cry even harder than before. "what other option is there?" you cry softly.

you both look over to soobin who's now started convulsing on the floor. unlike beomgyu, this time he doesn't hold in his blood curling screams of pain. there isn't much time left before he turns.

you tentatively take the gun from his person and hold it up to his head. his eyes open momentarily and you see the fear in them flash through. he closes them tightly once again to brace himself and a tear rolls down his face. "i-im s-sorry," you cry. even as you hold the gun to his head, you hesitate. killing someone wasn't as easy as you thought. yeonjun walks up but not before wiping a tear from his face. "cmon."

he helps you hold the gun steady but removes your finger from the trigger. "close your eyes ok?" he whispers close to your ear. you sniffle, watching soobin struggle to keep his humanity. he opens and closes his eyes and keeps flinching and convulsing in different ways. you can tell he’s really in pain and not just because of his screams.

“im sorry soobin,” you cry. “im sorry!” you close your eyes tightly, waiting for yeonjun to pull the trigger.

you hold your breath and you can feel yeonjuns on the back of your head. his is nowhere near steady and you can’t imagine how he’s feeling having to kill another human being. his breathing is shaky and unsteady.

he tightens his grip on the gun and you feel his breath stop completely.

“three,” he mutters.

you’re sobbing uncontrollably at this point, unable to say the next number so he does it for you. “two.”

“one.”

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[weakzen]

Touch

After another nightmare about Murphy, Mason surprises the Detective with a visit—and a few unexpected things more.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: 18+ warning: smutty smut, trauma, murphy creepiness - see tags on AO3

AO3 version

-

The blood comes closer.

It races forward, whipping around each coil before surging down the straightaways in a rush of crimson. It takes its time somehow too, winding in long, lazy loops, meandering through the tangled labyrinth of tubing so slowly that a fleeting bit of hope tries to spark in my chest.

But I know better. The blood never stops.

It always comes closer.

Isn't it thrilling, Detective?

Closer and closer.

We'll be inseparable after this!

His words jolt me into a sudden frenzy and I thrash against the bindings and the solid weight of his hand pinning my hip to the table. A ragged, primal scream tears from my throat as I jerk and twist until the straps slice into my flesh. I snap forward to bite the needle lodged in my arm, to rip it free with my teeth, but his hand clamps around my neck and slams my head against the table. White light and pain explode into my vision, and his fingers tighten ever-so-slightly in a warning I don't heed.

But it doesn't matter.

No matter how much I struggle, his blood comes closer. Closer and closer.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Fear spikes through me as I continue resisting in a body that begins to feel more and more distant. All I can hear is the loud echo of his heavy, excited panting. All I can smell is his sweat mixed with a sickening metallic tang. And all I can feel is the clammy hand pinched around my thigh, his fingers squeezing with anticipation and—

There will always be a part of me inside of you.

I twist awake from the nightmare with a heaving gasp.

Bile surges hot into my throat and I swallow hard against it. My heart thunders in my chest, pounding something wild and desperate into my skull, into my ears. For a terrifying moment, I can't sense anything except the deafening throb of blood.

But…

Slowly, gradually, it recedes to the sound of rain.

And I finally choke down a long, shuddering breath.

I'm not sure how long I lie there afterward, sucking in air, my body buzzing unpleasantly while I stare at the ceiling, but eventually I become aware of just how warm I am and kick myself free of my joggers and the sheets. A shiver ripples up my spine as my bare legs are exposed, and I absently blow at a few damp strands of hair plastered to my cheek. After another long moment, I sigh and roll over to put my feet on the floor, burying my face in my hands while I wait, once again, for the trembling to die down.

Never thought I'd miss the semester when my roommate's alarm clock blasted me awake every morning while she power-slept through it, but… here I am. Getting more misty-eyed and sentimental by the second.

Ah, the halcyon days when the mystery of who left the dishes in the sink was the biggest concern in my life.

Snorting softly, I crack my neck a few times before I push off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. I don't bother with the light. Or the mirror. I already know I look like shit. Instead, I hunch over the sink to alternate between drinking from the tap so greedily I start coughing and drowning my face in the cold water. I bury it in a towel afterward too, for good measure, pressing myself so deeply into the cotton that it's actually a little difficult to breathe.

I don't know why I do it. Or why I stay there as long as I do.

Silent. Stiff.

Suffocating.

But I don't pull away.

Not until I hear the faint squeaking of cloth and realize my fingers have twisted themselves into fists and I'm clutching the towel so hard that my hands are shaking. As I stare down at it, something else twists inside me too. Some fierce and overwhelming urge that demands I keep going. That I tear it in half. Rip it up. Shred it apart entirely.

My jaw clenches under the force of it, until my teeth start to squeak too.

Then—for some absurd fucking reason—I picture Nate kneeling over the destroyed towel, a sad little frown on his face as he bemoans the thread count.

And a laugh sputters out of me instead.

It's long and wheezing and only slightly hysterical, but I can't help it. The image is just so— ridiculous and bewildering and, honestly, pretty fucking funny.

As my body shakes with laughter, I drop the towel into the sink and curl forward to put my face in my hands. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes and my stomach starts to hurt from the effort. Tightness cinches around my chest too, and claws up to lodge in my throat. Heat prickles and swells across my face, and my lip trembles and my eyes begin to sting and I suddenly know exactly what's fucking coming.

So I brace against it.

It doesn't matter.

And I hold it back.

It doesn't. It really doesn't.

Until it gradually passes.

It's over and done.

I take a deep, shuddering, and practiced breath afterwards, sniffling just enough to clear it away before I flick the unshed moisture from my eyes.

Then, without another thought, I whip the towel around the rack unharmed and walk back into my room.

I move towards the bed, but I pause as I pass into the cool air flowing in through the window. My arms fold instinctively against it, even though the chill brushes pleasantly across my uncomfortably hot face. I glance over at the damp and tangled mess of sheets awaiting me and frown. I frown harder knowing, as usual, I'll probably only end up twisting around in them until it's too bright to pretend I have a chance of falling back asleep.

And, with that decidedly unappealing thought in mind, I turn to face the rain instead.

The tang of cold moisture and pine drifts inside, and I inhale it eagerly. I always did enjoy late summer in Wayhaven, when the storms roll back in to chase away the heat. The towering dark clouds, the breeze snapping every banner, awning, and flagpole in the Square, the promise of wet earth on the wind and the heavy stillness right before the downpour rips free—it's hard not to get excited in the presence of something so magnificently powerful.

Lightning flickers across the sky as if in agreement, and thunder follows it a few moments later in the distance, a long and low rumble that rattles the glass in the windowpane.

I smile softly, shifting a hand to stroke my neck while the breeze soothes my flushed skin.

Yesterday afternoon seems so distant now, though. I remember that excitement when I left the station, the stupid little grin on my face when it started pouring and Tina's shrieks as she ran back into the doorway to shout goodbye. I remember driving up here too, with my window rolled down, nothing but total contentment in my heart as the rain streaked over the windshield and across my knuckles. And I remember walking into the Warehouse, jacket dripping, and that dull ache of happiness that rolled through me as familiar voices called out in greeting and my eyes fell on the steaming mug waiting by the spot where I usually sit.

I remember it, but… right here, now, alone in the dark once more, it's hard to believe any of it actually happened to me.

It's hard to believe I ever really felt that way at all. It almost seems… borrowed. Like all of its brightness belongs to someone else entirely.

And this shit, right now, is what I truly am—and all I'll ever know.

A familiar tightness claws up my throat again. My eyes start to sting.

"Scared of the storm, sweetheart?"

I startle immediately and startle hard.

My attention snaps to the doorway, only to recognize a dark and familiar figure leaning against the frame.

Fuck—I hadn't even heard him open the door! Or knock, I want to add, before I remember it's Mason and doors are one of the few things he actually won't do.

Shit.

I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back and shoot him a smirk that I don't really feel.

"Petrified.”

Mason smirks in return. "Then maybe I should come in and make you feel safe. Hold you very close to me until it passes."

I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips as I glance away. My arms folds a bit tighter around myself and I shift slightly on the spot. “Not sure I'm in the mood for that kind of comfort right now.”

“Lucky for you, that's not the only kind I can offer.”

My brow arcs in question—and curiosity. I'm not sure how much I believe him, but… I am always interested to see what he'll try.

Without looking away from the window, I give him a small nod of invitation to come in.

The door clicks shut, and heat soon radiates across my bare skin through the loose, open-backed shirt I wore to bed. Mason's hands slide over my hips from behind, his fingers splaying briefly, giving just the slightest squeeze, before he wraps his arms around me and settles them into a fold beneath my own. He rests his chin on top of my head too—something new he's started doing lately, though I suppose I am at perfect chin-resting height—and he gently pulls me back against him.

A sigh escapes me as he does, louder than I would've intended. And maybe he wasn't entirely bullshitting about that comfort.

Because I can't deny just how damn good it feels to be held by him, even now.

My eyes flutter shut as I sink further into his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Smoke and sandalwood envelop me, as does another scent underlying both, something dark and pleasantly rich and unmistakably him. Something familiar too, achingly so, that makes my breath hitch over the sudden and unexpected swell of fondness spreading across my chest.

My shoulders sag, my head tilts back, and the tension knotted around my throat loosens. His chest rises and falls against my own breathing, sometimes aligning so we press together fully on an inhale, and I slowly realize I don't think I've never felt this relaxed in anyone's arms before.

That is, until I also realize he definitely felt every part of my reaction—right down to the slightest bit of movement—and I inwardly cringe.

Thankfully, at least, he doesn't care enough to comment about any of it. I cringe a little further, hoping that small mercy extends to anything he witnessed while he stood in the doorway.

Or noticed before he opened the door.

My back stiffens again as I try not to think about just how far he can hear across the Warehouse… I bite my lip to suppress a groan.

“How long were you standing there anyway?"

"Long enough."

A weak chuckle escapes me. “Well, that's not embarrassing…”

“'Cause there's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he states, his words delivered so casually and matter-of-fact that there's no room to doubt his belief in them. “Especially not with the view you provide,” he adds, his voice dipping into a low rumble.

I chuckle again despite my unease—and my surprise. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Glad to know I add a little brightness to your morning too, sunshine.”

His scoff ruffles my hair and I swear I can almost feel his eyeroll. My smile widens.

I lean against him even further, and his arms tighten around me in response. Comfortable silence blankets us, as it often does, and I try to relax into it, into him, closing my eyes once more as my fingers trace idle paths over my neck. The gentle downpour continues outside, steady in its intensity with soft, irregular tings and the occasional roll of thunder.

“Guess the rain ruined your rooftop solitude this morning,” I murmur absently.

"I wouldn't call it ruined."

I hum in acknowledgment and my attention slowly returns to the storm. The rain falls lighter now than it did earlier, when I made the decision—because of Nate's unusually strong encouragement, even for him—to spend the night at the Warehouse rather than drive back into town. Something about my car having 'questionable traction, even under ideal circumstances' and 'certainly a lot of spirit, if not much else,' to which I countered that he and everyone else needed to start having some faith in the most reliable, tenacious, and clearly valuable member of our team.

I mean, a muddy road is nothing. That car has already survived the jerks, stops, and stalled clutches of a teenager with a learner's permit, four years of designated driving for sloppy, belligerent classmates, overnight parking on some of Vancouver's shittiest streets, a hockey riot, Tina spilling a full milkshake across the dash, Adam crashing into it from multiple angles, Mason doing his damnedest to destroy the suspension from the backseat, aggressive karaoke in the front seat with Felix, a standoff with a fucking moose, and that's not even half of what I can remember.

And even after all of that, it continues to rumble along, coasting like it has a full tank when the fuel gauge dips into the red, rattling change loose from its crevices whenever I want a coffee, providing occasional shelter to the neighborhood family of raccoons.

I just think it deserves a little more respect is all. But I know they'll all come around eventually.

Even if I have to make them.

I grin—though it falters somewhat as my fingertips brush over the scar on my neck.

It… feels worse than it looks, in more than one way. Which is a fucking shame, if not completely fitting, because of course that asshole didn't even have the decency to leave me with a badass scar. All this one does is pull uncomfortably if I turn my head too far, but… it doesn't bother me anymore, not really.

My fingers stop directly above the pulse throbbing beneath those gnarled ridges and dips.

It doesn't matter.

Frowning, I continue to stroke my neck, more intently than I had before. And maybe that's why, or maybe it's the nightmare still wrapped fresh around my mind, or the fact it rained that night too, but the memory of Murphy's bite suddenly slams into me as hard as his mouth did.

He chewed a little.

When I fumbled for my throat, my fingers slid across torn flesh into muscle. The blood burned my hand as it poured out. Slick. Hot. A stream of wet fire rushing over my fingers and down my arm to drip from my elbow, down the middle of my chest, my stomach, sinking heat into my underwear and the cold, sweat-soaked gown plastered to my skin.

It burned sickeningly hot, but not as much as Murphy's tongue did, when he dragged it up the length of my neck and pushed it into me.

I startle hard when my hand is suddenly snatched from my neck.

“You always this tense when it rains?”

“I'm not tense,” I say unthinkingly, then cringe at my obvious lie.

Mason scoffs and smirks so hard I can feel it through my skull.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “I'm just, uh… stiff with appreciation.”

His smirk widens. “What a coincidence—”

“—So am I,” I say at the same time as him, then roll my eyes. He laughs, his body shaking against my own, and I can't help but smile too. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a few lingering kisses to the spot I was just touching. He squeezes me tighter for a moment, then folds our arms back around me, his hand tucked over my own.

I take a deep breath and try to relax once more.

“…I actually really like storms,” I say a moment later, in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering again.

“So do I.” Silence briefly falls over us again, until he adds, “The air always smells cleaner when it rains. Sharper, in a good way. And there's so much noise all at once, it all kind of… blends together and almost fades away. Makes everything else fade away too.”

My eyes fall shut again as I enjoy the rumble of his words against my back. “Makes everybody flee inside as well.”

He snorts. “That's always a nice bonus for anything.”

I hum in response. Then he surprises me by speaking further.

“…I don't like being out in it much either.”

“Because it's cold?”

“Freezing, yeah. But more because it stings.” His fingers twitch slightly against the top of mine. “Feels like being stabbed over and over again by millions of tiny needles.”

I hesitate for a moment, briefly pressing my lips together, then I slide my fingers upwards to lace partway through his. Mason stills behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know he's pinning me with a gaze.

Then his fingers curl between mine in response.

A pleasant ache twists in my chest, and I give a small nod toward the window. “…Does it feel that way even in something gentle, like this?”

“If I stand out in it long enough, yeah.”

I huff softly. “Guess showering can't be much fun for you then.”

He chuckles deeply, squeezing me in a decidedly more suggestive manner as he presses his hips forward. “You're always welcome to join me and make it better.”

I open my mouth to reply, but quickly forget what I meant to say as I actually think about his proposal. More specifically, as I think about sliding against his wet and soapy skin. And his hands gliding across mine. And, of course, the fact that he's more than strong enough to hold me up against the wall…

My breath hitches as I bite my lower lip—and Mason descends, grinning, to hook his chin on my shoulder.

“You want me to tuck you in, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a pleasant shiver down my body.

“Why do I get the feeling the way you'd tuck me in is identical to the way you toss me down for a fuck?”

He chuckles. “Because they are the same. You just aren't naked right now.”

“That's it?” I turn to face him, my brow raised and a growing smirk on my lips. “Not even gonna offer me a little tenderness and care?”

“Nope,” he replies simply—then scoops me up over his shoulder like he's done so many times in the past.

For a moment, my mind jumps back to when he first carried me like this, over that tree so long ago, but the thought disappears when he unceremoniously dumps me onto the mattress.

I huff and roll over into a somewhat more dignified position. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me when I'm done.” Amusement and desire play across his darkened features.

“Yeah? What else do you need to do?”

“You, obviously.”

I laugh, but the thought is rather tempting right now. Far more so than when he first showed up…

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice dipping into a husky rumble. There's a sharp gleam in his eyes and a hungry grin on his lips.

An answering one pulls at my own lips. “You know the rule.”

His grin widens. “It's the only one I actually like,” he growls before practically tearing his shirt off.

No street clothes in my bed, I told him once, the first time he tried to flop onto my duvet in jeans. Only house clothes and underwear are allowed—or nudity.

And he wastes no time getting to that state.

I scoot over to make room for him, though he still manages to sprawl out practically on top of me as he flops into the bed. He stretches out with exaggerated laziness before folding his arms behind his head and fixing me with a smirk. It's obvious he's temping me to look at him.

And, of course, I do.

The dim light coming in through the window softens the muscled planes of his body. I let my gaze roam over the long and familiar lines of his form, biting my lip as I take in the contours of his bare shoulders and chest, the ridges of his abs, and the trail of dark hair leading down his stomach to the very apparent arousal on full display.

“Look as much as you want, sweetheart,” he purrs, letting his thigh fall atop my own as he spreads his legs even wider.

Chuckling softly, I let my eyes linger there for a moment before I glance back to his face, where it's clearly evident he's been enjoying the attention. I roll onto my side just as lazily and prop my head up on one arm. Then I reach over to skim my other hand down his torso, keeping my palm flat and close enough to his skin to feel his warmth, but not close enough to actually touch him.

He watches my movement intently, breathing in through his teeth as my hand moves lower and lower. When I reach his cock, I curl my hand around the base as though I'm about to grasp him, my fingers circling closer and closer as I move my hand up his length—but right as I'm about to make contact, I keep moving, closing my hand into a fist after it passes by the tip entirely.

His hips roll forward to follow, and I grin as he lets out a frustrated growl.

“But don't touch?” I ask, giving him a wink.

Mason scoffs, but the broad smile on his face says the teasing pleased him more than anything else. He licks his upper lip and scoots closer to me, until we're pressed together, his side against my front, and his face close to mine on the pillow below.

“You can touch as much as you want,” he replies, gazing up at me through half-lidded eyes and long dark lashes. He begins to slowly rub his leg against mine. “And I know you want to.”

His words rumble over me, low, invitingly, and very accurately. I inhale slightly as he nudges his knee against my legs, asking me to part them—then more sharply as I oblige and he slides his thigh between my own, although not quite as high up as I would like.

Heat spools low in my belly as I rock my hips forward slightly, leaning into his warmth. My gaze travels up our bodies. Our bare legs tangled together. The sliver of my stomach brushing against his skin where my shirt is pulled up. The rise and fall of his chest, just waiting for me to reach over and touch him for real this time.

But a question surfaces in my mind before I do. A concern.

Something I've wondered about for a long while now, but has been in my thoughts with more frequency lately.

Because he's been touching me more lately, outside of the bedroom.

A lot.

Pressing his shoulder against mine when we stand by each other for a group meeting. Splaying his hand across my back while we lean over to examine something. Reaching over to brush strands of hair from my face after I blow them away in annoyance.

And a multitude of other tiny ways to try and fluster me because words alone rarely cut it anymore.

I've played back with my own teasing touches, of course, but…

It's a lot of effort on his part just to get a reaction out of me. A lot of painful effort too, for someone so hypersensitive that even a gentle rainfall against his skin could cause agony.

Much less what it must feel like for him when he's exposed like this and touched so directly.

So intimately.

I glance back up to catch his gaze, only to find him already watching me with those pretty grey eyes.

“…Doesn't it hurt you, though?” I ask quietly, before I can stop myself. “Being touched when your senses are so heightened?”

All trace of amusement and desire drops from his face instantly. He frowns and looks away.

I glance away as well, regret lurching in my stomach to an almost sickening degree. My fingers curl around the hem of my shirt and begin twisting the fabric.

Of course I had to fucking ask. Of course.

I know this… arrangement between Mason and myself is superficial and meaningless, even if the more stupidly curious part of me sometimes forgets. I've always appreciated his honesty about that, how upfront he's been from the very start about not wanting to know me or share himself. After how hard Bobby almost fucked me over… it's a relief to be around someone so direct about his intent.

Someone who isn't going to pretend to care about me in order to get what he actually wants.

Mason would never do that. He's a good guy. We have a good thing. And I don't want to fuck things up between us just because I'm terminally fucking nosy.

I shouldn't have pried. And definitely not about something like that.

I take a low, steadying breath and ready an apology on my lips, but his voice cuts through the silence first.

“Yes.”

My eyes snap to his face, only to find him already staring at me again. There's a strange, piercing intensity in those grey depths now, something I've never seen there before.

“It does, most of the time,” he continues, holding my gaze, his brow furrowing and his jaw tightening slightly as he pauses for a moment. “…But not with you.”

My breath snags over his words and suddenly it's my turn to look away and frown.

I want to dismiss it as just… more innuendo. An obvious invitation to slip out of my shirt and roll on top of him. And I'm sure he meant it like that, and I'm sure he wants that too, I know, but…

There's an edge to his tone. A heaviness to his words.

Like the calm and undeniable weight of a storm before it breaks.

My stomach does an uneasy flip, and I don't know if it's because I'm scared of whatever it means—or because I'm excited.

I really don't know what to say in response, either.

…So I don't say anything.

I just…

Thunder rumbles somewhere far away from us as I reach over and brush my fingers across Mason's stomach.

His eyes shut and he inhales sharply through his teeth as I slowly flatten my hand and begin caressing him there. His abs dip and roll with my movement, and his hips join the motion when I start to tease my fingers further down. I stay there, just long enough to give him some hope, my fingers inching closer and ever closer, until I abruptly change direction to the sound of another frustrated groan.

Chuckling quietly, I keep my touch soft as I follow the path of dark hair up his torso. My fingers ruffle it lightly along the way, briefly detouring out across his freckled skin to graze his nipples. He moans quietly in response, and chills prickle across his flesh. His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, and I continue upward, passing the cords of leather looped around his neck, the shard of quartz catching the faint light, until my fingers glide into the hollow at the base of his throat.

Slowly, I draw a single finger up the long column of his neck. His head falls back to allow it, his chin rising in the air, his body arching too, as my fingertip drags up through his heavy stubble and briefly catches on the edge of his jaw before it flicks free. His tongue darts across his lips, but I don't give him time to recover before my hand immediately veers in to cup his cheek, gliding slowly again until he's nestled fully in my palm. I roll my thumb across his soft, slickened lips as his hand slides up my side.

Desire churns in his eyes as he stares into mine. Desire and that same strange intensity.

My breath snags again and I bite my own lip, dragging my thumb to the edge of his, until it catches and flicks free.

Then I kiss him.

I keep it as soft as my touch, even as his lips press eagerly against mine, even as it deepens until we moan into each other. Our tongues slide together, hot and wet, and I lean into him, pulling my hand away from my head to find the arm he still has folded behind his. Our fingers immediately lace together when our hands meet, and he curls his other arm around my back to pull me against him. Our kiss becomes more urgent as we move together, his thigh sliding further up between mine as a familiar heat begins to build and throb between my legs.

We're forced to break for air eventually, our foreheads pressing together as we pant against each other. I swipe my thumb across his cheek and give him a brief kiss.

Mason breathes out a moan and kisses me back. “It always feels good when you're touching me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick and hoarse.

A smirk twitches at the corner of my mouth, and I move as though I'm about to start kissing him in earnest again—but instead I only graze my lips against his before I pull away. He follows again, and then breathes out a chuckle against my mouth as he reaches down to smack my ass.

A sharp laugh bursts from me and I offer him a sly smile. “Even when I'm teasing you?”

“Especially when you're teasing me,” he replies, a smile of his own gleaming in his eyes.

He kisses me briefly, then moves his mouth to my neck, where he presses wet kisses against my skin before grazing his teeth over that spot he knows I like. Chills of pleasure ripple across my body, and I inhale sharply as his thigh starts to glide higher between mine, closer and tantalizingly closer to the ache between my legs. I roll my hips forward to meet him—but just as we're about to make contact, just as I can feel the heat and the barest brush of him through my underwear, he pulls away entirely.

And suddenly it's my turn to groan.

“Makes it all the sweeter when I get to pay you back for it,” he whispers against my ear, grinning.

I smile too, even as I huff a little in response and roll my eyes. Then I reach down to grab his cock, teasing my fingers along his length.

“Guess this means I'll just have to put my hands on you even more often.”

“As much as you want, sweetheart,” he groans, his eyes shuttering closed as he grabs my ass and squeezes. “As often as you want.”

We kiss again, and his hand moves up to cup my breast, his thumb briefly circling my nipple through the fabric before he slides his touch to my stomach, to the bare flesh exposed at the bottom of my shirt. He strokes my skin there, breaking away from our kiss to look into my eyes as he nudges the fabric up with his thumb.

“And I'm more than willing to do the same for you,” he states simply, staring at me with such a heavy intensity that it feels like I might actually fall into his gaze.

His words are innuendo. A silent ask for permission. A promise of pleasure.

And something more.

Again, my breath hitches and my stomach does a tiny flip. Again, I'm not sure what to say in response.

…But, whatever he's offering, I think I want to find out.

I think maybe I want it too.

So I kiss him again while he slides his hand under my shirt.

His thigh surges up fully against me, dragging sweet pressure against the heat between my legs. I moan into him, tightening, squeezing his leg between mine as I grind against him. We move together like that, hands still clasped tightly, while he kneads my breast and I stroke him the best I can from what our position allows.

But it's not enough—and soon we're forced to briefly disentangle so we can reach each other better.

He rolls onto his side to face me, and I hook my leg over him, giving him ample access to cup me through my underwear. His fingers stroke and tease me through the damp fabric before he slips his hand inside to touch me more directly. I gasp as he does, and he grins, giving me a low growl of appreciation when he feels the full extent of how wet I already am.

He strokes his fingers along the slickened length of me before drawing upward to circle my clit. I bite my lip and hiss as hot pleasure arcs through me, but I can't contain the moan that soon breaks free, or the way my hips start to rock against his touch. I capture his lips in another kiss as I drown in the sensation, and I do my best to concentrate on him as well.

My hand glides along the hot and solid length of his cock, rolling his foreskin along his shaft as my thumb swipes over the sticky wetness at his tip. He groans against my lips and thrusts into my grasp. Then he slides his fingers into me, not giving me any time to recover before he withdraws and plunges back in, drawing his strokes in long lengths that hit my clit with each pass and tear sharp, guttural cries from my throat.

Pleasure coils inside me as our foreheads press together. We exchange moans and gasping breaths, the only noise in the room aside from the rain and the slick sound of his fingers fucking into my cunt.

But even that stops too soon, as Mason withdraws from me with a departing flick that makes me twitch and groan.

He slides his fingers into his mouth as he holds my gaze, sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out with a deliberate pop.

Then he wraps his hand around the crotch of my underwear and yanks them down my thighs.

I barely have time to kick myself free of them before he rolls me into his lap between his legs. My shirt soon follows, as he sits up to tear it off me and toss it somewhere into the darkness. I shift my legs to curl around behind him and he's already kissing me again, pulling me against him. I taste myself on his tongue as it rolls against mine, as we roll against each other, his hands clutching my hips and my fingers curling into his hair and the sweet, aching grind of his shaft rubbing against my cunt between us.

But it's not enough.

I lift my hips up and his hand is already wrapped around the base of his cock, steadying it for me. Holding his gaze, I slide myself against the tip a few times, watching the anticipation build in his expression.

Then I sink down onto him.

We both groan loudly. And he groans even louder as I wiggle my hips back and forth to get as much of him inside of me as possible.

Grinning briefly, I wrap my arms around him as we begin to move again.

Mason swipes my hair away from my neck and buries his face there, kissing greedily while his hands curl around my ass and squeeze. Heat begins to build between us, slowly and deeply, as we rock together. Sweat prickles across our skin where we touch, a few beads trickling down between the press and roll of our stomachs. I push my face into the soft curtain of his hair and breathe, inhaling his scent, until his teeth graze that spot on my neck and tear a gasp from my throat.

My head falls back and my hand follows.

I fumble behind myself to brace my weight on my arm, leaning away from him slightly until I find that sweet angle where pleasure surges and drags in a loop with every thrust. My eyes fall shut, breathy moans escaping me as I drive myself against him and begin rubbing my clit with slickened fingers. He curls his hands around my hips in encouragement, snarling his own urgent groans while he rolls his hips in time with mine.

My hair sways against my back, and I lose myself in a haze of sensation, in our moans, in how good he feels, how much he fills me, the heat of him between my legs, the aching throb, the spiraling build of pleasure against every right spot—

A breathy, desperate, needy growl cuts through all of it, something I've never heard before.

Something I briefly mistake for my own.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart.”

My eyes snap open to see Mason staring at me intently with dark eyes, dark waves of hair framing his face.

And his fangs fully bared.

My heart catches for a moment—and his eyes widen a little in surprise.

Then all I feel is an electric and overwhelming thrill surge through my entire body.

His eyes widen even further.

Even so, our rhythm barely stutters. I fall into it again, my eyes shutting as my head falls back too.

Another growl escapes him, softer this time, but still just as breathlessly needy. Then his hands slide up my back as he pulls me closer.

“C'mere.”

Mason's arm cradles my lower back as he holds me tightly against him. His hand curls behind my neck and my breasts crush against his chest hair as we move. He shifts us and his hips slightly, until everything aligns once more to hit all the right spots. I sigh deeply as he does, moaning and clutching him hard while we rock back and forth towards the edge.

His movements become more intense and directed to guide us there. His fingers tangle in my hair and he buries his face into my neck, kissing along my throat as our breathing become more urgent. I tilt my head and angle myself into his lips and his tongue and his growling moans.

And into the tips of his fangs that graze across my skin and jolt me straight over—

A familiar tension coils in my throat and belly.

“Fuck, Mason—”

And bursts into pleasure.

I cry out and arch into it, into him, clenching tightly as it pulses through me in waves. With a few harder thrusts, he shudders against me quickly after, his own orgasm taking him with a loud groan. He presses his face into my neck and breathes heavily, so much that I almost miss the quiet and ragged whisper that escapes his lips.

“Alex…”

I don't know why, but… even in the haze of climax, something about the way he says my name catches in my throat and makes my chest ache.

My brow furrows and I hug him tighter, pressing my own kisses into his neck.

We stay wrapped in the afterglow for a long moment, our heartbeats thundering together, both of us unmoving except for the rise and fall of our chests and the late twitches of pleasure. A pleasant buzz fills my body, making my limbs tremble slightly. I relax into it, my eyes slowly falling shut, until he shifts to press his forehead against mine.

He stares at me for a long moment, a lazy smile gracing his lips and nothing but contentment in those beautiful grey eyes.

Then he smirks.

“If I knew you'd like the fangs so much, sweetheart, I would've brought them out a lot sooner.”

Heat immediately flushes across my cheeks. His smirk widens, revealing the smallest hint of pointed canines.

Despite my blush, I roll my eyes and try to scoff, but a smile tugs at my lips and a laugh comes out instead. He grins too, but his eyes soon flutter shut, and it's only when a breathy little groan escapes him as well do I remember that he's actually still inside of me.

So, of course, I clench around his cock slightly for effect.

He inhales sharply, but it quickly drags into a chuckle and a broad smile. His eyes shine brightly as he moves in to bite my neck, growling as he teases his teeth against my skin. Chills prickle across my flesh and a pleasant shiver ripples down my spine. I laugh again, then hook my chin over his shoulder, smiling as I nestle against him.

My eyes fall shut, and a quiet swell of happiness rolls through me as I savor the moment. The rain falling outside, the cool night air brushing over us, the feel of him clutching me tighter as he sighs and presses a long kiss to my neck.

I sigh too, heavy with comfort and contentment, reluctant to move. Even to brush away the strand of hair tickling the side of my face from the breeze.

I absently blow at it, knowing it won't do much.

Mason reaches up to tuck it behind my ear.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die

TITLE: Many More To Die

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: For over a thousand years, necromancy has been forbidden in the Kingdoms, the Necromata--its practitioners--feared, reviled, and punished for a power they never asked to wield. Those Necromata who are not killed in the cradle are taken from their families, stripped of their Name--the core of identity and memory--and imprisoned for the rest of their lives.

Logan was twelve when he entered the palace dungeons. Prince Roman was fourteen when he witnessed the young necromancer being brutalized, imprisoned, and left to suffer.

Roman only wanted to offer the other boy comfort, and perhaps a scrap of dignity. He didn't realize his kindness would follow both of them into adulthood--or that Logan would one day become the only person in all the realms that Roman would be able to trust with his life, his heart, and his very soul.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more...hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1023, A.A.

Necromata.

Sitting in the middle of his cell, twelve year old Logan...Logan choked on tears as his shoulder screamed, his bones ached, and the flickering lights of his cell let his imagination run wild with all manner of monsters and omens of doom lurking within every shadow.

He knew he was lucky—many necromancers were caught in the cradle and killed. Very few survived as long as he had. He could be grateful to his family for that much, that he'd lived long enough to escape a death sentence.

He did have a family. He knew that much—remembered that much. Everything else, they had taken before throwing him into his cell. The prison mage's hand was still a ghost of cold fire against his forehead, worms of icy coal burning through his brain to wipe out every trace of the things that would make him what he was, allow him to be more safely contained.

The name spoken with fear and loathing was all that he had left.

Necromata. The legions of the Animator...the necromancers.

“Psst!”

The hiss echoed off the stone in the corridor, made his heart leap into his chest as he looked around for the source of it.

“Psst! Over here!”

Logan tried to scramble back from the door of his cell, and screamed when he forgot about his dislocated shoulder, collapsing as it gave way under his weight.

“No, don't—please, it's okay. I don't want to hurt you.”

Blinking, Logan squinted into the low light beyond the torches that barely lit his new home. Something bright green flickered there, an outline visible that was vaguely person-shaped.

“Who...who are you?” he asked, curling his injured arm as close to his body as he could so he wouldn't forget again as he got to his feet.

“I...I'm not supposed to say.”

Logan shuffled a little closer to the bars of his cell. “Then how do I know you don't want to hurt me?”

“The prison mage took your Name—you won't understand if I tell you. Just...”

The person-shape on the other side of the bars moved forward, an arm protruding through to set a bowl on the dirt floor of Logan's cell. Inside there was water, and sitting across the rim was a heavy piece of leather.

“I saw what the guard did when you came in. Your shoulder...it happened to me once when I snuck out to hunt for the Lazari.”

“The Lazari don't exist.” Logan replied, reaching up with his good hand to try and wipe some of the tears and snot off his face. “They're a fairy tale, like the Animata.”

“How do you know?”

Logan opened his mouth...then closed it after long moments.

“I...I don't know.” he admitted. “I must have lost it when the prison mage took my Name.”

“Then you could be wrong.” the person-shape insisted, those emerald flecks in the near shadow sparkling with determination. “I'll find a Lazari one day. Just you wait.”

“What does that have to do with my dislocated shoulder?”

“Oh! Sorry—uhm, I did it once. When I snuck out, I fell from a tree and mine popped out. My brother showed me how to use the bars on our window to pop it back in! I threw up, though—and he made me bite a belt so I wouldn't scream.”

The hand appeared between the bars again, nudging the bowl and the leather strap forward a little further.

“I can tell you how to do it.”

Logan shuffled forward a couple more steps, then shifted to kneel in front of the bowl of water.

“I...might know.” He replied, staring at the bowl for a long moment before he peered back into the dark, into the green spark that was his benefactor's eyes. “Thank you.”

The person-shape said nothing for a long moment...

“Berry.”

“What?”

“Berry! The guards called you Logan, right? They took your Name—maybe Berry can be your new one.”

Before Logan could comment, the person-shape grew less distinct, and the flicker of green was gone with the clatter of footsteps scurrying away into the dark.

It was a silly idea—a Name taken could not be restored so easily. Still, the word rattled around in his head along with the one that made his bones ache again.

Necromata. Berry. Necromata. Berry. Berry.

Logan Berry.

Something stirred in the middle of Logan's mind, in his marrow—in the place that magic had scoured out and rubbed raw within the pathways of his brain. Something stirred, settled...

Something slid into place, and all of a sudden the shadows were far less frightening.

Popping his shoulder back into the socket hurt far more than dislocating it had—and yet while he'd sobbed his soul out after being injured, after being robbed of all that made him a person, he shed not a single tear as he put the leather between his teeth, wrenched his joint back into place, and used the fresh water to clean up after he'd emptied his stomach into the corner of his cell.

He even managed to sleep on his pallet of straw, and dreamed of green embers in the dark, drifting into the shadows in his cell and transforming every monster into a friend.

**********

1033, A.A.

“I had the dream again.”

“A kinky one?”

“Sweet leaping gods, Remus!”

The high, strident cackle of his twin brother echoed through Prince Roman's bedchamber, making him wonder yet again why he thought he could talk to the crazy idiot about anything remotely meaningful. Yes, Remus was trustworthy—he gave Roman all manner of hell for the secrets he shared, but had suffered his fair share of indignities to keep his mouth shut—but sometimes he wondered if it was worth the teasing and the laughter to have such a steadfast confidant.

Remus had secrets of his own, after all—the numerous Anima that shared his bed, for one. Like Roman, Remus was fascinated by the Necromata, the true necromancers that all citizens of the Kingdoms were taught to hate and fear. The Anima were little more than pretenders, mages of other disciplines that toyed with the death magic that had been outlawed for over a thousand years.

Still, they had a lot to teach—and made good company, from the way Remus spoke of his dalliances.

“Oh, I'm just yanking your chain, big brother!” Remus assured him, crossing over to drape himself over Roman's back, chin settling on Roman's shoulder to read what his twin was writing as he hunched over his desk. “C'mon now—tell me about the dream, and I'll tell you about the Necromata I fucked last night.”

Roman straightened abruptly at that, unceremoniously sending Remus sprawling to the floor. Turning his chair, he gaped down at his brother and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You did not sleep with a real necromancer, you lying sack of horse dung!” he hissed. “Why would you even say that in the palace of all places?!?”

“Because the sex was unbelievably good?” Remus offered, shrugging from his place on the floor, flat on his back. “Believe me, Ro Bro, a guy that can't actually feel human contact can keep it up for a nice, long, slow roll in the hay. It's pretty remarkable!”

Roman just huffed, standing from his seat—and promptly sinking to the floor to sprawl out right beside Remus.

“You're lying.” he said simply.

Remus was quiet a long time...then sighed.

“Of course I am. He was just another Animata.”

“Anima. The Animata are a myth, like the Lazari.”

“Since when did you turn into such a brainiac, Roro? We both know I've always been the smart one.”

Roman rolled his eyes with a grin, stretching his leg to kick Remus's ankle—but the truth of the matter was, Remus was right. Between the pair of them, Remus was smarter by leaps and bounds. He was studying the collegiate sciences when he was seventeen, and began his magic training before he'd even reached puberty. The fact that the only part of the sciences he enjoyed were anatomy and mortuary study were entirely besides the point, as was the fact that Remus wasn't actually capable of using magic at all.

He was, as their father lovingly put it, a rogue genius: in possession of an intellect so massive that the rules couldn't restrain him. He either knew too well how to circumnavigate them, or he simply didn't care enough to bother and did what he wanted—what he thought was right, no matter the consequence.

Roman might have been the elder of the twins—by one hour, eleven o'clock of one night where Remus came at midnight the next morning—but he aspired, every single day, to be the maverick that Remus was. He simply lacked the brains...and the courage.

Which was why today, it was Roman their father would be naming as his successor, and not Remus. Roman would be king, would rule by the law and the will of the gods, and Remus would...get to be Remus for the rest of his life, a crown prince without a care in the world.

“Tell me about the dream, Roro.”

Remus's voice was gentle this time, his fingers walking their way along Roman's arm until he could find his hand and weave it into his own.

Roman sighed, staring up at the mural on the ceiling of his bedchamber—a beautifully wrought depiction of the Fall of Death, the final battle between the Animator, the first of the Necromata, and their ancestor, King Thomas Andres, that had saved the Kingdoms over a thousand years ago.

“He was in it.”

“The boy from the dungeons?”

Roman nodded. He could feel Remus watching him...

Just like he could feel the boy from the dungeons watching him every time he had the dream... ********** “He was here again.”

“Jumpin' Jiminy, Lo—are you sure?”

Logan nodded, mostly to himself. Patton couldn't see him, not from the bathtub behind the partition that separated it from the rest of the room, but it hardly mattered—after eight years as cell mates, the two of them had become as close as brothers, as close as twins according to some of the guards that had met the king's identical twin sons.

They had grown so naturally into the relationship, it made Logan wonder sometimes if he'd had a brother before his Name had been taken.

Well...it made him wonder in the early days, at any rate. Logan had stopped wondering many years ago.

Suffice to say, Patton didn't need to see him nod to know that Logan had.

“Well? What'd he do?”

Logan let his mind wander back to the night before—the dream space that he so often occupied, the boy that had come to him in the dark ten years before with a bowl of water, a leather strap, and a name.

The boy he'd come to think of as the Green Man, with those eyes that the dark couldn't fully hide.

“The same thing he always does.” Logan managed to reply, setting down the pen he'd been using in favor of resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers to press against his lips. Among those Necromata imprisoned in the palace dungeons, Logan was quite fortunate: he was allowed a cell mate, access to books and writing implements, even a small window sill garden consisting of plants that couldn't be used for magical purposes.

He was very lucky. Ten years of good behavior had given him an incredible amount of leeway and granted him creature comforts like access to regular bathing privileges. The guards even referred to him by his chosen name.

He was, for all intents and purposes, treated like he was truly human. A prisoner, always, but one the guards and prison mages shared a basic blood connection to, unlike the other Necromata.

“...Lo?...Logan!”

Shaking himself, Logan cleared his throat and tried to beat back the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks, having been caught wool gathering.

“Apologies, I didn't catch that.” he called over his shoulder.

“I said, did he say anything this time?”

Logan shook his head, knowing once again that his actions would be understood rather than seen. Patton asked the same thing every time Logan mentioned the visits, and every time it was the same.

If Patton really knew the content of the Green Man's visitations...

Pressing his fingertips to his mouth again, Logan shut his eyes and let himself remember.

The visits were always in a dream space—for years, before the visitations became more regular, Logan had assumed the Green Man was a guard's son, or the child of some member of the palace staff. Later, when the Green Man came to Logan in his sleep, he figured he was the son of a prison or court mage—who else could manage to dream walk in the mind of even a crippled necromancer like him?

Then again...Logan was different from many prisoners like himself.

In the dream, Logan still cannot see his face. Like those ephemeral dreams from his first few nights in the dungeons, he's little more than shadows with burning points of light the color of fresh shoots just springing from the soil. Over the years, he's become more distinct, but still nothing Logan can give any real definition.

He is a man made of darkness, his eyes reflecting what spark of magic lives within him. They never speak to each other—Logan never dares, secretly apprehensive that disturbing the quiet will somehow end this irregular communion they share.

All the Green Man does is extend a hand, the only part of him Logan can truly see. What was once small and slim fingered has changed over the years into a large hand, broad but lean, tendons standing out below each knuckle and tanned by exposure to the sun. Every time, he reaches out, and every time, Logan takes his hand and just...holds on.

In the dream space, Logan can feel his touch. It's likely a projection, something imagined, but there's strength and warmth in that hand—the pressure of fingers meshing with his own, the heat of palm sealed to palm. There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...

The Green Man never lets him. Gradually, the feeling passes, and Logan clings until the feeling returns, crashing over him and sliding back in waves beating the shore of his nervous system.

Logan is always the first to let go. The Green Man makes sure of it—and then he leaves.

“Are you okay, kiddo?”

Logan looked up sharply, twisting to see Patton over his shoulder. His mop of tawny curls is swept back from his face, still dark and wet from his bath, the chill of the cell raising gooseflesh on his bare torso.

He has one hand holding the towel around his waist, and the other resting on Logan's shoulder.

The pressure is barely there, that buzzing awareness of contact easily missed if not expected.

Patton hastily lifts his hand, face screwed up in silent apology. Logan dislikes physical contact, even if he cannot feel it—just like any of the Necromata, so divorced from the living, human populous that they cannot even connect to them through touch.

“Didn't mean to spook you, Lo. Just...you're real quiet. Usually, you got more to say after a visit from You Know Who.”

Logan nodded, then made a point of reaching out to squeeze Patton's hand briefly before letting it go just as quickly.

“Apologies. I suppose I'm just...distracted by today.”

“Yeah—hey, you think the prince'll come down here?” Patton asked hopefully, drawing back to go and find some clothes. “I mean, if he's gonna learn to be king after the ceremony...”

Logan let Patton continue to chatter about the potential for this new ruler to somehow see their plight, somehow be their salvation. He let the words, the hope, wash over him without making contact.

Patton could have hope, because he had no Name. No history, no memory, no past and therefore no future. He was a blank slate, for all intents and purposes, unable to access the power of the Necromata with no life of his own to bind it to.

Unlike Logan. Logan, who no longer wondered if he'd had a brother in his family.

Logan, who could share a dream space, something only mages were capable of.

Logan, who had been given a new name by his benefactor so many years ago, a name that others used daily.

Logan Berry, who even now could feel the essence of every rat behind the dungeon walls, every guard on patrol, every prisoner languishing beneath the lowest floors of the palace...and every noble, every royal, every peasant up above.

Logan Berry, who could not remember his family, but could remember that he once had a brother.

Because, despite the fact that a Name taken could not be restored so easily, Logan had taken a name freely given and made it his own.

A Name, freely given. A life, restored.

Logan could not have hope, because he had the power of the Necromata at his fingertips—and it was only a matter of time before good behavior would no longer be enough to earn him the leeway to stay alive.

[galaxywhump]

29 Day Whump Challenge - Day 21

[Masterlist]

[Challenge]

Prompt: Whipped

So uh. As much as I hate saying things like this about a story, because I consider it a self-fulfilling prophecy, this one just. kinda sucks :v But hey, at least it’s another day of the challenge done.

cw: whipping, filmed whump, forced partial nudity (not sure if it counts but. just in case.), creepy/intimate whumper, threats of noncon, humiliation, modern slavery, blood, restraints, strangulation.

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between

EDIT: I ended up pasting the text from docs instead of word, so all formatting was gone (and I can’t live without my italics). Now it’s fixed, but gosh, this part really didn’t want to cooperate.

~~~

“Hey, you forgot the fu-”

He’s pinned to the wall by the throat, too shocked to even shout or fight back as the hand holding him starts to tighten.

“No!”, he chokes out, clawing at it uselessly, and the grip settles right before he starts to actually suffocate, just enough to make breathing a struggle. Cold metal closes on his right wrist and it’s pulled sharply, connected to the left and his struggles grow more frantic.

So it really is happening, the nightmare scenario becoming reality, started with the simple difference that he wasn’t given a shirt, and his usual sweatpants were replaced with loose shorts, and it took ten minutes of crying in the bathroom before he felt ready to get out of there and try to act tough.

And now it’s happening, and he’s pinned to the wall and cuffed, and he’s never been more exposed in front of Daniel and it’s really happening.

“No”, he whimpers and the pressure on his throat is suddenly released, leaving him heaving desperately. There’s a tug on the handcuffs and he stumbles forward, and Daniel is silent, so terribly silent.

Not this. Anything but this.

He expects to be dragged straight to the bedroom, but when they step into the living room, his heart threatens to crush his ribs.

There’s a goddamn filming setup here with two tripods with cameras on them, and three lamps lighting a small area - the set proper - with the familiar chain and pulley system, and some blue tarp spread on the floor.

“Wait…” He’s pushed onto the tarp before he can finish, not that there’s any coherent thought in his panicked mind; Daniel forces him to kneel in the center, still wordlessly, and attaches the chain. “No, wait-”

The chain is pulled, just a little bit, so that his arms are raised above his head, but he’s still kneeling, facing one of the cameras, with the other one pointed at an angle at his back..

The creep is going to film this.

The creep crouches in front of him and flashes him a dark smile before cupping Wren’s face in his hands, chuckling at the way he shrinks away from the touch.

“Please”, Wren says on the verge of tears. “Please, please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”, Daniel mutters, raising one brow, and eyes his half-naked captive up. “Ah. I see. No, it’s not what you’re thinking, kid.”

The relief Wren feels is almost painful, the claws of terror jabbed into his skin now torn out forcefully, and he’s close to forgetting about this situation, about being chained up on a film set.

“So why…”

“Berkeley wants an update, and I want to hear you scream.” Daniel lets go of him and gets up to adjust the camera angle before disappearing somewhere behind him; Wren strains his neck to see what’s going on, panic setting right back in. “You seem to be getting quite comfortable here, and I like it, but at the same time I want you to know your place.”

“I know my place”, Wren rushes to reply. “I do.”

“Great! So you know that you need to follow orders, for example. Here’s some: just look straight into the camera, look pretty and do whatever I tell you to. Got it?”

“But what are you-” His question is cut short as Daniel appears back in his field of vision, holding a black whip. “Oooh no. No.”

“No? You don’t like it?”, Daniel laughs, swinging it nonchalantly from side to side. “I do. It’s timeless.”

“But I-”

There’s a crack and Wren yelps, but the whip only hits the tarp, way too close for his liking.

“I definitely like it a lot.” Daniel points the whip at Wren’s face and grins at his expression of pure terror. “It was my favorite tool when dealing with new cargo I was asked to break, actually. And now I can finally use it on you.”

“But-” He flinches when the whip is cracked again.

“Ah-ah. No talking unless I tell you to.”

“You’ll have to fucking muzzle me then”, Wren spits and the next second Daniel closes the distance between and backhands him in the face hard enough for his head to snap to the side; it’s quickly forced straight with a rough grip on his chin.

“Remember what I said, sweetheart? I want to hear you scream. And talk, but only when I specifically tell you to.”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!” Another slap, this time drawing a choked yelp from Wren, and Daniel cups his face in his hands once again, gently stroking his jaw with his thumbs.

“Sweetheart? Yes”, he whispers, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Fucking? Not yet, anyway.”

Wren jerks his head back violently, his eyes widening, the facade of fury gone from his face in an instant; all he can hear is the beating of his own heart, and it’s beating fast, too fast; when Daniel lets go of his face and gets up, he thinks he might just pass out right here and now, black spots starting to appear before his eyes.

A cracking sound followed by his bare back flaring up in pain is enough to sober him up, and he cries out in shock, instinctively hunching his back, lowering his chest as much as the chain allows him to.

“Eyes on the camera.”

Crack.

It’s all too sudden, and he cries out once more, and it’s all wrong, he couldn’t prepare, he’s being filmed.

Crack.

“I said: eyes on the camera.”

He fights to lift his head and fix his eyes on the eye of the camera; tears are already trickling down his face.

He didn’t want to give Daniel and Berkeley the satisfaction of seeing him cry and hearing him scream, but he has already failed. Daniel’s comment, that one threat that he had been dreading above anything else, was enough to make him so much more vulnerable.

Another hit, another thin line of pure fire crossing his back, another scream.

“That’s better. And don’t worry, I won’t mess up the brand.”

Crack.

He sees his reflection in the camera, his grimace of pain, his teary eyes.

“If we weren’t both dead men I’d love to send this recording to someone”, Daniel’s voice is completely calm, monotone. “Maybe your squad. Wonder what they’d say if they saw you like this.”

Crack.

“No”, Wren chokes out, a sob forming in his throat, and he lets it out, his back on fire.

“I doubt they’d say ‘no’”, Daniel laughs. “I think they’d call you pathetic. Weak. You’re not their leader anymore. You’re just a wretched piece of shit.”

A failure, an inner voice suggests, helpful as ever, and Wren sobs again; his head drops involuntarily and he forces himself to lift it up again. He’s not fast enough and the whip falls on his back once more, a punishment.

“At least you’re learning.”

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Screaming, screaming, screaming.

“It’s been a while since I saw you covered in blood. It suits you.”

Crack.

“Okay, now you’re going to answer a few questions, got it?”

He’s panting, staring into the camera, focusing on his reflection, his vision more and more blurred with each passing second. His next scream is almost animalistic as the whip falls on his back again with what feels like the most force yet.

“Got it?”

“Got it!”, he yells.

“Your name and title?”

He has to take a couple of deep breaths and for a moment he forgets, because all he is right now is in pain.

“Lieute-”

Crack.

“Full title.”

“Fucking-”, he pants and there’s another hit which causes his back to arch, the welts exploding with a whole new kind of agony. “First lieutenant Wren Rackham!”, he screams and wonders how it’s even possible for him to still have some tears left.

“What are you?”

“What-”

Crack.

“What are you right now? Why are you here?”

His mind is racing.

“I’ve been kidna-” Crack. “I’m a slave! I’m a fucking slave!”

Crack.

He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die.

“Language, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Last question: who do you belong to? Say it loud and clear.”

“Daniel Rooney.” His voice breaks and he sees in the eye of the camera that his lip is quivering.

They’d say I’m pathetic.

Crack.

“Full sentences”

He’s sobbing, he’s falling, his entire body is on fire.

“I belong to Daniel Rooney”, he mutters.

Crack.

“Loud and clear, idiot.”

“I belong to Daniel Rooney!”

He closes his eyes, too exhausted to keep them open anymore, and waits for another crack of the whip, another spot exploding with pain.

“Well done, kiddo.”

There are footsteps as Daniel turns the cameras off and releases the chain, the only thing supporting Wren’s body. He collapses onto the floor and screams again, the bloody mess that is his back flaring up with the shift in position. He takes a deep, shaky breath, on the verge of mercifully passing out when he hears and feels Daniel stand right over him.

“This might hurt a little.”

“No…”, Wren chokes out, and in the next second he yowls in agony when some kind of disinfectant is poured on the wounds, aggravating the pain, making it even more unbearable than it was during the whipping itself, and then a new kind of pain joins in when Daniel leans over him and whispers:

“You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart.”

Next

[ms31x129]

@xfpornbattle @muldermakesmehorny @cultureisdarkbeer @season4mulder @peacenik0  @today-in-fic @sarie-fairy @kikocrystalball @improlificinsarcasm @baronessblixen @therobbinsnest @hurricanescully

#61 Somehow Mulder has to pretend to go down on Scully. He teases her until neither of them can take it anymore.

Chapter 1: AO3 HERE... Or Tumblr HERE.

Chapter 2: AO3 HERE.

Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play - Chapter 2

The music of Scully’s sighs and moans a melody he thought he’d never hear. Mulder was abruptly brought out of his almost hypnotic state when the booming voice echoed all around the chamber.

"Hey Supercock leave them titties alone now! My wife wants to give the next instructions... Don't you my pet."

“No Honey,  you’re doing sooo splendidly - you know I love when you’re soooo forceful … I’ll …. Ooooo…. I’ll wait… mmm…”

“Turned on are you Darling? Is your snatch getting wet? How about Red, Supercock? Take a sniff, do you smell any of that pussy ambrosia yet? I think it’s time to find out. Head south like a good chap. Make her scream for you.”

How was he going to manage this? Especially when it sounded like a good idea to him. “Trust me,” Mulder mumbled against her skin, goose flesh rising in the wake of his lips, hands following, as they traveled in a meandering path down to her hip. Her upper thigh. 

Scully’s breathing was labored and despite her attempts more sighs and moans escaped her. She tried biting her lip, but it turned into nibbling. She tried covering her eyes with the back of her hand, but the effects of Mulder’s lips on her skin just made her hyper-sensitive.

Did she look like she was swooning? 

Her small giggle turned into a moan when a vision of her in an antebellum ball gown invaded her consciousness. Mulder a snowy white cravatt at his neck. Kissing her, walking her backwards. One of her hands steadying her suddenly wobbly body on the chaise arm.

Mulder kneeling, reaching under her voluminous skirt, his fingertips walking up her legs until the crinoline she had on dropped to the floor. His eyes held hers the entire time and she could feel those hands now cupping her buttocks, squeezing. He stood grabbed her leg in one fluid motion and hooked it over his hip. Grinding into her, tipping her back. 

Back… Back onto that chaise.

It was indecent, wanton, and she reveled in it... More… more…

Body sprawled across the chaise, legs apart, the skirt quickly tossed up and over her head. She felt everything. Saw nothing - but diffuse light penetrating the fabric of her dress. Only felt his head as it moved down, travelling over her stomach and further. Her hyper-sensitive skin reading every feature on his face like braille.

Mulder reaches his tongue inside her to taste the unholiest of holy’s, his nose lines up perfectly with her clit. The anticipated touch and then the reality force her to lift her hips and grip the cushions. Her neck elongates as she gasps for breath, her nose incapable of handling her necessity for oxygen. Skin too hot not to wriggle as the flames scorch up inside her.

“Mulder,” she begged as pleasure coiled and her insides flexed around his tongue. It was a plea, one of fear to withstand, and another of need for release. 

“Mulder,” she cried before plunging into the abyss. The pleasure so severe her nerve endings reverberated in unison with waves of tension and sparks swarming her body - behind her eyelids basking in his light.

“Hey Red! Don’t keep the man waiting spread your legs ... let him get to that pussy!”

And just like that the fantasy faded… but not the tingles running through Scully’s body.

Mulder straddled the end of the chaise. Pulled her quivering legs apart - bent one and nipped the inside of her knee. His cock was hard and pressed painfully against the denim of his jeans. He envisioned the permanent button marks he’d find imprinted there later today.

“Oooohhhh Huu-nnnyyy this is the best birthday gift you have ever given me… I wish I had your cock in me right now.”

“I do too Sara, darling… I feel I’m ‘bout to spurt in my pants like the randy lad I once was…”

The couple’s conversation faded. 

Unable to stop herself, Scully’s hands landed on Mulder’s head, her fingers combed through his hair - fingernails teasingly scratching against his scalp. Mulder groaned, his breath invisible, but hot and humid against her inner thighs. His hands - slightly rough - roved from outer leg to inner, thumbs grazed the tender skin in the crease so close to the fleshy lips of her labia.

She was so aroused - had this ever happened before? Without, kissing, mutual caressing - being naked - skin to skin? She was on assignment. This was work. How in the hell could she be enjoying this? Where had that fantasy come from?

Oh my God! …  He wouldn’t, would he? … Was he ‘sniffing’ her? 

Scully felt a wet hot pressure in a slow upward pass over the crotch of her panties, before Mulder turned his face and nipped her inner thigh, mumbled, “Scully...” All her focus centered on her throbbing clit.

“Okay Supercock enough pussy pie. Fuck her. We want to hear her moan.”

“Oooh hunny tell him to take those jeans off. I want to see the outline of that cock.”

“You heard my wife Supercock. Take out that dick and fuck her. Your balls have got to be about ready to bust! We could see you grinding away.”

Scully could see Mulder was struggling. “It’s okay,” she whispered. A nod of acknowledgement in Scully's  direction and he got onto his knees. Perfect silhouette position accomplished he unbuttoned and pushed his jeans over his hips. Scully gasped his erection long and thick rising unhindered by confining denim and buttons.

“He does have an enormous cock doesn’t he hunny.”

“He does at that my pet. Just yank the crotch of those panties to the side or rip them off. Get moving Supercock and fuck her till she can’t walk tommorrow.”

“I can’t do this,” Mulder hissed faintly, then, “Bend your leg, Scully.” Bending both her legs, she watched as a drop of precum appeared on the tip of his penis. He groaned when Scully unconsciously licked her lips. In an almost magical move he’d tucked his erection back in his jeans and his hips now rested in the cradle formed by her bent knees. The grunt Scully emitted wasn’t an act - her arms clutched at Mulder’s back when he set up a slow grind.

Hooking her ankles around his waist she reciprocated raising her own hips, greedily meeting Mulder’s angle and downward thrust. The non-direct friction against her clit was sublime. Mulder dropped his head beside hers. One hand grabbed above her ass on an upstroke and picked up the pace.

She was so close. Mulder stiffened and groaned it was deep and gutterel. His hot breath stirred her own sweat soaked hair behind her ear and she felt the pulse of the climax he’d just had. Her own body was still thrumming, though - unfulfilled - she gently massaged the tension from his neck.

Was he embarrassed?

“Agents Mulder? Scully?”

They both froze. Complete awareness flooded both of them. They had been so focused on one another - everything else had faded away. Now they could hear the couple talking. The woman was sniffing and the husband soothed her. They sounded normal not at all like the brash couple giving sexual orders moments ago.

Agent Barber stuck his head in the chamber. “Agents? We caught the perp followed him right from here, it was the attendant. We knew it was an inside job.” Mulder sat hunched over with elbows on his knees and Scully was beside him.  “We appreciate your assistance with this case. We’ll need your notes as soon as possible.”

Mulder and Scully both nodded and Agent Barber left the room. The shadow play lights went out and they both blinked, their eyes adjusting to the sudden change.

They were alone. One thought in both of their heads. Lips met in a clash of wills, give and take. Mulder pulled away first, Scully’s lips still pursed and searching for his. Her head spun as she found herself flat on her back, legs spread, panties torn off and Mulder’s tongue circling her clit furiously.

“Mul… de …” The things coming out of her mouth weren’t making any sense. Especially when he got on his knees and gripped her ass - she was almost vertical most of her weight on her upper back - and he pulled her firmly against his face. His lips fastened on her swollen clit and with a few tugs and tiny graze of his teeth she was gone. She felt the flat of his tongue not moving just resting against her pink flesh as the spasms continued. A few seconds he gently licked her, humming his enjoyment before he lowered her body to the chaise and crawled up to share the taste of her on his lips.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, Scully… the teasing. I couldn’t take it anymore and I don’t think you could either.”

“No… I couldn’t… We have to go.”

“Yes, but not before … another kiss.” 

“Okay,” Scully smiles softly as their lips meet again in a searching kiss.

The End ... 

....Or read on for the Epilogue I wrote - pick your ending....

Mulder’s Apartment

Ugh, the thought of peeling his still damp jeans off, was the first thought in his mind after entering his apartment. It felt like a gallon of fluid had pumped out of his cock, he'd been so primed. And then Scully. Just the thought had him hard in seconds. He sat on his couch, his cock was in his hand moments later.

Replaying everything in his mind he pumped slowly. There was a knock on his door and then the sound of a key he didn’t notice too entranced with the images looping repeatedly within his memory. His eyes were closed and he heard.

“Move your hands Mulder.” Obeying the command he released the grip on his cock. “Open your eyes Mulder.”

Is he dreaming? Scully raised her skirt and placed first one knee and then the other, kneeling on his couch she straddled his legs. Her hands were soft and cool touching him, making him harder. She held him in position and sank down… down.. all the way…

His hands went to her hips, guiding her as she rode him. “Scully…don’t tease. I can’t take it.”

“I don’t know...oh, Mulder… your cock - your - Supercock … feels soooo good.” Scully laughed at Mulder’s expression, before he returned the smile. “I’ll show you Supercock - Red - he has some tricks.”

Mulder grabbed Scully’s ass and stood, she gave a squeal that turned into multiple and mutual groans as he carried her into his bedroom. “Are you taking me to your bed?" Scully gasped when Mulder stopped and braced her against the wall, thrusting several times. "Y, y yeeesss," he moaned out. Finally they were on the bed, Mulder braced above her, she unwound her arms and raised them high over her head in a sultry stretch.

"Show me what you got! Supercock.”

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Love More

Link to song: Love More by Sharon Von Etten

Synopsis: Feyre is stuck.

TW: Dark thoughts, mentions of abuse.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 13: Love More

Locked me in.

He locked me in.

I could still hear his footsteps in the hallway meandering towards the elevator.

“Tamlin!” I yelled, voice cracking beneath the weight of the immensity of what he'd done. Outside, beyond the door which I was pressed upon, the chime of the elevator sounded. More footsteps, another chime.

Then silence.

Trapped.

I was—

The breath escaped my lungs as I stared back at the four corners of the office. Just like in that car, where I'd been stuck for hours amidst the blood, shattered glass and concrete—

A scream tore from me. My hands, peppered with cuts from the night before, reached for the closet door handle. No matter which way or the other I turned it, it remained stubbornly shut, unwilling to submit to my insane efforts. That doesn't mean I stopped trying.

Fingernails, frail and brittle, cracked beneath the metal. Blood was trickling down my hands from the torn cuts, just like the ones on my thighs—

He did this to me. He did this to me.

I stood up, unwilling to admit defeat, unwilling to believe that my fate had been sealed in an executive floor's janitorial closet. With all the force and adrenaline in me, I slammed myself against the wooden door. After a few fruitless tries, I gave up and finally looked to my chair, picked it up, struggling for a few moments with its awkward weight, then threw it against the door.

It didn't budge. Not a single bit.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I was trapped.

His pet. His supposed obedient wife, forced to keep quiet. Stay in line.

I'd done everything for him. My hands had bled more times than I could count in the name of our love. But here I still was, fighting tooth and nail for everything I was.

Which wasn't much, because he'd diminished me to nothing.

He made sure that I was nothing without him.

I shook with the burden of the realization. Like an earth quake, my fault lines trembled, and everything came crashing down.

I screamed.

I let go of everything I'd kept trapped for the last 2 years. I released myself, so wholly and completely until my voice was hoarse and my fingers were numb from clawing, banging at the door, trying to break free, hoping to any god listening to me that a miracle would occur. When I couldn't bare it anymore, I slumped against the wall, slid down until I met the cold tile floor. Something material like blocked my way, though, and through the mess and blur of tears, I looked over and saw—

My purse.

Like a starved wild animal, I lunged for it, rifling around it until my fingers wrapped around my cellphone.

My eyes closed. I sobbed for a few seconds, clutching it to my chest.

Further within one of the side pockets, a piece of paper, crumpled from being crammed against lip balm and tissues, held my only reprieve.

I punched the number as quickly as I could.

On the third ring, a gentle, familiar voice answered full of concern, “Feyre?”

“Alis,” I choked, bracing myself against the cement wall, “help. Oh God, please, please—”

“Where are you?” Her voice had no room for sympathy or pain. Only cold, calculating calm. I could hear her high heels clicking

“The executive floor. He's gone. He locked—” I choked on a sob, fresh tears streaming down my face I wiped away immediately. “He locked me in my office.”

“I’m coming right up.” Her voice was filled with urgency. Relief swept over me once I realized it wouldn’t be much longer until I was free. Until I could finally walk away from here for good.

“Stay on the phone, Feyre. Breathe. Big deep breaths.”

A breath rattled through me, shaking, but still enough to wash me with some sense of calm amidst the turbulent chaos. “Good. That’s good. Another one. Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” I let out with my exhale.

“Where? What did he do?”

“Um, my,” I hiccuped and wiped at the mucus collecting on my nose, “my head and he dragged me so my arms too—”

In the hallways, I could hear the chiming of the elevator. I sobbed with relief, and not caring that there was blood all over my hands—probably all over my face—not caring that nausea swept through me or that the room felt like it was spinning. I just needed to get out of here. I just needed to get away from him.

The line went dead. Distantly from the hallway I heard, “Feyre? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” I croaked, voice weak from sobbing, “I’m here!”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway until they were just outside the door. I kneeled before it, still unable to stand, hands clutching the bloody doorknob.

“Let me out,” I pleaded, “let me out.”

“Fuck,” I heard from outside. “No!”

“What is it?” The door made her voice distant, muffled.

Frantically, desperately she cried, “It isn’t a slide?”

“What?”

“I need a key. I don’t—” A sharp intake of breath. This time, when she spoke, I could hear her desperation creeping through. “I don’t have a fucking key!”

“No,” I moaned, sobs contorting my body once more “no, no, no you have to let me out—”

“I’m gonna call the police,” she swore and I heard her dialling from beyond. My eyes widened with panic and I could feel my stomach bottoming out.

“No. You can’t. Alis, I need to leave him. He can’t find me. If the police is involved, he’ll get out of it and he’ll find it—”

“Feyre, you’re not making sense.”

“Alis, if you care about me, you won’t call the police, because I will end up right back here. Please.”

Silence. The walls were closing in. I needed to think, I needed to—

“Rhys,” I choked out, “Call Rhys.” There was nobody else I trusted, nobody else I knew that would help me—truly help me—right now.

“What’s his number?”

I read it out to her, and Alis began frantically speaking into the phone, but at that point I couldn’t even listen anymore. There was nothing else to focus on but the tight quarters around me pressing down, the fact that the love of my life, the person I trusted more than anything could do this to me—

Outside the door I heard footsteps fading away. Panic seized me, and I cried out, “Don’t leave me!”

Alis came back and said assuringly, “It’s okay, Feyre I’ll be right back. I need to buzz them in from downstairs.”

“No, please, please don’t—” I begged, but she left.

Left, like everyone else in my life had.

Not knowing how or why, I backed myself into the far corner of the room and hunched my legs up to my chest, then covered my head with my arms. Everything hurt. I was a pulsing, throbbing organism of pain, my mind reeling with the madness threatening to consume me whole.

“Let me out,” I whispered under my breath, the only anchoring lifeline I could hold onto. “Let me out. Let me out. Let met out…”

All the while, flashes of images circulated through my head.

First meeting Tamlin out on the greens of the university. He’d run into me full force, and we nearly got into a screaming match—my friend had to haul me away from him. Little did I know he was the guest lecturer for my intro to business class, and I was sitting in the front row.

The charm in his smile when he asked for my number. That despite our first impressions, he told me he had to stop himself from staring at me the entire lecture.

All the dates, the flowers, the nights we spent together wrapped up in an embrace, wrapped up within each other. He gave me everything.

And he didn’t care that I lived on the south side. He didn’t care that it was nearly a half hour commute to each other’s places, and whenever we were at mine we never stayed for too long. He didn’t care that my bedroom could barely fit more than a single bed, or that my sisters and father were either never home or in a bitter mood.

Then the accident happened. And everything changed.

He asked me to move in with him. I said yes, because I didn’t know what else to say—I was in shock. I was devastated. A part of me died that night, stuck beneath the overturned car. But whatever else was left of me, I gave to him. I loved him. Wholly and completely.

Eventually, he also swayed me to drop out of school. I wasn’t doing well—I was on academic probation—and an art major, business minor degree wouldn’t do me much anyways, so what was the point? I could work. I could live with him, and I didn’t need to worry about money. Not like I used to. So I got the job at Hum’s. And for a while I was so happy. Until I wasn’t.

Until the dull threat of life spent in ease, comfort, without purpose loomed before me and I began to lose myself. Until I began to feel stifled within my own home, my own skin.

Until I found the box of pills. Until I fired those four rounds and bodies dropped to the floor.

Until Tamlin first put his hands on me, and siphoned the rest of my being through the very touch I thought had healed me.

And now, hunched over in the office, I mourned my life, because I knew there was nothing left after this. Nowhere else to go. I was done. Finished.

Let me out. Let me out. Let me out.

A loud crash sounded from the corridor. I didn’t even look up. I just curled further in on myself, whispering, wishing it could just be over with here and now.

Let me out. Let me out. Let me out.

Light flooded through the space, but I didn’t look up. There were voices shouting at me—I knew those voices. I knew these people. They couldn’t touch me, though—I was dirty. Blood stained my hands, my clothes, everything.

I nearly protested as warm, calloused hands took mine and peeled them away from where they clutched the back of my head. Slowly, a face came into view, and Cassian’s shattered gaze met mine.

“Come on, Fey,” he coaxed gently, “I’ve got you.”

Carefully, awkwardly, I wrapped my arms around him, and he manoeuvred me so that his elbow sat in the bend of my knees, his other at the small of my back. Then I was being lifted, up, up—

At the familiar scent, familiar embrace, I burrowed into Cassian’s chest, stifling my sobs into the crook of his shoulder.

“Her purse,” Alis’s voice said. Cassian’s arm shifted to take it in his hand, “and her coat. Where are you taking—”

“Somewhere safe. She’ll be alright, I promise.” Cassian’s voice was cold and deep as he spoke to the woman.

“Okay.” Alis sighed. I felt her hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t have the strength to look up from where my face was hidden. “Take care of yourself, Feyre.”

We began to move, and more light met me—I was out. Finally out.

“Hit P2, it will take you right down to the lot. I locked the elevator doors temporarily so no one can get on.”

“Thank you,” Cassian rumbled.

The whoosh of the elevator door was the only warning I had before we descended. I was shaking, and I was so, so cold—

Cassian held me tighter against him. He murmured softly, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Feyre.”

The doors opened some time later, and the damp, cement smell let me know we'd taken the elevator straight to the parking garage. A car door opened, echoing across the wide space, and Cassian quickly manoeuvred me into the SUV's back seat. I finally opened my eyes, only to see another familiar face before me.

I wept at the sight of Rhysand, and his gaze was one of pure and utter anguish. Anguish, and the threat of a thousand burning fires glowing in his eyes, most likely for the man who put me in this position in the first place.

Rhys looked past me and said to Cassian, still braced against the side door of the SUV, “Azriel’s behind us. I need you to go with him and surveil their apartment.”

“Got it,” Cassian nodded, and before leaving, stretched his fingers out to gently squeeze my shoulder. Without another word, the door shut, and the driver hit the gas. When I saw a flash of blonde hair, I knew it was Mor who floored the pedal, tires screeching beneath us as we exited the parking garage.

I looked out the back window, watching as Spring Corporations building grew further and further away.

I left. I actually…I actually left.

Without anything but the clothes on my back, the purse Cassian had slumped at my feet, and a few hundred dollars to my name.

He was right. I was nothing. Without him, I was nothing.

My attention turned back to Rhys, who was still watching me intently. I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but it came out in a sob.

“You’re free,” Rhys said, hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. The sincerity, the gentle determination in his eyes made me believe him. “You got out. You’re free.”

I collapsed into him, and Rhys held me against his chest as I wept with relief.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 23

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

_________

It’s dark in the room, apart from a tiny sliver of light underneath the door. It takes Stiles a long time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There are chains bolted to the wall, with shackles hanging from them. There are claw marks in the brick walls.  Stiles turns his face away so he doesn’t have to look at them.

If he was calm that one time in the trunk of the Hales’ car, he isn’t now. Because Allison is out there, and Stiles can’t help her. And he might be able to push fears for his own safety aside, but he can’t do the same for Ally.

He closes his eyes and regulates his breathing.

If Derek isn’t the monster…

No. He can’t think like that. That will make him weak.

Except…

Isn’t tunnel vision also a weakness? Kate always says that a good hunter adapts on the go. And isn’t this a form of adaptation? Or is it capitulation? It scares him that he can’t tell the difference. It scares him more than when he tries to figure it out, it’s Kate’s voice, or Gerard’s, that he hears in his head, and not his own.

Stiles drops his hand to the floor beside him, and tangles his fingers in the comforter that Derek put in here with him. A part of him wants to wrap himself up in it, but won’t that be too much like defeat?

Stiles releases the comforter and scoots forward on his ass toward the door. He can hear the low murmur of voices outside, but he can’t tell what’s being said. He thinks one of the voices is Ally’s. It scares him that he can’t get to her—can’t get between her and a werewolf if the werewolf attacks—but she’s talking, not screaming, and that seems like the only positive he can hold onto right now.

The sliver of light brightens for a moment, then settles again, and Stiles realises that there’s someone in front of the door. Standing there, or sitting there? And shifting occasionally, causing the light to change.

Stiles scoots back again, to the warmth of the comforter.

God.

Kate and Gerard are going to be so mad at him. Stiles has… he’s overstepped in a big way. He took Allison from the house because he was afraid for her safety, and maybe they’ll let that slide if Stiles can justify it by saying he was worried he couldn’t defend her on his own, but no way in hell will he get away with it if they find out the true reason: “You shouldn’t have to be like me.”Because those words are a betrayal of everything that Stiles has trained for.

Stiles’s stomach swoops—sudden vertigo, like the ground has dropped away from underneath him and he’s falling. He pulls the comforter up and tugs it tightly around his shoulders. Squeezes his eyes shut. Tries his hardest not to feel.

The steel door squeals as it opens.

Stiles opens his eyes, and then lifts a hand to shade them against the brightness, and then the door is closing again.

“I brought you a soda,” Derek says. His voice is soft, and Stiles can barely make his features out in the gloom. “Allison says you like Mountain Dew.”

Stiles does, but he doesn’t get to drink it that often. His body is a machine, Gerard says, and it needs fuel, not junk.

Derek inches close enough to set the can down on the floor within Stiles’s reach, and then steps back again.

He’s treating Stiles like he’s the dangerous animal here, and Stiles doesn’t know whether that makes him want to laugh or cry. So he hunches over a little, and snakes his hand out to snag the can. It’s cold from the refrigerator. Beads of condensation slide down the side.

Stiles pops it open and drinks.

The sugar gives him a head rush.

His hands are shaking by the time he sets the can carefully down on the floor again.

“At the party…” He doesn’t know where the words are coming from. He doesn’t know why he’s saying them, because whatever the answer is, it’s going to cut. He lifts his gaze and looks at Derek. “Did you know who I was?”

“No,” Derek says softly. “You were a cute guy and I wanted to kiss you.”

Stiles swallows, a weight pressing on his chest.

A part of him wants to believe it, but what’s worse? That this was all a set-up by the Hales, or that it’s dumb fucking chance and the entire universe is shitting on him?

“Kate’s dead,” Derek says.

Stiles’s heart stutters.

“Chris is alive,” Derek continues, “and nobody knows where Gerard is.”

Stiles’s eyes sting, because Kate is complicated and the things he feels for her have always been twisted up in strange ways, but she was his shield against Gerard, wasn’t she? She had a way of shattering the tension with that boisterous laugh of hers. She was fearless, and bold, and just the other morning she made him eggs for breakfast.

“I was fifteen when I met Kate,” Derek says softly. “She didn’t tell me she was a hunter. She made me think she loved me. I loved her. I told her the pack’s secrets. I told her about the tunnels under our house, and she blocked them off with chains and wolfsbane, and set fire to our house.”

Stiles presses his mouth into a thin line and shakes his head. “There’s a code, and—”

“The code is a lie.” Derek’s voice is as low and strong as the gentle song of the Morava River, and it’s almost enough to drown out all of Stiles’s disbelief. “Kate and Gerard have never followed the code.”

Lies.

It has to be lies.

“There were kids in that house, Stiles,” Derek says.

Bile rises in Stiles’s throat, sour and burning. He grabs the can of Mountain Dew again, and swigs from it.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Derek says. He crouches down. “I’m saying this because you need to know the truth. They lied to you, Stiles. They took you from your dad and—”

“He’s a traitor.”

“He’s a good man,” Derek says. “Stiles, they took you because he helped us. Because he helped Peter and my little brother Matty—he’s a human, not a werewolf—get out of the house that night. Matty was only three.”

“Why should I believe you?” Stiles asks, a sudden burst of anger flaring in his gut. “What if you’re the ones lying to me?”

Because how does he know? How is he supposed to be sure who’s telling the truth and who’s lying? How is anyone supposed to know?

Derek shakes his head slowly. “I can’t prove it. Deciding what’s the truth and what’s a lie, that’s something you have to decide for yourself once you know the facts. But I hope you’ll listen. And I knew her, Stiles. I knew Kate. I know how cruel she was.”

Stiles’s stomach twists.

He…

There are things that he consciously pushed aside when he was training to be a hunter. Things that he told himself were for the greater good. There was a ten-year-old boy, crying and screaming when the scary lady took him away from his house. The scary lady who showed him her gun, and told him she’d use it if he tried to run.

There’s a ten-year-old boy still screaming in a corner of Stiles’s mind.

He’s been screaming for six years.

Nausea hits him in a dizzying rush, and his stomach lurches. Stiles pushes himself up onto his knees, suddenly afraid he’s going to vomit, and Derek kneels beside him and places a warm hand on his back. Rubs his palm up and down Stiles’s spine until the waves of sickness lessen, and the urge to be sick slowly fades.

Stiles struggles for breath, his heart pounding, his eyes stinging.

He was happy.

He was a happy kid and he loved his parents. His mom was so fun and so clever, and they used to play games in the garden, and she told him folktales in Polish, and they had adventures every day, and his dad would get home from work and look at them giggling, and he would say in a pretend-stern tone, “What are you two troublemakers up to?”

Stiles had been happy, and Kate and Gerard took that away with him, and replaced it with something hard and cold and terrifying. Stiles had never asked to live in a world with monsters. He’d never asked to be made into a hunter like them. He was ten.

What is wrong with him that he tried to save Allison from that, but even now he can’t admit to himself that it was the wrong thing to do to a child?

Because…

Because to admit it was wrong is to be a victim, not a soldier. It’s to be a child, not a man.

And it’s more than that too.

It’s Kroměříž.

It’s a hunt.

It’s a hot spray of blood against Stiles’s pale face.

It’s being a killer as well.

Stiles sucks in a wheezing breath.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not.

It’s not, because if Derek is telling the truth then Stiles is a murderer. Stiles didn’t make the world safer like they told him he did. Stiles is the monster.

“Tell me you’re lying,” he rasps. “Tell me you’re lying, and then kill me!”

Derek’s hand stills against his spine.

Stiles flinches back, and lands on his ass on the floor. He grabs Derek’s hand, and pushes it up against his throat. “Give me your claws. Finish it!”

Derek is silent.

“Finish it!” Stiles yell at him.

Derek rubs his thumb against the tender scar on Stiles’s throat. “I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles. Nobody here is going to hurt you.”

Stiles eyes burn as tears form. Maybe they should. Maybe they should hurt him. He’s either a killer or he’s a failure, and whichever one it is, he deserves to die, doesn’t he?

He sobs, and slaps a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to keep the ugly sound inside him. Then he reaches out to push Derek away, but Derek doesn’t let him. He pulls Stiles closer instead, and puts his arms around him.

“Kill me,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s chest. “If it’s true, you should kill me.”

“No,” Derek says, his breath feathering Stiles’s hair. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What if I deserve it?”

“You don’t.”

“I killed a werewolf in Kroměříž.”

“You were lied to,” Derek tells him.

“I just want it to end.”

“Everything?” Derek asks softly.

Stiles nods, and closes his eyes.

“I won’t do that, Stiles,” Derek says at last. “But I’ll be here for as long as you need me. I won’t knock you down, but I’ll help you stand up again.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s heart beating against his ear, strong and steady; a promise he doesn’t deserve. But, selfishly, he’ll take it.

[btgalaxy]

Twisted

➳ pairing: yoongi x reader

➳ genre: mafia!au, angst, eventual smut, maybe fluff

➳ word count: 3k

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Chapter 5:

         When you wake up, you’re tucked in bed, alone. There’s a moment of sleep inertia that sets you in a state of confusion for a minute, trying to gather your surroundings until you realise where you are. You glance over at the clock to find its already midday, and habitually you begin shuffling from beneath your duvet- when the nausea hits you. All at once. You dart to the bathroom, one hand clutched over your mouth and the other over your stomach as you fall to your knees in front of the toilet, relieving yourself of all the toxins you consumed last night.

You grunt, allowing your neck to fall lax as your head droops on the toilet lid, weak with the forceful emptying of everything inside you. You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to lessen the throbbing now generously thumping in your ears, but you receive no such luck.

Kneeling in front of the toilet, hunched in pain, you begin thinking about last night. About Jungkook, Yoongi. You must’ve fallen asleep in his arms eventually, feeling exhausted and no longer able to coop up all those emotions that have been stirring inside you for days. It’s not entirely clear what happened most of the night, but the end is clear as day, Jungkook cornering you and pressing your hand to his groin. Your fingers curl subconsciously at the thought.

You slowly lean up to reach for the handle to flush the toilet, washing away any final remnants of what’s left in your stomach, and then you begin to grapple to stand up and face your reflection in the mirror. Talk about shit. Your hair is frizzy and extending in different directions, all matted and greasy, and your skin is flushed at the cheeks yet pale everywhere else, making you look sick. You’ve not looked so bad in a while. You put a hand under the tap and gurgle some water in your mouth to clean it out slightly.

You’re thankful when you hear the click of the door, and you stumble out of the room to see the old lady walking in, tray in hand containing a light lunch, some orange juice and a few tablets. You attempt a smile when she sees you, the both of you a little hesitant.

“Thank you,” you murmur, biting down on your lower lip.

She smiles back, warmly, “have this, and then come down to the kitchens for more water. You need to drink a lot.” You’re a little taken aback she’s spoken to you, rather than just the usual nod of the head and gentle smile but instead actual words. You can’t even form a coherent sentence as she sets down the tray and turns to leave, except not before she hesitates in the doorway, burying her hand in the front pocket of her apron to pull out another book, another fairy-tale, and leaving it next to the tray before slowly clicking the door shut behind her.

Your eyes scan over the tray, ambling over to run your fingertips across the paperback copy of Gulliver’s Travels, admiring the indents down the spine indicating it must’ve been well read in its time. You reach for the small pills and cautiously place a tablet at the back of your tongue, swallowing back a swig of orange juice with it and wincing as you gulp it down, wary that it’ll actually stay down as you hold your lips sealed tightly, breathing deeply.

You have a go at eating, but both your mind and stomach disagree as you continue to struggle to hold anything down, and your head gets distracted too quickly by other things occupying your thoughts. Yoongi, for example. Holding you as you wept. Taking you outside, opening up to you about his family, and you can’t help but allow yourself to fleetingly indulge in the undeniable attraction you feel towards him; that angelic face concealing his demonic career path. You know you told yourself to stay away, to consider he’s a killer, a ruthless murderer, but why isn’t that enough when the two of you are alone? It’s dangerous to think about this too much, so you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth, put on some clothes and attempt to appear somewhat presentable, then over to your door where you’re relatively surprised to find it’s unlocked, perhaps for the first time since getting here.

The tunnels are eerily empty, opposing the usual clatter of noise resonating against the walls to echo through your ears. It’s a scarce calm that unsettles you, considering in the time you’ve been here- nearing a few weeks now- not once has there been a day where your door was left unlocked, nor not a soul lingering about in the corridors. It’s unnerving.

Reaching the kitchen at a quicker pace than usual after being somewhat anxious alone in the corridors, you find it to be also empty. The silver of the surfaces looking immaculately clean, untouched. The only thing out of place seems to be a crate of water bottles; a crate the lady must have left out for you. You sigh, walking over to slip one out and unscrewing the cap, gulping down a few swigs to alleviate the pulsing now gradually- relievingly- diminishing in your head. You glance about, looking for something to eat, now feeling a little more up to it.

You spot the handle to the freeze is slightly crooked, clearly left that way from someone earlier. When you walk over, it’s open. Thank god. You scan over all the frozen packs of meat and vegetables, scowling at each item that requires cooking which you really aren’t up for, until your eyes land on a pint of ice cream, looking down on you as though it were sent from the heavens above.

“Finally,” you breathe, ready to indulge in something you haven’t for a long, long while.

You enclose a hand around the icy base of the tub, bringing it to your stomach with a grin. As you shut the door, however, you’re launched back with fright as you’re face to face with Jin, frowning incessantly at you.

“Jesus- fucking hell, I didn’t even hear you come in,” you cry, raking your hands through your hair while struggling to even out your breathing. Jin doesn’t reply, and instead strides over to the tub of ice cream rolling across the tiled flooring. He picks it up and observes it, glowering. Fuck.

“This,” he holds up what was about to be your lunch, “isn’t allowed. Not part of your diet.”

His storming back to the freezer prompts you to lurch forward slightly, to stop him and snatch back the dessert and run with it for your life, but you’re similarly a little scared of him which prevents you from doing so.

“I haven’t eaten,” you whine, pouting a little, as he slams the metal door shut.

“You’ll eat later. We have training.” He turns on his heel swiftly, and you already understand he expects you to follow him.

The main training area is empty, too. And there’s no sign of Yoongi’s palm pressed against the glass, watching you attempt to throw punches and kicks with your lack of body strength.

“Where is everyone?” You question, strapping on some gloves from the shelves of equipment.

“I want to focus on cardio today,” he ignores you, picking up a skipping rope, “you don’t seem to be gaining much strength, so if you could at least run fast and far then you may have a chance at survival in this business.”

You take the rope from him hastily, grumbling, “charming. Thanks for the support.”

Jin is, as per, unforgiving with his training. Screaming profanities at you when you slow down or even worse, stop altogether to catch your breath. You switch from skipping ropes, to stepping up and down on benches, to sprinting the length of the training area until you collapse. You recall Yoongi saying something about he doesn’t want you fainting or pushing yourself so hard you can’t breathe during training, yet here you are, fully ready to throw yourself into a wall just to be able to lay down for a minute.

“Speed up. You’re slow,” Jin orders from his stupid bench at the side of the room, lazily eating a banana as you pace back and forth. He doesn’t care that you’re struggling to even breathe.

“Can- I,” you pant, feeling lightheaded, “sit down?” Your voice is light and barely comprehensible through all your desperate breaths, yet Jin still doesn’t ease up.

“One more lap of the room. Touch each corner.” The notion that the end is in sight gives you a final pump of adrenaline to get you moving again, the feel of each stone corner encouraging you to speed up that tiny bit more, to finish just a tiny bit earlier. And when you do your knees give in immediately, your back slumps to the ground and you lay completely still, bar your chest rising and falling with each gasping intake of air to oxygenate your lungs once again. It’s only Jin’s shadow that snaps you away from your moment in subspace, shaking a bottle of water in front of your face and coaching you to sit up and take a drink.  

You take the liquid and throw back most of it, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth before passing it back to him, “thanks.” Your palms settle on your thighs as your posture slouches and your head lulls forwards, nearly resting in your lap. Jin sits across from you on the floor, knees bent and apart with an elbow resting on each.

“Everyone’s out of here; there was an urgent call the early hours this morning. One of the shipments from Japan didn’t run as smoothly as we thought,” Jin explains, an unreadable expression on his face, “it was your boyfriend you know.”

“Not my boyfriend,” you retort, lifting up your head again. “What was even in those shipments? What was so damn important?”

“Cocaine, heroin, meth. The usual.” His nonchalant tone repulses you.

“So I’m guessing everyone here is on drugs too then,” you spit out, “if that’s ‘the usual’.”

He scoffs at you, obnoxiously, “don’t be thick. You think Yoongi would allow us to take drugs so that we can’t see or think straight? Yeah fucking right.” He adjusts his wristbands, “we’d have lost this place a long time ago if we were high all the time.”

You retreat back into yourself, feeling a little stupid, “oh.”

He laughs at your withdrawal, “So how’d you get involved with the ‘not your boyfriend’. Couldn’t picture someone like you with our rival drug lord.”

“I didn’t know he was a- a- whatever he is,” you murmur, “and we met about a year back, then started dating after a couple months of knowing each other. He used to come in everyday to my old workplace, he’d order the same Caramel Macchiato every time he came in, always with a slice of Cherry Bakewell.” You sigh, recalling the memory of him coming in, his shirt tucked into his slim fit trousers under his blazer. The same swept back hair, the same sparkling eyes and alluring smile and every single time it’d be-

“I’ll have…” He’d teasingly run his finger over the menu, as if he wasn’t going to order the same thing, making you smile, “let’s make it a Caramel Macchiato. With a-“

“Slice of Cherry Bakewell?” You’d interrupt, conforming to your daily routine. He was the one thing you looked forward to each morning. And when he’d laugh- God, his laugh- your heart would set alight and you could swear you’d burst into flames any second.

“I think that’s the perfect choice. How did you choose such an impeccable combination?”

You’d grin, tapping his order into the till, “a trick of the trade, sir. Comes with being a barista.”

“I see,” he’d hum, “and what other tricks do you have up your sleeve, may I ask?” This was a new question one day, a few weeks after your routine had settled in.

You looked up at him, a little in awe, “I like to keep them for rainy days.”

“I think it’s supposed to rain Thursday, actually. Maybe you could come out with me to dinner, show me some of your other skills?” His invite seems underlyingly crude now that you look back on it, but at the time you were so enamoured by him you couldn’t deny that gleaming smile.

“I think that could be arranged, sir.” You passed him his change and receipt, your number scribbled hastily on the back as he smiles down at it.

“Have a good day, sir.”

“You too, Y/N.”

He showed no signs of being dangerous, a criminal. He was so charming, so sweet, so funny. It was undetectable.

“Fucking hell,” Jin raises his eyebrows in shock, “I never pictured him whipped for some girl in a café.”

“Well he was,” you counter, adamantly, “he even took me to meet his parents.”

“His parents?”

“Yeah, we took a road trip down to the south coast to go and see them- his dad was ill and he wanted them to meet me.” You push your lips to the side, “they’re lovely. They mustn’t have any idea of what Jimin does. Because they’re angels- they run an orphanage together.”

“Whereabouts on the coast do they live?”

“Near Tongyeong, by the mountain.”

“Ohh,” he pauses, “I was wondering where that arsehole grew up.” He seems quite smug with his little joke, so you stand up, patting yourself down, refusing to acknowledge his insult. You stride back over to the skipping ropes, busying yourself with training to avoid having to speak to Jin any longer.

The rest of the day passes by like this, minimal talking and intense training. As you reach the evening, the place begins to fill back up again with people, clearly returned from wherever they went to deal with the shipping issue. Some appear a little bruised, so you imagine there must’ve been some violent encounter, but you don’t see any severely injured. Granted, if any are they would probably be in the infirmary rather than wandering around for you to see.

Jin dismisses you several hours after your chat, when you’re dripping with sweat and hungry enough you could eat dirt and probably enjoy it. You dart back to your room, happy to find the copy of Gulliver’s Travels untouched on your dresser with a hefty plate of food next to it. This is well earned.

You devour the meal like a savage, the way the men do in the training area at mealtimes. Perhaps you’re spending too much time with them. And you immediately make a start reading the new book, once again investing yourself in the plot and the characters, deciphering the message behind the story, what the author meant to convey. You’re probably worth of an English degree by this point.

After a while, however, you’re very aware of the stench radiating off you like a cloud of fumes in a cartoon emanated from the substantial patches of sweat over your chest and back and under your arms.

The water from the shower is freezing. As in biting waters straight from the Siachen glacier cutting your flesh like a knife; it’s near agony, and you try to hold out as long as possible, but you only manage to make it to about two or three minutes before jumping out and enveloping yourself in your towel. All the men back from the assignment today must’ve used up all the hot water, leaving you with nothing but the cold straight from the pipes.

You dash out of the bathroom to curl up in bed, but before you can do so you spot Taehyung on your bed, admiring the little book you left on your pillow.

“Oh,” you squeak, running back into the bathroom to just peer out your head.

Taehyung laughs throatily, enjoying your squirming, “that’s a nice look, duckie. You should wear it more often.”

“Fuck off.” Your voice is not at all convincing, especially as you shiver with cold, the vibrations prominent in your tone, “what do you want?”

“Boss wants to talk to ya. I’m here to take you there.” You can hear him smiling at your discomfort, making you jut out your lower jaw in irritation.

“Well, could you like- leave for a minute?” You groan, “I can’t go to him like this.”

“Duckie, I’m not entirely sure he would mind-“

“Taehyung!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “I’ll wait outside.”

The clicking of the door shut makes you sigh in relief as you pad out of the bathroom and straight to the wardrobe, sliding on some leggings and a t-shirt as fast as you can before Taehyung tries entering unannounced again. You attempt to towel dry you hair a little, but it doesn’t do much good so you just leave it wet on your shoulders, walking out to Taehyung leant against the wall while lazily scrolling through his phone. It reminds you how much you miss technology. God, how long it’s been since you’ve actually written a text.

“Nice hair, duckie.” Taehyung taunts, touching the soaked strands before wiping it on you teasingly.

“Don’t we have somewhere to be?” You push him away with a groan.

“Oh, right. I was distracted by your beauty,” he smiles toothily, satisfied with himself.

You shove him again, with greater force, “idiot.”

As you walk to Yoongi’s office, Taehyung stays quiet, clearly under orders not to say anything to you about today considering the contrast to his normal self, telling you anything and everything you’d like to know. It throws you off a bit, but you’re already reaching the office before you can accumulate anymore anxiety over the matter.

You walk into Yoongi’s office, entirely unsuspecting and vulnerable, when suddenly a body is thrown against yours, pinning you against the wall as a shirt-covered forearm chokes you at the neck.

“How the fuck have you been in contact with Jimin?”  

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[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Words On My Skin (Part 24)

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

A/n: Well, we know what happened at the cabin… but the reader doesn’t. Yikes. How does she deal with it? What does her dad know about what happened? Keep reading and find out!

Warnings: Y/n being a goddamn (drunk) mess…

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

 If your father’s wavering voice wasn’t cause enough to be nervous, his shaking hands sure were. His trembling hand reached out to grab the drink your mother had just poured him – handing you yours, as well – and he threw it back quickly, leaning forward to grab the bottle your mother left on the coffee table to pour himself another.

“I… I was hunting in my deer stand.” He began, leaning back to get comfy on the couch and staring into his glass as you and your mother leaned in to listen. “It was… one of the weekends that we let you come up, and I let you fish by the river.”

“Alone.” Your mother muttered to you, tone laced with disapproving bitterness. “That’s why I never wanted you back there, again. You were unsupervised.”

“Well, Adira, it fucking bit me in the ass, didn’t it?” He snapped at her, throwing back the second drink and setting the glass on the table. “Can I fucking finish my story, or do you not want to know?”

“Carry on.” You mother waved him off, dismissively, crossing her legs properly in front of her.

“Anyways,” He continued, after a small pause, “Jimmy Stahl… Jimmy heard some screaming echoing through the woods. He was panicking, because he recognized the screams to be yours, and sent George – you knew him as Mr. Chomilo – to come get Frank and I… while he set out to find you.” He closed his eyes, and your mother quickly poured him a third drink, placing it in his feeble looking hands. The man looked twice his age, in just a matter of moments. “Stahl found you first. You were… you were covered in dirt and blood. Your jacket was missing, your shoe was missing… You looked… you looked like you’d been through hell.”

He took a small sip, before staring into his glass – as if reliving a nightmare – as he continued, “As I got closer to you, I could hear you screaming... You sounded so terrified.” He gulped, lip wobbling slightly, “I can still hear that scream in my head, nearly twenty years later…”

“What… happened?” You asked, voice thick as you tried your father’s tactic of calming down and took a gulp of the bitter, burning liquid – trying not to gag on it. The liquid warmed your belly, but also threatened your gag reflex. “What happened in the woods?”

“I heard a gunshot.” He whispered, still loud in the dead silence of the apartment. “The gunshot was… loud. I almost didn’t believe it was a gunshot at first… but then I heard you. You sounded… so broken. That scream nearly stopped my heart.”

“Oh, god.” Your mother’s face was pale, her hand covering her mouth in horror as tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh god.”

“When I found you… You were standing there… with a gun in your hand.”

“I… I…” You gulped, chest painfully squeezing as you tried to process what your father was telling you. “I shot someone?”

“Yes.”

No…

God, why couldn’t it have been your father that was the murderer. Why did it have to be you? That person probably had a family. That person probably had friends. That person… Oh god. Who was it?! Did you even want to know?

“I’m… Oh my god.” You shook your head, standing up and nearly dropping your glass as your palms became slick. Your heart was racing just as fast as your mind, the both of them nearly competing to send you into a panic attack. “I’m a murderer.”

“It was self-defense.” Your father shook his head, standing as well and placing his glass on the coffee table. “Honey, it looked like… he attacked you… because… he was HYDRA.”

No…

“He was HYDRA?!” You shouted, throwing your hands up, before dragging them over your hair in frustration. “All this time, you knew that my tattoo had to do with HYDRA, and you didn’t say anything? I- I had to find out by getting nearly kidnapped out of my apartment!”

“I didn’t know that at the time!” He defended, crossing his arms over his chest. “Back then, no one knew about HYDRA except what was in the history books! We all thought that Captain America defeated HYDRA in the forties! I didn’t know that your fucking soulmate would be HYDRA’s fucking assassin!”

“You mean HYDRA’s prisoner?!” You shouted, your immediate reaction to defend your soulmate. “Anyways, how the fuck didn’t you know that it had to do with my tattoo?! What did you think, all these years?!”

“I didn’t want to think about it, Y/n!” He yelled, voice cracking at the end. “I thought… God, I thought that he was trying to… I thought that he was trying to hurt you! You were so scared, and your clothes were torn… I don’t know! I assumed that he… Fuck! I assumed that he’d tried to take advantage of my baby girl!”

The silence was so thick, you could nearly choke on it.

“You… spent the last… twenty years… thinking that a man… Oh my god, dad.” Tears pricked at your eyes, as the thoughts of your father pushing himself away because of the guilt. Jesus Christ, your family needed therapy. Lots and lots of therapy. “What happened to the… body?”

“We took care of it.” He sat back down on the sofa, next to your mother – who had silent tears streaming down her face – and placed his head in his hands. “Stahl called his contact. We… we took care of it.”

“Fuck, dad. Jesus.”

Your entire body felt heavy. It was if someone just kept adding a weight on your shoulders with every word your father admitted. The grief and pain laced in his voice left a heavy hole in your heart. Your father had spent the last twenty odd years thinking that a man had tried to rape you. Fuck. No wonder he avoided you. Knowing your father… he blamed himself for trusting the man that had attacked you.

“I was worried about your safety.” He looked up at you, tired eyes barely meeting yours and lined with guilt. “I was worried that HYDRA was going to come after my baby girl, because an agent had died. He... had to have seen your tattoo. He must have known the translation, and what it meant.” He took a breath to steady himself, before continuing, “I swore my friends to secrecy. The contact gave us a story to tell, and… it was never spoken of, again.”

“What about me?!” You cried, tears flowing down your face as you lashed out – unable to help the feeling that you’d been betrayed by him keeping this secret from you. “What the hell did you tell me?! Why don’t I remember this?!”

“You didn’t remember what happened.” Your dad admitted, shaking his head and brushing his hands over his balding head, before sniffling. “We… The story was that you’d fallen into the river, and nearly drowned. The psychologist claimed that your mind blocked out the memory, to protect itself… so… we let you believe that.”

“But… I don’t even remember that.” A small, cynical laugh burst through you, as you wiped under your nose. “I don’t even… I don’t even remember that summer.”

“You don’t need to remember.” He snapped, jaw tensing in frustration. “Do you really want to remember that?! You were happy again! You weren’t plagued with the horror that we stumbled on! Let the past stay in the fucking past!”

Staring at your feet, you didn’t even know how the fuck to process any of this. What… what were you supposed to say to all this? How were you supposed to feel?

“I’m sorry, baby.” His voice cracked, breaking the palpable silence. You glanced up to see a lone tear slide down your father’s cheek. Your father, the toughest, bravest, scariest man you knew… was crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my god.” A sob escaped your throat, as your knees nearly buckled under you. The weight was too much. You… fuck. You killed someone. How were you supposed to live with that?! “Dad, oh my god.”

“Bo…” Your mother cleared her throat, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of your crying father. “Oh my god, Bo.”

“I lied to you, Adira.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around her and sobbing into her neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

What the hell?!

You’re a fucking murderer.

You murdered someone!

“I can’t… I can’t… I can’t…” You breathed, unable to catch your breath as your mind raced a million miles a minute. “I can’t…”

Backing up slowly, you grabbed your purse and coat in a daze, feeling like you were floating above your body – staring down at your hunched, broken form as you pressed the button for the elevator. You didn’t understand what was happening. What were you thinking? What were you feeling? Were you even feeling? What were you going to do?

There were so many questions, and you didn’t even know where to begin to answer them.

The ding of the elevator barely made it to your ears before you were shot back into your body, standing in the back corner of the elevator and hearing your parents calling out your name.

It felt as if someone had shot a dozen flaming arrows into your chest, watching as your skin bubbled and peeled away from the muscle and filled the cavity with acid. Your chest was burning, your breath was caught in your throat, and fucking hell did your fucking head hurt.

Sobs wracked your whole body as you slid down the wall of the elevator, feeling the slight vibration as it slowly descended back towards the lobby, and you landed on your knees – a sharp pain radiating from your sprained wrist. As your breaths increased in frequency, it felt as if your throat was beginning to close – the sensation similar to breathing through a coffee straw. You were light headed, watching as the floor blurred between every blink as you were unable to control the tears that streamed down your face.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer…

It was as if there was a recording, playing on repeat over and over and over in your head.

How were you supposed to live with yourself knowing that you murdered someone, but not know who it was or why it happened?

“Y/n?!” Caleb? Was that Caleb? “Y/n, what happened?”

“…I need…” Glancing up, you stared into his worried brown eyes, and shook your head. “I need to go home.”

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you up.” He leaned forward, his arms looping around your middle, under your armpits. “Up you go. Let’s get you to the car. Security’s dealing with the paparazzi.”

“I… Can’t go out there like this.” You stopped, leaning against the wall just outside the elevator. “Just… hold on.”

“Y/n, what happened up there?” He asked, running a hand through his disheveled, brown hair. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” You sniffled, a small, breathy chuckle escaping before you – unattractively – wiped your nose on your jacket sleeve. “Jerk.”

“I say it with love, buttercup.” He grinned, in an attempt to get you to feel better and focus on something other than what was bothering you. “You owe me an apology for your diva moment, by the way. I’m waiting for red roses and a trip to Disney World.”

“I can give you a shit apology and a hug?” You gave him a watery smile, holding out your arms. You felt out of it, like you were in the back of your own head, watching someone else have this conversation. “I’m sorry for being a grade-A dickwad.”

“Apology accepted.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, your purse in his other hand, and led you towards the door – where you could already see a security team attempting to keep the paps at bay. “Ready?”

With a nod, you closed your eyes, letting him guide you out the door and into the thunderous noise, even though you really weren’t ready.

“HEY!” You heard Caleb yell out, as a hand suddenly wrapped around your watch-covered wrist. You heard the beeping of the panic button being activated but continued to keep your head down and eyes closed. “BACK UP!”

Caleb’s arm was suddenly ripped from your shoulders, and you tripped over your own feet – eyes flying open as the ground suddenly flew up towards your face, and hands braced for immediate impact. Luckily, someone caught you, straightening you up. A small sob escaped you, breaking down the damn as you tried to cover your face from the public view. Another arm was wrapped around your shoulders, and forced you forward into the car, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb’s voice faded in and out as you tried to settle yourself down, but the task felt nearly impossible. You felt like a toddler who couldn’t get a handle on her own emotions, resorting to just… hysterics.

“Shhh… it’s okay, Y/n, we’re almost home.” You heard Caleb’s fake cheery voice that he reserved for bad situations, as he tried to console your sobbing form curled up in the passenger’s seat of your own vehicle. “We’re almost there, and we’ll get you back to your room.”

In a hushed tone, he spoke into his comms, low enough that you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

You weren’t really sure why you were so hysterical. It’s not like you remembered what your father was talking about. You didn’t have any memories of the cabin, nor of… shooting someone. To be honest, you were more confused about everything, and wished that you’d never opened the can of worms. You wished you never asked your father what happened… but… you were sort of relieved that you did.

It was a fucking mess.

Maybe you were hysterical because of the day you’d had?

It felt like everything was just… catching up with you. All the feelings that you’d tried to compartmentalize were beginning to surface, but you had no idea where to even begin to make sense of the mess. You could go at it like you would your paperwork: most important to least important. You could work your way from there? But… what was most important? What was least important? It all felt pretty fucking important!

Bad approach.

Maybe you should wait to make sense of it all until you could talk to Dr. Burson.

That would be a great idea.

Funny that someone who got a fucking bachelor’s in counseling doesn’t even know how to fix her own problems… you picked the wrong field, dumbass.

Well, helping people with their problems was a lot easier than dealing with your own.

When you opened your eyes, you were stunned to realize that you weren’t even in the car, anymore. You were in your own bedroom. The place that you’d been trying to avoid for days. You were seated on the end of the bed, your purse and jacket were placed neatly next to you, and someone had removed your shoes.

When in the hell did all this happen?

Shaking your head, you tried to clear out the sob-fog that was clouding your mind. Caleb must have brought you here.

Testing the water, you tried to stand, pleasantly surprised when your shaking legs were able to hold up your body weight. The room was warmer than you remembered it feeling the last few days, and you were glad that the bedroom felt safe, again.

Though, you still wished it was Bucky’s room.

You scanned the room, eyes landing on a bottle of wine you’d opened days ago but forgot to drink.

Do it.

With a shrug, you slowly grabbed the heavy bottle, before pulling a small throw-blanket off the bed and sitting on the ledge next to your window.

It must have snowed more since your hurried visit to your parents’ apartment, because the place was back to looking like a winter wonderland – versus a slushy mess. A fresh blanket of snow covered the entire grounds, and the cold radiated from the glass of the window, contrasting with the heat of the bedroom. It felt nice.

Pressing your temple against the chilled pane of glass, you quickly uncorked the bottle of sweet wine that had been a birthday gift from Wanda, a few months prior, and drank the tepid liquid straight from the bottle. Gulping down the wine wasn’t the best decision after the day you’d had, but… whatever.

It wasn’t like this brand of wine had that much alcohol in it.

It was like Arbor Mist.

It was basically juice.

When the bottle was nearly gone, a knock sounded at the door, pulling you from your thoughts – and the bottle – before you leaned your head back against the window. “FRIDAY? Who’s at the door?”

“Sergeant Barnes is at the door, Ms. L/N.”

“Fuck… Alright. Fuck it. Let him in.” You sighed, pulling another drink from the bottle as you heard the lock slide with a click. Wrapping the blanket more firmly around you, you ignored his presence, sure that you’d start crying again if you looked at his stupid… cute… face. “Long time no see, Barnes.”

Well… that was a little bitter.

He was silent for a moment, as you downed the rest of the contents of the bottle, dropping the bottle onto the floor loudly before closing your eyes and focusing on the cold glass to keep you grounded.

“What happened at your mom and dad’s?” His smooth voice cut through the silence, sending a pang of sadness through you, but also making your brain fuzzy. Unless that was the wine… the delicious wine. You should really buy more of that wine. What was it called, again? “Oh, Jesus. Did you drink that whole bottle of wine?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You whispered, opening your eyes but staring out the slightly fogged window. You lifted a finger, swirling your warm fingertip through the fog to make a small swirl. “Why are you here? Thought you were ignoring me?” A small pang of hurt strummed through the bond, and you huffed in annoyance. “You don’t get to be hurt by that, after you ignored me.”

“I wasn’t-” He cut himself off, breathing in through his nose and forcing his breath out through his mouth to calm himself down. “I wasn’t ignoring you or trying to hurt you.”

“Bullshit!” You swung around, equilibrium slightly off as your head continued to grow fuzzy and tongue thick. “Not ignoring me? Really? You were just too busy thinking that you were some sorta’ monster, or something? Right? Even though I’ve told you countless, multiples of times th-that I don’t ever think that of you?”

“Sweetheart, you’re drunk. Can we have this conversation in the morning, please?” He sighed, taking a step closer to you, picking up the bottle and setting it on the dresser – next to the rose he’d gotten you for your first date. “Come on, let’s just lay down.”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“Come on, sweetheart. You need to lay down.”

“I’m not gunna’ lay down, yet!” You pointed your finger at him, arm feeling like a million pounds. “Because you’re not the only monster, Bucky.”

His eyebrows pulled together, looking taken aback, and he crouched in front of you as you stared at a spot in the wall behind him, watching as the walls began to get blurry. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

You shook your head, the blur going away for a moment as you reached forward and brushed your fingers against his scruffy beard, loving the way that it felt prickly against your fingers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darlin’.” He smiled softly, eyes crinkling cutely in the corners, “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Improbably.” You stumbled over your words, before shaking your fuzzy head and correcting yourself, “Shit… that’s not what I meant to say.”

He reached up, warm fingers slowly coming to rest over your hand that was touching his beautiful scruffy face. “Why did you drink all the wine, sweetheart?”

You frowned, not wanting to talk about all the dark and twisty stuff. “To forget.”

“What do you need to forget?”

Pulling your hands away from him, you covered your face, worried that the tears were going to start again. If they did… they might not stop. “No.”

“Hey,” He leaned forward, wrapping his warm arms around your cold body and pulling you into his chest, “That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it, right now.”

“We still have’ta talk.” You mumbled into the softness of his tee shirt, turning your head so your ear was pressed against his solid chest, “You left me.”

“I know.” He whispered, arms tightening around you and nuzzling his face into the top of your head, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I woke up in the- in the hospital bed without you.” There was a slight crack in your voice, as the tears began to form again, and your head began to pound from your impending tears. “I thought you… I...” You pulled back, framing his face with your hands, thumbs brushing against the roughness of his face as you tried to maintain contact with his sad, blue eyes, “I don’t like that you… you hate you… because I could never hate you. I love you.”

He remained silent, eyes cast down to the side as he swallowed thickly, and you wished that you weren’t so… so drunk. That way you could feel what he was feeling, instead of the impending vomit that was sloshing around in your wine-filled belly.

Wait… vomit?

Ohhhhh, shit...

“Oh no…” You mumbled to yourself, as the vomit in question began to rise up into your throat. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”

Wrenching yourself from your spot, you lunged for the bathroom, nearly sprinting before you threw yourself onto the floor in front of the toilet – wine and bile spewing from your lips. The puke made it on the toilet… not so much in it, though. The stupid toilet cover was down from putting on socks, earlier that day.

That was going to be a bitch to clean up.

“Woah… okay.” You heard from behind you, as you grabbed the trash can and continued to puke in it, so there wasn’t any more mess on the floor. You felt a warm hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles along the thin fabric of your tee shirt. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t chug the entire bottle, yeah?”

“Fuck-” puke. “-Off.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” He chuckled from behind you, quickly wetting a rag in the sink and handing it to you to clean yourself up. “Do you need a shower, or do you want to go to bed?”

“I dunno’.” You mumbled, the spins beginning to make you feel like you were riding the tilt o whirl from the county fair you’d gone to as a kid. “I think… I puked on myself, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Shower…” You mumbled, grabbing the bottom of your messy shirt, before pausing, “But… you haven’t seen me naked, yet… I don’t wanna’…”

“You can shower in your underwear, sweetheart.” He scoffed, quickly pulling your shirt over your head with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “I’ve seen you in a swimsuit, it’s basically the same thing.”

No… but… fine. Okay.

Whatever, right?

You leaned your back against the bathtub as he reached into your shower and turned on the spray, getting droplets of water on his shirt before turning back to you and crouching down next to you, “Pants off.”

“They’re leggings. Not pants.” You laughed, as he grabbed the hem and pulled them down your legs swiftly – discarding them, as well as your socks. “Leggings aren’t pants. My mom would freak out.”

“Up you go.” He hauled you up, not struggling in the slightest, even though you were practically dead weight. “Do you need help?”

“Mmmm.” You closed your eyes as you sat on the floor in the steamy shower, the cold tiles holding you against the ground as you leaned against the wall. “I’m glad my bra matches.”

He sighed, and you heard him shuffling around with your shower stuff, as you basically fell asleep against the wall for a moment.

Before you knew it, a warm towel being wrapped around you slightly woke you up, as you felt yourself being lifted from the shower. “Bucky?”

“I’m right here.” He replied softly, warm breath washing over your face, as you tried to open your eyes against the harsh lighting of your bedroom. “Do you think you can get dressed for bed?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, eyes squinting against the light as he set you on your feet in your closet, handing you a large tee shirt that you’d stolen from him. “Can… you get me water?”

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Sit down if you get too dizzy, okay?” He commanded, voice getting further and further away. “I’ll be right back.”

When you heard your door click shut, you tried to hurriedly take off the soaking wet sports bra, getting frustrated as the stupid material clung to your skin and rolled. It took you four tries before the stupid thing rolled off your skin, and you threw it in the hamper in a huff – tossing your underwear in, just as angry.

Stupid fucking thing.

Thankfully, the tee shirt slid on easily and smelled like Bucky, calming you down slightly as you pulled on a clean pair of underwear, discarding your pajama shorts onto the floor.

Fuck pants. No. Not wearing them.

The dizzy came back, so you sat down on the floor, leaning your back against the frame of the closet and placed your head in your hands.

Oh god. You just puked in front of Bucky… and he had to shower you.

Why the fuck did you do that?

What was WRONG with you?!

You were a fucking hot mess.

…you needed help.

A small sob bubbled over, as the guilt and embarrassment came crashing down on top of you like the whole building was falling. Hot tears fell against your hands, burning your eyes, and your body tensed up. Your skin burst into goosebumps, as the cold air – versus the steam of the shower – seemed to seep into your bones.

Unsure why you were crying so hard, the intensity of the sobs just kept building and building.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey…” You heard Bucky’s panicked voice, as he rushed over to your hysterical state on the floor, scooping you up into his lap and pulling you against his chest. “Shhh. You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m not.” You sobbed, voice hoarse and thick, as you stained his new shirt with tears. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Then be a mess.” He whispered against your clean, wet hair, hand brushing along your spine soothingly – up and down – trying to get you to calm down. “I’m right here with you.”

That opened up a can of worms you weren’t sure Bucky was prepared for…

Full-on breakdown mode was initiated.

Ha. Like it wasn’t, already.

You weren’t sure how long you were both on the floor, but you were glad he was there. You both had a lot to talk about, and – though you were drunk and hysterical – you were finally able to let yourself feel it. You’d been compartmentalizing for so long, that you felt like a 2 liter of pop that had been repeatedly shook up, on the verge of popping off the cap and exploding everywhere.

Well, your cap had finally popped off.

Fuck, this was gunna suck in the morning.

Part 25

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I know a lot of you haven’t been getting notifications for WOMS, among other fics...

Let’s see if this “Roblogging my taglist” thing works this time LOL

If not, I’ll try something different!