#self-preservation is the only instinct I have left

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

What are your thoughts on Poppy’s and Catnap’s sibling dynamics and the shenanigans they get up to? Do they give their dad a headache?

Across all universes where Poppy and Catnap/Theo are on good terms and refer to each other as brother and sister, they give their parent(s) the WORST of headaches.

In normal Angel saves everyone/Poppy Worldwide AU, they tease and annoy each other a lot (affectionate), as all siblings do. Poppy is always stealing Catnap's eyeliner. He's always stealing her nail polish. Poppy is the one who suggests they do something stupid, but in a way that makes it sound like the rational thing to do. "Theo", she calls him. "We should bake a four tier chocolate cake! There isn't anything to celebrate just yet, but we should learn how to do so anyways".

"A... Four tier chocolate cake? With your baking skills?"

"Have you stopped to think that dad and mom would need a four tier cake for their future wedding? They'll need us!"

And then Catnap, on all his glory, accepts the idea, except they should make just two tiers so they won't waste food if things go wrong. They spend HOURS in the kitchen, which would be a big deal if it wasn't for the fact that it was 2 AM. Anyways, they burnt the cake, half of it was undercooked, and it was way too sugary, but the fact that they didn't burn the whole kitchen down made it clear to them that they COULD do it. In theory. In practice Picky, Long Legs and Dogday banned them from the kitchen, and Angel was just horrified that these two were left unsupervised in the kitchen.

Poppy was also sent flying more than once from her INSISTING that Theo should run as fast as possible, with her using him as a ride around the farm. Did she learn from that? No. Did Theo learn from that? Also no.

Catnap, most of the time, knows when one of Poppy's ideas is just stupid. He does so anyways because he wants to see the results, because after 10 years working as a cult leader he really, really wanted to act more reckless without it hurting the cult. Poppy likes the idea of offering Catnap guidance, being older for far longer, but she doesn't have the sharpest self-preservation instincts, while Catnap is always thinking about consequences and what is best for everyone. "You should relax more" / "I'm trying, but I can't" is a good description for their dynamic.

Catnap doesn't like asking Poppy for advice. The only ones he doesn't mind are Dogday, Angel and the Prototype. Poppy feels like having to ask your sibling to drive you somewhere, and that sibling can and WILL tease you for it. Meanwhile, Poppy really, really wants to connect more with Theo, mostly as a way of coping with the fact that she wasn't there to watch him grow up, and believed him to be a monster for most of the past 10 years of her life. She doesn't like to be reminded that their first few months post-rescue were messy and of constant side eyes and bickering, and neither does Theo.

Catnap will refuse to admit it, but he looks up to Poppy a bit. She's content with her body and somehow is able to cope in mostly healthy ways. She was trapped for 10 years in a glass case and is somehow not only a bit of a social butterfly, but someone whose company is good to have.

They both really care for each other, despite the strange first year, and give their parents SO MANY headaches. In Great Escape AU, it's Poppy and Catnap sharing the same braincell and coming up with increasingly over-the-top and stupid plans to make it so everyone is able to escape PlayCo. They give a headache to the Prototype with how reckless they are when together, and when Angel comes into the picture what was bad somehow gets WORSE.

Anyways tldr they're stupid when together.

[seychellse]

holding myself but not out of self love, out of desperation

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[azullumi]

“there’s so many fishes in the sea but i never learned how to swim” ; aventurine

summary — a guide to pining presented by yours truly, aventurine.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, secret pining but like aventurine can be too obvious, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (sorry boo i forgot to tag 😭)

note — i know i could have done better with this one, my brain wasn’t just working and im also on a trip. this is day 6 and 7 of writing for him until i get him !!

Aventurine yearns for connection yet he erects tall walls of self-preservation, fearing vulnerability, attachment, and betrayals (the shadow of his fear of losing someone dear to him all over again will haunt and follow his steps). He’s always distant, seemingly detached to the people around him like a leaf that never touches the ground as the wind carries it away; his only drive for relationships is due to mutual-benefit or a give-and-take situation. So what happens to him when he falls and yearns for someone?

Love is violence, he knows that but his eyes would stumble after your shadow and he wonders what it feels like to live in it. He’ll lie under your gaze and he’ll dream what it feels like to be seen, what it feels like to be loved by you. He will seek ways to be close to you but not close enough that you’ll know the rhythm of his heart spells out the letters of your name. In each moment of longing, it is all tinged with a taste of bitterness as this yearning, though desired, is a precarious precipice—everything will crumble and fall once he speaks about it.

So he settles with stolen looks with wishful thinking that you’ll cast a glance at his direction, he settles with the small things at first before he begins to become selfish—he’ll make up reasons just to see and talk to you, think of excuses just so he could linger a little longer in your presence. He’ll make up games and initiates bets where he knows he’ll always win but would let himself lose anyways; winning or losing didn’t matter to him in those moments with you.

“Go ahead, guess.”

You fell into a deep thought, staring at the two hands balled into fist that are in front of you. Your eyebrows were scrunched, trying to listen to the voice of your instinct but everything was silent inside your head.

“Take your time. After all, whoever loses has to follow what the winner wants.” Aventurine spoke and you could discern the hint of amusement in his tone as he watched you fall into some sort of predicament—all you had to do was to choose which one of his hands was the coin in. It was just one of the simple games you’ll play with him every time you see each other. Come to think of it, his visits to your department have been quite frequent despite having no particular business, official or not.

“Shh. I’m thinking.” You answer, lifting your index finger to your mouth in a hush gesture. It took you a few moments of silence and thoughtful humming before you pointed at his left hand, “That one.”

But he opens his left hand to show nothing on his palm, his right hand revealing the coin at the same time, and you are hit with a wave of disappointment. A chuckle slips past his lips and you just sighed—there was nothing you could do but to admit defeat. “Well then, what do you want me to do?”

Aventurine, without a single second of hesitation, answered. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

The thing is you could have laid yourself bare to him, you could tell him all of the sins that taint your skin, the words left unspoken in your mouth, the growing mold in your lungs. He’ll see the rot and will choose to stay, he’ll see the cobwebs and dusty bookshelves, and he’ll love you still, he’ll see the torn wallpapers and ruined floors and he’ll still adore you (he’ll find you where you are most ruined and he will love you there).

(His hand would gently tug and hold at the cuffs of your sleeves, letting the warmth and closeness of his touch linger in hopes that you’ll see him in the sun that holds you gently.)

Many people claim that they love you but do they adore you the same way as he does? Would they cross bridges for you when he’ll swim oceans just to see the way your eyes catch the light? Would they traverse the stars just to listen to the sound of your laughter? 

(He’ll see the dirt in your hands and will help you wash it off when others would simply walk away.)

He’ll think of you as he laid in his bed, satin sheets all wrinkled and messy as his pillows scattered around his form, and he wondered how nice it would be to have your things among his. to have the smell of your perfume mixed with his, to have you in his arms before he sleeps (he has dreams of his dreams and you’re always in it).

All this yearning, longing, and adoration will turn into a sword that will make him bleed the more he holds on to it and you’ll stay in his thoughts as the blood will run dry on his being. He simply hopes he crosses your mind once in a while so that he won’t feel pathetic for thinking of you all the time.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[peachesofteal]

Ghost/Soap/female reader 18+ mdni - dark content Running from Simon at the bar because he’s the scary man who wants to pick his teeth with your finger bones… only to find an angel waiting in the wings.

Your second martini is stronger than the first. 

You’re not sure how it’s even possible, considering the contents of a martini is mostly just alcohol, but it stings a little sharper on your first swallow, and you eye the skewer of olives skeptically. 

Oh well. 

More bang for your buck, you suppose. Better to get the job done faster, and cheaper, than the alternative. 

The bar is bustling, and you watch it all from the corner you’re tucked into. Coeds from across the city pack like tinned fish against one another, yelling and breathing in each other’s faces, loud laughter and boisterous conversations bouncing off the walls. Cigarette smoke cloys, orange-red ends flickering in the low light of the evening, blazing bright before they’re snuffed out and replaced. 

Your phone buzzes with a text, ten minutes late, and surprise is few and far between when you read that your activities for tonight have now evaporated, plans cancelled with a simple six-word sentence. 

Sorry, I can’t make it now. 

Asshole.

The vodka is stiff on your lips. Your tongue seeks the rim of your glass, flicking at a leftover drop of olive and alcohol, vermouth herbaceous in the back of your mouth. 

“Seat taken?” A gruff, rough dipped voice calls over your shoulder, gesturing to one of the only bar stools left in the building, and you answer without looking up.

“All yours.” 

“Thanks love.” The pet name straightens your spine, and you sneak a glance, eyeing the bulk settling at your side. “Usin’ that?” He points at the ashtray, thick finger alone in the air, and you shake your head. 

He meets your eyes head on as you turn to look at him, curiosity burning a hole in your brain, and good sense has your stomach tightening into a pit. 

A five-alarm fire rages, gusts of wind and pockets of brush fueling it’s spread, encouraging it to burn far and wide inside you until it consumes everything in its path. 

Danger, it shrieks. Run.

The man’s face is scarred. His nose is crooked. His eyes are dark. He’s a hell baptized image of Ares, a gladiator, a solider. A monster of men. 

And he stares at you like he knows you. 

It’s unnerving enough to set you adrift, free falling through the possibilities. 

It’s danger, but so much more. So much worse. He transcends lethality, strength and bloodlust shining in his expression, a dark beacon lighting the way home. Pine and cigarette smoke, drifting in the stale air. 

Just finish your drink and tab out. Leave. 

“Out by yourself tonight?” You blink at the croon in his voice, serrated tip of a knife dripping with honey, and answer automatically. 

“No.” It’s a lie of course, but you were raised with good self-preservation instincts. You’ve been a girl alone in a bar before, on a train, in an Uber. You know how to tilt the table, load the dice. Pretend you’re with someone, or on the phone, or have someone waiting for you. Lie and pretend. Make it believable. 

The flick of a lighter draws your attention, and he extends a fresh smoke towards you. An olive branch. A trick. 

“Want one?” You twist your face into the most disgusted mask manageable, and he chuckles. “Suit yourself. I’m Simon, by the way.” Lie. You give him something tugged from thin air, something you’re not going to remember in ten minutes time. 

The bartender comes by, and you’re both grateful for the reprieve, and a chance to close out. Until-

“An’ another one of those.” He points at the glass, your eyes going round, cold sweat breaking out across the back of your neck. 

“Oh. No, that’s-“ 

“C’mon. One won’t kill ya.” You should tell him it would, it might. Should get loud. More insistent. 

All the rebuttal evaporates when his shoulder shoves against yours, effectively pinning you between the bar top and the wall, heavy thigh bleeding heat against your exposed leg. Your too short dress is now a colossal mistake, and you curse your date for bailing, and yourself for believing he’d even show up in the first place. 

The man, Simon, makes a show of looking around, head on a swivel, roving over the crowd before turning back you with a glint. He knows. He knows you’re not here with anyone. “So, who’d you get all pretty for tonight then?” Smoke rolls from his lips, and the lump in the back of your throat is so thick, it tries to choke you. 

“My- my date.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Not here.” You grit each word, glaring. It only earns you another smile, eyes crinkling in the corner, a shark sniffing blood in the water. 

“Poor thing. An’ your dress is so nice, too. Little short, but… that’s alright. You didn’t know.” He takes a swig of his drink, neat bourbon, room temperature gasoline, and your mouth dries up. 

Didn’t know what? 

The subtle alarm bells ringing in the back of your head become nuclear sirens. 

The martini sweats on the bar top, leaving a wet ring around the base of the glass. Your stomach sours. “Thank you, for the drink, but-“ 

“Drink it.” You haven’t looked away from it, you think, know it hasn’t been tampered with… yet the idea of doing something this stranger, this man asks, terrifies you. 

“I uh…” 

“Don’t wanna be rude, do ya pet?” Fuck. You survey the room, looking for anyone who has noticed you, who has observed this interaction, who has realized what’s happening in this little dark corner. 

No one pays you a lick of attention. If they do, they spot the hulking mass of a man at your elbow and avert their eyes immediately. A few glance back in disbelief, like they recognize him somehow, or know him, before pointedly looking away.  

You’re all but invisible. 

Everything flows around you like water. You’re a rock beneath the surface, affecting a swell, an eddyline, and yet, no one knows. No one can see. 

You swallow half the drink in one gulp, hope and prayer on the wind. 

He’ll leave you alone, once you bore him. Once he realizes he won’t get anything out of you, he’ll move onto someone else. Someone more interesting. 

“How is it?” His leg presses harder on yours, a quadricep like cement halting you effectually, securing your immobility against him with a simple movement. 

He’ll pick you clean, and then pick his teeth with your bones. 

“Fine.”  

“Jus’ fine, eh?” His jaw flexes, and a split second of confusing emotion controls you, forcing new words from your mouth in a desperate attempt to appease. 

“It’s… good. It’s good.” Ice layers across the top of it, and you take another sip for the show, half smile painted on loosely. 

You have to get out of here. You have to go now. 

“If you’ll excuse me…” you flex, trying to stand, but he shakes his head. 

“Where you off to?” Your neck snaps back, indignant, and then you raise your voice over the din, too loud to be considered casual, fingers gripping the edge of your seat until your knuckles hurt. 

“I have to use the bathroom.” Eyes half lidded, he traces you from head to toe before nodding, turning back to his drink almost as if he’s uninterested, grim line of his mouth twisting into a smile and settling around the end of his cigarette. 

Once you’re in the hall, you take a left to the emergency exit, not a right, spilling out the back and into star studded night, gasping for air so cold it shocks your lungs. 

“Whoa, hey there.” An accent croons, and you turn in a panic, palms out. “Easy, easy bonnie. What’s got ye all upset?” Your entire body flags with relief, a rip cord pulled against your sense and judgement. The man, the Scottish man, seems friendly, seems kind, wide blue eyes alarmed and worried, brows creased gently as he helps keep you upright. 

“S-sorry. Sorry, I just… I just had… the weirdest-“ It doesn’t make sense, to try to explain, and nothing sounds right coming off your tongue, so you flail, and he tries to comfort you. 

“Shhh, ye’re alright now. Just breathe.” His palm is firm against your side, and you shake your head, trying to put words to the madness brewing at your back inside the bar. 

“There was a man, and he-“ The streetlamps flare, burning as bright as the sun, and you blink, grasping for your bearings. “He…” 

“He what, bonnie?” His voice is distorted, and the arm at your side now creeps around your back. “What’s wrong?” Your adrenaline surges, leaving your head throbbing, and nausea claws it way up the back of your throat. 

“N-nothing, I…” You’re fuzzy. Everything out of balance, and you gasp for air. 

The door behind you creaks open and slams closed, jolting you in the grip of the Scotsman. 

“It’s alright.” He coos. You’re weak limbed, malleable in his hold, and he turns your face into his neck, rubbing your back, his chest vibrating with every syllable. “Just close your eyes.” He smells good, woodsmoke and juniper, pine and cigarettes, something familiar enough to prickle, far away awareness digging at the soft sinew in the front of your brain. 

Pine and cigarettes. Pine… and cigarettes. 

It’s the last thing your rational mind pieces together before you’re lost to the darkness. 

[angelicyoongie]

The Obsidian Pearl (II)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 8.1k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence, explicit sexual content! dub-con touching/oral sex (f. receiving) - the smut is marked with * if you want to skip it — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

It's almost night when the siren, Seokjin, visits you again.

Enough time has passed for the air to turn chilly, carrying small gusts of wind that pass right through your clothes. The sunshine that warmed you only hours ago feels like it might never return, not when your surroundings are so terribly dark. You can feel the chill deep in your bones, fear nipping at your skin, clinging to you like frost on a dark winter night. 

You're huddled as deep in the cave as you can go, hugging your knees to your chest. You're exhausted, eyes as dry as sand, but you know you can't rest. Call it instinct after being on the sea for so many years – of constantly being trapped on a vessel with people who might turn on you at any second – you tend to develop a hunch of when bad things are going to happen. 

You can feel it in your body now, the low buzz that keeps you alert, reminding you that you are not safe no matter how tired you may be. 

The reason for it comes only a few minutes later, a terrible scraping sound reverberating through the silence as something heavy is pushed up on the ledge of the stone dock. You free your stiff limbs, wincing as you whip around to face the source of it. It looks to be some sort of chest, the short distance and the faint moonlight not doing much for your vision. 

As the item is pushed forward with another forceful shove, your heart jumps to your throat. You've seen this chest before –  the iron insignia on the top is all too familiar to you. It belongs, no, belonged, to your captain. You don't dare to move closer though, not when there's only one creature who could've brought it to you. 

Seokjin emerges from the water just seconds later, heaving himself up on the rock. He looks like something out of your worst nightmare, long hair covering his face as he claws his way forward. The shadows make him look all the more terrifying, the dark night blending together with his tail and hair like the perfect camouflage. If it wasn't for his strikingly pale skin, you never would've been able to make him out at all. 

He settles back against the same rock as he did before, parting his hair to expose his face. Shivers run down your spine as Seokjin's black eyes find yours through the darkness. They strike just as much fear into you as they did last night, this morning, the emptiness just another reminder of how unearthly he really is. 

It was foolish perhaps, but you had found yourself hoping that Seokjin had forgotten about you. That he had come across another ship to terrorize and another human to keep for his little experiments. You wouldn't have minded rotting away in the cave alone if it meant you never had to look upon him again. 

The siren clicks his tongue. "I bring you a gift and you dare to look disappointed? This won't do. Come closer, little human." 

You don't move, self-preservation rooting you to the ground. 

"You humans freeze to death if you get too cold, do you not? Your skin is quite thin, fragile." Seokjin delivers his point by parting his mouth more than necessary, those horrible teeth coming to view behind his plush lips. "Your brain might be too small to remember but the water I dragged you out of was ice cold, pet. The air will only grow colder the longer you wait."  

Seokjin doesn't have to use his thrall to make you understand that you have no choice in the matter. If you don't come forward willingly, he'll will either drag you there himself or let the elements do you in. The part of your brain that fears the unknown more than the creature in front of you, urges you to move.

You don't even have it in you to feel humiliated as you crawl forward, terror and cold stiff limbs making it impossible to walk. Seokjin's stare hangs over you like a heavy cloud, slowing you down even further. 

He's close, way too close, as you kneel in front of the chest. You would be able to touch his stomach, feel where his skin transforms into scales if you just stretch your arm out.

Seokjin huffs as you linger, the sound making you jump as he impatiently says, "Go on." 

You reach for the iron key that's miraculously still in the lock, your busted shoulder aching with pain as you have to twist it with more force than usual. A small stream of water is forced out, running down the side of the chest as you slowly open the lid with shaking hands. You've never held much gratitude for your captain, but for once, you can't be more thankful for his arrogance. He always left the key in the lock and never worried about a greedy crew, because, as he would always say; who in their right mind would dare to steal from a Captain? 

You release a shuddering breath as you push it open, the iron hinges voicing their displeasure with a long squeak as the contents are revealed to you. The fur-lined coat your captain bought in the East lays on top of an array of shirts and pants, the fabric hardly even damp as you pick it up. You had assumed everything to be drenched, but it seems the carpenter your captain had been boasting about was the real deal after all. 

You pull the coat into your lap, warmth immediately swaddling your legs. 

A gift, Seokjin had called it, but you doubt the siren is simply that generous. 

"How did you get this?" You quietly ask, voice trembling.

You know the stories of how the ships make it out unscathed, of how it's only the crews that go missing. But unless Seokjin can sprout legs, there's no way he was able to grab it on his own. The siren has a tail and a heavy one at that. As unearthly as he is, you doubt he's strong enough to drag himself all the way up the ship and into your captain's quarters. Never mind that he would do all of that for a chest he didn't even know existed. 

"I sank the ship," Seokjin sounds like he's rolling his eyes, although you're not too sure he's even capable of doing so. "It took you too long to wake from your slumber and I was bored. I have not explored a wooden vessel in many moons and this chest looked interesting. I was foolishly hoping for treasure, not silly human clothes." 

The siren smacks his tail against the water, irritated. 

Even though the chances of getting out of here were slim, you were holding out hope that if you only got to the other side of the mountain, you might be able to use the ship to get away. It would be near impossible to do with only one person and not the whole crew it actually needs, but when something as ludicrous as a siren exists, manning one ship by yourself doesn't sound all that far-fetched in comparison. 

You release a shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that gather. With that escape route gone, the ship now resting on the bottom of the sea with the remains of your crewmates, you are truly helpless. 

Trapped. 

You hope the darkness hides the way your face crumples. Lip wobbling, you try to focus on the chest in front of you, not wanting to give into panic with Seokjin so close. You have to save the freakout and the despair for when you're alone. It wouldn't surprise you if the siren can smell your fear. 

Leaning forward, you notice what looks like a thick scarf, the material soft enough that it might serve as a decent pillow. You're not sure if Seokjin is planning on leaving the chest or taking it with him, so this might be your only chance at grabbing items you'll need to survive. 

Just as your fingers close around the scarf, picking it up, you feel something sharp poke into your cheek. 

Your whole body goes rigid at the touch, your muscles locking up as you realize that one of Seokjin's claws is currently digging into your skin. You hold your breath as he slowly trails it down your throat, the sharp nail leaving a sting in its wake. You don't have to touch it to know that it's a deep scratch, blood rushing to the surface to clot the damage. 

"Look at me." 

You don't. You can't. You don't want to know what will happen when you do. 

"Look at me," Seokjin repeats, more force in his voice. 

It makes something in the back of your mind tickle.

You clutch the coat in your lap tighter, focusing on the soft fur between your fingers as the siren's voice grows in annoyance.

You're not sure how many times he repeats his command but between one blink and the next, you suddenly find yourself staring right at him. Your mind feels hazy like it's been stuffed with cotton and shaken around, turning everything upside down.

The hard set of Seokjin's mouth disappears as you finally meet his gaze. The siren hums under his breath as he moves his hand to your face, cupping your jaw. It's like being a spectator in your own body, your eyes refusing to waver no matter how much you want them to. You can feel the ghost of his claws on your skin, not quite digging in but present enough that you know it's a threat. That he can mess you up beyond repair if he feels like it. 

Seokjin leans in, watching you curiously as your throat bobs, lips struggling to part. 

Your tongue feels like lead, awkward and too heavy, but you use all of your willpower to open your mouth, slurring as you ask, "What did you do?" 

Seokjin breaks into a grin, a forked tongue peeking out to lick his terrible teeth. You can feel his breath wash over your face as he speaks, the stench of decay and death making your stomach roll. "You're quite the strong one, pet, I'm glad I brought you here. I think you'll prove to be very entertaining."

The siren gives you one last look, his cold fingers leaving your face as he leans back. You feel some of the thrall leave you as Seokjin turns and slowly sinks back down into the dark water, the small distance making it a little easier to think. You still can't look away from him, eyes tracking his movements even as he submerges himself completely under the surface. He's only gone for a moment before he returns, one of his pale hands coming into view above the water just before something wet splatters at your feet.

"Eat." 

Seokjin doesn't wait for an answer. The thrall snaps the moment he's gone, his strong fin carrying him away in seconds. 

You gasp, hand shooting up to feel your throat. The scratch he left behind aches and your head is beginning to throb from whatever he did to it. You tear your eyes away from the lake, glancing down at the thing that Seokjin left you with. 

The moment you manage to make out what it is, you flinch back, jerking your body away from the mangled fish at your feet. The blood pooling beneath it has already soaked the hem of your trousers, staining it dark. 

The sight disgusts you but you can't ignore the hunger gnawing at your stomach. The water in the lake felt fresh enough to drink, but it's been almost two days without any food and you're starving.

There's not a bone in your body that trusts Seokjin but you can't turn away a free meal. You have no guarantee that he'll bring you something again and you'll have no chance of escaping if you're too weak to move. 

You poke at the fish, shuddering as its half-torn body twitches. 

If only you still had your knife. At least then one of you could be shown some mercy.

You wake with a gasp, chest heaving with panicked breaths as the fog lifts. It's like someone snaps their finger right next to your ear, violently jerking you out of a slumber you weren't even aware you had fallen into. Your awareness always comes back to your first, keeping your mind awake and trapped while the rest of your body slowly shakes off the thrall you've been under.

You're near the edge of the dock again, kneeling in front of Seokjin. The siren has his head tucked against your neck, his long tongue dragging over your skin, licking off the sweat that rolls down your throat. Every part of you feels sticky and damp, the top of your head burning from the blazing sun. You have no way of knowing how long you've been sitting here but judging by the way your brain is practically mush from the prolonged exposure, it must've been a while. 

You shudder at the next flick of his tongue, nausea swirling in your stomach. The days have been passing much in the same manner, every new turn of the moon leading you closer and closer to Seokjin. This isn't the first time you've felt his cold skin against yours, you've woken up to your hands and face being touched many times, but it's never been this intimate before. Never this dangerous, with his sharp teeth so close to your delicate skin. 

Seokjin pauses, his tongue pulling away from your skin as he muses, "That lasted shorter than expected, little human."  

There's no emotion in the siren's voice, nothing that gives you an indication of whether he's happy or angry. He's simply just... observing. Treating you like the experiment he's decided you are. The siren seems fascinated with your ability to somewhat resist his thrall and he has made it his mission to test out how well your resilience works. That seems to be the only reason he's keeping you here.

You can't quite tell how long he's been at it, though. Time feels wonky when you don't know how much of it has passed. The only thing you can be certain of is that it's already been well over a week, maybe even two since Seokjin trapped you here. 

"Please stop," You whimper, voice shaking as you feel his hot breath against your throat, teeth skimming lightly over your skin. 

To your surprise, Seokjin listens. The siren pulls back, the corner of his lip curled into a displeased snarl. He looks nothing short of irked that his fun was cut short, a series of clicking noises gurgling in his throat as he gives your shoulder a shove, breaking the last of his thrall. 

You scramble backward the second your limbs feel like they're once again attached to your body, dragging yourself into the safety and shade of the cave. Nothing is stopping Seokjin from following after you, he's strong enough to pull himself into your makeshift shelter, but he seems content to stay on the edge of the stone dock - always resting against the same flat rock. 

You sprawl out on the ground, panting from the heat. The cool stone seeps slowly through your clothes, bringing your temperature down to something that feels less like you're boiling alive in your own skin. But even as the heat begins to recede, you still feel terrible. The thrall always leaves you nauseous and the shock of snapping out of it in such close proximity to a dangerous predator doesn't exactly help. You're constantly on edge, heart locked in such a rapid beat that you're worried it's shaving years off your life. 

Biting back a groan, you sit up, using your captain's chest for support. It wasn't easy moving it into the cave, not with a shoulder that ached with every push. The fear that Seokjin might take it back if you left it was the only thing that kept you going, the clothes inside were far too precious for you to take that risk. 

The siren hasn't mentioned the chest since the night he left it but it's impossible to tell if your actions bothered him. He's too good at masking his emotions, his face a blank canvas. Some nights, you do admit that you wonder if he even has them – if he can feel the same things that you do.

You're not quite sure which answer scares you the most. 

One thing you do know though, is that you need to learn more about him. You're not one to be a sitting duck and this is driving you insane. Seokjin must have some weakness, something you can use against him or that might aid you in your escape. Perhaps he hibernates in the colder months or he needs to swim for a set amount of hours for his body to function. You refuse to believe he's invincible.

"So," You swallow thickly as Seokjin turns his lifeless eyes to you, "You mentioned that you have brothers?" 

Your voice is barely audible enough to carry over to Seokjin but it sounds much too loud within the walls of the cave. You ball your hands in your lap, hoping your expression doesn't show just how terrified you are of willingly calling upon his attention. 

"Indeed, pet." 

"How many do you have?"

The siren raises one hand to the sky, inspecting his sharp claws. "Enough." 

He obviously doesn't want to answer that topic – move on.

"Y-you said something about a sea witch. How did you find them?" 

"Now why would you want to find a sea witch, little human? Unless you want to get turned into a fish, they are of no use to you." 

"Right, o-of course," You exhale, biting back the urge to throw some colourful language his way.

You try a few more, but there are only so many meaningless questions you can ask before you give up, tired of the aloof answers you get in return. It's like he knows exactly what you're trying to do. Considering Seokjin isn't willing to disclose any type of information, even knowledge that is worthless to you, it's pretty clear that you can't bait him into revealing anything useful. 

He's too smart. 

Seokjin stretches his arms above his head, showing off his lean muscles as his back pops. The crunches sound terribly loud, like he's trying to crack open every vertebra in his spine. 

He lets out a satisfied sound, head tipped back to soak up the sun as he says, "Now that I have answered all of your questions, little human, you should give me something in return. Tell me something interesting about yourself, pet, something that you deem worthy of a meal. It is horribly tiresome to fetch your food at the time." 

You suppose it was absurd to think that the siren would continue to feed you without demanding something in return. Perhaps he's already starting to tire of his little experiments.

You pick at your nails, the splintered edges uncomfortable and raw. 

There's only one story a creature like him will find interesting – one you swore you would never tell anyone that wasn't there to witness it when it happened. But, as twisted as it is, the siren might be the only one who won't judge you. 

The faded scar on your throat burns as you swallow, the phantom pain of a knife digging into your skin flaring up as you say, "I killed someone." 

Glancing up, you find Seokjin staring straight at you, his dark eyes glittering under the sun. His tail does a small wiggle, fin smacking the water in what you can only assume to be intrigue. 

"Tell me more, pet." 

"He was sick," Your hand flies to cover your mouth as your lips move without your permission. You didn't even feel the thrall this time, no push or tug to indicate that Seokjin was in your head. There's only a small tickle at the back of your brain, like you need to scratch your scalp.

Seokjin has never used the thrall on you twice in one day before now. It must be that you're already tired from earlier that he can affect you so easily, that he can slither his way back in without you even noticing he's trying.

Seokjin grins, lips stretched into a terrible smile as he says, "Go on." 

"W-we had been out on the sea for many months, five full moons, and we still had a few to go before we would reach the nearest port," You say, taking a measured breath.

"One of our cooks starting acting strangely – he was suddenly anxious and angry, exploding at any minor inconvenience. He started picking fights with the crew, causing too much tension. It was cabin fever, we all had it, but for him, it was worse. It made him sick." 

You let your hands fall to your side, fingers uselessly grasping for the knife that isn't there anymore. 

"He attacked one of the cabin boys in the kitchen, sliced two of his fingers clean off as he delivered him a freshly caught fish. He followed the poor lad up on deck when he ran, waving his knife around and screaming at anyone that tried to calm him down. The sea... she can be brutal, too big. Staring at the same unchanging horizon every day had chipped away at his sanity, left him with nothing but fear and anger at being trapped by the same water day in and day out." 

Seokjin says nothing, his black eyes staring you down as he waits for you to continue. 

"He tackled me to the ground before I even knew what was going on. When I looked him in the eyes, I knew he wasn't there anymore. There was no recognition, no emotion. Just survival. He managed to give me this while I was trying to fight him off," You lightly touch the scar on your neck, tracing it from the bottom of your jaw down to your collarbone.

"The others couldn't pull him away either, he was like a beast. I am, was, vice-captain of the ship. It was my duty to protect my crew. I couldn't let him hurt anyone else," Your voice falters as you stare at the monster in front of you, at the creature you couldn't protect your crew from. The cook was a weak mouse in comparison. 

"So, I... I killed him. He wouldn't have made it even if we had locked him up, he was simply too far gone. It was more merciful to let him die." 

The siren is silent for a beat, his eyes roaming over your face before he tips his head forward and laughs. At least, that's what you think he does, the series of weird clicking noises that gurgle in his throat sounding oddly joyful despite how grating the sound is. 

"You truly are fascinating, pet. I made a good choice letting you live." 

The hand by your hip clenches, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wish you still had your knife, that you had something you could drive into Seokjin's throat to hear him choke on his last breaths. You weren't expecting sympathy, but you also didn't think he would find your story entertaining – funny, even. He truly is terrible.

You say nothing in return, your anger making it hard to think; to feel anything but the hatred stirring in your heart.

Seokjin, seemingly pleased with what he heard and not at all bothered by your silence, does what he always does and leaves the moment he gets what he wants.

You stare at the empty spot he left, the wet imprint of his long body the only thing left behind. 

You're not sure how long you sit there, caught up in old memories and emotions you've tried to ignore for so long, but the sun has started its descent by the time the siren makes his presence known again. 

This time, you watch as Seokjin leaves you not one, but five fish, all half mangled and twitching as the life drains out of them. He flings a few pieces of driftwood up on the dock, staring at your curled-up form for a minute before he swims away. 

It's only when your stomach starts to rumble that you force yourself to rise to your feet, walking slowly over to the haul the siren brought you. The wood is wet and soggy, but a few days out in the sun should hopefully dry it enough that it might be used to start a fire. 

You let out a humorless chuckle as you drag your hands across your face. You truly are little more than a mutt, waiting for your master to reward you when you do something he finds amusing. How embarrassing. How weak. 

No matter how rabid you feel, you know that biting the hand that feeds you will do you no good here. If you want to survive, to live, perhaps it's time to roll over and accept your fate. 

You're not sure if you're getting better at resisting the thrall or if Seokjin just isn't bothering to use it at full force anymore, but you no longer blackout when he comes to visit you. It feels like you're in a dream, vision spotty as you watch yourself move forward on unsteady feet, falling right into Seokjin's waiting arms. The siren holds you close to his chest, arms squeezing you so hard the pain registers even through the haze. 

Weeks have passed since the day you told Seokjin your story, since you slowly began to surrender to your situation. The siren still follows the same routine but he seems to have sensed your compliance – your defeat. Your mind is still blocked off, barred from taking control of your body, but now you're able to feel everything that was only a dull memory before. Perhaps the darkness, the blissful ignorance, was a small mercy compared to this. 

Seokjin lets out a guttural sound as he pushes his face into your neck, his sharp claws slicing through your shirt. His tongue drags over your skin with a desperation you haven't felt before, teeth nicking your skin.

As terrible as it is, you've grown used to Seokjin's touches, his presence. On lonely nights, you find that you almost wish to see him, just so that you don't have to face the darkness all alone.

You have come to know what to expect from Seokjin but this is new, dangerous, a far cry from the stoic and in-control creature you've been around for the past months.

The siren's hold on you is crushing, your bones aching under the strong pressure. He skims his nose along your skin, huffing as he breathes in your scent. There's a pause, a stretch of heavy silence, and then blinding pain as sharp teeth sink into your already injured shoulder.

Your vision whites out, ears ringing as the thrall suddenly snaps and everything comes rushing in at once. Your shoulder is spasming, muscles jerking with agony as Seokjin digs his teeth in deeper, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as he draws blood. 

It hurts. Gods, it hurts.

A wounded scream rips from your throat as you attempt to claw at his face, desperate to get his teeth out of your shoulder. Seokjin growls as you deliver a deep scratch on his cheek, pulling back just a smidge to create the sound. Seeing an opening, you tangle your hand in his long hair, jerking it back with all your might. You're lucky Seokjin doesn't tear a chunk of your shoulder out as his head snaps back, surprise making his tight grip around you lessen. It's just enough for you to fight your way out of his embrace, body shaking with fear and adrenaline as you roll onto the stone. 

Grabbing your shoulder, you try to scoot backward on the slick ground, your own blood making it hard to get enough friction.

Your legs falter as Seokjin turns in your direction, the siren looking like he crawled right out of hell. His expression is crazed, hungry, blood dripping from his unhinged jaw. You can see straight down his throat from how open his mouth is, his stained teeth and black eyes creating the perfect picture of a demon. 

Seokjin hisses as you attempt to move, a horrible sound that makes every strand of hair on your body stand straight. He digs his claws into the rock in front of him, using his strong arms to drag himself forward. 

"Come here, pet," Seokjin gurgles, his voice hardly even human.

"No no, please don't," You whimper, a newfound urgency propelling you back.

Something in the siren's expression flickers at your broken pleading, like he can't decide if his hunger or entertainment is more important. The confusion, the small sliver of hope it gives you, only lasts for a few seconds before he shakes himself out of it, Seokjin's clawed hand reaching out for your ankle. 

Just as he's about to wrap his hand around your foot, your feeble kicks doing little to deter him, you both hear the distant sound of people. 

It must be another crew daring to brave the mountains, their rambunctious singing and laughter so terribly out of place. They're either obvious to the stories haunting the pass or trying to compensate for the oppressive silence they no doubt felt the moment the ship entered it. Your heart flutters with longing at the sound of humans singing and laughing, your chest constricting with a yearning you thought died weeks ago. They sound happy and lively – everything the siren is not. 

You watch as the same realization hits Seokjin, as he registers the sound of food entering his territory. The siren's jaw pops back to normal as he licks his lips, his empty eyes flickering up to the darkening sun as he says, "The ocean appears to be smiling kindly on you tonight, little human." 

Frozen to the spot, you feel your heart drop to your stomach as the siren twists around and dives back into the water with an urgency you haven't seen from him before.

The moment he's out of sight you let out an ugly sob, hope draining out of you alongside the blood that runs down your arm. You tear at the sliced fabric that's barely holding on to your body, wrapping it around your wound with shaking fingers. It's a poor excuse for a bandage, the material soaked through in seconds, but you still tighten it as much as you can, hoping it'll be enough to stop the bleeding. Only left with your undershirt, you can feel the shivers begin to set in, your adrenaline crashing. 

You had given up hope on being rescued a long time ago but to have it this close, just on the other side of the mountain, is torture. You can't even alert the unsuspecting crew of what's coming, of the deadly creature that's lurking below their ship. 

Scream, scare them off.

Just as the futile thought strikes you, you hear it – him. The gentle hums that cause a hush to fall over the ship.

You cover your ears, not wanting to hear what comes next. You don't know if Seokjin's thrall can still affect you here but you'd rather not take the chance and risk waking up at the bottom of the lake. Closing your eyes, you try to pretend that none of this is real, that all of this is just a terrible, terrible dream.

You let out a weak sob as the first scream pierces the air. Their terrified yells echo between the mountains as they're forced to jump one by one, their final moments brutal and panicked. There's no gentleness in Seokjin's song this time, only urgency as he compels them to their deaths. 

He was starving.

For some unfathomable reason, the siren must have been starving himself to the point of breaking, trying to withhold from killing you. It all adds up to why he was acting so out of character over the past few days, his behavior more erratic than normal. He had been trying to fight off the urge to eat you. 

If the ship hadn't arrived when it did, if it had only been one second too late, you would've been dead by now. 

You curl up into a small ball, body cold and numb to the pain as your shield your ears, wrapping your arms securely around your head. "Thank you," You whisper to the faint moon, guilt twisting your stomach into knots. 

Tears drip down your face as the screams continue to reverberate into the night, choked apologies passing through your lips until you feel them going slack. You don't fight the darkness that pulls you under, your soul begging for rest, for a place the screams of Seokjin's massacre can't reach you. 

You jolt as a cold hand wraps around your shin. 

Eyes flying open, you manage to push yourself up on your elbows before your shoulder gives out, the movement sending a sharp pain all the way down to your fingers. You grit your teeth, breathing through your nose to steady yourself as you glance up at Seokjin.

The siren wraps his hand tighter around your leg, using it for leverage as he drags himself up on the rock. You were close to the mouth of the cave when you passed out but now you're almost at the edge of the dock, feet only a few steps away from the still water below. Seokjin's thrall must've been too strong, urging you to come closer even when you were unconscious. 

Perhaps you have truly lost your mind or maybe the night is playing tricks on you, but for once, there's actual emotion on Seokjin's face. The siren grins, his black eyes ablaze with something as he pushes forward. He tugs your legs apart, fitting his body between them. His hands rest on either side of your ribcage, his face so close that you can practically taste the stench of death that washes over your lips with every breath. The water cascading from his skin makes you shiver as it hits your own, the droplets soaking through your undershirt in seconds. 

"Pet," Seokjin purrs, inching his face closer.

You hold your breath, limbs frozen with fear, as the small distance between you disappears. 

You can only watch and you're horrified to find that the first thought that strikes you is how mesmerizing the siren looks. The moon shines brightly behind him, giving the scales climbing up his stomach and the small patches on his arms an iridescent shine. It's no wonder sirens have been described as beautiful creatures, not with how Seokjin's pale skin is illuminated, practically glowing, under the night sky.

You see his head tilt down, his dark eyes roaming over your bandaged shoulder. The wound only seems to ache more under the pressure of his gaze.

"Good work, little human," Seokjin comments, pleased, "You patched yourself up just to stay with me longer. I am not cruel, I will reward you for this." 

What a good dog you are, licking your wounds for your master just so that he can tear them open again.

Your legs twitch on each side of Seokjin's body, resisting the urge to kick at his tail. Angering him will do you no good and you're ashamed to admit that the spark of excitement in his features leaves you curious – makes you want to know just what a siren considers a reward. 

Seokjin ducks his head lower, pressing his nose right against your throat. The sharp bite you're expecting never comes – instead, there's only the soft press of his lips roaming over your skin, hurried kisses scattered across your neck. He lowers himself to get more access, nudging your head back as he settles more of his weight on your body. It leaves your hips completely immobile, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to keep yourself raised off the ground. 

You hold your breath, scared to move as much as a muscle. 

The siren's tongue flicks out to taste your skin with every kiss, leaving a trail of saliva covering your neck. The cold air only heightens the contrast between his warm lips and the slick skin he leaves behind. You're caught off guard when he suddenly attaches his lips to the underside of your jaw and sucks, pulling the sensitive skin there between his lips.

You let out a startled gasp at the sensation, small shudders traveling down your spine as your reaction only seems to spur Seokjin on, the siren quickly finding more spots to mark up. 

Your whimper, surprised, as he uses a claw to slice through the bottom of your undershirt, exposing your waist and stomach. His cold hand finds the exposed area immediately, rubbing and squeezing at your skin as he drags his hand up and down your waist. He somehow manages to keep his claws off your skin, only digging them in faintly whenever you grow too quiet. He seems to enjoy the involuntary sounds you make, his actions only growing more and more frenzied as he tries to pull more of them from you. 

"Touch me," Seokjin growls against your throat, his voice half strangled as he pushes you down to lie flat on the ground.

Mindful of your aching shoulder, you raise a tentative, shaking hand up towards his arm, grasping his toned bicep. You can feel the power thrumming under his skin, how strong he is from that simple touch alone.

Seokjin is quiet as you slowly glide your fingers up his arm and over his shoulder, feeling how the texture keeps switching between soft skin and hard scales whenever you encounter a small gathering of them. It's a curious feeling, one your brain struggles to fully comprehend.

You continue your touch down his back, careful to steer clear of the fin that protrudes along his spine. He lets out a harsh breath, low clicks gurgling in his throat as you let your hand fall away, not daring to go further than his waist.

You glance up as he pulls back, breath stuttering in your chest as you take in how wild he looks. Seokjin's expression is hungry, but it's nothing like the empty, ravenous stare you saw before he tried to take a chunk out of your shoulder. No, this one is pure desire – lust. 

Your stomach flips with disgust as you realize that the hunt, that killing that innocent crew, actually turned him on. 

Seokjin pushes himself back, emerging his lower body in the lake before he wraps his arms around your knees and pulls. You slide across the rock, thighs meeting Seokjin's torso as your legs fall over the edge of the dock, the water hitting just above your ankles. 

You cry out from the harsh yank, pain flaring up in your shoulder as the still-open wounds are dragged across the uneven surface. The bandage does little to lessen the burn of it, your vision growing spotty as you struggle to breathe. 

"You humans are so weak," Seokjin scoffs, his voice swimming in your ears. *

The siren tugs at your trousers, annoyed at how the fabric doesn't budge. He uses his claws, meeting no resistance as he slices right through them the moment it takes a little too long to get them off.

You jerk as Seokjin settles his hands on your exposed thighs, mapping out your skin.

Your vision begins to clear as you get your breathing under control, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you register just what the siren is looking at. Seokjin's torso is blocking you from closing your legs, exposing everything to him. 

His dark eyes never waver from your cunt, in fact, you're not so sure he even blinks as he watches you squirm. 

"Be still, pet," Seokjin says, the points of his claws pricking into your delicate flesh to get his warning across. He squeezes your thighs, his forked tongue swiping across his lips, "I was right. Your thighs do look delectable." 

Horrified, you feel your hole pulse with arousal at Seokjin's words, wetness slicking up your folds. 

The siren makes a curious sound at the sight, one hand drifting closer to your cunt as he lowers his head. You tense up, muscles locked tight, as Seokjin runs his finger over your clit. A choked moan makes it past your lips as he begins to rub at it, eyes bright as he lightly pinches your nub.

Receiving pleasure from the creature that has trapped and hurt you is the last thing that you want, but it's been so long since you've been intimate with someone like this. Your body gives in easier than your mind, eager to feel any touch as long as it'll make you feel good.

It's a reward, just take it. Who knows if you'll ever get to feel like this again.

"You're so wet, little human," Seokjin comments as he drags a finger up and down your folds, spreading your arousal around. 

"You can't– no, no claws," You hurriedly say as you feel his knuckle graze your hole, stopping Seokjin in his tracks. "We-we're fragile, remember?" 

The siren purses his lips, contemplating the information as he moves his hand back to your thigh. Arms curl under your knees before you can even breathe a sigh of relief, the air being punched right out of you as Seokjin dips his head down to lick a stripe between your folds. 

"Oh Gods," You gasp, fingers clawing at the stone below you as the siren's forked tongue flicks over your clit with every pass, making your clenching hole gush with slickness.

You let out a broken moan as Seokjin prods his tongue at your entrance, black eyes flickering up to meet yours just as he pushes it inside. 

Seokjin has lowered his body even more into the water, leaving him at the perfect height to feast on your cunt. His tongue worms his way into your hole, the wet muscle reaching deeper than what should be possible. Your veins feel like they're on fire, your body burning up with arousal as Seokjin licks and sucks at your folds, nose bumping against your clit. You can't stop yourself from grinding against his face, hips twitching with the little leeway he gives you. 

"Seok-seokjin," Your hand flies down to his head at a particularly harsh suck, his teeth skimming over your delicate heat. The mixture of fear and pleasure leaves you lightheaded, your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

The siren growls as your fingers curl into his long hair, the sound vibrating against your skin as you tug at his locks. You can't tell if you're trying to pull him away or press him closer, but either way, Seokjin doesn't listen. 

You keen as his movements only seem to grow more frenzied, the siren drunk on your taste as he continues to lap up your slick. His grip around your legs is bruising, locking you in place to let him use you as he pleases. You continue to whimper out his name, your little cries only spurring him on further.

The white-hot pleasure in your stomach only continues to build the longer Seokjin eats you out, the pleasure mounting so quickly you don't know what to do with yourself. 

You don't want this but you also do – and those conflicting emotions only intensify every suck and lick from Seokjin.

"Good pet," The siren groans, his warm breath fanning across your folds. 

You finally erupt as he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks, your orgasm ripping through you so violently you almost feel like you're going to pass out. Your back bows off the ground as you let out a loud moan, your knuckles white from the tight grip you have on Seokjin's hair. You ride out the waves of pleasure that seem to hit you over and over, the siren lapping up your essence like a starving man – like he's never tasted anything as good before.

Your legs are trembling with oversensitivity once you come back to yourself, your cunt clenching helplessly around Seokjin's tongue as he keeps trying to lick up more of your slick. You hastily remove your fingers from his hair, weakly pushing at his head to make him back away. 

"Stop, it's too much," You whimper.

Seokjin makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, tongue dragging through your folds one last time before he pulls back. There's something in the siren's gaze that looks even more predatory than it's ever done before, his plush lips slick with your wetness. *

"You did well, little human. It was about time you gave yourself to me," Seokjin says as he brings his hands to your hips, the corner of his mouth quirked. 

"What do you mean?" You say, voice faltering, "You told me to touch you, you made me touch you – made me enjoy this." 

The siren tsks, shaking his head as he pushes you down on the stone dock, fingers gliding over your stomach. "Did you feel me using my thrall, little human? You touched me because you wanted to, you gave in because you wanted to feel good. This was all you, pet." 

"No, that's not..." You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't feel the ticklish sensation that usually comes with Seokjin's thrall when he asked you to touch him. You don't feel sick now, not like you always do whenever you snap out of it.

You... You did all of this on your own volition. 

Seokjin sees as the realization dawns on your face, the blooming devastation making his fin hit the surface with excitement. 

"That's right," He murmurs silkily, "Accept the fate that the sea has bestowed on you, pet. You were made to be my little plaything." 

You feel Seokjin move away as you stare mindlessly up at the twinkling stars. You pull your aching legs together the moment he's gone, bringing them up to your chest. Without the siren's body shielding you from the frigid night air, you just feel cold. So awfully cold. 

Just accept your fate.

You hear the water move as the siren ducks under the surface. The lake ripples as he swims, only a few flaps of his tail bringing him up on the side of the dock, where your head has turned. His dark eyes burn holes into your face as he drops something on the stone in front of you, the metal clinking as it bounces off the surface. 

Heart stuttering in your chest, you reach out and snatch up your old knife, your shoulder burning as you put pressure on it. Your eyes grow wet as you turn it around in your hand, the familiar weight and polished grain of the wooden handle the closest thing you have to anything that feels like home.

You thought you had lost your knife forever when you jumped off the ship, that it was sacrificed to the sea together with your crew and vessel.

The siren's face is unreadable as you glance up at him, expression flat as always. One thing is for sure though – there's no part of Seokjin that views you as a threat, that's concerned you'll use your knife against him. 

It breaks your heart to know that he's right. Even if you kill him, you have no way to get out of here.

Seokjin's pale hand emerges from the water to place something delicately on the edge of the dock. You let out a small gasp as he removes his fingers, the round sphere beautiful as it reflects the stars shining above. It looks to be a massive pearl made out of obsidian, the surface glossy and smooth. 

You lay your knife down, meeting Seokjin's burning stare as you bring your trembling fingers forward to pick it up. The pearl is heavy in your palm, your hand barely even managing to close around the size of it.

The moment you pick it up, Seokjin lets out a pleased chitter, his mouth showing off that terrible smile again as he says, "You've proven to be a fascinating pet, I don't think I'll tire of you just yet."

"You're mine now, little human." 

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed the final chapter of TOP! writing mer!seokjin was a nice break from my usual stories and it was fun to revisit the tcs-universe. i would love to hear what you think about the chapter – comments and reblogs make my day!! 🥺💖

if you enjoyed the story and would like to support me, you can do so here! 💖

[nrdmssgs]

CONGRATS ON 500, you 100% deserve it and more !!! 🥹🌷💐 i just love your art and work so, so much!!

if it's alright, can i request 37 with könig? my husband, i need him !!!! 😮‍💨

Masterlist List of prompts What? An author, who practically inspired me to come here and start writing? An author, who gifted me the biggest brainrot for many sides of König? Sends me a request? Orla, I am such a huge fan!!!!!! I love your style, love your bold, picturesque oneshots, love your eagerness to discover so many themes. I owe you so much, you don't have an idea. I made a text and a picture in case, you don't like the text. Sorry, I'm fangirling and I'm nervous)

Does it make you nervous, when I stare?

Pairing: KonigxReader Warning: this is NSFW. And König here is not the shyest guy on Earth, because this is colonel edition.

Oh, the things, you would let this man do to you. Unspeakable, ungodly things. Things so unhinged, you wouldn't mention them even after a few rounds of shots with your besties.

One sight of his fingers tapping the tabletop during the debriefing, and you can't think about anything other than the salty taste on your lips, left by his thumb. It would take him just one word, or maybe even one glance to make you cover his index and middle finger in saliva, as he would slide them against your tongue. You'd be so good - standing on your knees for him, sucking his fingers so eagerly, fighting your own gag reflex.

One glance thrown at his forearms, tightly hugged by black cloth, and you imagine his massive hands picking you up like you weigh nothing at all. You'd freeze, learn to hold your breath for as long as he wants, until you'd feel only the brush of his mouth against yours and the grumble of his impatience when he pushes in. The intoxicating thickness of his tongue against yours would be a taste that would rocket to your core and melt you from the inside, as he'd hover over you, pushing apart your legs with the brush of his massive thighs between yours. He'd take and take and take. And how obediently will you keep giving him anything, he demands.

Looking at his hips is a serious danger. Slick outlines of his muscles, his fingers brushing up and down his lap, black holster straps spanning his thigh make you go absolutely feral. You'd be standing still, feeling his low growl with your entire body. You'd hold your hands high against the wall and arch your back, so he can have access to every single part of your body. You'd accept him reminding you, with each his hungry thrust, where your place is: wrapped in his arms while he rubs you senseless, his teeth on your neck leaving you on the edge of pain.

All that fantasies you could hide from König, if it wasn't for his eyes: deep cold silver light, sparkling with interest, every time, he caught you staring. You couldn't make yourself look away: his stare was a predatory gaze, luring you closer, easing you into a thought of coming closer, stripping you of any bit of self-preservation instinct. Yes, when he caught your eyes - König took his time, ravishing in a sight of your desperate blush, letting go of you and turning his gaze away only when you were literally choking with shame, trying to drive away the visions that he awakened in your mind. This man was to become the end of you, and every next day it was only harder to fight that feeling off.

So when you hear, he is expanding his team, it feels only natural to surrender and use this ghostly opportunity to get closer to him. You know, your chance to join the team, his inner circle, is almost zero. By no means, you can be considered a poor professional, but the Colonel is a legend here. He doesn't want just 'the best' he wants those outstanding even from the best. And your personnel files scream 'just good' at best. But you have a motivation, the one so strong and specific, that maybe only you here have. Your obsession with König is pushing you to the darkest void, you were too scared to come to earlier - the threshold of his office.

"Come in." His voice at it finest: not too loud, not too harsh, all honey and slumber. When he wants, he can be mesmerizing as a siren.

You clench your hand into a fist behind your back, thus trying to calm the trembling that is rolling up to your knees.

"Just don't look him in the eyes, and it would be ok. Hands, yes, you can bear looking at his hands and not lose it. Afterward you can have whatever you want - your toys, your fingers, your cushions... Just look at his hands, breathe deep, and it all will be alright." Your inner monologue is interrupted only when he is pulling a folder from your hands, obviously tired of waiting for you to finally give it to him.

"What do we have he- oh..." Your breath hitches, you practically hear an uncanny smile spreading across his face.

"Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel?*" König sounds amused. And although you don't entirely understand, what he said - you get the message and nod, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"Very good. I could use such a treasure..." He flips the pages and clicks his tongue when some of your personal indicators impress him. And before you manage to exhale, he adds: "But I'll need to test you. See, if you are... ready."

"Anything, Colonel!" You blurt it out and immediately shut your mouth, realizing that it might sound ambivalent. But that's enough to make König raise from his seat and lead you from offices to firing range.

You blame it upon a rush of blood to your head, but you pass his test with flying colors. Physical tests, advanced weaponry, strategy, even sparing with König leaves you alive and just a little trembling.

The thing, that breaks you, is not even a test or a check. It happens late in the evening, when you two end up in the locker room. You just need to remove one layer of the tactical gear you were using, you'll still have your shirt and jeans on. But you stop, paralyzed, seeing out of the corner of your eye how König leans against the wall, arms folded on his chest. His gaze, you feel his gaze: lingering and hungry.

"What's wrong, treasure? Are you hurt?" You are afraid to answer and reveal your trembling voice, so you just shake your head.

"You don't know, how to loosen those straps? Want me to help you?" Again: you only shake your head, hiding your gaze.

"Is it my eyes, that make you that nervous, Schatzi*?" His accent thickens, voice drops low, as he steps closer.

You instinctively lean back, but hit the wall behind you. He takes one more step towards you and places his hand between the wall and the back of your head, so that you don't hurt yourself occasionally. But very soon, he guides you to finally look up at him. There it is: silver light, that you can never look away from, once you saw it.

"Talk to me. There can be no secrets inside my team." His voice is soft once again, but you know, it is a trap. And you fall for it.

"I just get distracted. Don't worry, Colonel, I'll learn to ignore it or to live quietly with it. Sorry..." Your voice, your entire body, is trembling.

"There's nothing to apologize for." Something sparkles deep inside his eyes. He moves his veil up, so you can see his lips, and leans right to your ear. "In fact, how about you come at the same time to my office tomorrow, treasure? After all, you've proven, you can be so good for me... It's my turn to convince you, I too can be good for you, Schatzi."

Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel? - Little one wants in my game?

Schatzi - little treasure

[radiance1]

"Look into the beady little eyes your past self, and question if you wish to destroy him."

Dan did. There was obviously something wrong with his past self, because that's a literal teddy bear, looking at him with his beady little eyes. It would be so, so very easy to destroy his past self if he wanted to.

Instead, he just, sorta, picked him up.

Was he always so tiny and innocent? So, trusting? The boy didn't even move back when he reached for him, no, he walked forwards into his hands.

No survival instinct?! He has none! He's tiny, utterly defenseless and doesn't even have the basic instincts of self-preservation! Even a blob ghost has something akin to such instinct.

He lifted his past self up to eye level. Was I always this... cute and cuddly? He shook him, up, down, left, right, the only thing that caused was for the other him to laugh.

He squeezed his past self.

A loud sound- not unlike that of a squeaky toy, was what was produced as a result. Then he just, stood there, unmoving, his brain churning to try and provide understanding yet also trying to restart itself.

His past self tilted his head, reaching a paw forwards to poke him on the nose.

He blinked.

His younger self blinked as well.

He pulled back his lips, bearing his fangs as he snarled as his younger self.

The boy copied him, his mouth shifting as what were undoubtably the cutest little fangs he's ever seen were bared at him in a cute and less intimidating imitation of his own snarl.

That's it.

It's decided.

He's keeping him.

He no longer cares about going back to his timeline to repay his grudge against the Batclan, who he suffered humiliation after humiliation from because they just would not fall or submit.

He's content to stay with this version of himself. This, smaller, more unthreatening version of himself that seemed to have a crippling lack of fear.

Because he's undoubtedly felt the same sense of loss as he, himself did, in the future. This one has no family, no friends, and would most surely not survive with just himself and would be hit harder when he realizes that he's alone.

...

His timeline doesn't need or want him anyway.

===

A few heroes have travelled back in time from their ruined timeline, everything utterly destroyed and despair premating the very air and choking your lungs with every breath they took.

Either that or the dust, really.

The air in the past was fresh, clean, full of hope and new opportunities. They wouldn't waste it, they would protect it, this time. Prevent the fallen from falling, and having children not be bound under the protection of a ghost shield and parents living their lives in fear because they knew what was out there.

They just had to get rid of one man- no.

One monster.

Dan Phantom.

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (7.5) (m.)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: exes au, fluff, Angst, smut; THE REASON™️, crying because obviously there's gonna be crying, mentions of hobi leaving :(, cursing, uhm she hits him; kissing (well, of course 😂), br*ast play, t*tty s*cking, oral s*x (f. receiving), f*ngering, unprotected s*x, r*ding, cr*ampie, uhm idk i think that's it word count: 6.9k (poetic, i know) note (1): holy fucking shit i am literally shaking like a chihuahua as i'm writing this a/n. what the hell it's finally here. we've been waiting for this for almost a year and a half. TREMENDOUS thanks to Jo @daechwitatamic, Ari @wintaerbaer, and Jazz @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this for me and for reassuring me that it's not a load of crap (probably) and especially Jo for telling me if i back out she'll come kick me. frick! gaaaah. okay i'm gonna let you read or i'll go out of my mind

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I want you to smile, to feel like enough 'Cause you deserve yellow and lions and love I hope you come back when you're doing well Forgive me for being the worst of myself

New Recording 28 - Chelsea Cutler

The second the door is closed, his mouth is on yours again. 

His hand on your waist, yours in his hair, it’s similar to how it was mere minutes ago, just the urgency has increased tenfold. You want his suit off as much as you want your dress on the floor.

Jungkook detaches from your lips to let you breathe as he cages you between his body and the door, but it’s not like you can focus very well on breathing when he starts kissing down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. His hands travel south, one palm curving around your hips to grope your ass, the other settling on the back of your thigh to lift it up, opening your legs wider so he could better slot in between them. With your leg lifted, it makes the slit in your dress ride up, exposing your core to the cool air of the room. You can feel his growing bulge pressed against you, right over your panties. 

You whimper his name when he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, his hips grinding against you slowly.

“Yeah?” You can hear the smirk in that one simple word and the honey that drips from his voice. “What is it?”

“Want you…”

“I’m right here,” Jungkook says. His slender fingers rub you over the pink lace that you’re wearing underneath your dress, teasing your opening through the fabric for a few beats before he pushes your panties aside. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His breath is hot on your neck. He presses his lips against your skin absentmindedly, the tip of his index circling you but not pushing inside just yet.

“Tell me you want me too,” you pant, your arm hooking around his neck to hold him close.

“I want you.”

Truth.

You pull him in for another bruising kiss before you blindly push him further into the room, your hands roaming the broad expanse of his clothed chest. He stops when the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Hey.” Jungkook breaks away from the kiss to look at you. “Are you sure?”

If Jimin knew what you’re doing right now, he’d say that you have zero self preservation instincts.

He’d be right, though. If you had any self preservation instincts, you wouldn’t be doing this.

Your stupid, battered heart has only ever wanted him.

“I’m sure,” comes your immediate reply. It’s desperate, but you don’t have it in yourself to even care. “I’m sure. I want this. Please.”

“You were drinking.”

“I’m not drunk. I promise.”

Maybe it’d be better if you were drunk. Then you could at least blame this lapse of judgment on a pathetic state of inebriation and not on your stupid self who’s always weak for him.

He stares at you for a minute, searching for any sign of your willingness being driven by alcohol. He seems relieved when he finds none, and it isn’t until then that he shrugs off his jacket, before helping you take off his dress shirt and trousers.

You haven’t seen him like this in so long.

Every defined line on his body, accentuating every detail that you could spend hours running your fingers over.

He looks different but at the same time, not really. A tad more muscular, but still the same lean frame. Hard chest and abs on full display for you. God, your fingers are fucking twitching with the need to touch him.

Once he’s been stripped down to his boxers, he leans down to kiss you before you stop him with a hand on his chest. The lone tiger lily on his arm catches your attention.

Your fingers reach out to trace the black ink on his body, the lines delicate, your touch feather light. You’re suddenly curious. When did he get it? You can’t remember if you two ever talked about getting tattoos.

“What does it mean?” you ask. It strikes you with the realization that this is just one of the thousands of things that you missed, a reminder of your lost time. 

“Please love me,” he says, bringing his hands up to cup your face. He looks at you, just for a few seconds, before clarifying, “It means ‘Please love me,’” then kissing you again.

Jungkook clumsily and blindly searches for the dress’ zipper on your back, giving it a few impatient tugs until it finally starts gliding down your body. Your lips never part from one another as the dress falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. But once you step out of it, he does pull back to look at you from head to toe. His eyes fall to your chest, clad in a lacy pink bra that matches your panties. The look he gives you is the same one that he did when he saw you in your dress earlier today. But there’s something else in his eyes - realization, pride, perhaps a question too.

His hands are back on your body instantly, throwing you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator. He discards your bra with ease, flinging it to the floor with the rest of your clothes. You shiver when the chilly air meets your bare chest, but the sensation quickly goes away when he takes your breast into his warm mouth. You let out a delighted sigh, arching your back to push yourself further into him as his tongue flicks over your stiff nipple. One of his hands comes up to squeeze your other breast to make sure that it isn’t neglected, rolling your pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger. He switches to sucking your other tit after a while, then pawing at the one he just had in his mouth.

“Jungkook,” you whine his name when he makes out with your tits for too long, because there’s somewhere else that desperately requires his immediate attention. “Need you…”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and he looks pleased with himself when he sees that they’re thoroughly glistening with his spit. “Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He starts making his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin that’s on display for him, before you put a hand on his shoulder when his face gets close to your thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at you as his fingers ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Can I?”

You lick your lips, contemplating whether or not you have the patience to wait for him. But alas, you decide, “Okay.”

Jungkook makes quick work of sliding your underwear down your legs and letting it join the pile on the floor. Even in the dim light, he can see just how wet you are, practically glittering with arousal, looking so utterly inviting that it makes his mouth water. All of this, just for him.

He doesn’t waste another second, diving right into you to lick a stripe up your dripping folds. Swiftly burying two fingers into your heat, he doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep. Your lips part in a silent but delighted moan. You forgot how good he used to make you feel. Your fingers could never feel as good as his, not thick enough to stretch yourself open and not long enough to reach deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” you drawl, your eyes fluttering shut when the tip of his tongue meets your throbbing clit, teasing it until you’re practically grinding against his face. You thread a hand into his hair, gripping his dark locks until he’s groaning, sending blissful vibrations all throughout your body. The figure 8’s that his tongue draws on your clit sets you alight, sends you into a whole other dimension completely as pleasure courses through your veins. 

“So good,” he mumbles. To you? To himself? You can’t tell, but that doesn’t really matter. “Still so good.”

You hear it, just how soaked you are, as he begins thrusting his digits in and out of you. He strokes your walls delicately with each press of his fingers, scissoring you open for what you know is to come. 

His tongue dips into your entrance then, teases your dripping hole as you pant heavily, 

Your legs close in on his head as the orgasm nears, but he keeps your thighs apart, firmly holding them open as he makes you unravel.

This is fucking unreal - Jungkook with his whole face tucked between your legs, desperate to make you come with his talented mouth. You never would have anticipated this when you woke up this morning.

No, just a while ago you were crying by yourself down at the beach. Now you’re crying out his name as he smothers himself in you.

Once he starts curling them inside of you, it’s embarrassing how fast you come. You clench hard around his fingers as the orgasm washes over you, dripping down his fingers and he uses the added wetness to carry you through the high.

“Jungkook…” you whimper, sounding completely fucked out even though it’s only just beginning. After a while, the heightened pleasure fades into the background, and he presses soft kisses against your inner thigh.

He crawls his way up your body until he’s facing you again. You watch his fingers and the way they’re coated in your juices, wondering what he’ll do with them next. Jungkook languidly smears the wetness all over your lips like he’s carefully painting them, only to kiss you afterward. When you moan against him, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hand finds its way into his boxers then, wrapping your fingers around his hardened length, pumping him in your fist until he’s shallowly rutting against you.

The kiss gets broken when he suddenly pulls away, realization dawning on him. “Shit,” he exclaims. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, then you both just look at each other for a while. This isn’t a problem with no solution, even if the solution is a disastrous one in hindsight. You just want him, so badly that you can’t think of anything else.

He waits for you, doesn’t dare say anything else until you do.

Yet again, the opportunity presents itself for you to stop.

But you’ve already gone this far, and though it’s damn near impossible, you want him even more than you did before.

“Are you clean?” you ask.

It’s evident that he’s surprised by the way his eyes widen, and his silence that follows for the next half a minute. “Yeah,” he tells you.

“Okay. Then we don’t need a condom.”

He says your name once, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face sweetly. You always did like your name best when it used to fall from his lips so softly. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. I promise.”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, like he’s steadying himself, before he rids himself of the remaining piece of clothing on his body, then settles between your legs again. This time, his cock rests directly on your bare pussy. The anticipation makes it harder for you to breathe, makes you squeeze your thighs around his waist to not let him leave.

“How long has it been?”

Your answer is vague. “Too long,” you say. You don’t want to tell him that there’s been no one else since him, but you have a feeling that he understands it anyway. You think that he’d be pleased with your answer, that maybe it would boost his ego in a way, but there’s only a certain sadness that settles in his eyes. 

“Okay.” Regardless, he pushes past the sudden gloom that befalls his features, blinking away the disheartenment swimming in his irises, to align himself with your entrance. He rubs his cock against your pussy to coat you in his precum, even though you yourself are certainly more than wet enough for him to slide home easily. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you confirm, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he eases the tip into you, making the both of you moan at the contact. You feel him, all of him.

For a second, you wonder if he has ever forgone protection with anyone else, or if it’s only ever been just you.

Jungkook takes one of your hands off his shoulder to lay it flat on the bed next to your head, lacing your fingers together, giving your hand a slight squeeze. “Breathe. You can do it.”

“Give me a minute.”

“We’ve got time,” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask, almost like you’re shy even though he’s balls deep inside of you.

He chuckles lightly, so endeared by you and your silly question.

His lips meet yours sweetly, like doing so would help make the stretch less painful. Maybe it does, at least a little bit. 

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and he’s probably trying so hard to hold back, but he keeps kissing you nonetheless.

“You can move,” you say after a while.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He rears his hips back, slowly, then thrusts forward again. You whimper from the slight burn, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. His movements are gentle for the next couple of minutes or so, and it isn’t until you start opening up more that he sets a steadier pace. Even when he starts to fuck you faster, one of his hands is still on your hips, rubbing your skin soothingly. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts out, followed by a sigh of your name as he pumps into your cunt, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging deliciously in and out of your walls. “You feel so good.”

He gazes down at you as he moves, and there’s just something so intimate about it that it makes you want to cry again.

You know what it’s like to have him fuck you, and this isn’t it.

No, this is something else entirely.

I love you, you think. I love you so fucking much.

“Missed you.” His words come out hushed, caught in half a moan, half a whimper. “Missed you so fucking much.”

“Did you think about me?”

“Always,” he says, without even missing a beat.

“No,” you clarify. “When you were sleeping with other people, did you think about me?”

“I only thought about you.” His hips stutter as he tells you this, like he’s confessing to something that he shouldn’t. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You never admitted this to anyone, not even Taehyung even though he probably sensed it, but you used to feel like you could be physically sick just looking at the photos on his feed every time you’d lurk on a drunken night. They were never flashy, just subtle enough for you to know that there was someone. It made you nauseous, because the place next to him was always supposed to be yours.

You just stare at him, not knowing how to process this bit of information. Sure, it’s an ego boost. There’s some pride in knowing that you were the one on his mind even if you weren’t together.

He’s so utterly gorgeous like this that you can’t form a single coherent thought, too lost in the way his eyes bore into yours and in the blossoming warmth that spreads all over your chest from hearing his words.

How did he manage to get even more beautiful? Sculpted by the gods. The standard for all men.

“What is it?” he asks when you stare at him for too long.

“I…” You blink away the daze. “I wanna be on top.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook slips out of you just long enough to get seated with his back against the headboard and pull you into his lap. You hover over him, letting his tip rub against your dripping hole for a moment before you sink onto him. You tip your head back and sigh as you envelope him fully again, the only difference is that you can feel him so much deeper like this.

He grabs your ass with both hands, kneading your skin as he helps you ride him. The sounds that you make together are downright obscene, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

“Harder,” you tell him shakily. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt,” you say, holding onto him like you’re bracing for impact, because you know he’ll give you what you want. “Make it hurt.”

Jungkook sighs once, then digs his heels into the mattress to steady himself before his hips go wild, thrusting into you with such force that it nearly has you sobbing, your head falling onto his shoulder. It makes you burn with pleasure, like a star before it becomes a supernova. When the tension starts building quickly, you can’t help but slam your hips down harder to meet his thrusts, to chase that high.

You press your lips against his skin, any spot you could find - his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Tell me you love me.”

The words are ready on the tip of his tongue, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say it. He doesn’t miss a single beat as he tells you, “I love you.”

“Mean it.”

“I do mean it. I love you.”

Truth.

For some sick and twisted reason, his words send you crashing over the edge, falling into that abyss of pleasure that you’ve been searching for. You say his name, over and over again, like you’re making up for all the years that he wasn’t around to hear it.

Your walls convulse wildly around him as you cry out, your toes curling, your thighs shaking. He holds you close, thrusting into you through your orgasm until you’re dizzy, like you could actually pass out from the overwhelming bliss.

“I’m close,” he tells you in a raspy voice.

You catch your breath long enough to say, “Come for me.”

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you say without much thought. If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would know that it’s reckless and stupid. You’re not on birth control, and if anything were to happen, you would have no one to blame but yourself.

But you aren’t in a clear state of mind, and maybe this is even more dangerous than if you were fueled by alcohol. At least you can sober up from alcohol.

You just want him so badly that rationality seems like a luxury you can’t afford right now.

“Y/N,” he whispers shakily, though there’s a warning edge to his voice that you understand.

“I want you to come inside me. I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

Jungkook groans at your answer. 

He doesn’t ask you to look at him, instead choosing to hide his face against your neck where you feel something wet glide down your skin as he grips your hips. It’s followed by a sniffle, and hands that hold onto you like you’re a lifeline. 

He’s crying, and that breaks your fucking heart.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to tilt his chin up to look at you, because it feels strange without his tender gaze on you, but you decide against it even though the tips of your fingers tingle with the need to do so. 

Your walls clench with purpose, squeezing around him, trying to help you get there. It’s not that long before you hear your name falling from his lips in a choked out moan, so needy and beautiful and makes you nostalgic. He empties himself inside of you, making you shudder from the sudden warmth that he paints along your walls.

You stay in the same position for a few more minutes until your chest is no longer heaving with exhaustion and euphoria. He gently pulls you off his lap to lay you down on the bed, pressing an apologetic kiss against your bare shoulder when you wince from the oversensitivity, from any kind of movement at all. 

When he moves to throw on his boxers and goes to stand up, you reach for him. “Where are you going?” You instantly feel pathetic for asking.

He pauses, then squeezes your hand as that sadness from before makes an appearance in his eyes again. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” he tells you, his voice quiet.

The relief on your face must be visible. “Okay,” you say. Rationally, you know he probably wouldn’t fuck you and leave you the second the deed is done. But again, rationality is a luxury at the moment.

Jungkook returns a couple of minutes later with a warm cloth, and dabs it between your legs to clean you up. You grimace when he touches you there, evidently sore already from the activities you just engaged in.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to say, though it isn’t really his fault. Or maybe it is his fault. You’re not sure if that even matters.

When he’s done, he gets under the covers with you. “Come here,” he says, then shuffles your body closer to his until he’s holding you with his hands on your bare waist. He leans down to kiss you, and you let him. God, you feel like you’re fucking melting.

It’s different from the kiss down at the beach, and it’s different from the needy ones you shared in the past hour. It’s soft and slow and easy, like there’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.

Jungkook breaks away eventually, and rests his forehead against yours then. One of his hands on your waist slides up to your ribs, until his thumb could brush the underside of your breast. The touch is gentle, sweet, completely innocent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He means everything he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

You even blush, like you’re a stupid lovesick teenager. “Tell me,” you say.

“Anything.”

You reckon it’s self-indulgent at this point. You’re only asking to feel better about your place in his life, or rather, the place that used to be yours.

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

He nudges his nose against yours. No hesitation. “I can’t live without you.”

Truth. You know it’s the truth.

Nonetheless… “Liar.” Your tone is soft. There’s no bite at all. You touch his face, trying to commit to memory every detail, how his soft skin feels under your touch as if it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see him like this. Maybe it is. You never got to have a last time with him, never got to know that it was ending before it already ended. You’re not thinking about the morning because you don’t want to, but the seed of anxiety is there in your belly. Your fingers trace his jawline as you say, “You lived without me. You were doing fine without me.”

His lips ghost over your cheek. “It wasn’t much of a life,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it without you.”

The thing is, you know that he’s being honest. And it should make you feel good that you affected him as much as he affected you.

But then… it keeps leading you back to that question. The question that you thought you could go the rest of your life without knowing the answer to. But for that to be possible, you needed him to stay gone, stay out of your world forever.

He shouldn’t be here, tangled up in the sheets with you and kissing you like his life depends on it. 

He shouldn’t tell you that he misses you, that he loves you. Shouldn’t tell you to please, love him too.

It’s contradictory, isn’t it? You needed to never see him again if you stood a chance of moving on with your life. You needed it and yet, all you wanted was to have him back by your side.

The tattoo catches your attention again. It feels like it’s laughing at you, mocking you.

You clench your teeth once, your eyes beginning to turn glassy. Jungkook sees it, and he’s quick to break up your train of thought. He presses his mouth to yours, shushing you with a deep kiss that makes your head spin, despite it all.

“Don’t think about it,” he mumbles against your lips, so desperate to get you to stop. As if he can sense where this could lead.

“How could I not? I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You know me.” He holds onto your wrist, to keep your hand on his face before you can pull it away. “I’m still the same.”

“No, you’re not,” you say quietly, absentmindedly.

“Yes,” he insists. “Yes, I am.”

Maybe that’s true. Maybe you do see the person you used to know. But you only ever see him in glimpses and it always leaves you with a terrible, nauseous feeling afterward.

He doesn’t understand how much it hurts you to catch glimpses of the boy you used to love - the boy you still love - only to realize that maybe that isn’t the person he wants to be anymore. It feels like he keeps trying to kill that version of himself, like he despises the person who meant the world to you.

Are you gone forever?

Come back quietly.

“How old are you?” you ask after a moment.

The question makes him pause, his soft features twisting in confusion. He leans back a bit, so his eyes could focus on your face better.

“What?”

“How old are you?” you repeat.

It takes him another while to answer as he tries to see where you’re going with this. But when his search comes up empty, he just answers, “29.”

"I don't know who you are at 29. The last time I knew you was 24. No. You hadn't even turned 24 yet. Where was 25? 26? 27? 28? It’s unfair that you still know who I am when I don't know who you are. I feel like I never aged a day past 24. You carried on living but I'm still here."

His eyes well up once again, but this time, you can see it. The first tear spills over, lands somewhere on your collarbone. This is what you used to want, right? To see him hurting, just like how you were hurting? Well, be careful what you wish for.

No part of you feels victorious that you’re making him cry, that the score is finally being settled, because none of this undoes all of the shit you had to go through. If anything, it makes you feel even worse, like you’re still losing.

“I never moved on from us. I couldn’t move on from you,” he says, voice cracking toward the end. Your heart is doing the same thing in your chest, but you’re glad that he can’t see it. “I swear I miss you every day. I wanted you with me every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you.”

Jungkook looks so dejected, like a reflection of you these past few years. You recognize that look in his eyes. You know that sadness all too well. He was in as much pain as you were.

He loved you when he left you. He still loves you even after all this time. 

You inhale shakily. For the first time, you feel infinitely selfish for only focusing on your own misery without even stopping to give him the benefit of the doubt, to consider the possibility that maybe letting you go wasn’t something he wanted. Maybe he isn’t the antagonist that you spent years making him out to be.

There’s more to it, and you need to know.

“Then why did you leave me?”

Graduation was just shy of a month ago, and two weeks before that was Hoseok’s flight when he left you all behind.

You and Jungkook, along with Taehyung and Jimin had gone to see him off at the airport. Of course you did, you were his best of friends after all. The goodbye was full of jokes accompanied by sniffles, and tears that overflowed without permission because you all agreed that you would hold yourself together for Hoseok. Jimin was probably the one who cried the most, even though inside, you were equally sad to see your friend leave.

A part of your life was ending, and that in and of itself was depressing enough already, but you thought at least the whole group would still be together and start the next chapter by each other’s side.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t the end of the world. All of you could still make it work, even if it wasn’t the most ideal of situations. You promised to keep in touch, promised to message the group chat every day and have video calls every weekend. You were still kids, and kids tend to be optimistic like that.

What none of you could see coming was how everything would fall apart in a matter of mere weeks.

Jungkook thinks that decades from now, when he’s old and gray and helpless, he still won’t be able to forget that day.

He should’ve been more concerned when your mother contacted him out of nowhere, asking him to meet with her, asking him not to let you know where he was going.

He’d shown up half an hour early to the cafe where they were supposed to meet, just because he didn’t want to risk being late and have your mother disapprove of him even more. Not once had she expressed anything other than disdain toward your relationship, but you’d always told him it didn’t matter, that you were the only person who could decide what to do with your life, not anyone else, let alone your mother. He always believed you back then, even if deep down, he still wanted her to see that he was enough for you. Her unattainable approval still mattered to him.

Jungkook spent thirty whole minutes running on nothing but anxiety and caffeine. That was probably his first mistake, ordering a cup of coffee which only made him more nervous than he already was.

When your mother arrived, it barely took her any time at all to get right into what she came here to say. She hadn’t even bothered with a drink.

Was that how it was always going to end? Should he have seen it coming from the beginning? Was he the only one who thought it would be you and him all the way until the very end?

Maybe he was more of a hopeless romantic than he thought.

It was the way she had called him a phase that she hoped you’d grow out of. That she had let you keep this relationship for long enough, but now that you’d graduated - now that you’d be starting a life for yourself - she couldn’t sit back and watch you throw it all away for a boy who could never give you what you deserved.

It was the way she told him she didn’t want history to repeat itself. How she didn’t want to subject you to the same fate that she and your father had to suffer through. How she had left your dad because in the end, he wasn’t enough for her and you, even though you were a child and you deserved to grow up with a father and with love.

She said the same thing would happen to you and Jungkook, because you were meant for greater things and he was not meant to deserve you. She made it clear that he would always hold you back, that he would never amount to even a fraction of what you should receive in life.

“If you love her, you would let her go.”

Cliché, right? Like the kind of stuff you only ever see in movies? Well, movies have to take inspiration from somewhere.

He thought about his own mother then, and about how people could have such different ways of showing love. He believed that your mother loved you, and he still believes that. She wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of seeing him if she didn’t care about you. She wanted the best for you, and that wasn’t him.

She didn’t have to tell him to keep it a secret from you, because he wouldn’t have told you regardless. He was well aware of how strained your relationship with your mother was, and letting you know would only drive it closer to the edge. She knew he wouldn’t tell you. He loved you, and that was the one thing that she could count on.

Just sitting there in that café, Jungkook felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, even though he was surrounded by the other patrons and their lively laughter as they chatted away. The pitiful way that your mother kept looking at him forced him to learn what it was like to feel truly worthless.

The pity in her eyes only intensified when he couldn’t even say a single word in response, couldn’t think of anything to defend himself.

Silence meant agreement, and that was what he chose. Jungkook - the naive boy that he was - stopped believing in you. He’d believed her instead.

He was just a kid, what else was he supposed to do? 

She was your own flesh and blood, and he knew nothing could ever replace that. He would rather let you hate him, resent him for the rest of your life, than let you lose your family.

That day, he lied to you for the first time ever, saying he couldn’t come over because he was tired. The sunflowers he bought for you just hours prior ended up dying on his windowsill.

He wouldn’t see you again for a few more days, then for months afterward.

July was supposed to represent a blossoming summer, but all he could remember was the dreadful promise of a winter that would inevitably come.

You call his name when he takes too long to answer. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” he merely says. His hand brushes your cheek.

You frown, despite the way the three words make your chest tingle.

“I love you,” he says it again, trying to ease the furrow between your brows.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, barely even audible, but it’s this gentleness that makes his words ricochet, ringing in your ears loudly like a gun going off in the quiet of your room.

Again with the apologies.

Fuck this.

It’s hard to take it to heart when you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

You gave Jungkook the chance to explain himself, but if he doesn’t take it, then that’s not on you. There isn’t much else that you can do.

You swallow hard, then shove him off of you so you could get out of the bed. Your legs instantly tremble as you attempt to stand, but you soldier on as you put on your bra and underwear, then grab your dress from where it lays abandoned on the floor. You’re shaking, but it’s difficult to determine if it’s because you’re angry, or cold without his warmth nearby.

He’s quick to his feet too, rushing toward you before you could leave.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss when he reaches for your arm. He doesn’t listen, because when has Jeon Jungkook ever fucking listened?

“Y/N, wait-”

“Wait for what?! I asked you a simple question and you can’t even answer me.”

He runs a hand over his face frustratedly, clearly torn over something. He holds your angered gaze, but the way he looks at you is much milder, gentler even if it’s equally frustrated. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You don’t know if it’s the wrong answer or not. You just know that in this moment, it irritates you to no end.

“Oh my god,” you gasp mockingly. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“Someone is trying to kill me. Someone is waiting outside that door right now, waiting for me to come out so they can kill me. Holy fucking shit, I’m about to be assassinated.”

“Y/N, I’m serious.”

There’s that burning sensation behind your eyes again. “And you think I’m not? What do you mean you’re trying to protect me? Protect me from what? Do you think this is a fucking k-drama? Jesus Christ,” you scoff harshly. “What do you want from me? What the actual fuck do you want?”

Jungkook aims for you again, and in an attempt to ward him off, your swinging fist inadvertently collides with his chest. The dress falls to the floor again, laying next to your feet, that useless piece of fabric.

It probably doesn’t do much damage to him, but he’s a bit startled regardless. So are you, if you’re being honest. But you do it again, and surprisingly, he lets you.

“You coward.” You shove hard at his chest, making him stumble backward. “You unbelievable asshole. You fucked me, you said you loved me, and you still can’t tell me why you left me.” 

He allows you to push him until his back is pressed against the wall. And even then, you don’t relent. Your fists continue beating against his chest as you start sobbing, spilling ‘I hate you’s in between so many expletives it could make his grandmother faint.

He might bruise in the morning.

You hope he bruises in the morning.

The least Jungkook could do is bruise for you.

You want him to curse him out for so many things - for loving you, for leaving you, for not even having the balls to tell you why he broke your heart. For coming back to remind you that you still love him. For proving that he still has you in the palm of his hands, and every twitch of his finger can make you feel like the walls are crumbling down on you.

But even as you tell him how much you hate him, you’re still thinking: Come back. I don’t want to keep losing you. Come back to me.

Because he’s the only person who can hurt you like this. When you think about him, it used to make you so depressed that you could hardly function. There’s no other way to put it to make it sound less pathetic. That’s just how it is.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this weekend, shouldn’t have been nice to him, shouldn’t have let him convince you not to think about it. You shouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place, because there was always a part of you that knew he could get under your skin so easily just like that.

This wasn’t your second chance at holding onto him. It wasn’t a do-over. It was a re-enactment.

The years haven’t made you wiser, that much is clear.

You don’t know how long this goes on for, but at some point, you begin to wear yourself out. Your movements start to slow and the energy to violently sob leaves your body until you’re nearly collapsing. Jungkook catches you when you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. Why are you always so fucking helpless?

“You just…” Your voice gets caught at the end of a sob. This is rock bottom all over again. “You make me so sad.”

You grasp his arm weakly, feeling like your own lungs are failing you. You can’t breathe. It’s too much, too infinitely humiliating. He’s doing this to you again, and this time you have to shoulder most of the blame, because you are the one that enabled your own heartbreak for the second time.

You’re still crying, and you hate that this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry like this.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he says firmly, looking at you like he’s trying so hard not to break down alongside you. “Please, I’m so sorry.” The words come out as a whisper now. You can feel the tremble in his voice and the shake of his hands where they hold you. His big bambi eyes - the usual home of constellations - now house tears that threaten to spill onto his supple cheeks. “Please. What can I do to make you believe me?”

It’s those stupid fucking eyes. It’s your stupid fucking self.

“You need to tell me.” Your tears keep on falling no matter how much he tries to wipe them away. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’ll make things worse,” he tells you, his voice cracking as he does. He sounds like he means it, and maybe he does believe that whatever he’s hiding from you will only hurt you more. It almost has you caving, but you can’t do this a second time. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In the morning, you’ll think about how this is all so dramatic, the way you’re acting right now. The most k-drama-esque thing that has ever happened to you. But in the moment, you just feel like someone plunged a knife in your chest, and they keep twisting it, twisting and twisting,...

In the end, you decide that it’s a risk you’ll have to take, because nothing can be more painful than the absolute hell he’s putting you through. He’ll never understand how utterly excruciating it is to experience this kind of heartbreak.

“If you don’t tell me now, I won’t be able to survive you again.”

up next...

our beloved summer (08) ⏤ aka the JK centric chapter

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 30, 2023]

[madwomansapologist]

I saw b99 and idk if your requests are open but i would love a slowburn jake x reader

Where jake is kinda oblivious to reader feelings but also him and reader have a flirt war where who blushes most loses kinda :D

Hope you have a star-tastic day 💫

Wait, what? | Jake Peralta

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Jake Peralta | AO3

synopsis: Two competitive idiots in love. That's it.

warnings: None.

note: thank you for your request, i wish you a star-tastic day 🧸🪩

• It was all Boyle's fault. If it wasn't for him, everything would had happen way faster. When you and Peralta meet for the first time, you already working as detective and Jake being a rookie to 99th precint, Boyle shouted something about marriage. It took you years to forget that.

• Jake was a detective with great instincts, it would have been so easy to work with him. Or it would be, if he didn't act like a child. Always bragging, teasing everyone around him, joking about anything that moves. Jake was fun, but was also damn annoying.

• But with time you realized he was more than that. Jake was competent. And never left nobody behind. You could count on him. Not only when you're dealing with dangerous things, but when you need someone to make you laugh on a hard day. Jake will be there, as annoying as he can be, trying his best.

• Falling in love with Jake was unheeded. So slow you didn't even notice. It start with simple things. It started with the way he makes you laugh.

• Jake can make you laugh until you're affraid to piss on your clothes. You being so loud that make other people laugh because of your reaction. But he can also make you chuckle. On these days you're mad at him, or you're in an important meeting, or it is such a bad joke that's embarrasing that you find it funny. And Jake is the best at making you giggle. When you're sad, going through a hard time, and felt like the way of the world is on your shoulders.

• You didn't noticed that you were falling in love, but Jake wasn't so oblivious. He didn't fall in love with you. He walked in love with you. He chose to love you. Jake is immature, and annoying, and childsh and dumb... but he knew what that feeling burning his chest was. Jake just never imagined you could feel the same.

• So time did what it always did: it passes.

• Everything changed when they found out that you were invited to join the Vulture team and didn't know what to do. At first the squad felt betrayed, but then the fear of losing someone important to the team became the most important feeling. Nobody wanted to lose you. Not even Gina.

• For a week, everyone went out of their way to spoil you. You'd fight with them and say it was an important choice and that treats wouldn't help you choose, but that didn't stop them. Boyle cooked your favorite dishes, Terry praised and listened to you, Holt even smiled at you. And Jake, well, Jake became the most competitive person in the world. He was trying to make you realize that no other place would make you as happy as 99th.

• Rosa took you to Shaw's Bar thinking a heart to heart conversation would help, but Jake had other plans. He knew that bar held fond memories, and a little drink would make the nostalgia take root in your heart. He just didn't expect the two of you to end up drunk talking about everything you lived together.

• If without booze you were already competitive, imagine totally drunk. You walked around New York, as loud as possible, betting on everything. About who opened the door first, about what each person on the street would do next, about the result of the football game going on at the time, about which Taylor Swift album would be re-recorded first. And at some point, they decided to see who went the longest without blinking. Jake would blow in your face whenever his eyes stung, but you forced him to keep going until there was a fair winner.

• The drunkness had already destroyed any sense of self-preservation in Jake. All he saw was your constant smile, your cheeks burning, your eyes sparkling. Jake just saw you, without even listening to his conscience. He wasn't afraid, didn't thought he wasn't enough, that you may already had someone else on your heart. Jake didn't think, he just acted. Jake kissed you.

• And you kissed him back.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[spasmsofthought]

there is no fear now (dick grayson x reader)

been a little while, so i might be a little rusty, but this came so suddenly and i had to get it out.

THIS remix of "unconditionally" by katy perry is to blame for all of these words.

i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know you are deserving and worthy of being loved without reservation or shame.

not proofed or beta'd so please be kind.

xoxo

+++

Maybe the problem is that you don't think.

It might explain the way you're operating on auto-pilot as you make your way to his apartment. It might be why he's been keeping his distance from you. It might be why his texts are shorter and why he says he's too busy to stop by your place of work.

He knows there's something that's changing, that will change.

Given his background and how much is going on in his life currently, it's logical that he would be resistant to change. Especially a change like this.

Your knock on his apartment door is loud, unashamed.

It's like someone tied a knot in your gut and has been pulling and tugging you to where you have landed yourself in front of his door.

Maybe the problem is that you have always jumped into everything headfirst.

There's no thoughts about self-preservation or how you might embarrassing yourself as the door swings open.

His blue eyes are the first thing you see, tinged with exhaustion and fatigue. But there's a shining warmth too as he registers that it's you.

He says your name softly. And then, "What are you doing here?"

It's 11:30 pm on a Wednesday night. You're normally already in bed, and he's usually getting ready for patrol. You both know this is unusual.

Your mind has been on one track all evening. Scratch that -- all day.

"I love you" comes out.

I love you - pouring coffee into a cup.

I love you - the middle of the morning blue sky.

I love you - as you are getting off the bus at the stop near your apartment.

I love you - a taxi horn blares as you sprint across the crosswalk.

"I do." You say as he stares at you. "I love you. I love you and I think you know."

"I do know." His eyes shine, but there's worry brewing in them too.

"I love you," It comes out a little fiercer this time; a little stronger. You are assured and fearless in this.

Being in love with Richard Grayson should scare the ever-living daylights out of you, but it's the only thing you're certain about.

A weighted moment of silence follows your last confession, and you stand in front of Dick Grayson in the doorway of his apartment at 11:35 pm on a random Wednesday night and begin to wonder what the hell you are doing.

There's a split second where anxiety rules you. Where you wonder if it was actually a good idea to follow your gut instinct on this one. You wonder if you should've left it alone. You wonder if the exposure and vulnerability your confession to Dick will be worth it.

Simultaneously as quick as lightning and as slow as a sloth, Dick's hands reach for your face. His mouth swallows your gasp as his lips press against yours and he gently pulls you closer to him.

One of his hands drops from your face as your touch lingers over his forearms and the slam of the front door is the last thing you hear before you are lost to euphoria.

[moralesmilesanhour]

okay okay, i have had this one thought in my head about a platonic gender-neutral (or male/masc-leaning) reader fic. this is for either miles (more so 42 than 1610 bc i can imagine his face of exasperation). imagine just being his dumbass friend, like yeah your smart enough to be in visions, but goddamn!! you leave your braincells in your school locker once the final bell rings. your self preservation instincts are questionable at best and the only reason you're not dead yet bc you're proving that quote "you can't kill stupid" as a true fact. at least you bring homemade food over everytime you visit his home and his mom likes you, so you're not completely hopeless in life. (i've had this rotating in my brain for days and still haven't written it myself) -☁

a/n: I went the masc route with this one with a sprinkle of gender envy if u squint

You thought doing homework on a rooftop would be a nice change of scenery.

Dangling off of the rooftop? Not so much.

A tiny group of pigeons had been hanging out near the edge, and you had the idea to try and feed them with the bag of sunflower seeds you'd brought with you. Carefully, you step forward toward the flock, until some unknown force of nature causes you to trip over your own feet and sends you careening over the edge.

Somehow, you manage to grab hold of the railing of the fire escape just below, but your palms are sweaty. You heave as you use all of your upper body strength to hold yourself up while desperately trying not to look down.

It's not enough.

Just as you lose your grip, a strong arm catches you. It's covered in purple leather, ending in a familiar clawed hand.

"Again?" Asks an amused modulated voice as wind rushes past your ears.

"You make it sound like a daily occurrence."

You feel a jolt as the masked figure swings and lands in front of an alleyway before putting you down. As you adjust your crooked glasses, the mask whirs and splits in two before receding, revealing the smirking, deep brown face of your friend, Miles.

"What happened this time?"

His voice is low and nearly too soft to hear, a stark contrast to the tinny high pitch of your own. No amount of lowering your larynx or whispering could ever get it like that. Part of you wishes you could steal it sometimes, or borrow his voice modulator, at least.

If only.

"Tripped," you answer, rubbing your upper arm as a side effect of the claws' tight grip. "Dunno how you always manage to catch me."

"Easy," Miles explains as he unzips his black duffel bag. "I see that ratty ass gray hoodie you always got on and swing right over."

With a whir and a clank, he removes the claw on his right hand, then his left, tossing them into the bag.

"How does carryin' those around like that not damage them?" you blurt out suddenly. Miles snorts.

"You gonna fix 'em for me, genius?"

"No."

"Thought so."

Finally, he removed the grappling hook strapped to his back and tied his jacket around his waist.

You say his catchphrase before he does: "Let's bounce!"

This earns you a burst of laughter from Miles as you make your way out of the alley.

"What, I say it wrong?"

"No, it's just..." he catches his breath and claps you on the shoulder as he passes by. "You make it sound so friendly."

"Whatever, man."

-

"Yo, pay attention, dude!"

You feel Miles' hand yank you backwards by your hoodie as a car horn blares past you. Once you look up from your phone, your eyes widen.

"Oh, shit."

The car had barely missed you.

The streetlight across from you finally turned white, and the two of you crossed. Miles keeps glancing back at you until the short journey to the opposite sidewalk is completed.

He stops, crossing his arms. "How many times are you gonna almost-die today? Lemme know so I can adjust my schedule."

"Until someone finally finishes the job," you joke before remembering something. "Ah fuck, I hope the brownies survived."

You swing your book bag off of your shoulder and kneel to open it, revealing a small Tupperware container filled with home-made brownies stacked on top of your textbooks. Thankfully, there is only a bit of chocolate smudged on the sides; the pastries themselves remain (mostly) intact.

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You know taking the textbooks home is optional, right?"

Zipping your bag closed, you reply with a shrug,"I like re-writing my notes. I need to access the source material."

"I need to access the source material," Miles mimics you in a nasally voice before strolling past you. "If I were a worse person, I'd shove yo' ass in a locker."

You laugh, breaking into a jog to catch up to him with your 'source material' weighing you down.

"Just for that, I'm telling your mom the brownies are just for her-shit!"

A piece of cracked and lifted cement trips you up and scuffs your sneakers. Your hands shoot out to break your fall, planting themselves onto the ground. Your glasses aren't so lucky.

"Aw, man, I just got these!" You frowned as you dusted off your khaki shorts with one hand, holding your glasses in the other.

One of the frames now has a crack right down the middle.

"That's tough, buddy," Miles remarks.

He had spun around as soon as he heard you yell in case of another near-death experience, but was now trying desperately to hold back laughter that escaped through his nose as he walked backwards towards his destination.

"It's not funny!"

"It's a little funny. You're like a Looney Tunes character."

You laugh, "If an anvil falls on my head, it's your fault."

[crobones]

[kicks open the door I just closed] AND ANOTHER THING

when a ghoul is turning feral, they say their name. they repeat it, over and over. "Roger. My name is Roger." like a chant. to remind themselves who they are. to hold onto the last bit of humanity they have left, because maybe if they hold tight enough, they can beat it. or maybe they can just hold on until help comes.

Cooper wasn't just distracting Roger so he could get a clean shot. He was reminding Roger of something good. BlamCo Mac & Cheese. His mom's apple pie.

When someone can't be saved, you don't want them to just focus on the fact that it's over. It's done. Waiting in that anxious fear for their every breath, because they don't know if it will be their last. Or, in Roger's case - and the case for any Ghouls out there still surviving - their last moments of control.

The sad fact of the matter is that, feral ghouls are still alive. They're not zombies. They hunger, they drool, they eat, but they can hide, too. They can gather. Being feral isn't dying, it's worse. They've not even just gone to base instincts - they've lost any and all sense of self preservation. They can sprint and throw themselves at prey because the body has simply become a vehicle for that hunger.

They don't hide or gather to stay safe. They do it because it's easier to take down someone if they're surprised and outnumbered. So yes, a feral ghoul can think. But only insofar that they can find a way to feed that hunger.

But even animals have some sense of self-preservation. (Unless, of course, they're rabid.)

To be feral is to experience such complete ego death that a person has no sense of identity outside of hunger and fear. So they try to hold onto control by reminding themselves who they are. "I am Roger." And so, it's not too far of a stretch to say that a person's humanity lies within their memories.

Cooper asked Roger if he remembered what food tasted like, back when he could taste. Before the radiation and necrosis. As most people know, certain senses like taste and smell can trigger a stronger memory than any words or chants.

What Cooper did to Roger was a mercy. It was simple. It wasn't a countdown or closing his eyes, just so that the last thing Roger could feel is fear. He reminded Roger of something good, like the taste of apple pie. Of his mom. Of being a kid again. Ghouls are people, but for those last few seconds, Roger was the most human he'd probably been in twenty-eight years.

And so what's going to happen when the Ghoul runs out of vials? Not Cooper, but the Ghoul. The character. The facade Cooper Howard has been wearing like a second skin. It's wrinkled, irradiated, and necrotic, but it's tight. It's safe. It's kept him alive. To survive, he willfully distanced himself from his humanity and became a monster. Cooper Howard didn't die. He's been buried in alive in a coffin for centuries, feeding off of scraps. But he put himself in there.

So when the Ghoul runs out of vials, he'll do what they all do when they're trying to hold on. They'll hold on to their humanity by tooth and nail. "I am Cooper."

It clicks in her head, subtler than a light switch. She should be happy. She should be ecstatic! She's meeting her favourite hero from her childhood! But all she can feel is sadness. She saw what her mother became, and she quickly proved to the Ghoul that she can put him down when the time comes. If she can do that for her mother, she can do that for him.

It'll be the first time anyone who didn't know him before the bombs ever hears his name. The first time Lucy connects who the Ghoul is to who Cooper Howard was, back when he was human.

Maybe it's the scent of his wife's perfume. Maybe it's the taste of hot coco. Or maybe it's Janey. Just Janey. In any form, any memory. So Lucy does that for him. And after two centuries, Cooper Howard finally remembers how it felt to be human. If only for a few moments.

But how will she give Cooper those last seconds of humanity? Does she think he deserves it? Fuck deserving it, she'll decide to do it just because it's the kindest thing to do. But she didn't know him before. Didn't know his favourite tastes and smells. But she can probably guess.

[record scratch]

I don't want to end it on that. It's too much, even for me. Cooper Howard remembers his humanity and holds on long enough. He's saved. (Hey, Maximus carries RadAway, maybe he can carry other drugs.)

Now Cooper has to sit and deal with the tidal wave that is his humanity fully resurfacing so strongly after several lifetimes. The Ghoul has done a lot of things Cooper would disapprove of. More bad things than any good things he ever did when he was human. But they were all choices he made. Cooper's always been there. Just below the surface. He buried himself in that coffin. And what's more monstrous - to kill and be cruel to survive, or to hide from the responsibility and act like it was someone else all those times? Who is the monster, the Ghoul or Cooper Howard?

Inner turmoil. GIVE ME INNER TURMOIL.

meanwhile, Lucy can lose sleep over the idea that you should never meet your heroes. That maybe she likes the monster, better - but she doesn't know which is which either. They find themselves. They find each other. They find themselves inside of each other. Cannibalism, vore, allegory, etc, etc. they find his dick inside her. Happy ending. fuck you. fuck me!

[happiest-hotch]

3 AM

part one

Summary: Aaron shows up somewhere he shouldn't be with some words for you

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Angst/Fluff)

Word Count: 1.4k

Content Warning: mutual cheating

You go home to a house that doesn't feel like home, which isn't anything new, but today, it upsets you. Maybe it's too late, and the case drained you too much. Your self-preservation instincts refuse you to consider an outside factor.

Thankfully, your need for sleep trumps any chance of facing an existential crisis, so instead of staring at the ceiling wondering how your life got to this point, you're asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

It doesn't last long. Too soon, a knock on your door wakes you, and you reach for your phone to check the time. 2:52- great. If it were BAU-related, Penelope would have called and left messages before pounding on your door in the early morning. You run through who it could be. Maybe your pathetic excuse of a husband lost his keys, but nothing would inspire him to come home unless he learned of your affair and was hypocritically mad. Or it could be much more mundane; police, firefighters, a neighbor. 

Speculation gets too exhausting, so you get up and walk to the front door, checking your gun is sitting on the side table before opening the door.

It's one of the last people you expect. You wrap your robe tighter around yourself, defensive and hyper-aware that he's in jeans and a shirt, and you're in a tank and sleeping shorts. 

"Hotch." You greet him coldly, colder than the chilly DC night air. 

He didn't expect a more positive reaction. "Don't call me that." He says slightly too pathetically. 

"What can I do for you?" You ask, unsure what's compelling you to continue the conversation and not just slam the door in his face.

He shouldn't be here.

He knows it, you know he knows it, and you know it.

"Let me in." The Unit Chief tone, commanding authority, is nowhere to be heard, no matter how hard he tries to muster it up.

You sigh, momentarily weighing the pros and cons before stepping aside. Aaron follows you in carefully. Houses, thus far, have been off limits, like there was some unwritten rule neither of you would show up at the other places, knowing the consequences, but he's here, and you're still not sure why.

As you lead him down the hallway, Aaron keeps his head down, obviously trying to avoid being nosey. It's amusing since the personal pieces he assumes you have and refuses to look at don't exist. You wonder if he's drawing similarities between you and where you live, both beautiful on the outside and empty on the inside.

"Is he-" His question quickly gets reframed. "Are you alone?"

"I was." You answer. "He's in Pierre, South Dakota."

"Our case was in Pierre, Sou- Oh." Unsurprisingly, he put it together quickly. Pierre, South Dakota, is not a big enough place for you not to have run into your husband.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. It's smart to have an infallible lie, but maybe not that specific." You remark. "He's actually in Miami. I checked the credit card and told him our case was there, so he always has to look over his shoulder."

Aaron doesn't smirk at what you consider a wonderfully devious plan. Instead, he looks concerned. "You still have joint credit cards? Are you keeping any money he can't touch?"

"Surely you didn't come here to discuss my financials." You shoot back, but he raises his eyebrows, and you know you can't progress the conversation without answering his question. "Yes. I've been to a lawyer and an accountant. He's only running himself into massive amounts of debt." You assure him. "Although, I'm not sure when this became your business."

His answer doesn't come quickly, and when he speaks, it's inadequate. "It's not."

"Okay, so what are you doing here?" You prompt. "Because you look like hell, Aaron, and you could really do with some sleep."

"I went home and sat there for an hour just thinking." He tells you. So, he didn't get lucky enough to fall asleep and avoid dreadful spiraling thoughts.

"You want to talk about your feelings?" You ask incredulously, unsure how he conjured the audacity to come here. His lack of answer is an answer. "No." You shake your head firmly. "You don't get to do this. Whatever we are, we don't discuss feelings."

"We could," Aaron begs desperately. It's not hard to profile that he keeps his emotions bottled up until he's bursting, so you know Aaron's here for a different type of release, for you to drain yourself listening to his problems and leave before he can consider that you have feelings.

You could hit him hard enough that he stops talking, and it's tempting.

"I'm okay with running to you when you want to have sex, but I can't be who you run to when you want to talk to someone about your day." You explain it as simple as you possibly can. 

"I don't think of you like that," Aaron assures you, his eyes softening as his words fall short of being stern.

Frustrated, you huff. You're tired and wound up, easily upset, and Aaron shouldn't be here. "Well, I have to think of you like that... or I can't sleep with you and not feel anything."

"You're not hearing me." He argues, a tiny flicker of the fire you saw before appearing in his eyes. "I want you to feel things."

You bit down on your bottom lip to avoid crying. You've become so callous to everything around you, bottled so much of it up that it's difficult to let any emotion show without breaking the floodgate. 

"You don't." You fight back, although it comes off far weaker than you expected. "I'm messy, my whole life is just one disaster after another, and I'll never excite you if we're not sneaking around."

Aaron's hands come to cup your cheeks, surprising you completely. It's a soft touch that has your lips closed in a second. "Don't say that." He instructs, speaking firmly but gently. "You're not a mess, not at all."

"Look at where we are, Aaron!" You remind him, throwing your arm at your side. For a detail-orientated person, he's only focusing on the big picture. "I'm married, you're married, and this is so damn messy."

"I know, I know." He nods. "It's... less than ideal, but we can get through it." He promises, holding you tighter now, like he's worried you'll slip away. "I want to be there for you. I don't care about any mistakes from your past. And please, please don't say that you won't excite me because I will always be excited every time I see you." It's enough to have you in gentle tears, not angry, heavy sobs, and he does his best to wipe them up delicately. "But if you don't feel the same way..." 

Aaron's waiting for your decision, and he isn't about to add more pressure, but he will stand there for as long as you need to decide. 

"I do." You affirm. "God, Aaron, I want to be with you more than anything, but I'm not sure I know how to." Being married is just a technicality now, and a divorce is something you're fiscally ready to do now. 

"Tea." He decides, his permanently furrowed brows relaxing. 

"Tea?" You repeat. 

He moves slightly away from you. "Where's the kitchen?" You're still confused about why now is the right time for tea, so you wait for him to explain. "I'm going to make you tea, and we're going to drink it while you tell me how you're feeling, and then whatever you want- a drive, breakfast, you name it, it's yours."

You pull away from him, offering your hand to take him to the kitchen. "Sleep is what we're doing after this." You tell him. "I don't say it to be mean, but you do look like hell."

"Wait." He stops you before you're in the kitchen, turning to hold your hands in his. "You need to know that I don't care about anything in your distant or soon-to-be past, but it's always going to be my privilege to be part of your future."

Aaron isn't meant to be here, and you aren't either, but wherever you're meant to be, it's with him.

[stellar-skyy]

MECHANICAL HEART - Platonic Ei & reader

i. SUMMARY: After she discarded her first prototype, Ei created a second. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: Dehumanization (is it dehumanization if they aren't technically human?), mentions of abandonment, implied emotional neglect. Ei isn't the best parent in this one tbh. iii. NOTES: Platonic, angst, puppet!reader, gn!reader, 0.8k words. iv. A/N: ok i said i wasn't gonna write this week cause i'm busy but in my defense i've been procrastinating a lot and this is the result.

When Ei sought to create a body to withstand eternity, she didn’t plan to create two prototypes. She only needed one vessel, and any excess was unwelcomed. What she didn’t account for was failing miserably at her first attempt, and having to redesign her plan entirely.

You were the stronger one, if only by a small fraction. You had stared up at her, wide and unblinking, and something changed behind her eyes. She brought you close into her arms—gently, for any more pressure and you might have cracked into two.

It wasn’t quite love. She cared for you the way an inventor cared for their creations, all out of a sense of duty and a desire to preserve what has been so carefully built. There wasn’t a single ounce of maternal affection behind it.

She looked after you of course, like any good inventor would. She’d repair the cracks across your arms and legs, and test each one of your joints to make sure they were in working order. Her hands would trace around your wrists, feeling exactly where the ball-and-socket connected with an unabashed sort of curiosity. You were a source of fascination for her, a wonder of her own invention. How could it be that she created something like you from parts of her inhuman self: eyes glistening with tears that felt real, staring at her with such childish innocence.  

You were so human—perhaps even more so than herself—and yet you were completely synthetic.

She didn’t love you. But she held you in her arms and pressed gentle kisses to your forehead when you cried, and was that not close enough? You could forget how cold her lips were on your skin, and try to ignore how limp her hold was, if it allowed you another moment of believing she cared for you.

It was a sort of care, you reasoned. An emotion so raw and tender, one might mistake it for love if they were desperate enough. Deep down, you knew better. You knew that all the love Ei had to share died with her sister. If there was any left, she would have taken pity on the other prototype—your brother.

He was a soft one. Round face, long lashes, hair falling down his back in waves of indigo. His sobs spilled freely from the moment he was created, covering his cheeks in tears. An emotional creature, Ei had called him. Too fragile to rule a nation, too weak to be used as a reference for her final vessel like you had become. Almost as quickly as he’d been created, he was whisked away and out of sight.

“Safekeeping.” She said. She didn’t tell you what that meant, or which corner your brother had been tucked away into.

But even gone, his presence never truly left you; he was always there as a cautionary tale for what could happen if you failed to live up to Ei’s expectations. He was the example, the proof that if you weren’t enough, you would be discarded like the simple puppet you were.

There wasn’t any love in her eyes when she looked at you, but she still spent time at your side. She’d sit with you for hours in the Plane of Euthymia—whether it be out of some misplaced sort of parental instinct, or a deeply rooted guilt at creating you in the first place, you wouldn’t know—not saying much, but content for you to exist within the same space as her.

The entire occurrence felt a touch too normal to feel natural. You were just two inhuman creatures, masquerading as mortals for each other’s sake. She kept the visits brief, and always dismissed you first.

(And if she embraced you as you left, a suspicious glossiness over her eyes, you didn’t comment on it.)

It was observing the humans themselves that made you realize how unlike them you truly were.

They lived so carelessly, talking loudly amongst themselves and living blissfully without the crushing weight of the world on their shoulders. Women would walk with children balanced on their hip or clinging to their hands. They’d ruffle their hair and laugh at their antics, and there was a distinct feeling that you couldn’t quite place. No heart lay in your chest, but there was a phantom heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be treated with such… what was it, love? You had never experienced such a thing, not from the person who acted as your ‘mother’. She could do the exact same things they did, but you would be able to tell there was no emotion behind it.

You were her puppet, her creation. You were born from parts of herself, cobbled together into something resembling a person. And no matter how tightly she held you, no matter how many times she looked at you with an unreadable look across her face, you wouldn’t truly be her child.

It wasn’t love. She made sure you didn’t get it mixed up, telling you bluntly that there wasn’t room for love in eternity.

That didn’t matter. As long as she still took care of you, you could pretend.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[oshiawaseni]

Trails of Love Hori's been paving down in the build up for the series' ending

Part I: The Shape of an Eternal Bond

Romantic Love. Falling in love. When we break it down, what really is it, but a deep emotional connection formed with someone, an overpowering instinct that screams at you to protect that person, and the vulnerability you allow yourself to succumb to when your logical 'self-preserving' mind and it's hurt-proof walls is completely overrun by your heart's most based need to be close with them, the object of your affection.

And who shows these feelings for each other the most in BNHA? Bakudeku, right? Of course it's them.

It's something so obvious and yet this somehow feels overlooked by almost everyone in the fandom: I’ve never actually seen Izuku feeling happy or excited about his relationship with Ochaco, nor elated about getting to spend more time with her. But Izuku and Kacchan? The feelings they both have of longing to be closer to the other and every single action they took for that, chaotically and passionately smashes the "stable pleasantness" of IzuOcha right out of the park.

Izuku views getting to speak 'normally(?)' with Kacchan as a miracle on the exact same level of importance as being mentored by the greatest hero of their generation (and his U.A. room looks like what it looks like). This scene gave the cutest 'Work life: check. Love life: check' vibe.

Is it really all that surprising that BKDK have had plenty of development in this area while IzuOcha has had almost none? In fact, as BkDk became closer, the "expected end game" pair has gone in the opposite direction. And why does this not strike odd to "bkdk canon" doubters or the fans that ship IzuOcha? It really is no coincidence how many moments we’ve accrued about this mutual feeling and attraction that exists only between Izuku and Katsuki.

I want to be closer to you. I can't imagine life without you. vs Why are you so confused when I show you I care about you, too?

It's so simple - but maybe it being so simple is why this is not something we really stop and take a minute to think about specifically. About how this 'obvious' concept of two people desiring to become closer is one often shared between lovers and those who are falling in love.

And how that fits with bkdk because this longing for deeper connection has existed between them almost since the beginning... and we haven't been talking enough about it.

I want you to think about the true feelings and meaning lying behind these moments that have inspired the writings of many fic and meta:

Izuku's desperation and suffering at Kacchan being taken away...

the hurt and loneliness that pools within Katsuki's heart from his fear of being left behind (and alone) by Izuku...

the regret they both felt in not using their own hand to reach out and connect to each other (believing their hand 'wouldn't be enough') and putting those feelings aside to prioritise their boy's rescue and safety...

the distress Katsuki felt in facing his biggest fear of all - losing Izuku for good - forcing him to become a true hero, for his sake...

and the total overwhelming despair Izuku felt in realising he didn't make it in time and he had lost his hero.

This is it, this cover was Hori locking them in. Holding his Kacchan so precious, placing his hand gently over his heart, trying to somehow connect to it. The appearance of an enraged and protective alpha ready to strike down the monster who did this to his mate. This is the vision Hori wanted to draw for bkdk and it cemented the deep romantic love and bond that's been growing between them, rewarding those of us who have picked up on their trails of love and causing meltdowns baked in confusion for the rest.

They've had many scenes like these throughout MHA. Scratch a little at their surface and what lies underneath every single one of them is the pining desire Izuku and Katsuki both share of wanting to be together. The need for the other to be by their side and within reach.

And they don’t share this feeling with anybody else.

It’s always been this way exclusively for them and I think this aspect of their relationship was established by Hori to tell us they will stay feeling this way forever.

If Izuku is right and he takes back everything and the course of their future gets put on track again, then maybe the idea of them holding onto each other and never letting go isn’t all that far from reality.

After they graduate, I can't imagine these two not choosing each other every single time, until the very end of their days: becoming a hero wonder duo, moving in together, living their best domestic life complete with their adorable husbands banter (but repackaged into something so much more loving and soft which befits them), nurturing their relationship... letting themselves fall deeper in love...

It's so easy to imagine this all happening, simply because of their desperate need for closeness to one another in the manga.

They can’t imagine their life without the other.

Their love is a multi-threaded story that's been told to us over, and over, and over again. Through Izuku and Katsuki's every action and by the mouths of others (which I'll be covering in my next post).

I honestly believe that since the beginning, Hori has been carefully leaving trails of their passion for each other, simply to say this: While this series may be coming to a close, Izuku and Katsuki’s bond, that brings them only closer and binds them tightly together, will transcend the very last of their inked pages and never end. ❤️

Part Two -> Intro & Compress