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tacticalhimbo · 2 years

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YALE PSYCHIATRIC - THE TRAGIC CASE OF FATHER JOHN WARD (FAITH: THE UNHOLY TRINITY)

With the new drop of development notes into the GOODIES folder of the game, I wanted to revisit an old analysis I did way back during the era of the Chapter 2 demo.

The long story made short is this: John has an interesting psychology that is backed by the in-game letters and allusions to his hospitalization at Yale Psychiatric. That being said, it isn't really expanded upon because it's not a core element to the plot.

Which, to an extent, can be disagreed with because it is entirely possible that the events of The Unholy Trinity are told through the perspective of an unreliable narrator (John), which then means that some (if not all) events that take place are exaggerated and intensified by John's mental state.

If you ask me, I see the series of events as a blend of details. Demons exist and the cult is very much up to something, but certain things are manipulated to fit a narrative (think, the Martin twins. Amy's mother miscarried, yet John was manipulated into believing the cult had kidnapped the born children for their rituals). I might expand on that another time, but for now, here is my perspective on the characterization of John Ward, and how mental illness plays a significant role throughout the series.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a psychiatric professional. I do have a degree and spent years studying the intersection between the mental health and correctional systems, but I am not a clinician or an individual with a lot of clinical knowledge. I'm just a guy with too much time on their hands and a tendency to let the autism win (/lh /j). Also, if there are any grammar issues… I know. It was, like, 3 AM when I wrote this, and I don't care to tidy it up more than I have tried to.

With this out of the way, let's dive into it. Below the cut will be spoilers for the game and discussions regarding psychiatric abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

In-game dialog and other citations will be highlighted using small text, as I cannot for the life of me get the indent/blockquote feature to work on desktop.

As of writing this post (January 2023), there are five notes regarding John's admission to Yale Psychiatric after the failed exorcism of Amy Martin. I'm going to transcribe them in order of events, and not in the order they are found. The first note we would see examining John's case file, if he were an actual patient, would be the intake assessment form:

Yale Psychiatric Institute NEW PATIENT INTAKE FORM

Patient Name: Ward, John Thomas

Age: 33 Sex: M Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Assigned Counselor: Spinel, James, PhD

Health Examination Results: Height: 6 feet 2 inches Weight: 185 lbs HR: 92 bpm Blood Pressure: 135/81

Current Status: Minor cuts and bruises, sprain in left ankle.

Patient is in a state of psychologic shock.

Existing Conditions:

Asthma (dormant) Diminished mobility from childhood injury to right knee.

Notice the little note there about psychologic shock. We do get elaboration on the comment made by whoever conducted the intake process, which come from Yale Psychiatric Notes 1 & 2:

Notes - new patient initial consultation

Subject: John Thomas Ward

Present: Dr. James Spinel, PhD, and two orderlies

Subject non-responsive for first half-hour, followed by fragmented 'exorcism' narrative

Subject unable to maintain consistency in story (for example, stating that Amy was in the basement and then saying she was in the attic)

Subject insists incident was the result of demonic possession

Cannot declare subject of sound mind; will require several more sessions to fully understand subject's mental state. Will advise Martin Family attorneys.

—

Subject is suffering from delusion. In John's mind, he plays the role of the hero sent by God to protect the innocent. In order to escape the consequences of his actions, he has created his own reality. In order for everything to make sense, he needs to believe in the evil spirits and paranormal occurrences. I recommend an in-vivo approach until we can get John to accept the truth.

And for the love of God, please have Ms. Martin transferred to another facility. Somehow, John knows that she is in here with him.

Then there's the newer documentation and references to In Vivo, found in the GOODIES folder of the game. See the text around bullet point 3.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: An image of development notes for Faith: The Unholy Trinity Chapter 3, which were taken in an non-lined notebook. There are several roughly drawn images of the page, consisting of level mapping for puzzles in what the developer has called, in previous notes, GaryLand. The text beside bullet point 3 reads "Mini-environments to collect keys. Re-contextualized once you grab key (lost In Vivo). Placement of plagas cultists is 'contested space'. Keys? Sigils? Body parts? Notes alluding that John was there". Beside the last note is a doodle of the eyes emoji, with two stylized eyes looking to the left toward the text. END DESCRIPTION.]

Here's the thing about psychiatric institutions: They suck.

The mental health system in modern day America is better than it was in the 80s, naturally, but not by much. It is important to note that the deinstitutionalization of the mental health system was the right call to make. However, I must note that the lack of funding and resource allocation (mostly due to greed among politicians and public perception of those with mental illness) made it so that individuals are still institutionalized. As of the modern era, individuals with mental illness are disproportionately incarcerated.

The Prison Policy Initiative has a wonderful online research library with up-to-date and reflective research on the rates and treatment of individuals incarcerated, as well as how current carceral practices only work to exacerbate these issues through intensive focus on punishment:

But traveling back in time, before the tides shifted, we have to understand what the environment was like within psychiatric wards/asylums.

The deinstitutionalization of mental health emerged in the 50s following World War II. To make a very long story short, the human rights abuses were put into the spotlight. Several factors, such as inhumane living conditions, harmful treatment practices (which we will elaborate on later), and the rising costs and demand for psychiatric treatment, all contributed to the call for deinstitutionalization. The goal was to improve the quality of life for people with mental illness, and to really just… allow them to exist as humans within society. Though the movement began in the 50s, it didn't gain much popularity among advocate groups until the 60s and 70s (e.g., the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) and Project Release), where the movement truly took off.

However, large-scale closures of institutions didn't actually happen until the 80s, at least in the States. This means that, come 1986/1987, there were still institutions actively running. If you'd like to read more about how psychiatric institutions were run in this era, then I highly recommend reading Dr. David Laing Dawson's personal testimonies as a clinician during the era of asylums and advocacy:

But what were popular treatment modalities for patients like John? Firstly, and mentioned in the in-game notes, we have In Vivo Exposure Therapy, or more simply put: Exposure Therapy.

The American Psychiatric Association, in their Clinical Practice Guideline(s) for the Treatment of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (2023), define In Vivo Exposure as:

Directly facing a feared object, situation or activity in real life. For example, someone with a fear of snakes might be instructed to handle a snake, or someone with social anxiety might be instructed to give a speech in front of an audience.

This intervention is not limited to PTSD, though, and is often used for other clinical concerns such as phobias, panic and anxiety, and (in some cases) Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. The ultimate goal is to break the pattern of avoidance while confronting the fear in a safe environment. Which is great… for patients who are ready to confront these things. If there's one lesson to take away from this post, it's that treatment cannot be forced. Treatment is ineffective if the person requiring it is non-consenting or otherwise unwilling/unable to go through the modality.

So when you look at a patient like John, who is in an active state of crisis, and decide the best treatment intervention is to (effectively) tell him to "Suck it up" and induce anxiety and fear? It's disgusting and it would, in a realistic scenario, only exacerbate his symptoms even further. Which it seems to do, if the line about John having a reaction to Amy's presence in Yale Psychiatric is anything to go by. The man believes she is possessed by a demon (or knows she is), and has intense dread and anxiety around trying to save her (to the point where it's already a fixation). Exposing him to Amy's presence, or even the possibility of it, is not going to do him well until he is guided down from a crisis state and able to understand what is going on (as well as process the events that took place in the Martin home, because Amy would be a psychological trigger of recollection for said events).

John's official diagnoses are, ultimately, mild anxiety and acute coulrophobia (aka: fear of clowns). This much is clarified in the release form:

RELEASE FORM

SUBJECT: John Thomas Ward

DOR: 31 Oct 1986

This form certifies that the subject is hereby released from my care after having completed their required counseling and treatment to my satisfaction, with confidence that they are ready to resume their normal daily activities as a mentally stable member of society.

Dr. James Spinel, PhD

EXISTING CONDITION:

Mild anxiety

Acute coulrophobia

As an aside, can we just point out how John was only admitted for a month, give or take some days? Even if we take the events at face value (aka: demons are real; Hell is real; Lucifer is planning an invasion of Earth to reclaim what God has taken from him-), this feels… entirely too short to state that John is fully recovered.

At least from my interpretation of the intent behind "a mentally stable member of society", as the stigmatization of mental illness would place the burden of showing minimal, if any, signs of distress within day to day life… unless you were a hard-working husband who drank off most of his time at home while beating his wife, lest we forget the nuclear family values and toxic masculinity that still run rampant in American society. But I digress...

And immediately bring your attention to a bit of a continuity issue that, effectively, renders my last point moot: John's letter to Dr. McGlashan, who we can assume is a director of sorts within Yale Psychiatric.

This note is dated for December 30th, 1986:

Dear Dr. McGlashan,

It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment here at Yale Psychiatric Institute. Dr. Spinel, who has been so patient with me, has helped me understand my afflictions and has helped me fund a way to move forward and accept the truth.

With Dr. Spinel's help, I have come to accept what really happened in September at the Martin family residence. I accept that what happened was not the result of any supernatural phenomenon, but rather the desperate actions of a young girl driven to violence by her dogmatic parents and old church rituals that are thought to drive out evil.

I am happy to report that, since accepting the truth, my nightmares have ceased and I now enjoy peace of mind that I have not felt since the incident. Given my progress since first coming here, I respectfully request my release from Yale Psychiatric Institute, contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future.

Sincerely,

John Ward

And raises several questions, such as:

If the failed exorcism took place in September, does this mean that John was within Yale Psychiatric from September to December?

Why was there a release form authorized in October 1986 by Dr. Spinel?

John states, "It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment […]". Does this mean that there was a second admission period between October and December?

If there was, when did that occur? Was he brought back in during the last weeks of October? In November?

My personal belief is that John was institutionalized twice. Once immediately following the failed exorcism, and once more after due to a relapse (hence the specification "[…] contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future."). John, by this point, is aware of his mental health concerns and acknowledges that he needs more in regard to his treatment. Here, he's showing a clear capacity to establish and (hopefully) follow a community treatment regiment.

And this is where a bibically-accurate, canonical analysis, would end. A bit of insight into what happened, why it happened, and the ramifications (albeit brief). But here's the thing:

I believe there's more to John's case, since I believe in the blending of two prominent theories (everything is real versus everything is imagined). Personally, based on these notes and a few key dialogs within Chapter 3, I believe that John (in addition to the Anxiety) experiences Psychosis brought on by Paranoid Schizophrenia. In context of the game's plot, he experiences Persecutory and Grandiose Religious Delusions.

Let me explain.

There are several types of delusions, and the severity of these delusions can vary from individual to individual. More on the specifics (as well as recommended treatment modalities) can be found in this PDF.

Generally speaking, though, the types of delusions I mentioned are described as follows:

Grandiose: An individual experiences an exaggerated sense of importance, power, knowledge, or identity, that may have some type of theme.

Persecutory: An individual is fixated on the prospect of being attacked, harassed, persecuted, or conspired against.

Sounds familiar, yeah? Let's break it down:

Grandiose: Exhibited in all chapters. John is of the belief that he is a destined savior to Amy Martin. That he is the only one who can save her from the demon(s) plaguing her because he is the only one with the power and ability to do so. He, in the Super Miriam boss fight, also claims to have God's power directly within him. That he, in a way, is God (at least, in that moment).

Persecutory: Exhibited in all chapters, prominent in Chapter 3. In Chapter 1, there's "The Offering" Ending. John is (or perceives to be) stopped in the middle of the road home by Gary and his cult. Then, in Chapter 3, the entire arc around Gary's cult centers around the idea of John being persecuted (targeted by the cult for his attempts to save Amy).

But I feel like this expansion on John's psyche is supported within the canon itself, even if not explicit. Let's look more at the dialog cues from other characters.

One thing that slates me toward this conclusion is the brief mention of John's mother, Meredith. Amy's demon taunts John by asking him "What about Meredith? Did she get better?" and says how he couldn't save her. And based on the delivery of this line, it's clear that some sort of illness was what killed Meredith. Given that Schizophrenia in of itself typically doesn't cause death (though symptoms can contribute to other factors, such as poor physical health, risk-taking behaviors, higher risks of suicide), we have to look beyond the mental health aspect for a brief moment.

According to fairly recent research, there have been connections made between an individual's Schizophrenia diagnosis and their likelihood for developing Alzheimer's Disease. Kochunov et al. (2020) state:

"Schizophrenia (SZ) is a severe psychiatric illness associated with an elevated risk for developing Alzheimer’s disease (AD). Both SZ and AD have white matter abnormalities and cognitive deficits as core disease features. […] SZ and AD have diverse etiologies and clinical courses; our findings suggest that white matter deficits may represent a key intersecting point for these 2 otherwise distinct diseases. Identifying mechanisms underlying this white matter deficit pattern may yield preventative and treatment targets for cognitive deficits in both SZ and AD patients."

Now, as a personal note, I have seen and experienced what Alzheimer's can do to people and how long of a process it is. My maternal grandfather, tragically, passed due to the illness in 2020. I still cannot discuss the symptomatology and progression in full as a result of the grief, but I can direct attention to the Alzheimer's Association and their article on the stages of progression:

Returning to the psychoanalytical aspect, mental illness can be hereditary and passed down, in addition to being individually developed (through whatever means, which are often referred to as the biopsychosocial factors of development). Such is true with the case of Schizophrenia.

Additionally, there does seem to be evidence suggesting that John's perception of events is questionable. Of course, I must note here that every character in this story is an unreliable narrator. Every character has their motives in the information they share and how they share it. This is in no way, shape, or form, me saying that other characters are objectively right in their perceptions. Especially Gary.

Gary is a cult leader. Even if the cult is not as dramatized as they appear to be (e.g., they are not, in fact, kidnapping babies and sacrificing people)… he is still running a cult. He is still capable of being manipulative regardless. I can absolutely delve into the psychology and structure of cults, but this post is long enough as is.

So instead, let's look at what it is Gary says to contradict John's point of view. The primary dialog that I believe points us to a faulty perception is Gary's recollection of the Martin twins:

"Oh, John… deep down, you always knew the twins were an illusion. But you could not resist chasing after lost (hurt) souls. I suppose you wished they were real, just like the late Mrs. Martin. That is how I knew you would come to me."

The popular analysis among the fandom is that Mrs. Martin miscarried the twins, and experienced a rough patch of grief surrounding the event. Again, I have seen similar experiences in my personal life, so I can sympathize with and affirm how rough this process can be. This is why Mrs. Martin had put effort into the belief that they were still expected/born, with the room being set up for them and the crib being discarded in the Martin's basement (as well as the birthday party and clown aspect).

John knew this at the time of exorcising Amy, but his own mental break altered his perception of events and made him believe in the same narrative that Mrs. Martin presented: The twins were alive. The difference here is that John tied the twins into his perception of the game's events, and came to the conclusion that Gary (and his cult) kidnapped them for ritualistic reasons.

Likewise, a lot of Gary's dialog has key words switched out. A list of these words is as follows, with their substitutions in parentheses:

enter (abuse)

lost (hurt) souls

Vessel (Victim)

journey (despair)

Again, this could be a simple nod to Gary's capacity for manipulation as a cult leader. But that doesn't exclude it from also pointing out John's perception of the series' events. In fact, this could be John's psyche interjecting and affirming itself.

So, if John does have this diagnosis, what would a thorough treatment modality look like if they'd pinpointed it back then? If he was institutionalized a third time, after stopping the Profane Sabbath?

The answer to that is either Insulin Shock Therapy (IST)/Insulin Coma Therapy (ICT), or Chlorpromazine (a strong antipsychotic medication).

It's important to note here that IST/ICT fell out of favor in the 1960s, like most shock therapies (with the exception of electroconvulsive therapy). Jones (2000) details the history and modality of ICT, stating:

"Comas were induced on five or six mornings a week. Typically, the third dose of insulin was 10±15 units with a daily increase of 5±10 units until the patient showed severe hypoglycemia. Treatment continued until there was a satisfactory psychiatric response or until 50±60 comas had been induced. Experienced therapists let patients spend up to 15 minutes in 'deep coma' with hypotonia and absent corneal and pupillary reflexes. Clinicians noted gross variation between individuals in response to a given dose of insulin. Also, in the course of treatment a patient could show day-to-day variation in his reaction. Further there was an uncertain relationship between clinical signs and the blood glucose level. The hypoglycemia made patients extremely restless and liable to major convulsions. Comas were terminated by administration of glucose via a nasal tube or intravenously."

If any of this sounds vaguely familiar, it's because the treatment modality was highlighted in the story of John Nash, a fundamental American mathematician with Schizophrenia.

The 2001 film A Beautiful Mind showcases Nash's story, including the usage of ICT. Attached is a video clip from the film, which contains content that may be triggering/disturbing. Watching it is not vital to this analysis, as it's to illustrate the paragraph above:

youtube

Ultimately, the takeaway is this:

Mental illness plays a huge role in the game's overarching narrative, even if not considered a major plot element in of itself. The Satanic Panic was a moral panic used by fundamentalist Christians to excuse abuse within their churches, excuse the discrimination of BIPOC and queer folk, and dismiss rising concerns regarding mental health advocacy. This, alongside simply targeting youth subcultures to preserve the nuclear family imagery that arose during the previous generations.

John Ward is easily one of the most fascinating characters to exist, in my opinion, because of how his character is linked to this idea. John Ward is a beacon (for a lack of better term) for this message within the game. He exhibits mental health issues canonically (re: the official diagnoses) and can be analyzed as having a deeper, more expansive diagnosis.

Everything I have said is interpretation, and is not entirely canon in the bibically-accurate sense. This is just a topic that's been in my mind since the release of Chapter 2's demo. You can feel free to agree or disagree with literally anything I have said, and I love hearing others' interpretations as well! The theories scattered around the fandom, whether posted on the Fandom Wiki or hidden in the tags on Tumblr, are just… so good. So I wanted to help contribute in some way!

And for those that read this far... Thank you <3

#txt #faith the unholy trinity #faith chapter 3 #john ward #tw psychiatric abuse #cw medical #meta post #meta analysis #my writing #gary miller #amy martin #meredith ward

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darkstar225 · 1 year

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Twice's 10th member can't learn the group's comeback lyrics ft 3mix

A/N: Hey guys, I'm sorry for disappearing but I got my wisdom teeth out so yeah- lol. Anyway- I got an ask on Tumblr and I loved writing it, ty anon! :D

The request: Can you do a 3mix where the 10th member is having trouble with singing her part or dancing one part of the song(You can pick) and jihyo(or any member you wants) comes in and help them like soyeon and g-(idle).

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

In the heart of Seoul, the bustling city that never slept, TWICE prepared for yet another electrifying performance. The air hummed with anticipation as fans from all corners of the world gathered to witness the magic of their idols. Among the sea of faces that adorned the stadium, Y/N's heart raced with both excitement and a tinge of anxiety.

Y/N had joined TWICE as the youngest member, and while the journey had been a whirlwind of dreams come true, it wasn't without its challenges. As the 10th member, she found herself sandwiched between the experienced and the new. Her singing progress had been one of the reasons she had secured her spot in the group, yet tonight, that very talent had decided to play tricks on her.

It was a crucial point in their set, where TWICE's star had a solo line that she was supposed to deliver with the kind of power that could shake an audience to its core. But tonight, the power seemed to have abandoned her. Every time she tried to belt out the notes, her voice faltered, as if the melody had slipped through her fingers like sand.

Y/N's frustration scaled with each unsuccessful attempt. She knew the others were counting on her, and the thought of letting her fellow members down weighed heavily on her heart. She almost stepped away from the practice room, her vision blurred with tears of frustration.

However, Nayeon and Jeongyeon, the unnie duo of the group, exchanged a knowing look as they noticed their child's frustration. They had seen this look before, the one that whispered of doubts and insecurities. With a shared glance, they left their positions and joined the younger girl by the side of the practice room.

Nayeon - Hey, baby. You know, even the best singers have their off days. It's just a part of being human.

Jeongyeon nodded, her expression soft.

Jeongyeon - Absolutely, kiddo. And it's okay to feel frustrated, but remember, you're not alone in this. We're a family, and we support each other through everything.

The maknae managed a small smile, feeling a bit of the weight on her shoulders lift.

Y/N - Thank you, unnies. I'm just worried about letting everyone down.

Nayeon chuckled, her voice light.

Nayeon - You? Letting us down? Love, you've already proven yourself time and time again. We have no doubts about your talent.

Jeongyeon nodded in agreement.

Jeongyeon - Exactly. And besides, even if things don't go perfectly, we'll still be there with you. We've got your back.

Y/N's heart warmed at their words, a renewed sense of determination filling her chest.

Y/N - This means a lot to me, unnies. I'll do my best!

As Nayeon and Jeongyeon exchanged smiles with Y/N, a new presence entered the scene. It was Jihyo, the group's charismatic leader and an incredible vocal powerhouse herself (I mean- wow). TWICE's angel looked up to her, her eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. She had always admired Jihyo's nurturing nature and her undeniable presence that commanded respect.

Jihyo reached out and gently touched her kid's arm.

Jihyo - Hey, it's okay. Can I sit with you for a moment?

Y/N nodded, feeling a lump forming in her throat. They settled on a plush couch, the atmosphere filled with an unspoken understanding. Jihyo's presence was like a soothing balm even if she couldn't even begin to explain how worried she was about her girl, and Y/N found herself instinctively leaning into it.

Jihyo - Is something bothering you, honey?

Y/N - I... I don't know, I've been practising my part, but I just can't seem to hit the notes right tonight. It's frustrating, and I don't want to mess up the performance! *frowns*

Jihyo nodded, her expression empathetic.

Jihyo - You know, not getting everything right is part of being an artist. But you're not alone in this. We're a team, and we support each other through the highs and the lows.

Y/N wiped away a tear that had escaped her eye.

Y/N - I know, but I don't want to drag everyone else down. They're all depending on me.

Jihyo's smile was both reassuring and sincere (kinda motherly too).

Jihyo - You're not dragging anyone down, lovebug. We're here for you, just like you're here for us. And as for your part, let's work on it together.

With a heartwarming determination, Jihyo stood up and offered her hand to TWICE's sunshine.

Jihyo - Come on, let's head back to the practice room babe.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking Jihyo's hand. The warmth of her leader's touch was comforting, like a lifeline in the midst of her uncertainty. As they walked back to the practice room, the girl found herself stealing glances at Jihyo. She admired the way Jihyo carried herself, both as a leader and as a best friend.

Back in the practice room, Jihyo sat beside Y/N at the piano. She began to play the melody, and Y/N tentatively joined in. Her voice wavered, but this time, there was a sense of companionship that eased her nerves.

Jihyo's eyes met her dongsang's, and she smiled encouragingly.

Jihyo - You've got this, sweet girl. Believe in yourself, just like we believe in you.

With Jihyo's unwavering support, the maknae sang her part once again. This time, her voice soared, carrying with it a newfound confidence. The notes that had seemed elusive before now flowed effortlessly from her lips.

As they finished the song, Y/N let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Jihyo's applause was genuine, her smile radiant.

Jihyo - See? You're amazing, boo. And remember, I'm here whenever you need a little extra support.

Y/N felt a rush of gratitude, a warmth that radiated from her heart.

Y/N - Thank you, Omma Jihyo.

Jihyo's laughter was like music, filling the room with infectious joy.

Jihyo - Omma, huh? I like that. Just remember, we're all family here.

As the concert lights dimmed and TWICE took the stage, Y/N stood among her fellow unnies, her heart brimming with newfound strength. And as she sang her solo part, she felt the echoes of Jihyo's support guiding her every note. The crowd roared in approval, the energy of the moment transcending the challenges that had led to it.

In the end, Y/N learned that even in the face of trouble, the bonds of friendship and the power of encouragement could transform a moment of doubt into a triumph of the heart. And as she gazed out at the sea of cheering fans, she knew that she was not only living her dream but sharing it with a family that would always stand by her side and that made her have only one thought:

I love my dear older sisters.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

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mrs-han · 2 years

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You leaned over, your fingers curling delicately over the handle of a boho-styled mug.

Ankles crossed, legs shaven, dressed in your comfiest pajamas… and you were all by yourself. The idea would have baffled you years ago. You were used to the occasional text and friendly invite from the people you loved and trusted.

It was to these people you promised your heart, your loyalty, your time… you. All of you, in your destructive vulnerabilities and Herculean strengths.

You knew you were a work in progress. A snort escaped your lips; you still were. Every offense, you owned. Every slip of the tongue, you showed remorse. And you always worked to be better than you were the day before.

That didn’t mean it always worked out.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to remember those who needed to enter your world — to shake it to its core, to destroy presumptions of requited love and heartfelt care.

You needed them. You needed the lessons they had in store for you.

Your mistake was leaving the door unlocked. Your mistake was making them feel welcome while the damage they had done felt like an ever-growing abyss, begging you to assess the damage and fix it.

But as your heart continued to shift, you began to understand that you deserved your attention more than anyone else. And you decided to make some changes.

Throwing out some and realizing others had long walked away, you set up a long overdue construction zone. With the help of soft and encouraging voices, you built and rebuilt - painted and tore down — sobbed and sobbed some more.

Your husband’s lips kissed the softness of your cheek, waking you from your reverie. His eyes - eyes that had haunted and guided you all this time - flashed with concern. “Where are you?”

There he was; the crux of your problems and solutions. The man who silently addressed the behaviors you excused and attitudes you accepted. The man you pretended to be to appease whoever you could, even if it meant losing yourself.

“I’m in my construction zone,” you spoke, your voice dancing with the autumn winds. “Doing some more repairs.”

Taking your hands into his own, rubbing the chill that had so gracefully kissed your knuckles, Jumin tilted his head. “Tell me how I can help.”

Bowing your head, you kissed his hands. “Stay there… as you are. Support me as I continue finding myself.”

“Always.” Large hands held your face; soft fingers slid over the shape of your ears. “And even if you decide that I, too, need to leave… promise me that you will tell me, that I may leave a lasting and loving imprint on you. One last time.”

The very thought sent an uncomfortable pang of pain and panic within you. You wanted to grab his face, pull him down, kiss him all over and tell him that could never happen; you would never ask him to leave.

But all you could do was exhale a shuddering breath and speak so quietly that only God could hear you. “I promise.”

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mein schatz #jumin x reader #jumin x mc #ah hah…#what I don’t really express to you guys is how tumultuous my heart has been over Jumin #how others assumed his mantle and made me yearn and made me feel so many different expressions of love #while also taking him and twisting him — making him say the coldest and shittiest things #and how I spent years — years hiding behind him and behaving like him #which ultimately made me so confused #I’ll be honest #i wonder if he is the one hindering my real-life progress #i wonder how this fictional man has brought me to the roughest relationships I have ever had #i wonder if I should let him go #ah - just my thoughts #the term is over - I’m tired and overworked ( ◠‿◠ )

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princeofgod-2021 · 1 year

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LIGHT OF LIFE 388

John 1:4

UNDERSTANDING PROPHETIC MANDATES 22: Contents Of Prophecy 2

Amo 3:7 CERTAINLY, THE ALMIGHTY LORD DOESN'T DO ANYTHING UNLESS HE FIRST REVEALS HIS SECRET TO HIS SERVANTS THE PROPHETS. GW

There is a strange rule with Human minds: when they don’t want to embrace something - especially where it obstructs their preferred idiosyncrasies - they make serious efforts to confirm its authenticity, and then, its viability.

They would hope that it can’t be presented conceivably.

1Co 1:22=23 JEWS WANT MIRACLES FOR PROOF, AND GREEKS LOOK FOR WISDOM. As for us, we proclaim the crucified Christ, A MESSAGE THAT IS OFFENSIVE TO THE JEWS AND NONSENSE TO THE GENTILES; GNB

All these responses to the message are plainly just to look for reasons to condemn the “Oracle”.

Joh 8:12-13 Then Jesus said, “I am light to the world and those who embrace me will experience life-giving light, and they will never walk in darkness.” The Pharisees were IMMEDIATELY OFFENDED and said, “YOU’RE JUST BOASTING ABOUT YOURSELF! SINCE WE ONLY HAVE YOUR WORD ON THIS, IT MAKES YOUR TESTIMONY INVALID!” TPT

This is what makes Ministry really cumbersome.

The moment you are deliberate about upholding the Truth to the core and passionately defending it, you get many who hypocritically call you names and deride the authenticity of your words, yet with no sound element to uphold their claims.

They were pointing out a “yardstick” for confirming Prophetic fulfillment: Self-Advertising.

Joh 5:31-33 IF I GAVE WITNESS ABOUT MYSELF, MY WITNESS WOULD NOT BE TRUE. There is another who gives witness about me and I am certain that the witness he gives about me is true. YOU SENT TO JOHN AND HE GAVE TRUE WITNESS. BBE

What Jesus was saying is that if a man prophesies, speaking great things about himself, such prophecy can be questionable, except someone else [sincerely] confirms his message.

But when Jesus later said, in Jn 8:12, that He is Light of The World, it was simply unavoidable because the intrinsic contents of Gospel and prophecy centers on Him.

There is no side-tracking that truth.

Joh 8:14 Jesus answered, “EVEN IF I TESTIFY ABOUT MYSELF, MY TESTIMONY IS TRUE, BECAUSE I KNOW WHERE I CAME FROM AND WHERE I AM GOING. But you people do not know where I came from or where I am going. NET

If you want to follow Prophetic guidelines and prosper, you must learn to access the contents relating to Jesus and everything He stands for.

Whatever you receive is founded in Jesus and all He means to the world, no matter the details of the Prophecy you are [told] to follow.

Joh 6:53-55 Jesus answered: I TELL YOU FOR CERTAIN THAT YOU WON'T LIVE UNLESS YOU EAT THE FLESH AND DRINK THE BLOOD OF THE SON OF MAN. But IF YOU DO EAT my flesh and drink my blood, you will have eternal life, and I will raise you to life on the last day. MY FLESH IS THE TRUE FOOD, AND MY BLOOD IS THE TRUE DRINK. CEV

Here, our Lord Jesus had recently fed them all with bread and fish to overfill, yet, the core message He wanted them to get from the experience is all about we all, being found in Him.

Joh 6:56 HE WHO IS EATING MY FLESH, AND IS DRINKING MY BLOOD, remains in Me, and I in him. LSV

Jesus wanted men to acknowledge the difference between [satisfying] natural food and Divine food. He wanted them to know the Value of the Divine life and what to really pursue in Life.

Joh 6:58 I AM NOT LIKE THE BREAD THAT YOUR ANCESTORS ATE. THEY ATE THAT BREAD, BUT THEY STILL DIED. I am the bread that came down from heaven. WHOEVER EATS THIS BREAD WILL LIVE FOREVER." ERV

So, we see God and Son making the same comparison over contents.

Do you remember what God said about this?

Jer 23:28 THE PROPHET WHO HAS HAD A DREAM SHOULD SAY IT IS ONLY A DREAM, but the prophet who has heard my message should proclaim that message faithfully. WHAT GOOD IS STRAW COMPARED WITH WHEAT? GNB

There’s a problem here really: as soon as Men confirm that a man is a Prophet, they tends to embrace every single thing he says, whether sound or otherwise.

God rather points out that a Prophet can both produce healthy and unhealthy CONTENTS. We should always carefully verify.

Even so, God projects the confirmation and Authenticity of Contents by its POTENCY.

Jer 23:29 My message is like a fire that purges dross! It is like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces! I, the LORD, so affirm it! NET

If you had Malaria but took fake drugs, what happens?

You get worse and may end up dead, right?

But if you took authentic drugs, you feel well before 20 mins. Artesunate does that for me always.

However, there are problems with proving Authenticity by Potency but we have to leave that till next lesson.

May God preserve our lives by the Potency of His Word, IN JESUS NAME.

Join us on Monday, to peruse this insightful and enlightening Sub-Subtopic further.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Friday, August 04, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

0 notes

kurogane2512 · 2 years

Note

ahhh it's quite alright, if you want you can pick whoever you're most comfortable to write for with the same troupe (if it's okay that is)

Late Again

Character: CEO! Ningguang

Synopsis: Your stoic and serious wife comes home late once again and sees you asleep on the dinner table.

Warnings: (18+) NSFW MINORS DNI, soft sex, fingering, fluff.

The typing of keys resonated in the CEO's office of the famed Qixing Corporation of Teyvat. It was close to 10:30 pm and all employees had already left the building, except for the CEO. It was quite rare for CEOs to be so hard-working but this is exactly what made CEO Ningguang achieve this position so quickly. Her eyes scanned the computer screen in front of her meticulously, sipping her coffee in between.

Her phone screen lit up for the nth time and she squinted her eyes at it, that's when she realized how late it was. She had promised you, her wife, that she'd come home early today and have dinner with you since she had been coming late for the entire week. She had thought of taking you out to make it up but work swept her away and she didn't realize she broke her promise once again.

She saw the several messages you sent starting from 7 pm asking her what she'd like to eat, if she'd like to go out and when she'd come back. The last message arrived 20 minutes ago which was a simple "Are you okay? Don't overwork yourself, dinner is ready btw :)" She sighed and pinched her temples, this wasn't a good habit of hers and had in fact ended many of her previous relationships.

She had sworn she'll treat you better and proposed to you 6 months ago, your relationship was a bit shaky due to how workaholic she was but you were very understanding which enabled her to always ease up around you and made her fall in love with you harder. She quickly packed her things and made her way into her car to drive to your shared complex.

She picked up a tub of your favorite ice-cream on the way to eat together with you as apology. She unlocked the door and went in only to be met by a dark hallway, she switched the lights on while removing her footwear and keeping her purse on the sofa then came to the dining room. Her eyes widened then softened seeing you sitting on the dining table, your face nestled between your folded arms and snoring peacefully.

She glanced beside you and saw 2 covered plates and felt extremely bad for doing this. She slowly walked to your side bent down near your face to brush aside some locks of hair behind your ear then kissed your forehead, the feeling of her fingers gently running through your hair caused you to open your eyes and be met with the face of your lovely wife.

"Ning! When did you come back?!" you exclaimed and stood up from your seat then looked at the clock in surprise.

"Oh, it's not too late. Good thing I didn't keep the food in the fridge!"

You smiled and made your way to the other side and picked up the plates to warm them in the microwave. Ningguang watched you in disbelief then walked behind you and embraced you, keeping her head in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered softly.

"It's alright, you are back now so we can still eat together. That's all that matters to me."

Ningguang's heart strings tug at your words and she began planting kisses on your neck, trailing up to your ear and nibbling the edge of it while her hand slid down under your pants and touched your clit. You squirmed and arched back slightly from the sudden sensation.

"W-Wait, Ning....Let's eat first...."

"That's what I'm doing, my dear~"

She sucked on your neck leaving visible red marks while her fingers sunk down into your core and began circling your clit. You gasped lightly and bent forward on the counter as it was getting difficult for you to stand up.

"Turn around for me, dear." Ningguang ordered and spun you around then pushed you on the counter, making you sit on top of it and nestled herself between your legs. She kissed your lips passionately while her hands grabbed the hem of your shirt and took it off then went on to grab your boobs and grope them while roughly kissing your neck and chest.

Your head shot back from the overwhelming sensations, it had been a while since you two did this and you missed this feeling so much. Her soft lips nipped every part of your chest and left fluttering marks on it, her hand traveled down to your core once again and unbuckled your pants then dipped inside your underwear.

"N-Ning...mhm~" you moaned at her fleeting touches. She loved this sight of you so much and didn't realize how much she had missed it.

"Leave everything to me, my dear. I'm going to give you a feast today~"

2 of her fingers plunged inside you, parting your wet walls and scissoring inside you. You arched back and wrapped your legs around her to pull her closer while her mouth continued sucking at one spot on your shoulder. "You are so delectable, my dear~" Her velvety voice rang in your ear and made you entranced, her fingers were relentlessly thrusting in and out of you now.

"Aaahn~ N-Ning....feels g-good....mh-!" she pressed her lips onto yours and swallowed all your moans and sounds. Her tongue dancing with yours while her fingers curled inside you and grazed your most sensitive parts.

"N-Ning, I'm c-close-oh~!"

"Cum for me, my love~"

She thrusted her slender fingers deep inside you and made you release your sweet juices, she gathered them around her fingers then brought them out and licked them all clean while deviously eyeing at you, causing you to get flustered.

"Delicious, this is the best meal for me~" she smiled then kissed you softly.

"L-Let me also eat my meal..." you shyly said and she chuckled.

"You have all the time in the world my dear since I'm here tomorrow as well."

You loved your wife so much.

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON BUT THANK YOU FOR WAITING!! <3 I hope it is up to your expectations! :)

#ningguang x reader #ninggaung #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #ningguang x you #genshin women

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

no guidance

pov: you ask your step-brother to guide you in your first time

part of the everything step cest collab by @dilfhub thank you for everything! 💕

note. lol this rotted in my drafts for weeks but i finally finished it eeeee

cw. virginity loss, sexting, mild corruption themes, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), possessive! akaashi-ni, slight dumbification, pseudo-incest (step siblings)

You knew better than to associate with the likes of Miya Atsumu. As if him being one of the most notorious fuckboys in campus wasn’t enough of a warning sign, his reputation was also infamous for being the “Virgin Killer.” In simpler terms, he took pride in corrupting the innocence of whoever was foolish enough to fall into his trap, and yet there you were, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you shamelessly sexted with him.

Unsurprisingly, he’s asking for nudes. Again.

It had been approximately three months since you passed notes with the said Miya twin (and of course you liked the worse of the pair) before your friendship escalated into something...more sexual. It was no secret Atsumu had a high sex drive, something you were still foreign with, so you weren’t really taken aback by his open vulgarity over his desire to fuck you.

The first month, you were nice enough to sent him a snap of your titties. Albeit still a little shy over not having sent anyone such an intimate photo before, you were beyond exhilarated.

The next, you sent him a booty pic. It wasn’t anything sexy since you were only in your campus hoodie, the door locked because you didn’t want your parents walking in on you trying to get a good angle of your rounded buttocks.

And just last week, you finally gained enough courage to take a photo of your glistening pussy, sent with a caption of ‘thinking of you...’

Now, you weren’t stupid despite your preference to act naive and innocent. You knew your actions would entice him to lead into something more, if his dick picks that show him already leaking weren’t enough of a telltale already. But as your phone pinged and his name flashed above your screen, the words, ‘meet you at Issei’s party this weekend? I think I’ve waited long enough’ loud and clear – your heart dropped into your chest.

Without another thought, you shut your phone off and rolled to your side.

The thing was, you’ve never really had sex. You couldn’t even be brave enough to lose your virginity to your hairbrush or to buy a dildo despite your friends’ insistence it was much better than an actual cock (quote unquote: both can make you orgasm, but the former didn’t come with toxic attitudes of horny college boys.)

Sure, you’ve watched porn, and you watched a lot – but nothing could compare to the actual experience of it. Your fingers could only get you so far.

Glancing at your phone that kept lighting up with texts from Atsumu, you felt something stir deep within your stomach. Curiosity? Arousal? Nervousness? Excitement? Perhaps all a mix of both. You’ve heard from all the girls Atsumu’s slept with that even though he meant bad news, his cock could be likened of that of a blessing that converted them into ‘I hate him’ to ‘Gosh, I wanna fuck him again.’ Addicting, they called him, and now you were being offered a path to being on a path that most likely had no point of return.

You sighed.

The saner part of you warned you to stay away. There was no rush to lose your virginity now. Just because most of your friends had enough experience, it didn’t mean you had to be the same as them. After all, you came from quite...a strict household.

While everyone had been away from their parents and independently living in their dorms, you still stayed under the same roof as your father and step-mom, along with your older brother who was only a year ahead of you. Akaashi was a very sweet presence to have that you didn’t mind not experiencing that ‘youthful freedom’ too much, simply because your brother was a better company than whoever you could room with. He was kind, always ready to help, and you could confidently say you trusted him more than you did your closest friends.

Maybe that was the reason why you knocked at his room past midnight, shifting your weight from one foot to another. The faint sliver of light peeking from the cracks in his door told you he was probably still working on projects and the like, really not a good time to bother him, but you couldn’t hold on any longer.

At the back of your mind, this was the right thing. He was the right person.

“’Kaashi-nii...?” you knocked again, aware that he had a habit of listening to music on full volume while studying. “Are you there? Oh, were you studying, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to barge.”

Your brother stood in front of you, his headphones hung around his neck. He’d swung the door open to reveal that he was, indeed, previously hunched over his desk to work on something. Upon seeing the guilty expression on your face, Akaashi smiled at you in reassurance. “Hey, no, it’s fine,” he ushered you inside, setting you down at the edge of his bed while he sat across you in his swivelling chair. “Do you need help with homework again?”

“No...”

Turning away from him shyly, you opted to fiddle with your fingers as you stared at your lap. You had come here in a whim. You didn’t really think this through, and even though you’d been in his room a thousand times before, his dark blue sheets and tidy room that smelled sweetly of his detergent and vanilla cologne made you feel dizzy.

It didn’t help that he looked so mouth-watering in this light too.

Messy hair, long, slender fingers that absentmindedly spun a pen in those pretty hands of his, his dark eyes hazy and as welcoming as ever under the dim light of his desk lamp – how could you resist?

“What is it?” Akaashi quickly picked up on your silent worries. He’d always been observant, taking his role as your big brother seriously that he had attuned himself to sense even the slightest differences from you. Even though you’d only become family when you were already in middle school, it felt like you had known him for a much longer time than that, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles in your knees pulling the tension away from you.

“You know you can tell your brother everything, right? I’ll listen to you, you don’t need to feel scared or nervous.”

Guess it was now or never... “There’s this boy in my class...”

Akaashi’s eyes immediately darkened. All the warmth in his face disappeared, now replaced with a hardness you didn’t think was possible for such an understanding, patient guy like him. “Is he hurting you, forcing you to do something you don’t like?” his questions shot out one by one, and your eyes widened when he held you firmly by the shoulders. “Do I need to hurt someone?”

“No, no, it’s not like that!”

Your brother relaxed back in his chair. For a moment, your mind conjured up the dirtiest image of bouncing on his cock (and you know his cock is pretty after accidentally walking in on him changing clothes in high school) as he studied, but you quickly shook the thought away with a clear of your throat.

“What’s wrong then?”

You took a deep breath. “I just...I like him a lot and he asked me to have sex with him someday,” your words came out barely above a whisper, the courage seeping out of you until meeting Akaashi’s eyes felt impossible. “I said yes because of course I like him but...I’m afraid.”

“Hey,” Akaashi tilted your chin to look at him, his blue eyes pooling with worry and brotherly concern. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint him. I-I’ve never done it before and I feel like I won’t make him feel good. That’s why I came here,” you peered at him under your lashes, tongue darting out to nervously lick at your lips that felt uncomfortably dry. “You told me I could ask you for help in anything and you’re my brother so I trust you a lot to guide me on this one.”

The silence in the room was suffocating.

You were so close to running out of his room and pretending you didn’t exist for the rest of your life because what the hell were you asking? He was your brother, he obviously didn’t see you as a woman. You bet in his eyes, you were nothing but a little sister, and there really was no stopping him from kicking you out of his room until – “You want me to be your first time?”

You looked up at him so fast you actually felt your neck ache from the sudden movement. Heat spread all over your body, especially to your core at the unreadable expression in his eyes, yet it wasn’t...bad. He wasn’t rejecting you.

“Yes, please.”

Akaashi nodded at your hushed words. Slapping his palms to his knees, he walked to his bedside table where he pulled out an inconspicuous bottle with some sort of liquid you weren’t familiar with.

“Okay. Nii-san will teach you everything, but first, I need to prep you.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was actually happening!

You could barely process the events that happened next as he discarded his shirt to the ground, exposing his toned upper body to you from years of playing volleyball. While you sat there frozen and with a frantic beating heart, your brother barely blinked an eye as he gestured for you to take your clothes off. Wordlessly, you pulled your top off and shimmied out of your underwear. Too shy upon being exposed to a male for the first time in your life, you immediately headed towards his bed and closed your eyes, breath heavy and laboured as you waited for his next movements.

Akaashi’s hand went up to your knee, and you flinched at the contact, relaxing only when his soothing smile greeted you. “Lean back for me. Just relax and loosen up, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, Nii-san will make you feel good.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did as he told. You were still shy, but you were feeling a lot less nervous. His hypnotizing gestures of caressing your thighs made you sigh in contentment as your head hit the pillow, legs falling open like it was second nature to spread yourself to your brother.

The thought had you biting your lip.

Before you could think too much about it, you felt a cool liquid being spread all over your lips. You gasped and clutched on the sheets out of reflex, staring forward as your brother stared at you cautiously, his lube coated fingers experimentally rubbing circles over your pussy lips. It felt so lewd for him to touch you like that – those same hands that always held yours in your weakest moments – yet it felt so good; the strange sensation tightening your chest.

“I-it’s cold.”

“I’ll warm it up for you,” he reassured, “How far have you gone? Any prior sexual experience?” Akaashi then began to playfully roll your clit between his fingers, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from you. He grinned at your reaction – so vocal for him already – and he was determined to hear more of it. “Ever tried sucking someone off?”

“No, but I’ve watched a lot of porn.”

“Porn is different from actual sex, baby,” the nickname fell so effortlessly from his lips that you didn’t dare question it anymore. Not that you could anyway, because the tip of his finger was prodding against your hole that was embarrassingly clenching around nothing. “How about here? Have you tried masturbating?”

“Don’t ask me such embarrassing questions!”

“You’re spread open for me already, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” You covered your face with your hands to hide, but Akaashi pried them away, his grip on your wrist both demanding yet gentle. “Tell me so I know how many fingers I can put inside you. I need to stretch you out.”

“Just one.”

“Louder, baby.”

“Just one finger,” you blurted out, finding it harder and harder to breathe the more he glided his fingers between your slit. Fingering yourself couldn’t even compare to the beauty of having him do the same to you, your arousal only heightened by his dedicated stare at your shaven pussy. From below your bodies, his pants had begun to home a tent.

“Two hurts a little bit and ‘em too sore.”

“What a tight cunt,” he commented with a smirk. “I’ll have to take my time with you then,” You nodded gratefully, about to smile at him with hearts in your eyes when Akaashi slowly slid a finger in. Your moan came out breathless and muted as you stared at him, mouth open in a silent gasp. The intrusion wasn’t anything new but he expertly pumped his finger in and out of it that your walls fluttered around him, head thrown back for another broken moan as he slid another digit. The stretch felt fucking perfect – the slight sting more than welcome in your virgin cunt that was now being fucked by your brother.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’ll feel better soon. Just relax.”

Openly, your slight squeaks of pleasure had increased in volume. Akaashi fingered you until he was knuckle deep, his other palm flat on your abdomen. Had you been in a better state of mind that wasn’t previously clouded with pleasure, you would’ve been embarrassed at the loud sloppy sounds of your pussy, but you remained there with trembling thighs, your nails digging at his thigh as you stared at him wide-eyed.

“Feels good?”

“M-more,” you begged through gritted teeth, “Nii-san, more.”

“Not yet, baby, you’re still too tight,” Sooner than you’d like, Akaashi pulled his fingers out of you. Both of you gazed at the webs of arousal between his fingers; your face painted in shock while he smirked at it, chest swelling with pride. Then, his eyes slid over yours, hooking his hands under your knees before he settled between your thighs.

“Come here. I’m going to go down on you.”

“Nii-san, no!” your protests fell on deaf ears, almost as if he knew you didn’t really mean it. His ears knocked with your knees locked around him, and you shivered as you felt his hot breath right before your burning cunt. “It’s embarrassing...don’t want you looking at my kitty like that.”

“Your kitty is very pretty and Nii-san wants a taste of you,” he mumbles while pressing kisses all over your pelvic bone, his sticky fingers massaging your inner thighs into relaxation. Your head pressed back harder on the pillows at the sensation, the pleasure too immense and he was just starting. “Didn’t you say you want me to teach you everything? This is just a few lessons you have to learn so don’t be shy. I’m sure you taste heavenly,” Clenching your jaw from the overwhelming bursts of ecstasy, you failed to notice how he dipped his head further, tongue darting out to lick a flat stripe. Your eyes blew wide open as he torturously and slowly dipped his tongue from your hole, the wet and warm muscle licking all the way up from your slit until the clit. “See? I told you. Heavenly.”

“’Kaashi, ‘Kaashi, oh, oh!”

“You sound so pretty but don’t be too loud,” Somehow, he managed to raise his arms and placed a palm over your mouth. “We don’t want Mom and Dad to overhear.”

Your legs trembled around him until you nearly suffocated him, but how could you stop when he was rolling his tongue side to side, licking and cleaning up the previous wetness he’d pulled from you?

It was too much, too good, and soon you were moaning behind his palm as you came all over his face.

Akaashi greedily slurped up the juices that squirted all over his face, unbothered by the mess you’ve made. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were completely clean, and you were already on the brink of overstimulation when he locked his lips around yours, sucking whatever he could take. Unable to take it any longer, you pushed his head away and fell on your side in a desperate attempt to catch your breath, sending him a seductive glare, only to soften as you his lips, cheeks, and nose shining under the moonlight.

“Nii-san, your face—”

“It’s okay, I’ll clean up for later,” he shrugged it off and stepped out of his sweatpants, ripping a condom you didn’t even notice he had. You watched with baited breath as his cock sprung free, the tip red and glistening with pre-cum. Akaashi rolled the condom over his throbbing cock and situated himself before you, pumping his length a few times before aligning it with your hole, sending you one last look of approval.

“You ready for my cock now? This might hurt a little bit. You just need to relax and I’ll go slow, okay? Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable and braced the sheets for preparation, wincing a little as he pushed the tip in. Akaashi felt you clamp down on him, his hips stilling just as he loomed over you, his arms resting beside your head. In this position, you could see each detail of him – the thickness of his lashes, the love blooming in his eyes, the sweat beading in his forehead and everything soft and slow written all over his face.

“Still okay? I can stop if you want.”

You shook your head and wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer. He raised a brow at your initiation, but you merely smiled at him to hide the mild discomfort. “I can take it, just keep going.”

A few minutes later and a hundred still good? later, Akaashi had slid himself in. He allowed you to get used inch by delicious inch until he was completely seated inside you, hip pressed to hip and his hand caressing your cheek. “You’ve done so well,” he praised, “How does having a cock stuffed in you feel?”

“S-so full,” you replied numbly, the feeling of him throbbing inside your heat so fucking delicious. “Love nii-san’s cock.”

“Yeah? I’ll give you more then,” he warned, and you knew you couldn’t go back anymore when he placed his palm flat beside your head. Akaashi began to move his hips, slowly at first to let you accommodate to his length which your pussy hugged greedily. You were moaning left and right and his groans above you was erotic enough to make you cum on the spot, the pleasure doubling as your pebbled nipples grazed his toned chest.

“Nii-san! So big!”

“I know, baby, you’ll get used to it, don’t worry. It’ll feel better soon,” he rasped, scowling when you raked your nails down his back, though not hard enough to draw blood. It would definitely leave a mark though, and the pain of it urged him to move his hips faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through his room that began to warm by each passing second. “Feel better?”

“Feels so good,” you cried around him, reaching up to bury your head in his neck and clinging to him like a koala. It did feel so good, so much so that you just might get addicted to this. “Love Nii-san’s cock.”

At your words, Akaashi’s patience that thinned a while ago completely broke.

His pace increased and he gripped your hips tightly, sitting back on his knees just to watch his cock slide in and out of you. The lube made sex feel a hundred times better from how easily he’s easily punching through your walls, the sight of you splayed out for him – hair strewn across the pillow, little whimpers leaving your lips, breasts bouncing right before his eyes and abused pussy lips hugging his shaft – it made him growl with possessiveness.

“This is how you should be fucked – you gotta be fucked right,” he announced, thumb coming down to rub your clit. As expected, you cried out and tightened around him.

He faltered for a moment at how tight you were, but he kept pushing, driving his cock in and out of you until he turned into you a sobbing, slobbery mess.

“You sure that boy of yours can make you feel this good?”

“N-no, Nii-san’s cock only!”

“That’s right, it’s just gotta be me, okay?” driving both his hands around your neck just to clench your airway as a warning, Akaashi fucked you harder than before. The sudden inability to not breathe made you impossibly tighter around him that you felt each ridge and vein kissing your bumpy walls. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I’m Nii-san’s property!”

“I’m gonna mark you as mine, claim this pussy as Nii-san’s only, yeah? You want that?”

“Cum in me, ‘Kaashi, cum inside!” you prompted, and what good of a brother would he be if he didn’t grant his little sister’s wishes? Growling, Akaashi snapped his hips hard until the tip of his cock successfully kept repeating that sweet spot in you that you didn’t even know you had. You were crying, moaning, too fucked to respond as you came, and your lewd expression was all it took before he was releasing his cum inside the condom. “Kaashi, Kaashi, ah!”

Akaashi quickly pulled out his cock and took a minute to regain his breath, his head cradled on his hands at the earth-shattering orgasm you both had. Not a moment later, he’s tying his condom and throwing it to his bin, finding his way right beside you as you blinked sleepily at him.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you were great. Just tired.”

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”

You smiled at his concern, pulling him in closer for an embrace. He was warm and sweaty that it felt uncomfortable, but you wanted him beside you, and Akaashi began to caress your hipbones with so much tenderness. He knew he was a little rough for losing control like that.

“I’d love that, thank you,” you mumbled, more than ready to call it a night and sleep when his weight shifted off the bed. Akaashi rummaged through something in his drawers before he disappeared in the bathroom for a bit, coming back to spread your legs open once more. “Wh-what’re you doing?”

“It’s called aftercare. If your partner can’t provide this and pamper you, I suggest you break up with them,” he snickered, and you hissed at the sensitivity as he wiped away your cum with the towel. You soon relaxed, however, all thanks to Akaashi’s doting nature that you were falling asleep on his bed, allowing him to clean you up as he pleases. He set the towel aside and snuggled right next to you, his nose bumping your jaw to pull you away from dreamland for a little while. His previous sexual aura had now dimmed; his brotherly concern present again. “You still want to fuck your classmate?”

“Hmm...he’s really handsome, and I heard from the other girls he’s got a huge cock too,” you giggled, not really aware of your words as you said, “Probably even bigger than yours.”

Thinking that he might be offended, you almost apologized after a moment, but Akaashi only laughed as he hugged you tighter. “Size doesn’t matter. It’s who owns the cock and their talent in pleasuring their partner that matters,” he confidently stated, fingers running up and down your spine that brought chills down to your toes as he nibbled on your ear. “And I know I fucked you so good he can’t compare.”

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inadaydream99 · 3 years

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Between Our Souls

NCT Mark x female reader, university au, soulmate au, angst and fluff, slow burn, oneshot, featuring Jeno, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N - I got carried away again and this took so long to write! I’m also not over (and probably never will be) SpiderMark and NCIT

Disclaimer: this does not represent any of the members in real life, it is purely for entertainment purposes. Explicit language used at times!

Soulmates. The word makes your shoulders tense and your lips falter into an uneasy grimace. Not because you don’t like the idea of soulmates or anything, but because you dread the day you meet yours.

Your parents have always told you that from birth your soul is intertwined with another’s, your hearts beating in sync and your minds alike; it’s a connection like no other. And you believed them wholeheartedly, spending most of your childhood dreaming of spending your life with someone who truly understands you.

Your parents were soulmates, so you’d only ever heard good things about the divine union between them, hoping that yours would one day be the same. That is until you turned 18.

On your 18th birthday you get your first mark from your soulmate. It’s usually in the form of a birthmark, scar or pre-existing bruise they have somewhere on their body. It’s a symbol of hope, a mark that your soulmate is somewhere out there in the world. And, most importantly, the initial blemish is painless regardless of how your soulmate acquired it.

From then onwards though, it’s not such a serene or exciting ordeal. No, every bruise or scrape is just as painful for you as it is for the one receiving it. You wince and whine in pain, shuddering as you feel a kick to the gut or a bash to the head. And that’s the very reason you’ve come to dread finding out who your soulmate is.

By the age of 21, you’ve spent the past three years studying at university and you’re now in your final year. During your time studying for your degree, you’ve become incredibly gifted at covering up the bruises your soulmate has so lovingly gifted you. Occasionally returning the favour by walking into a corner of a table or stubbing your toe, as a thank you of course.

But right now you’re livid. With your head in your hands, elbows leaning on the table to keep you steady, you let out little whimpers. A shooting pain spikes through your leg from the base of your foot and your only thought is a beg for it to stop. All you’d wanted to do was spend some time studying in the library with your friends, but no, you’re soulmate can’t give you that can he?

“Maybe you’re soulmate stepped on a Lego?” Jaemin snickers, a pout replacing his amused grin with seconds as Renjun whacks his arm.

“Shut up. Can’t you see she’s in pain?” Renjun sarcastically retorts.

“No, it’s ok.” You manage out through a clenched jaw, raising your head enough for them to see your face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hunt down whoever this dickhead is?” Renjun leans towards you, watching you in concern as you begin to try and shake away the pain.

“He’s just clumsy.” You excuse, the same answer you give every time. But reality is you’re just trying to convince yourself of that fact. Rather him be clumsy than anything else, because it’s endearing, right?

“If you say so.” Renjun gives in to your reasoning for what feels like the millionth time. Although, his sigh reveals how he truly feels. You send him a thankful smile in hopes that it’s enough to settle his worry.

“Oh my god! Come see this!” Jaemin bursts, turning his phone screen so you and Renjun are able to see the video that his soulmate Jeno had sent to him.

You’ve always admired Jaemin and Jeno’s connection, they just compliment eachother so well; Jaemin being the loveable fluff ball, a caring soul right to the core and his perfect other half Jeno, the athletic jock type, but with a heart of gold.

Then there’s Renjun who, like you, hasn’t met his soulmate yet. You met Renjun on your first week of university, at some welcome week event you’d stumbled upon. He’d approached you to ask if you knew where the restrooms were, which you didn’t, but the second you laid eyes on him and had taken notice of the strawberry smoothie that had been spilt down his front, you offered to help him. Renjun still won’t admit it to this day, but he’s one of the clumsiest people you’ve come across - which surprises most people because he just has such a put together look about him, like he is too focused and sensible.

Renjun nudges your elbow, giving you a side glance as you cringe, watching the events unfold. It shows a fellow student from your university, you presume on his way to class. His head is bowed low, watching the path beneath him as he steadily walks and his hands clutch onto the straps of his backpack. He’s wearing a navy blue cap, obscuring his identity from being revealed in the video so far and you wait in suspense with the knowledge that something is going to be happening to this unsuspecting guy.

Out of no where a ball flies into frame, hitting him on the head with a harsh bounce. Startled, he looses his balance, tripping up over his unsteady feet and catching on his shoelace which sends him flying down to the ground with a thud. It’s a mean video, the camera panning to capture the culprit, wearing a red cap, laughing away with his group of friends.

Although, your distaste for the video and sympathy for the victim vanishes when he reappears. Everyone’s laughing falters as the guy approaches the one that threw the ball at him, shoving him forcefully back by the shoulders. Red cap, stumbles back a little but retaliates just as hard once he’s regained his footing.

Next thing you know, blue cap has been backed into the wooden picnic tables in the centre of the grass verge. You can’t properly see what happens, but your eyes widen as you see blue cap fall to the floor. He wails in pain, silent onlookers frozen as they watch him clutch his foot. Red cap and his friends begin tormenting him by kicking his wound before walking away in laughter.

Then the video cuts off.

“Oof I wouldn’t want to be his soulmate.” Renjun shakes his head, tight-lipped smile on his face.

“Same, luckily Jeno doesn’t get into fights like that.” Jaemin jokes back, and the two of them share a laugh as they reminisce on the many times Jeno has bashed or hurt himself while playing football with your Universities team.

Both turn to you when you fail to add anything, their brows furrowing when they see your wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape expression etched onto your face.

“(Y/N), you ok?” Jaemin lightly shakes your shoulder, making you blink out of your daze.

“Huh- oh yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble, instantly turning to pull some books out of your bag while Renjun and Jaemin continue to watch you silently.

“How long ago did that happen?” You blurt out after a few minutes of silence. You’d tried to distract yourself from replaying the video in your head by reading but it was no use.

“About 10 minutes ago, Jeno recorded it and sent it through right away.” Jaemin informs, unknowingly confirming a thought that had settled into your mind.

“That’s outside the East building right?” You scramble your books away, standing up from the table in a rush. Jaemin nods, sending a quick, unsure gaze over to Renjun, who seems to be just as confused as him by your hurry to leave. “Great, see you later!” You quickly smile before rushing out of the library.

You arrive in front of the East building’s entrance a few minutes later, completely out of breath from running across campus as fast as you could. Scanning the area of picnic tables, you let out a defeated sigh when you find them completely empty.

“Damn it.” You mutter under your breath before turning back on yourself and beginning to walk the way you’d just come from.

You were stupid to have thought that blue cap would still be here, and even more so for running when you’d had terrible shooting pains in your foot not long before.

A bash to your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, your hand flying up to hold onto the spot that’s just been hit into.

“Watch where you’re going.” The agitated voice spits towards you. And you’re about to fire a comment back at your rude encounter when you look up and see the aggressive eyes glaring at you and the dishevelled, messy hair of the guy; he’s clearly not having a good day. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologise?” He stares you down expectantly.

You narrow your eyes at him in distain. Normally, yes, you would apologise, even if it wasn’t your fault; which in this instance it isn’t. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something in his demanding stature; an arrogance that infuriates you.

“No.” You simply reply before turning and walking away from him. You don’t dare to look back to see his reaction because if you did you’d seen the scour that you can feel burning into your back.

The guy watches as you walk away from him, enraged further by how stuck up you seem to be, but he smirks to himself when he notices you limping, snickering under his breath at the spiteful remarks that float around his head as he reaches into his bag to pull out his blue cap.

Karma is a bitch after all.

It’s Monday, the worst day of the week. Well, for you it is. But as Renjun likes to remind you every time, it’s your fault for choosing a 9am class, so don’t complain about it.

You arrive just in time for your regular seat to still be free and smile to yourself as you approach the back of the lecture room. Maybe today won’t be as bad as you thought.

When your lecturer arrives everyone settles down, ready to take notes and you begin typing away on your laptop, feeling organised and ready to get the class over and done with.

10 minutes in the doors obnoxiously swing open and everyone’s focus is drawn onto the latecomer. You pause your typing to watch as he swiftly enters and, with his head bowed low, begins walking towards the back of the class. The closer he gets to where you are sat, the more nervousness bubbles in your stomach and you don’t know why. It feels instinctive, like your gut is trying to tell you something. And you realise exactly what that is when its already too late.

It had taken you a little longer to notice the way he walks, his arm casually gripping onto his backpack which is slung over his shoulder. It’s the guy you’d bumped into when you’d gone looking for blue cap.

He slides into the empty seat beside you without acknowledging your presence. Normally you’d think it was rude, but basing off how bitter he was towards you, you assume it’s probably normal for him. In fact, you’re relieved he hasn’t acknowledged you. And you resume your typing away in order to shift your focus back onto your lecturer instead of thinking about how good he looks with his messy hair.

“Hey, have you got a pen I can borrow?” You feel his elbow lightly nudge your arm before you hear him whisper. It irritates you slightly that he’s disturbing you when it’s clear that you want to work.

You don’t respond to him verbally, instead choosing to simply scoot your pen towards him without even glancing in his direction. You’re typing anyway, the pink glittery pen and matching notebook you’d gotten out wasn’t really necessary. You hear him whisper a “thanks.” through a snicker, but you purposefully make a point of typing faster to show that you’re not interested.

“I’m Mark, by the way.” You huff when you hear him whisper to you again, finally tearing your eyes away from your laptop screen to look at him. Maybe an unimpressed stare will send him the message. But when your eyes meet his gaze, it makes all of the annoyance drain from you.

“(Y/N).” You mumble, your expression more less blank of any expression.

It’s hard to explain what comes over you, the rude guy that bumped into you seemingly a different person from the one that is sat next to you now. It’s undeniably him though, you’d recognise his voice anywhere. Although, you definitely like it a lot more when he’s not being arrogant. You wonder if he recognises you too?

“Thanks for the pen (Y/N).” You return Mark’s soft smile with one of your own before once again resuming your work.

Maybe he’s not so bad…

“Ah shit!” You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to control the pain in your shoulder. What has your soulmate done now, deliberately run into a brick wall or something?

“It’s ok. Take a seat.” Renjun coerces you, his hand on your back as he guides you into the safety of the worn leather of the café’s chair. He only relaxes once he can see that you’re safe, but he still watches in worry as you wince.

“I’m ok, I’m ok.” You chant to yourself, relaxing your shoulders as you recline back into your chair.

“This has seriously got to stop, your soulmate is gonna kill you before you meet at this rate.” You lightly snicker at Renjun’s statement.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You flippantly roll your eyes. It’s just typical overdramatic Renjun. Sometimes you’re sure he worries just for the sake of worrying.

“Hey!” He scolds, his tone conveying his lightheartedness.

“Besides, you’re one to talk when you get a migraine every other day thanks to your soulmate.” You teasingly raise an accusatory brow towards him.

“Yeah well, that’s different.” Renjun defensively crosses his arms.

“How so?”

“Because migraines can’t be helped so easily, getting into fights, however, can.” Renjun sasses. Although, he does make a good point. One of which you hadn’t properly thought through before.

Yes, you’re fully aware that your soulmate is selfish in how they treat their body, and subsequently, you. But it hadn’t really crossed your mind that they most likely make the active choice to put themselves through that sort of pain, in comparison to Renjun and his soulmates issues with terrible headaches…

“Sorry.” Renjun sends you a tight lipped smile, feeling guilt shoot through him the second he sees the frown grow more prominent on your face.

“No. You’re right.” Your sorrow filled eyes lock with his.

“Hey guys!” Jeno, too in a hurry to notice what he’s just interrupted, rushes over to your table. “(Y/N), you got a pen I can borrow real quick?” He turns to you. You lean down to your bag by your feet, rummaging through.

“Damn it.” You mutter when you are unable to find one. “I gave my last one to Mark this morning.” You apologetically glance up at Jeno.

“Here, take mine.” Renjun hands over a pen to Jeno who quickly thanks Renjun before rushing back out of the café.

You laugh to yourself in amusement at that completely random encounter. Jeno never ceases to amaze you.

“Who’s Mark?” Renjun’s question brings you back into the present, his furrowed brows and slight tilt to his head giving him a very soft, endearing look.

“Just some friend from my class this morning.” You shrug.

You’re not sure why you called Mark your friend. Acquaintance or annoying pen stealing guy would have been more appropriate, but friend seemed like the least complicated term out of them all somehow.

“And why have you never mentioned Mark before?” A teasing smirk spreads across Renjun’s face and you just know what he’s thinking, he’s likes to tease you over every guy you’re friends with (outside of Jeno, Jaemin and himself of course).

“He turned up late to class this morning and ended up sitting next to me. That’s about it.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping to come across as nonchalant. You don’t want to tell Renjun about your rude encounter with Mark on the same day of the video for the very reason that you’ve resolved in your mind that you’d caught Mark in a bad moment, on a bad day, when you’d first bumped into each other. It seems irrelevant for now.

Mark holds his shoulder as a dull pain shoots through him, gritting his teeth as he moves to find a comfortable way to lay back and rest against the headboard of his bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want any ice?” Jisung offers for the third time, to which Mark shakes his head.

Why’d he have to get caught up in another fight? It’s not like he had any intentions to, he just always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sometimes, when things like this happen, he finds himself thinking about his soulmate, wondering if they can feel his pain too. He knows for sure they must do to some extent because he’s been subjected to the occasional bruise on the knee or elbow from them bashing into something. He assumes they probably think he doesn’t care about them, or, in a best case scenario, that he’s just incredibly clumsy. And most of the time he assumes that his soulmate must hate him by now. Even he hates himself sometimes…

Mark allows his eyes to flutter shut as he rests on his bed, the pain in his shoulder very slowly becoming less and less. He tries to think about anything to take his mind off of it and finds himself thinking about you. He’s not sure why you pop into his mind, but he can’t stop picturing your subtle smile and the way your eyes seemed to have a little sparkle to them. It made him feel a little breathless the first time you’d locked gazes with him. It was familiar and yet completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“Crap.” Mark whispers the second realisation strikes him; he’d forgotten to return your pen to you earlier. Jisung lifts his gaze from his phone when he hears his friend randomly curse. He thought Mark was asleep already. “I forgot to give (Y/N)’s pen back.” Mark informs when he notices Jisung’s confusion.

“So? It’s just a pen.” Jisung shrugs, completely oblivious to the reasons Mark has for finding it such a big deal in his head.

It’s bigger than just a pen to him, it’s about having a reason to speak to you again.

It’s a few days later when you next see Mark. It was a funny coincidence bumping into him again as you’re walking past the East building; although thankfully this time you don’t physically bump into each other.

“(Y/N)!” You hear the familiar voice call your name, turning to look in the direction behind you to spot Mark perched at one of the picnic tables, his hand waving in the air to you.

You smile, giggling a little at how he doesn’t seem to have any embarrassment from his actions, nor does he care about the other students passing by that seem to give him a judgemental look.

“Hey Mark, studying outside?” You warmly greet him, noticing the open books laid out on the table in front of him.

“I’m procrastinating actually.” He unashamedly admits. “What about you?”

You’re not sure why it’s so easy to talk to Mark when you barely know him. But there seems to be this comforting feeling that he gives you, one that makes you want to sit with him and get to know him more.

“I’m heading off to class.” You show a reluctant smile. “Not that I want to go really…”

“Skip it then.” Mark suggests like it not a big deal. Maybe it isn’t to him, but to you it definitely is. You’ve never purposefully skipped a class in your life and the thought alone makes you feel anxious. “You can join me…”

The way Mark quirks a brow at you, his lazy smirk making your stomach twist a little at his offer. You know this is what you want to do, you’ve been hoping to spend more time with the scruffy haired guy you’d met only a few days ago.

So you nod your head in acceptance, placing your bag down onto the table as you take a seat. You can see the delight in his eyes as he watches you and that’s enough to know that the decision you’ve made it worth it.

Walking through the campus with Mark beside you is like a daydream. The conversation hasn’t once stopped, it’s easy and light with him. And everything seems to be going so well as you form this new friendship. You’d spent the last few hours hanging out together, but now the sun is beginning to set and the air turns to have a slight evening chill, you decide that it’s time to head home.

But life never likes to make things too easy and you feel stupid for letting yourself indulge in this dream-like afternoon with Mark.

It all happens so fast. From the group of guys walking your way, to one of them making a crude offhand comment about you. You don’t quite catch his words exactly, but Mark does. Next you’re stumbling backwards to get out of the way as the guy takes a lunge towards Mark. And then you can no longer see them, a crowd of students circling around them as they throw punches at each other.

A voice shouts over the noise to alert of campus security and everyone quickly disperses, a breathlessly beaten blue Mark left laying on the hard concrete of the pathway.

“Mark, can you hear me?” You rush over to him, kneeling down beside him as his half lidded eyes tiredly try to focus on you. You sigh in relief when a hazy smile stretches across his lips. He doesn’t seem like he’s in much pain, just dazed more than anything. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Not knowing where Mark lives, and him being too out of it to give coherent directions, you somehow manage to drag him back to your dorm. It takes a couple hours for you to patch him up before he finally drifts to sleep, but you sit at your desk patiently for him to wake.

To say you’re still in shock is an understatement, you can’t get the ordeal out of your head. You wreck your brain to try and make sense of what happened. But, in the end, you realise that there’s too many gaps in the narrative that you’re unaware of. Clearly there’s some history between Mark and the guy. You just hope he’s willing to explain it to you.

“How long have I been asleep?” Marks voice snaps you out of your daze and you spring up from your chair to approach the side of your bed.

“A couple hours. How’re you feeling?” You softly speak. Mark watches you intently, staring at you so deeply it makes you a little nervous.

“I’ve been far worse, don’t worry.” He chuckles.

“So you get into fights a lot then.” You state rather than question, his answer having more so confirmed your suspicions.

Instinctively, you find yourself reaching your hand out to gently rub the pad of your thumb across the darkening bruise that’s on his jaw.

“Not intentionally.” Mark eyes screw shut as your hand brushes near his eye and you instantly retract your hand, mumbling a light apology.

When Mark opens his eyes once again, you notice how they seem to fixate onto your face, morphing through multiple emotions before widening in shock. He sits up abruptly, heavy breaths escaping him as he messily slips on his shoes.

“I-I uh, need to go.”

You’re confused at best, feeling a little hurt at his sudden need to leave. Without a thank you too. Had you done something wrong?

Before you know it, Monday has rolled back around, and you find yourself struggling to get out of bed. You’ve been desperately trying to find Mark, hoping that you’d bump into him, because you really need to talk.

You’d figured out what sent him running away a little too late. But when you did, you understood exactly why he responded the way he did; he’s your soulmate.

You have the exact bruises on your body to the ones Mark acquired from the fight, you know because you had been the one to tend to his wounds. It gave you quite a shock when you first caught a glance of them in the mirror. But once you’d taken a little time to process the realisation, you knew more than ever that you needed to find Mark as soon as possible. You have so many questions.

One thing that confused you the most was why none of the bruises hurt you, they always did before. The more you thought about it, the more you realised that Mark didn’t seem to be in as much pain as what you would have expected him to be in either.

Over the past week, despite not actually having seen him, you feel like he’s been present without physically being there and it’s so irritating, like fate has just been purposefully trying to torment you. For example, on Saturday you had been hanging out with Jeno and you were joined by one of his football teammates, Jisung.

Jisung seemed like a really sweet guy, a little quiet at first but once he’d gotten to know you a little he began to reveal little hints of the crazy and fun person his is underneath.

As it turns out, Jisung is really close friends with Mark, which you’d found out through him asking about how you’d acquired the dark purple bruise along your jaw; even putting on extra makeup couldn’t cover it…

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Jisung was a little timid in his approach. “How did you hurt your jaw like that?”

“Oh don’t even get her started!” Jeno throws his head back in laughter, knowing the impending rant from you that Jisung had just unknowingly started. What he doesn’t know, however, is that you now know who your soulmate is and that you no longer feel so angry about the bruises because you know that this one in particular was because he was standing up for you.

“My soulmate.” Is all you respond with, hoping to get the point across to your new friend without the need to go into details. And it seems that Jisung understands, nodding his head upon your answer.

“It’s funny, my friend Mark has one just like that.”

Your eyes had gone so wide they could have almost popped out of your head, the sheer mention of the name Mark had your heart beating just that little bit faster and a rush of adrenaline pumping through you.

You remember joking with Jisung about it, saying something about how his friend must know how tiring it is to have a clumsy soulmate.

But ever since that moment, you’ve not been able to shake the thought that what if Jisung’s friend Mark is your soulmate Mark. The only way to find out is to see him again.

So you find yourself waiting anxiously in class, sat in the same seat you were in the previous week, hoping that Mark will turn up.

When the lecture begins and there’s no sign of him, you try not to make a big deal out of it in your head. He was late last time, and you know he isn’t bothered about missing class, you just hope he isn’t skipping today. By the half way point, however, your hope is quickly diminishing. Until, finally, class is over and there was never any sign of him.

When Jisung had next seen Mark, he’d relayed all the information about how he thought he had just met Mark’s soulmate. It made him nervous to hear his friend say your name. Had you told him what happened between you? How did you seem about it? Were you doing ok? They are just a few of the questions that fill Mark’s head.

“Jeno joked that it’s not a good idea to bring up her soulmate, but (Y/N) seemed fine with it really.” Jisung reassures.

Mark didn’t know you were friends with Jeno. And he assumes that means you’re also friends with Jaemin. The fact that you both have close mutual friends surprises him.

It’s ironic really, Mark wants nothing more than to see you, but he doesn’t know how after rushing away with no explanation. But it’s his rushing away that made him freak out even more because it confirmed the very thing he’d been panicking about.

You see, never before has he been able to move so painlessly after getting into a fight like that. The fact that he was able to spring up from your bed and rush all the way back to his, with only minor aches from his muscles, was proof that you are his soulmate.

When two souls are separated, the pain they feel is intensified. But when they are together, no matter how horrible the pain, they barely feel a thing. Mark has this echoing around like a mantra in his head all week.

He’s not sure if you know this or not, or even if you’re aware of the fact that you are destined to be with him. But he wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him even if you did know. He feels terrible for leaving you the way he did, especially after all you did to help him.

Maybe Jeno would be able to help him out, because, right now, all Mark wants is to see you.

“Sorry, but no.” Jeno shrugs his shoulders at Mark. He’d heard all about what had happened from you a few days ago and he wasn’t very pleased with Mark when he found out; he still isn’t. Why should he help him when all he did was hurt you, one of his closest friends.

“Come on Jeno. You know what it’s like to find your soulmate and almost lose them.” Jeno pauses upon hearing Mark’s words. He’s right, Jeno knows that feeling all too well, and he wishes he didn’t.

He’d made the football team and met Jaemin at pretty much the same time. Being part of the university football team bought with it a level of fame. Everyone knew who he was, not just from your university, but from rivalling ones too.

Jeno hadn’t known Jaemin for long, but he’d asked him to watch the final game of the semester for support; which Jaemin of course accepted.

The evening started off strong, with the game going in Jeno’s favour. That was until he got targeted by the opposing team and tackled to the ground. While he was knocked out, Jaemin had rushed onto the pitch to make sure he was ok, and the second he saw Jeno’s state, he lost it, picking a fight with the player that had caused his soulmate to fall unconscious.

It pains Jeno to think about even now, so many years later. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get the picture out of his head of waking in the locker room to find Jaemin’s battered body, limp as he was attended to by paramedics. Thinking about Mark getting himself into fights so often worried him. So your situation is sometimes a little too close to his for comfort.

“That’s exactly why I’m not gonna help you.” Jeno is able to control his emotions enough to answer Mark before he has to walk away.

If Mark really cares about you then he’ll keep away from you. He’s already caused enough damage as it is.

“Maybe you should have helped.” Jaemin, ever the sympathetic, hopeless romantic states. “There’s always a risk with true love, but the safety you find in each other will always outweigh that.” He takes Jeno’s hand, sending him the most convincing pleading look he can. Damn Jaemin and his ability to be so persuasive.

“I just don’t want (Y/N) to be hurt anymore. She’s been through enough.” Jeno sulkily mumbles.

“Jaemin’s right though.” Renjun sighs. “And, either way, it’s not our choice to make.”

You feel hopeless, defeated and drained. Yes Mark was a bit of an asshole and, yes, he shouldn’t have hurt you the way he has. But, without him, you feel like there’s a part of you missing.

You woke up this morning with no new bruises. In fact, it’s been so long, you can’t remember the last time you saw a fresh bruise appear. It’s honestly a little worrying because, despite hating the condition of feeling your soulmates pain and attaining their battle scars, it provided an assurance that they are still out there, waiting for you. Of all those times in the past when you’d wished for the pain to stop, why did Mark have to fall silent on you now!

The bruise on your jaw is almost completely faded, your hand reaching up to delicately trail along the faint purple on your skin as you look in the mirror. It’s the last one you received…

Before you have time to finish tracing it, however, a knock on your door sounds.

You open your bedroom door to and empty hallway, confused as you look around for any sign of movement. It’s probably just one of your dorm mates playing a trick. You take a step to lean a little further and freeze as you hear a crunch and look down to see you’d stepped on a pen. Your eyes go wide. That’s not any pen, it’s the pink glittery one you’d given to Mark all that time ago.

You pick up the pen to examine it, before retracting back into your room and shutting your door.

You need to find Mark.

After rushing around campus unable to find Mark, you begin to admit defeat and search for somewhere to take a seat. Central campus feels like it’s busier than normal, students crammed into every free space, rushing to and from classes or gathering in the cafés. It’s manic.

But then you spot a free seat over by the fountain, situated on the green space between the centre and the pathway that leads to the East part of campus.

You shut your eyes and let out a contented sigh in relief, your legs happy to be able to rest for a little. The sounds of the water are soothing as you try to clear your mind and simply allow yourself to be present in this moment.

“(Y/N)?” The voice that sounds from beside you is unmistakably him, your eyes shooting open to find Mark sat beside you.

“Mark?” You gasp. You hadn’t recognised him at first, the navy blue cap he has on shielding his face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” You playfully scold him, your heart skipping a beat, elated from hearing his laugh again.

“You have?” He smiles brightly. There it is, your hope coming back. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me after everything…”

The seriousness that replaces his smile makes you feel a tightness in your chest. You can tell the distance between you has been just as difficult for him as it has for you.

“Of course. You’re my soulmate.” Your voice comes out as more of a whisper now, leaning closer into him as you speak. “Although, I was mad at first. I realised just how lost I felt without you around.”

“I feel the same.” Mark reciprocates your smile. “The thought of loosing you made me want to be a better person. I haven’t been getting in any fights recently.”

“I thought it was strange when I wasn’t waking up with new bruises every day.” You tease, laughing harder when Mark rolls his eyes. His cheesy grin gives away that he’s not really mad though.

“Well I think the last one we got was enough to last a lifetime.” Mark sends you a guilty smile and you return one of sympathy back, watching as he raises his hand to caress you cheek as his thumb lightly brushes over the almost faded one on your jaw.

His action makes everything more intimate, the way he stares at you with such concentration taking your breath away. He slowly leans in, closing off some more space between you.

“But I promise to never put you through anything like that again.” His breath fans across your face, lips practically brushing against each other’s as he pauses. For what exactly you’re not sure. But it has your patience growing thin alarmingly quick.

Just as you’re about to give in, Mark smirks and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a feeling like no other, his kiss gentle and tender, conveying his every emotion as his lips repeatedly capture yours in a gentle caress. After a few minutes you reluctantly pull away, but if it wasn’t for the need to breathe you would have insisted on kissing him forever.

No more words are needed to be exchanged between you to know how you really feel and it’s liberating to know you’ve finally met the one for you. This is the first time you been with Mark since you realised he was your soulmate, and it feels even better than you’d imagined to finally be able to take it all in properly.

You guess you’re parents were right all along. The waiting and painful bruises were worth every second because it led your soul to Mark’s. And you’d always choose him over everyone.

#nct fluff #nct angst #nct oneshot #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct mark lee #nct mark #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop oneshots #kpop drabbles #kpop imagines

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mercurial-madhouse · 3 years

Text

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

#Being this vulnerable #is an act of courage #I never knew I had #I'm not fearless #I feel ready to vomit #I have no idea how this will be received #but I am sharing my truth #have courage to share your truth #the world needs you

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cerezsis · 2 years

Text

End of the Universe

Chapter Four

The Doctor makes some starling discoveries at Division. Meanwhile, Spades works to reunite the family.

“Pattern optimization in progress,” the Ood said, still stood by the monitor, “Matter compression increasing. Spatial distribution and destruction analysis now available.”

“I’ll handle the analytics,” the woman the Doctor now knew to be Tecteun said, not even looking at the alien as she took his place at the monitor, “Go check experiment NZ9X6.”

“Yes, Tecteun.” Ever obedient, he disappeared down the corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” the Doctor said, speaking quickly as she tried to push past the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in her head. So much had been revealed in such little time: she finally found Division, the structure they were in was somehow residing in a space outside of their universe, and the woman responsible for all this, for everything from finding a lost child to putting the Time Lords up on their pedestals, was stood right in front of her. Any one of those things would be enough to send her on a barrage of questions, yet she had no time to dwell on any. “You're generating the final waves of the Flux from here, forcing spatial compression on that universe. You're trying to move this structure into the next universe while you wreck the one you leave behind. No wonder this place feels under so much pressure!”

“We all need to clear up after ourselves.” Looking up from the monitor, she casually stepped aside and began to walk toward her. “That's why I had you brought here, to ensure you won't be in the universe to save it.”

The structure rumbled, and the Doctor found herself taking a step back, straightening her posture as she looked to the older woman.

“So…” she said, forcing her face to stay neutral as she felt her stomach twist, “Is what the Master showed me on Gallifrey true?”

Another, smaller rumble went through the structure before Tecteun gave her answer.

“Yes,” she confirmed, her expression unchanged.

Despite already knowing that deep down, the Doctor recoiled. With how thorough Division had been with concealing her past, getting such a straightforward answer wasn’t something she expected.

“I found you,” Tecteun continued, a little too calmly, “A lost child, alone, beneath a monument on a deserted planet, seemingly deposited there by a wormhole. No way back, no one to care for you.”

The words echoed in her head, the seeming sincerity lighting fires of anger deep in her chest. “You took something that didn’t belong to you.”

Tecteun laughed, but by the time she looked back at the Doctor, anything but humor was left in her eyes. “I rescued you. Would you prefer to have been left?”

“You assumed I came through that wormhole, but you don't know. What if I was waiting there to be collected? What if I was supposed to be taken through it? What if whoever left me there was taken by that wormhole?”

“What if, what if, what if?”

“You denied me my life!”

“I gave you a life. Everything you are, is because of me.” Her tone switched suddenly, now much softer and calming. “But I understand. You think you could have been something else. Someone else.”

The words cut deep in the Doctor’s core. The fires suddenly extinguished, replaced by a crushing sadness that lingered in her voice.

“Maybe. I’ll never know.”

Another rumble was felt through the structure, followed quickly by footsteps that signaled the Ood’s return. With it was a soft fussing, one that sent a cold horror through the Doctor’s veins.

“Tecteun,” the Ood said as he approached, “experiment NZ9X6 requires attention.”

The Doctor couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move as her worst fear acted out in front of her. Mouth agape, all she could do was watch as her – until now – missing son was placed in Tecteun’s arms.

Read More on AO3

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bangtangalicious · 4 years

Text

the glow up | kth (2)

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: after going off to college, you & your best friend committed to working out. a year later, the results show, and you cant wait for your hot hometown friends to see you. now all you wanna do is wild out and have lots of sex, and enjoy it without feeling insecure

genre: smut, fluff, childhoodfriends!au weightloss!au (is that a thing) friends-to-lovers!au

word count: 2.1k

warnings: carrrrr sexxxx, public sex, dry-ish humping, exhibitionist, horny!reader, praise kink, taehyung calls you princess, softdom!taehyung, slightly awkward, unprotected sex, creampie, daddy kink for like 2 seconds, light spanking, body image issues, taehyung DRIVING with ONE HAND fffff

part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 masterlist

The events from Jimin’s party still weighed on you. After Taehyung had left you couldn’t look Jimin in the eye. This is not what you wanted. You just wanted to have fun. You did love Jimin, but Taehyung was right. What Jimin had said…the way he had derogated you all because you willingly had sex with someone you wanted to have sex with...was not okay.

Before you had been to overwhelmed to recall how exactly the whole thing started. But after sleeping on it, you found yourself back in the car, wind flowing through your hair.

“So” You said nervously, “What’s new? Any new girlfriends?”

Taehyung grinned, “Nah. What about you? Any princes for our little princess?”

You licked your lips, looking at how delectable his long neck was, how much you just wanted to wrap your arms around it.

“Ah…no. I actually…I wanna start hooking up with people”

“Oh?” Taehyung raised his eyebrows but kept his eyes on the road.

“I’ve had sex before…but it really sucked. I was just worried about crushing him, or if he thought I was…well…I don’t look like a porn star so. I just…wanna enjoy it, you know?”

Taehyung nodded. “Of course, you should enjoy it. Whoever you’re with should make you feel amazing. And stop worrying so much, people don’t care nearly as much as you think they do”

“I guess I just…” You turned to look at the world passing you by, “Don’t know where to start. I don’t know what I like” You had no idea why you were telling Taehyung this. His hand gently massaged the nape of your neck as the other one steadied the steering wheel.

“That’s valid. Just pick a fantasy and start exploring. What do you think about when you masturbate?”

You were grateful at how chill Taehyung was being about having this conversation with you. You realized you really took him for granted at times. He had always been really nice to you, and you really enjoyed his company. You never felt like you had to…try that hard around him. But you knew that was because you didn’t have a shot with someone like Taehyung. Not even now. He was one of the hottest guys from your hometown no question. You assumed he had two or three fuckbuddies in his back pocket at all times.

Taehyung was also openly bisexual. And that made you feel at ease in a way. It was as though because you knew about his sexuality you felt more comfortable to talk about your own.

“Well…” Your face was red, but Taehyung couldn’t see that luckily. “I wanna ride someone’s cock.”

Taehyung bit back a smirk, nodding in understanding. “And?”

“And…I want it to be risky. Like…in a movie theater…or a parking lot…somewhere I could get caught.” You inhaled sharply, thoughts putting you on edge. You rubbed your thighs together feeling the damp squelch of your arousal. You hoped Taehyung hadn’t noticed.

“Ooh. That sounds fun” He glanced your way quickly, noting your blushed state.

“Taehyung” You exhaled, gripping onto the car door tightly, spreading your legs so that the rough wind could ease your yearning a little bit.

“What’s up?”

“I…I…” What the heck were you supposed to say? How did guys initiate things anyway? You couldn’t exactly kiss him while he was driving. “Can I suck your dick?”

Taehyung almost jumped at your query, car jolting slightly before he recovered. He inhaled sharply. “Yeah, um…right now?”

“If that’s okay”

“Yeah…no yeah…um” He glanced down at his lap then back up at the road. “I don’t really know how to do this if I’m being honest y/n.”

“Uh…don’t worry I got it” You reached over to unzip his pants. Taehyung raised himself up just enough for you to tug them down to his knees, giving you access to his cock. It was big. You shivered in anticipation. You stroked him slowly, getting him to harden. You could hear his breathing get shaky. “Does that feel good?”

“fuck y/n of course it does” You couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses but the way his jaw was clenched gave you evidence supporting his words. You look around. There’s a decent number of cars on the highway, but no one directly next to you guys. You decide it’s safe and crouch down into the vehicle, leaning over the console so your tongue could kitten lick his throbbing tip. Your chest pressed against his hand which was clenching the gear shift as you bent over. It was not comfortable.

You licked your lips and covered his tip, sucking slightly as your tongue flicked the opening. Taehyung groaned, pressing his foot down slightly causing the car to speed up.

“Tae”

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t comfortable”

He glanced down at you quickly and smiled, “Doesn’t look it.”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

Taehyung coughed. He glanced your way again, lowering his glasses to really look at your expression to see if you were kidding. You weren’t. “Go for it princess”

Careful not to block Taehyung’s line of sight, you somehow crawl into his lap so that you can straddle him. You make direct eye contact with the cars behind, whose driver’s look shocked and confused. This turns you on even more.

“I just want to make sure you know how illegal this is” Taehyung said.

“I don’t care” You exhaled, loving the way his raw cock head was pressed against your clit. You rolled your hips slowly. “Does that feel good Tae?”

Taehyung put one hand on your ass to help steady you and squeezed it affectionately. “Feels so good y/n. Shit. Is this really happening?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the almost childlike excitement in his voice. You began to roll your hips faster, humping him like you were in heat. Arousal shot through your veins. The feeling was addictive, and you didn’t ever want it to stop. You grinded your hips faster and faster, his cock roughly gliding against your barely clothed core, at times pushing the fabric and directly pressing against your soaking folds. You were a moaning mess. You let out streams of curses as you rode him like you couldn’t believe. You tugged his hair roughly, ignoring his whines of pain.

“T…taehyung” You stammered, slowing down. You felt his hand smack your ass making you cry out in pleasure.

“Don’t you dare stop” His tone was gruff, and it sent shivers down your spine. “I want you to cum for me. Can you do that? Can you cream my cock princess?” He smacked you again. You picked up your pace, feeling the sweet friction guiding you closer to your high. You wished you could have his cock inside you, but you also did not want to get in a car crash.

“Want your cock Tae…” You screamed into the wind, “I wanna feel your cock inside me. So bad. God Tae…baby…fuck…I’m…” You squealed as your orgasm hit you like a truck. Taehyung could feel your wetness soak onto him through your swimsuit.

“That’s right princess…cum for me…you sound so sweet I could listen to you all day” He coos at you, lightly slapping your ass because that’s all he really could do without bringing you both near death. You wrap your arms around him and fall against his body.

“That was amazing” You exhaled.

Taehyung was still painfully hard.

“I’m gonna pull over” He announced. You nodded your head. “and then” He inhaled sharply “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you”

And that’s exactly what he did. He got off the highway at the next exit. You had no idea where you were, but Taehyung found an abandoned parking lot at some hardware store. He parked as far away from the main street as he could. The second the car stopped, he brought his hands to your face and kissed you. Your eyes widened, not expecting that from him.

“Y/n…I…Wow” He chuckled, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. “What did I do to deserve this? This is like, everything I’ve ever wanted”

“Let me help you now” You whispered seductively, grabbing his cock tightly and pushing the fabric aside to allow yourself to sink down onto his cock.

“Holy shit” Taehyung groaned, gripping your hips tightly as you bottomed out. His hands moved to latch under your knees and he lifted you effortlessly, cock buried in your cunt, out of the car, laying you back down on the head of the white convertible. His strength, the ease with which he could just manhandle you, it drove you crazy. You had never felt this good in your life. Taehyung practically tore your clothes off, not caring that they landed on the ground. He grunted as he rolled his hips, thrusting up into you at a perfect angle. “You’re so tight…so fucking tight princess. How have I waited this long for this…” He steadily piston his cock in and out of you.

“You love this don’t you?” He teased, “Spread out naked all for me. Anyone can come see how much you need my big cock”

“I love your cock Tae. I love it” You whined in agreement, wrapping your legs around him.

“Yeah I bet” He said gruffly “You’re so perfect for me princess, all wet…dripping all for me. You want daddy to cum inside you?”

You nodded dumbly, like you no longer could form words. Your brain had completely shut off, and all you could feel was sheer bliss from Taehyung thrusting into you perfectly.

“My perfect little princess. So good to me…so sweet riding daddy’s cock like that…mmm” He kissed your lips, then traveling down to your jaw, nipping at you harshly, then down to your tits, kissing every inch he possibly could.

“I can’t believe how good you feel” He groaned, “This is even better than in my dreams”

You took off his sunglasses so you could see his fucked out eyes. His pupils were completely dilated, and you could see the rampant pleasure on his gorgeous face. Sweat coated the roots of his pink hair. He clenched his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy drank him up.

“Where can I cum y/n?”

You didn’t even hear him. You were too caught up in the amazing feeling.

“Y/n…quick…where can I cum? I can’t last much longer”

“I…I have an IUD…” You managed to mutter. Taehyung exhaled in relief.

“Good fucking girl. Ready for my cum hm? You want me to cum in you princess? Make you mine?”

“Yes…yes oh my GOD yes” Your eyes rolled back as you felt the hot liquid seep inside you. He cried out.

“my god princess, just like that, take my fucking cum” He sucked your tit harshly “I’m gonna fuck you up so good. You’re mine. My princess. My sweet sweet princess”

After he finished he quickly slipped out of you, then went to his trunk to grab a towel. You groaned at his absence, but he was back instantly wiping you up as you flinched with oversensitivity.

He took off his button down shirt and wrapped it around you as he picked up your clothes from the ground. You smiled at how tenderly he cared for you. He grabbed some water and handed it to you, taking another bottle for himself.

“Drink up” He tapped the bottle against yours and gulped the whole thing down. You watched the way his throat moved, feeling yourself heat up yet again. He put the bottles back in the car, then helped you into the back seat. He let you lay down comfortably, stroking your face as he lowered himself onto you, careful not to crush you beneath him. His smile reached his eyes and it made you feel elated. He left a soft kiss on your forehead. “I missed you so much y/n” Then another on your nose. “You have no idea” Another on each cheek, “how happy I am right now” another next to your mouth “because you’re back home”. Another at your jaw, pecking all over your face in the most loving way he could. “You’re so beautiful y/n…” He inhaled you deeply “fuck…am I dreaming?”

“No” You giggled.

He sighed, a goofy smile returning to his blissed out face. “Mmm we better get going…” He kissed you once more, lingering as long as he could, before helping you back into the passenger seat. “Did you have fun?”

You nodded. “Yeah…wow…that was”

“Yeah”

You dressed yourself quickly, giving Taehyung his shirt back. He stared at you a while longer, blinking almost as though he were in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. It all happened so fast it seemed unreal. Before you knew it, you two were back on the road, only minutes from arriving at Jimin’s house.

<-----previous next----->

A/N: WOO okay, there it is. dw dw...i promise jimin will get his chance to shine.

#taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyungsmut #bangtan smut #friends to lovers #taehyung x you #bangtansmut #bangtansmutcentral #btssmutcentral #btssmutclub #taehyung imagine #taehyung fluff #taehyung fic

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justcourttee · 4 years

Note

Ohhhhh what if lila told everyone mari was a sex worker due to her spending individual time with all her boyfriends brothers. Abd she says this very loudky as Damian comes to pick her up one day after implying it for weeks

Sorry, it took so long to respond, was trying to figure out how I wanted to spin it! I hope you like it!

Family Bonding

Lila knew she had her this time.

This was the third man to pick her up this week and while their exchanges were all innocent, side hugs or temple kisses only, it could easily be spun to look like something much worse. As she settled on the back of the man’s motorbike, Lila yanked Alya’s arm toward her.

“Woah, girl, what’s up?”

“Alya, look!”

She forced Alya’s eyes toward the motorbike as it drove off, the girl furrowing her eyebrows at the sight of Marinette on the back.

“It’s just Marinette’s ride, what’s wrong?”

Lila’s face feigned worry as she looked to both sides before leaning in as close as she could to the reporter.

“I’m concerned about Marinette. That’s the third man she’s left with this week. I don’t know if her parent’s business is failing, but that line of work is just so dangerous for pretty young girls like her.”

“Girl, what are you implying?”

Lila’s face fell for a moment. She was hoping that Alya wouldn’t be so dense, but alas, it seems she’d have to put a little more work into this one.

“Alya, I think Marinette is offering sex to those men in exchange for money.”

She was taken aback by the boisterous laughter that escaped Alya’s lips.

“No way, that’s not Marinette. You’re worried for nothing girl.”

As she walked away, Lila’s face contorted into an ugly scowl. This was the way to take down Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but she couldn’t do it without Alya aboard. It was going to be tough work, but she was going to prove it. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a sex worker and it would be her downfall.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . For the next few weeks, Lila made sure she had Alya in a position to watch Marinette leave. Sure enough, the same three men rotated picking her up. For all Lila knew they could’ve been her cousins from out of town, but if so, Marinette made one fatal mistake. She didn’t tell Alya.

Slowly but surely, Alya became more open to the idea as Lila pointed out their nice car and their nice clothes. She showed Alya the small terms of endearment that each man gave her everytime they came to pick her up and how willingly Marinette was to run off with them before anyone could question who they were.

Poor, dumb, Marinette. She had played right into Lila’s story. All it took was a few well-placed tears and a couple of suggestions and down came Alya’s righteous protection of her best friend.

“Lila what do we do? She can’t keep doing it! People get killed in that line of work!”

Lila fought the urge to smile as she nodded through her crocodile tears. It was almost easier than she expected.

“We have to stage an intervention, tomorrow. When she rushes out to meet whoever it is tomorrow, we have to stop her. Gather as many people as you can.”

“Wouldn’t that be bad? I don’t want anyone’s opinion of her to fall, I mean why can’t you and I do it?”

Lila shook her head viciously as she gripped both of the girl’s shoulders.

“She needs to see that we all care for her. If it’s just you and me, she won’t take us seriously.”

Alya nodded as if Lila’s logic was flawless, and in a sense, it was. As the reporter walked off in a daze, Lila allowed a small smile to breakthrough.

Tomorrow was the day that Marinette Dupain-Cheng would be defeated. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As Lila entered the courtyard, Alya waved her over to a formidable size group. She was impressed. Alya had managed to gather the girls, Nathaniel, Nino, and even Kim. It wasn’t exactly a legion, but they would serve their purpose.

“Okay girl, it was your idea. How should we approach her?”

Lila frowned as the entire group turned their gazes to her. This wasn’t her plan. If she attacked, Marinette would surely retaliate. No. It had to be her ‘friends’.

“Alya, I think you have the best chance of getting through to her. You are her best friend after all.”

The rest of the group muttered agreements much to Alya’s dismay.

“Okay, but how do I even- Oh no, she’s coming, quick Lila, how do we stop her?”

Lila turned to see the girl practically skipping down the steps, her eyes locked on a mysterious man leaning against a bike in the entrance. She hadn’t seen this one since the first day she had noticed the men, but it made no matter, he played his role just as well as the others.

“Alya, grab her hand and lead her over here. Just tell her you had to ask her a question.”

Alya nodded, taking off in the direction to where her friend was, a determined look across her face. It was all falling together perfectly. Lila watched as she dragged Marinette over to the group. As soon as she was in distance, they circled her without Lila even telling them to.

God did she love a mob mentality.

“Marinette, why didn’t you ask us for help? If you were struggling with money we could’ve helped you.”

The poor girl looked confused as a chorus of ‘whys’ and ‘we love yous’ rang through the crowd. It was so satisfying to watch.

“Alya, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I need to go. He’s waiting on me.”

Marinette tried to break through the crowd, catching the man’s attention as he stood briskly as if on high alert. Lila watched as her spineless classmates let her go. She knew she had to act quickly. This was her only chance.

Rushing forward she grabbed Marinette’s hand forcing the girl to turn and face her.

“Marinette! We know you’re a sex worker! We just want to help you!”

The courtyard went silent as the girl’s face ashened. All eyes were on them as Lila forced a tear to roll. Marinette struggled to break her grasp, tears of her own forming.

“That’s not what I am Lila. Let go.” Her voice was shaking as she pulled, trying her best to run, but Lila’s grip was too strong.

Everyone stared between the two of them, waiting to see who would break first, but neither spoke, simply locking their eyes in a silent argument. Lila couldn’t understand. She expected more of a fight, not this shell of a woman. Had she really broken her already? Was that fear in her eyes? Pathetic.

The sound of footsteps echoed across the courtyard as the man marched toward the group.

“Quick, he’s coming to hurt Marinette! Stop him!”

Kim and Nino stepped in between the two girls and the oncoming force, but it was useless. With one sweep of his leg, both boys were on their backs, groaning in pain.

Slowly, recognition dawned on Lila as she watched this man cut through all of the people that stood in between him and the girls. Marinette wasn’t scared of her, she was scared for her. Lila couldn't let go quick enough as she backstepped, trying to avoid the man’s strong pull.

“You.” His voice sent a chill to her core. Lila wanted to run but she was frozen in place.

In a second, he was looming over her, his glasses reflecting back to her the fear on her face.

“You are the harlot that has been bullying my beloved.”

Lila couldn’t utter a response. She tried to open her mouth, tried to defend herself, but it was useless.

“Let me get one thing straight. She is not some corner working whore. She is my girlfriend. The men you see her with are my family. Unfortunately, my time has been stolen by helping build a company from the ground up, but mark my words. If I hear her utter even a simple inconvenience brought onto her by you, I will make your life miserable for the rest of your sorry existence.”

Nobody moved forward to help her. Nobody came to her defense besides Marinette whose efforts to pull him away appeared to be futile. The only thing Lila could do was nod.

Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy him. He turned into Marinette’s arms as she walked him briskly out of the building, neither looking back as the girl fell to her knees, her legs no longer finding the strength to stand.

Marinette placed a small kiss on his cheek, trying to calm him down as they exited.

“I’m sorry mon coeur, I didn’t know family bonding was going to cause such a commotion. I mean sex worker, I don’t even want to know how she managed to convince them of that.”

Damian grumbled a response as he handed her a helmet before helping her onto the bike.

“All that matters is that she should never bother you again beloved.”

Marinette let out a harsh laugh as she glanced into the courtyard where the girl was still frozen, collapsed onto the ground.

Who knew Family Bonding would be Lila Rossi’s downfall?

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07

#daminette #maribat #lila salt #miraculous ladybug

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toastedside · 4 years

Text

For Better and For Worse

Batmom!Reader x Batfamily

Warning: angst, fluff in the end

Note: The last chapter for the miniseries! It was fun writing this, and I know it's been too long since I actually posted the first chapter. But it was fun. Enjoy!

Masterlist, Previous Chapter

Batman landed on his foot silently. His eyes scanned through the warehouse, before him was a gigantic machine with empty compartment that would fit one person. He quickly typed on the small computer on his wrist, sighing silently to himself as he waited for his scanning result to come.

“Batman,” come Superman’s voice through the comm. “Are you in?”

“I’m in,” Batman confirmed. “There’s a machine inside. It looks like somebody deactivated it before we come. I’m trying to transfer their data into my computer to get some information.”

“So Red Robin and Superboy were right,” Superman said again. There was a slight quiet sound of the wind behind him. Batman assumed he was flying as he answered through the comm. “The warehouse is empty as well. I think they had abandoned it.”

“We can’t be really sure about that,” Batman’s let out a huff as his computer displayed the transfer data has been finished. “I’m going to decipher some codes. Keep an eye on possible threat.”

Batman grunted softly as he squatted down to take a better look of the main controller device. It looked unassuming and tame while it was deactivated, but one better look alone could tell him that it would be deadly. He typed an override code on the main controller, his lips pressed firmly together as the machine slowly coming back to life.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of movement that he had known too well. “I already told you to let the League take care of this.”

“Yeah, but it was me and Conner who found it,” Red Robin came into the light. He quickly approached the main controller and eyed it silently. “I have just successfully deciphered few codes that might help. If there’s anyone that could help, it would be me.”

Batman stared at him for a few moments. He weighed his options before let out a tired sigh. Figured there’s no way Red Robin would back out now. “Only to decipher the code. After that you leave the rest to the League.”

Red Robin nodded before he dove in right away into his work. Batman lingered for a few moments to watch, but as the machine starting to wake up more and more from its slumber, he left Red Robin with the controller device as he investigated. He studied the empty compartment silently, taking notes in how the machine was built.

“B, what did you type to activate the machine?” Red Robin called. There’s a slight confusion in his voice that robbed Batman’s attention.

“The code that have been transferred to my computer.”

“That’s not possible,” Red Robin whispered. Now he sounded so alarmingly surprised. “It’s different from what I decipher earlier. B, I think– I think there’s an error in this.”

Batman was about to open his mouth when the machine whirling dangerously. Red Robin quickly tried to type in an override code, but the more he tried, the more the machine whirling dangerously and begun to rattle. He lifted his eyes briefly and saw Batman tried to tame the machine, his shoulder pressed against the empty compartment as he grunted loudly. Suddenly, the whole room was too bright from him to see as a bright, white light coming from the core of the machine shone brightly. Red Robin called for Batman a few times before the machine whirled for the last time and exploded, sent Red Robin flying across the room and the machine crushed underneath the rubbles into oblivion.

=======================================

The footage cut off right away after the explosion, leaving you heaved for a sharp breath as the camera went blank. You could see the reflection of you own face on the screen, how horror seeped right through your skin and welled in your eyes. You were unaware with tears that streamed down your face until you saw your reflection. Behind you was your children, all wide eye from witnessing the footage.

“So that was the explanation for your dislocated shoulders months ago?” Dick asked, his tone was demanding and worried.

“Yeah. I am sorry I didn’t tell any of you sooner,” Tim said bashfully. Cass silently approached him and pulled him into a half-hug. Tim smiled in appreciation. “But did you see the light zapped from that machine briefly before it blows up?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think that light was what took Bruce away,” Tim said firmly. He had spent so many nights watching the footage over and over again, he practically could recite it in his sleep. “That would explain the lack evidence of his dead body. Besides, if you notice,” Tim pressed play on the footage again, and paused right few seconds before the explosion. “He was already gone when the machine blows up.”

“Are you trying to say that machine was a transfer device?” Damian asked, his eyes watched the paused footage before shifted into his brother.

“Could be. I tried to work with all sources that I have, but I can’t possibly decipher all the codes since the machine blow up before I could transfer everything,” Tim rolled his chair in front of the Batcomputer, his fingers swiftly typed few codes that he had known by heart. The monitor showed a half-finished string of codes. “See. It’s all half-baked. My strongest theory that I can come up with it was the machine use the same technology used for Zeta Beams. More or less.”

“So… B isn’t dead from the explosion, he was transferred into another place before the machine blows up?” Jason asked slowly.

“Another place, another timeline, or dimension.”

“Shit,” Dick cursed. His fingers ran through his hair as he stared into the footage again. “If you were right, then Bruce is trapped and possibly having no idea on how to go back.”

“Call the League,” you finally found your voice back. You were surprised you could muster a coherent sentence with a firm voice. “I know what you’re all thinking. But this is dangerous. Call the League.”

“We have all the sources we could possibly need!” Damian argued. “From what I know, they abandoned the warehouse. The machine could still be there. We just need to salvage some data and move in motion after that.”

“I know that all of you are more than capable, but I am your mother. I have my limit. I have lost my husband; I am not going to lose my children too.” The firmness on your voice left no room to argue. You stared into your children one by one to emphasize your argument. “This is their mission after all. You all will work side by side with them. And none of you will work without them. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, let’s go upstairs and eat some dinner. I’ll call Clark first thing in the morning, for now let’s just take some rest.” you ushered your children towards the staircase leading into the house.

Dinner was normal to say the least. But there was a growing tension that everyone had tried so hard not to talk about for their mother’s sake. You practically could see all of your children twitched in impatience and anticipation, all minds already long gone into a battle that still yet to happen.

“We’ll find him, Mom,” Dick said with a kiss on your temple at night before bed. You mustered your best reassuring smile, cradled your son in your arms. For the first time in a long time, you were scared for your children’s life.

Sleep seemingly unwilling to come that night. You spent the night tossed around relentlessly; mind wandered far into all possible scenarios that you could come up with. Was Bruce really out there, trapped in a place he didn’t belong? It had been three months without him, you didn’t want to get too hopeful. But a tiny part in your heart longed to be with him once more and wished to hold him in your arms again.

====================================

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you again,” Diana beamed as soon as her eyes caught your presence. It made her smile, as you walked towards her and quickly accepted her invitation for a hug. “I miss our girl’s night.”

You chuckled at the mention of your sacred night. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called you sooner.”

“No, no. No apology. I understand what you’ve been through was hard and hurtful,” Diana was quick to squish your apology. “Besides, looks like somebody’s a little jealous that she isn’t invited into our small reunion.”

You followed Diana’s gaze, and a smile twitched at the corner of your lips at the sight of Dinah lurked in the corner. You laughed, gestured for her to come. Dinah came right away, a frown formed on her lips as she crashed you into a bone-crushing hug.

“My God, you have no idea how relieved and happy I am when you called!” Dinah breathed. She patted your back gently.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called sooner.”

“I am glad either way,” Dinah said as she released you from her hug, but her hand lingered on your wrist before she let out a sigh. “We are here for you, all of us. We always will. And we’ll find him.”

“I don’t want to be too hopeful,” you said sullenly. “But whatever happen, I hope it helps the League to find the trail of whoever responsible behind this.”

The League had been called first thing in the morning, and now you had all of the superhero cramped together inside your house. You watched from the back of the room the briefing that Tim gave to the League upon the lead and dots he had connected in past three months. Your heart sank into your stomach like a sandbag upon watching the footage again where your husband presumed died three months ago.

Alfred came few moments later with a tray full of refreshment. He decided to stay at the back of the room with you, watching all of your children had meeting with the League.

“Even though I have witnessed this thousand time over, it’s never getting any easier,” you sighed as you broke the silence. “It feels like I am sending my children into a suicide mission with no precaution. To save their father. We don’t know the threat that might wait for them out there.”

“We never could shelter our children forever even if we wanted to. They ought to spread their wings out there one way or another. It’s their thing after all, they would never sleep before they find the answer,” Alfred offered a consolidation. “The best we can do is to make it as safe as possible. You have done that.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Alfred.”

==================================

It had been three weeks since the last time you witnessed all of the Justice League member cramped together inside your house for a meeting. Your children had been sent on a mission alongside the League. You couldn’t say you like it, but you saw the childish excitement Damian tried so hard to hide from the thought of fighting alongside the League, and opted to at least look approving. You were proud nonetheless.

The house was a little empty without most of your children’s presence as they’re out for a mission. Spared for Damian who was constantly sent home to attend school. Alfred had helped you to take care of Wayne Enterprise in Tim’s absence as you tore yourself in half between your work in hospital and taking the lead for the company, but it was still manageable at least.

Damian would tell you about the mission progress all the time, which sadly wasn’t much. But they still had baby steps progress nonetheless, and progress is still a progress. They have managed to salvage some valuable parts from the machine, but it wasn’t much of a lead to give them answer.

You get off from your car after you gather some courage to walk into an empty house again. The day had been long and tedious, you had just chewed out marketing department this morning and had to tended some patients in the afternoon. All of your muscles are sore and you wanted nothing but a long hot bath.

The house was empty just as you suspected. But you found a surprise as you stepped into the study room to grab some book to read. The grandfather’s clock was opened ajar, meaning somebody must have went downstairs into the Batcave. It could be Alfred cleaning up, but you found herself going downstairs.

Your eyes widened as soon as the sound of murmured conversations come into your ears. You descended down further; head perked up at the familiar sound you had missed so much. “Guys!” you practically shouted as you ran towards your children. “Oh my God, you’re all here.”

It was Jason who caught you first and welcomed you into his embrace. Your other children soon followed and trapped you in the middle, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. All of your fatigue and stress suddenly lifted from your shoulders now that all of your children are home safe and sound.

“How was your mission? All good? Are you guys safe?” come the string of questions you couldn’t help but to ask. You quickly check all of your children for any obvious injury, and you found yourself let out a long, relieved breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“We are, Mama,” Jason gently placed his hands on your shoulder to ground you. “We figure we might come home for a little while. It’s been a long time after all.”

“Yeah. I miss your beef stew,” Tim chimed in. “Can we have it for dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you said as you gently cradled Cass in your arms. Cass clung into you like a baby koala for dear life, her nose nuzzled into your collarbone seeking for comfort. It made your heart soared and dropped at the same time, knowing that she found comfort in your presence and the fact that she must’ve had deprived for comfort that she actively seeks for it.

All of you shared blissful moment together, all shared some jokes and recite few relaxed and funny moments happened during mission. You were glad nonetheless, with Cass laid her head on your lap, Damian pressed against your side, and all of your children are here laughing and reciting some stories, you couldn’t ask for a better way to end the day.

The Batcomputer suddenly beeped, alerted everyone that somebody is coming. Dick quickly rose from his seat and take a solemn look to the computer screen. “It’s Uncle Supes and Wonder Woman,” he announced, a little confused at their arrival.

Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. Does it mean all of your children had to go for a mission again?

The door to the Batcave opened not so long after, revealed two hero came into the light. All of your children were already on their feet and geared up, ready to dive back into the battle once they’re needed. But a strange expression coming from Diana and Clark somehow told you that it was not a mission.

“Clark? Diana? Is everything alright?” you were concerned. You found yourself pulled Damian into your side and firmly held him, afraid of letting your son go once more.

“Y/N, you might want to sit down,” Clark gently said.

Diana gently took you into her arms and led you into the nearest chair. You were still a little puzzled, your heart racing against your chest. Diana then gently placed her hand on your shoulders, her eyes solemnly staring into yours with an unreadable expression. It frustrated you greatly.

“Diana, what is going on?” you demanded.

“Hold on for a little while. But I need you to sit down.”

“What–” you opened your mouth to protest, but was cut off abruptly at the sight appeared in front of you.

You blinked rapidly, afraid that it was some mind trick that you weren't aware about. You found yourself awestruck, unable to move, but at the same time unable to believe your own eyes. You heaved few heavy breaths that sounded like you were half laughing and half crying, your mouth went agape at the sight alone.

“Holy shit,” you could hear Jason cursed loudly. “Holy shit. It works.”

So it was real, then.

There he was. Your husband. The one and only Bruce Wayne. Completely alive albeit looked a little gruff and exhausted. He had some rough stubble all over his chin, and the usual light in his eyes had dimmed. You could only stare and stare, your mouth let out few incoherent noises that was only above whisper.

Bruce slowly approached you. As if he was afraid, but the corner of his eyes lifted up happily at the sight of you stared at him like a deer caught in the headlight. From this close distance, you could see his eyes glossed from tears that started to well in his eyes. You watched him kneeled in front of you.

“Honey,” Bruce said as he gently took your hand into his. “I am so sorry.”

“Bruce,” you let out a shaky breath, sounded as if you were strangled. Your unoccupied hand shakily covered your trembling lips, eyes widened in disbelief. “Is this… is this really you? Are you real?”

Bruce gently took your hand and placed it on his rough cheek. There was a growing eye bag underneath his eyes. He looked so much older and tired than the last time you had remembered him. “It’s me. It’s me. As real as I could be.”

There are few beats of silence before you let out a strangled cry. You cupped his face with your hand, thumb gently stroking his cheeks. The stubble on his chin felt rough underneath your skin, but you found yourself loving the way it felt. “Bruce Wayne, you little shit! You promised that we will die together when we’re grey and old in our nineties!”

Bruce let out a surprised chuckle. It was warm and familiar, and you had missed it so much. It had been way too long since the last time you heard his laughter. “Therefore, here I am. Coming back to you to fulfil my promise.”

You smiled shakily as you laughed through the tears that stubbornly streamed down you face. You leaned closer to rest your forehead against his. “Don’t pull that stunt on me again.”

“I promised you I will always come back to you. And I do.”

“What happened?”

“The machine that I investigated had sent me into far past. I was trapped there unable to come back home, but I managed to survive. Until I met Barry, he said that he able to finished and decipher all the code gathered and redesigned the machine to bring me back. And therefore, here I am,” Bruce explained. “The warehouse was a trap set up to harm me. But Tim managed to inserted some codes before it exploded, so it sent me into different time instead of kill me in explosion. We figure it was a part of Injustice League’s scheme.”

“All I could think about was you. I worried about you and the kids. Sometimes the only thing that could get me through the day was the thought of that one day I will finally able to come back home to you.” Bruce placed a tender kiss on your knuckles. “You have managed to save me over and over again. Thank you.”

You couldn’t muster up any single words, so instead, you threw yourself into his embrace. Soon all of her kids would join and trapped you in the middle. Although Jason acted as if he hated it, you knew that deep inside his heart he was relieved to have his father back. Dick didn’t even bother to hide his excitement; he was just happy his family was whole once more.

That night, for the first time in forever, the night didn’t feel long and tedious. Or torturous. But neither of you and Bruce could able to sleep in a wink, you and him just hold each other close and greedily craved for each other’s presence. No words exchanged between you and him, however. But you were relieved. You were reunited with your love once more, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales.

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage.

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is.

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess.

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time.

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back.

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school.

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence.

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield.

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene.

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers.

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where?

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck.

“What’s your name?”

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed.

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform.

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief.

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care.

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease.

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.”

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don��t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night.

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom.

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle.

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you.

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next.

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world.

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path.

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat.

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind.

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail.

“What the fuck?”

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely.

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less.

Because that’s the least of his problem right now.

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization.

four.

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that.

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand.

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground.

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home.

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager.

Minho feels awful.

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him.

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice.

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out.

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up.

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions.

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?”

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand.

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously.

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?”

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.”

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life.

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld.

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?”

“It’s Lee Minho.”

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five.

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility.

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here.

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life.

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much?

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for.

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too.

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great.

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one.

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike.

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes.

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away.

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor.

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now.

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave.

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child.

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his.

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place.

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then.

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are.

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself.

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process.

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words.

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares.

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in.

You can only nod. “Yeah.”

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest.

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony.

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists.

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years.

Nothing makes sense.

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself.

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break.

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin.

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms.

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within.

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear.

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react.

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about?

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.”

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done.

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart.

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?”

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess.

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection.

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause.

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

- Chapter 11 -

The Fire Palace was, ironically enough, on fire.

Nie Mingjue had known that something was going to happen since earlier that day, when Meng Yao had breezed in with an unusually pointed announcement that it was “Breakfast as usual!” and then handed him a bowl of glistening red-braised meat. Yesterday’s leftovers, of course, a servant’s share, but more and better than Nie Mingjue had had in quite a while.

He’d looked up at Meng Yao silently in question as he ate, wondering if Meng Yao giving him his own meal – it was obviously that – was a good thing or a bad thing, the final meal of the condemned or a means of gathering strength before an upcoming event of some unknown variety.

Meng Yao looked as tense as a wound-up spring, his normally placid features unusually tight and his attention elsewhere, but he noticed Nie Mingjue’s attention and winked.

Not an execution, then, Nie Mingjue concluded. He might have doubted it if it was someone else, but Meng Yao was fundamentally selfish, deep down in his core, and as long as he enjoyed Nie Mingjue’s company he wouldn’t be willing to release him to the comfort of death and non-existence, no matter how much he might prefer it some days.

Learning to deal with someone like Meng Yao had been a great deal of fun, actually – puzzling out how to talk his language, to try (in vain) to understand his way of thinking, to try to figure out how to appeal to him. Possibly it wouldn’t have been something he’d enjoy if he’d had anything else to do, but, well, he didn’t, and next thing Nie Mingjue knew he was eating meat and Meng Yao was winking at him and he knew that he needed to prepared for whatever happened next.

He hadn’t exactly been expecting a fire, but he supposed he hadn’t really been expecting anything at all.

Except, perhaps, that when he tried the door to his cell, staying low to avoid the smoke, it swung open as if it had never been locked at all.

Meng Yao – thank you.

Nie Mingjue went over to unlock as many of the other cells as he could – as he’d suspected, Meng Yao hadn’t thought of that, or possibly hadn’t bothered to care – before heading back up to the main hallways of the Sun Palace. He wasn’t sure if Meng Yao intended for him to run away or if he was supposed to be doing something else, but surely by now Meng Yao knew that he wasn’t the sort of person to get himself out of trouble.

Not when there was a chance that Meng Yao might need him.

Not when there was a chance –

He lies, Nie Mingjue reminded himself. He likes to hurt you. There’s no reason to believe that they’re actually dead and gone.

The Sun Palace was a mess as well, people running around left and right with panic in their eyes – mostly not people he knew, or who knew him – and whoever had set fire to the Fire Palace had definitely reached here as well. Few of them carried swords, and Nie Mingjue suggested to the handful of staff who considerately stopped to warn him that he was going the wrong way that if they couldn’t get away entirely, they might be safe if they took refuge in the kitchens, in the hope that the invading army would live up to their principles and not engage in a wholesale slaughter and, if it took a turn for the worst, then at least they’d have lots of knives close at hand.

When he opened the door to Nie Huaisang’s old room, he saw someone move out of the corner of his eye. For a moment his heart was in his mouth, hoping – but no, it wasn’t his brother.

It was a boy about the same age, though. He was not quite yet fifteen at a guess – a child, really, and who let a child join in with an army?! – and was wearing dark clothing with no clan insignia, a sword at his side and a single red ribbon woven through his hair. He was holding a long box that he’d dug out from underneath one of the stones in the floor.

He looked up just as Nie Mingjue looked down, their eyes meeting.

“Uh,” the boy said. “You don’t look like a guard.”

“I’m not,” Nie Mingjue said. “You don’t look like my brother.”

“Your brother…? Oh!” The boy smiled, suddenly, and the expression transformed his face into something far livelier and good-natured, although Nie Mingjue suspected that he saw more than a little arrogance mixed in there, the sort that’d undoubtedly get the boy into trouble one day. “In that case, this box is for you, da-ge!”

The boy said it in an especially familiar tone - had they met before? Nie Mingjue didn’t think they had.

He thought he might remember having taken on a little brother like this, full of mischief.

But he accepted the box, more out of bemusement than anything else, and knew from the second it was in his arms what it contained.

“Baxia,” he breathed, his eyes stinging with tears as he drew her – he’d missed her so very much, during his time below, and he thanked his brother’s wisdom in hiding her. Nie Huaisang must have acted very quickly, right after Nie Mingjue’s failed attack on Wen Ruohan, spiriting her away when everyone was still distracted…Nie Mingjue looked at the boy. “How did you know..?”

“Nie-xiong told me,” he said. “I’m Wei Wuxian, of the Yunmeng Jiang – I’m sworn brothers with Wen Ning, which makes you my big brother, too!”

Well, that at least explained that.

“Is A-Ning all right?” he asked. “Is - is Huaisang…?”

“They’re both fine,” Wei Wuxian assured him, and Nie Mingjue might adopt him as a younger brother for real just for bringing him that news. “Nie-xiong sent me here to help rescue you!”

“You’re too young.”

“…fine, I told him I was smuggling myself along anyway no matter what anyone said and asked if he had any requests, and he told me that if I’m going to make a fool of myself I may as well make myself useful and get Baxia.”

Nie Mingjue hoped that meant that Nie Huaisang had assumed that this part of the Sun Palace would be out of the way of the fighting, although knowing his brother, he might have just decided that Baxia was more important. He had a bad tendency to slip into Qishan Wen-like sneaky thinking when Nie Mingjue wasn’t around to correct him…

“Where is the fighting happening?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“The main hall,” Wei Wuxian said promptly, then pause. “You’re asking so that we can avoid it, right?”

Nie Mingjue liked to think of Meng Yao as a prison guard, and he was, but Nie Mingjue was one of Wen Ruohan’s precious prisoners, one of the ones he liked to cradle in his fist like pearls, and you didn’t get a job like that – being one of Wen Ruohan’s chief torturers – without being close to the man himself.

And that meant Meng Yao was facing danger from all sides: from the attackers, who would see Meng Yao’s Wen robes and Wen sword and not think twice, and from Wen Ruohan, if he ever figured out the extremely obvious truth that Meng Yao was a spy.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, and turned his feet towards the main hall. “You can go, though.”

“Are you kidding? Your brothers would kill me if I let you go alone – and that’s probably for the best, they can get rid of me before Wen Qing gets to me.”

“They won’t kill you. Sect Leader Wen will.”

“…I’m still coming with you,” Wei Wuxian said.

“How good are you with your sword?”

“Good enough – and, hey, at least I don’t look like I just spent the last few months in prison or something!”

“I was in prison,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, mostly because it was funny to see Wei Wuxian try to swallow his tongue. He didn’t waste time objecting to him coming along, though – if necessary, he could distract Wen Ruohan himself while Wei Wuxian got Meng Yao out.

The corridor was lined with bodies in all sorts of colors, Wen, Lan, Jiang, and even somehow the familiar colors of the Nie sect, which he hadn’t been sure anyone still wore. Nie Mingjue rushed forward, unable to shake the feeling that something bad was happening, and burst in through the doors only to see Wen Xu crumpled on the floor, on his knees but not injured or bleeding, his father towering above him, and Meng Yao one step behind him, his sword in hand and moving forward to stab, but Wen Ruohan wasn’t distracted enough – he had noticed him, was turning towards him –

“Wen-dog!” Nie Mingjue shouted. “Go fuck your mother!”

He’d never actually cursed Wen Ruohan out loud before, a mix of terror and survival instinct, and maybe it was that that made Wen Ruohan stop in surprise for just a moment, just a breath, a heartbeat, and that was enough time for Meng Yao to complete his swing.

Wen Ruohan staggered, struck, and he lashed out with his hand, sending Meng Yao flying.

“Go help him,” Nie Mingjue ordered Wei Wuxian, who was already moving, and he took three steps and sent Baxia out ahead of him.

Wen Ruohan tried to bat it away, like a cat to a mouse, but if he knew Nie Mingjue too well by now then Nie Mingjue also knew him in turn; he hadn’t bothered to send his saber straight at him but past, letting Baxia use her blunt end to full effect in spinning herself around with the momentum of Wen Ruohan’s own blow and using the extra force when driving herself straight into his back.

Wen Ruohan spat out a mouthful of blood.

Before he could collect himself, Nie Mingjue was in front of him, his hands on his neck, and Wen Ruohan choked, the blood welling up in the back of his throat given no release. His eyes were bloodshot, his impressive cultivation an unstable mess from all the fighting he’d been doing for months and now the two unexpected stab wounds, his hands reaching up to try to tear Nie Mingjue’s hands away, but Nie Mingjue wasn’t going to let him. He refused to let him, pulling freely from the deep reserves of his own cultivation, strengthened through years of practice and meditation, maintained even in prison through discipline and boredom. He had so much, had wasted so much, never using his power the way it was meant to be used, to eradicate evil and protect the innocent, but rather just pointlessly stockpiling it for years and years while trapped in the Nightless City – but that was all fine.

He only needed to be strong enough for this one moment in time.

“Rabid dogs,” he said, “need to be put down.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes widened in recognition of the words he himself had spoken all those years before when he’d killed Nie Mingjue’s father twice over, once with his saber and another with his own hands.

The light of recognition was still there in his eyes when Nie Mingjue snapped his neck.

“Fuck,” Meng Yao said from where Wei Wuxian was helping him up, wheezing a bit. “I was hoping to do that myself, da-ge. I need it.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged and crooked his finger, Baxia pulling herself out of Wen Ruohan’s chest to cut off his head. “You struck the first blow,” he said, nodding at the head that tumbled down to the floor. “You can take credit for the whole thing.”

He didn’t need credit. There was Wen Ruohan’s blood on Baxia’s blade, his last breath on Nie Mingjue’s hands – he could burn incense for his father at last, and hope that he enjoyed the prizes his son, so belatedly filial, had at last won for him.

“Mingjue-xiong!” Wen Xu shouted, having gotten up off the floor, and threw himself at him. The movement was very agile, which meant that Nie Mingjue’s assumption that he was uninjured – that he’d been felled more by his fear of his father, the poisonous anxiety his father had cultivated in him deliberately, than by pain – was correct. “You’re all right!”

Nie Mingjue staggered with the weight of Wen Xu in his arms, with his arms around him and holding him tight.

“Mingjue…?” Meng Yao’s jaw gaped open like a fish. “Wait, you’re Nie Mingjue?!”

“Did you not know that?” Wei Wuxian asked him, gingerly picking up Wen Ruohan’s head by its hair. “Actually, come to think about it, who are you?”

“Consider A-Yao as my younger brother,” Nie Mingjue told Wei Wuxian. “Since you’re sworn brothers with A-Ning, you can consider him a brother as well.”

Hopefully that connection, and any others Nie Mingjue could scrounge up, would be enough to make up for Nie Mingjue having put his revenge ahead of Meng Yao’s ambitions. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that Meng Yao needed Wen Ruohan’s head in order to win a place at his father’s side – to get the name he was entitled to, the name he’d promised his mother he’d get – and Nie Mingjue had taken that from him.

“You said you were nobody important!” Meng Yao said accusingly, uncharacteristically off-balance, glaring at Nie Mingjue like he’d done something to him personally. “That people had probably forgotten you!”

“That’s our Mingjue-xiong, all right,” Wen Xu said, grinning. He didn’t so much as glance at the body at their feet, but his eyes were a little wet, glassy with relief – an ancient fear finally defeated, not a beloved father lost. Nie Mingjue was unwillingly glad that they had broken their father-son bond so thoroughly; he would have killed Wen Ruohan anyway, but he would have regretted causing Wen Xu pain. “Never listen to anything he says about himself, that’s the first rule. So you’re another of Mingjue-xiong’s younger brothers, huh? I guess that makes you one of us, then.”

“Us?” Nie Mingjue echoed. “What are you talking about, you’re older than me –”

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t count!”

“You’re four years older –”

“I’m going to call you da-ge from now on and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

When Nie Mingjue had thought of travel – and he had thought of it often, trapped behind the walls of the Nightless City, unable to leave – he had imagined himself flying on Baxia, or maybe riding a horse on a long journey, the animal laden with all the baggage. He excelled at both skills within close quarters, and his endurance was similarly excellent – how different could long-distance travel be?

He hadn’t expected to be making his first journey in years in a carriage.

It might even be the same carriage that brought him and Nie Huaisang to the Nightless City that first time, large and echoing, as vacant and barren as their hearts had been.

Of course, it wasn’t vacant now.

“– and of course the walls are made of stone, so there really wasn’t that much damage,” Nie Huaisang was saying enthusiastically, waving his fan around like a saber, though he’d never admit as much. “Some tapestries, some chairs, that sort of thing, things that can be replaced –”

“I tried to preserve as much as possible,” Wen Xu interjected, still somehow looking guilty despite having been told a dozen times over that Nie Mingjue didn’t hold him accountable for having burned the Unclean Realm. “I let word go in advance, they were able to move a lot of things out, evacuate –”

“Things can be remade, people cannot,” Jin Zixuan agreed quietly, ducking his head when Wen Xu wrapped a companionable arm over his shoulders in thanks for his support. They’d apparently gotten close after Wen Xu had officially defected, bringing over those Wen sect cultivators that did not wish to engage in Wen Ruohan’s wars of conquering or who were disgusted by the way their side had conducted themselves during the war to date; Wen Xu had been leading his own men, but being able to take people with him didn’t mean anything about provisioning them, and Qingheng-jun as the general of the overall campaign had assigned the Jin sect to assist.

Jin Guangshan had probably thought, when he agreed, that it would end up with Wen Xu in his debt, a rosy future in which the Jin sect controlled two of the five Great Sects even after Wen Xu recovered the vast Wen sect coffers that were his birthright.

He was probably not expecting Wen Xu to save his son’s life in battle, or for the two of them to impulsively swear brotherhood as a result.

There was, Nie Mingjue reflected, an awful lot of that going around.

Wen Ning, for example, was currently sitting at one corner of the carriage playing some sort of bizarre hand-gesture game with his two sworn brothers, the Jiang sect boys, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Exactly what meritorious deed they had done together to justify such an oath remained a little vague – Nie Mingjue suspected, based on various comments, that they might have done it purely to keep Wen Ning at the Lotus Pier when Wen Ruohan had started to make noises about bringing him home.

Regardless, Wen Ning was happier than Nie Mingjue had ever seen him – Wei Wuxian’s brash and outgoing nature was rubbing off on him a little, making him more confident, while he positively blossomed under Jiang Cheng’s harsh scolding-as-affection, which was similar enough to Nie Mingjue’s own that Wen Ning was by now thoroughly versed in how to accept it. He, in turn, was able to bridge the gap between the two of them, acting as a translator when each boy’s issues interfered with communication, and the three of them were by this point utterly inseparable.

Nie Huaisang had apparently thought the idea was marvelous and insisted on a sworn brotherhood triad of his own – Wen Chao, of course, and surprisingly enough Lan Wangji, who apparently had been conspiring with the two of them in regards to the war ever since his visit to the Nightless City so long ago. Nie Mingjue had no idea how that brotherhood had managed to work out, given Wen Chao’s bizarre affinity for Lan Wangji’s father (they’d agreed to share), Lan Wangji’s tendency to communicate exclusively in barely visible facial expressions whenever possible, and of course Nie Huaisang’s rampant but ultimately harmless tendencies towards self-indulgence causing disasters left and right all the time, but they all certainly seemed very happy about it.

(Lan Wangji was currently sitting next to Wei Wuxian, watching the game – in all accuracy, Wei Wuxian was halfway into his lap, given the cramped nature of the carriage, but Lan Wangji didn’t seem to mind.

It was an interesting parallel to Wen Chao, sitting across from him, with Wang Lingjiao in his lap…)

Wen Qing, at least, did not have sworn sisters.

Yet.

It was apparently a subject being seriously discussed, along with Jiang Yanli and a Jin sect girl variously referred to Mianmian or Luo Qingyang, but they hadn’t reached any conclusions as of yet.

That had not stopped either girl from addressing Nie Mingjue, rather cheekily, as da-ge.

In fact, it hadn’t stopped any of them from doing that.

Even Lan Xichen – currently sitting and chatting with Meng Yao with great enthusiasm – had joined in, apparently on the basis of his younger brother being sworn brothers with Nie Mingjue’s younger brother. The whole thing smacked of Nie Huaisang’s reasoning from start to end, but Nie Mingjue couldn’t dispute that it was rather nice to see so many people happily calling each other brother and sister – the cultivation world hadn’t been peaceful enough for such familiarity in at least a generation.

Of course, the fact that they’d all thirteen of them insisted on squeezing into the carriage with him, which was spacious but not quite at the level of a qiankun pouch, was making it abruptly clear to Nie Mingjue that he had – somehow – assumed responsibility as the elder brother of the vast majority of the younger generation of the Great Sects.

Possibly that was going to become troublesome once the older generation realized.

Probably, even.

This carriage ride was probably going to be the thing that made everyone realize it.

(There were those that already knew, of course – in his brief meeting with her, Sect Leader Yu had gruffly informed him that she whole-heartedly adopted Nie Huaisang’s interpretation of how sworn familial relationships worked and therefore, as the older brother of her grandson’s sworn brother, he ought to give up and resign himself to calling her grandmother already, and then there had been Lan Qiren who hadn’t even bothered to logically justify any of the most un-Lan-like hugs he had insisted on giving him. But everyone else in the cultivation world was probably going to be in for a bit of a shock…)

Nie Mingjue himself had been very firmly placed in the center of the carriage where the bumps had the least impact, and which was also conveniently within arms’ reach of everyone. They’d all picked up a tendency to reach out to touch him every once in a while, as if reminding themselves that he was there and not dead and not about to vanish out into the ether. Even the ones he didn’t know that well at first had very quickly lost their reserve around him, which Nie Mingjue ascribed to mob mentality and everyone else ascribed to him exuding an aura of trustworthiness and reliability – Nie Huaisang declared that he just felt like a big brother – which Nie Mingjue thought sounded silly but everyone else agreed with fervently enough that he realized it was time to stop arguing.

There had been a lot of tears when they’d found each other again, a series of meetings that had left him drained and dehydrated and so, so happy. Wen Ruohan hadn’t killed a single one of them.

Nie Mingjue had then given everyone a scare by collapsing, more out of relief than anything else, but that scare was presumably why he was stuck in the invalid’s place even all this time later – he wasn’t actually an invalid any longer, no matter what Wen Qing darkly insisted and everyone else tried to enforce, he’d even started gaining back some of the weight he’d lost in the Fire Palace and he was swinging Baxia free and clear in carefully monitored trainings that made his heart sing – but in all honesty he didn’t mind or, more accurately, didn’t care.

He was going home.

Back home to Qinghe, to the Unclean Realm, which he hadn’t seen for five years and more. Back to his Nie sect, which demanded that he be recognized as their sect leader by seemingly unanimous acclaim despite there being a plausible argument that he’d not made much of a contribution in the war – an argument that, whenever he mentioned it, made every single one of his now-siblings bristle and hiss like cats, and, whenever anyone else mentioned it, made him have to quickly run damage control before his vengeful mob could plot their utter destruction. Even the interim Sect Leader Nie, a cousin of his, had yielded up the position at once, even though he might’ve had a reasonable argument to keep it.

The world was in chaos, the politics of the situation following Wen Ruohan’s demise not yet sorted out, there was rebuilding and healing to be done, truces to be reached, forgiveness to be given out, justice to be achieved, endless amounts of work to be done –

None of that mattered right now.

Nie Mingjue was going back to the place he loved the most, with the people he loved the most by his side.

He didn’t know what to expect when they arrived. He thought it would be something good.

- END -

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #meng yao #jin guangyao #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #fire and light

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