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koqabear · 4 months

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Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal.

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child.

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside.

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together.

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with.

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick.

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there.

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set.

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves.

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you.

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice.

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile.

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning.

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies.

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can.

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you.

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods.

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching.

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own.

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you.

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly.

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies.

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye.

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out.

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully.

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent.

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him.

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with.

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in a feeble way to distract yourself.

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought.

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly.

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion.

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches.

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off.

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point.

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger.

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.”

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed.

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look.

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely.

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much.

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses.

“I’m here to protect you.”

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water.

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile.

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him.

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown.

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all.

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own.

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long.

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.”

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.”

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man.

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps.

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home.

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror.

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots.

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse.

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement.

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left.

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear.

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them.

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls.

“Get out.”

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu— to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself.

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard.

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it.

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds.

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom.

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face.

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?”

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off.

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly.

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body.

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale.

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end.

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you.

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage.

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open.

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him.

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct.

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill.

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display.

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down.

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?”

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you.

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning.

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely.

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.”

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you.

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more.

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.”

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?”

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly.

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?”

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight.

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response.

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils.

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly.

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest.

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches.

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles.

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you.

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit.

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection.

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you.

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt.

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations.

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?”

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you.

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight.

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp.

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts.

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence.

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.”

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.”

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.”

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra:

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks.

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.”

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied.

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt.

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want.

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure.

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own.

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly.

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words.

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation.

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck.

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you.

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other.

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough.

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into.

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within.

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

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stevebabey · 1 year

Text

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had — you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought.

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt.

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?”

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it.

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength.

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone.

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain.

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly.

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side.

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves.

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show.

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies.

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that.

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

#if anyone talks to me about tenses i'll come out SWINGING #not even grammarly could help me w that <3 #hopefully HOPEFULLY this is considered in character steve #in any case i spent a wee while puzzling interactions & reactions so at least u know i tried !#its hard to pick a relationship dynamic that would work for him being surprised ur here??? while also getting a lil confession in there #i think its cute #maybeeeee lemme know what u think? hehe #anyways steve HONEY u deserve to have someone kiss all the wounds #and let u sob in their arms and yanno i VOLUNTEER #GIVE HIM TO ME AND ILL TREAT HIM RIGHT!!!#babygirl cries in this... heartbreaking but had to happen #ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #wahoo #i cannot help but post fics the moment they are finished #idc if its like thursday for all u fuckers #come get ur hurt/comfort nowwww

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theriverdraws · 5 months

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I know this movie is recent-ish, but the lack of an Encanto series is still crazy to me.

Like, it doesn't even need crazy magical lore, it can be episodic, it's so simple:

Family dynamics not seen in the movie

Why doesn't Mirabel have a gift (theory of her being the next matriarch being the most obvious one)

Seeing the other rooms

Bruno's new interactions with the townspeople and the family

FERAL ISABELA!!!

Dolores and Mariano

Unexplored trauma with Dolores and Camilo, GET THEM THEIR SOLO SONGS!!!!

The dads' sides of the family

Abuela Alma trying to do better

Childhoods of the triplets

On that same note, how the couples met each other.

More on Alma and Pedro. Etc

And if you wanted new stuff, HAVE THEM OPEN THE ENCANTO TO LET MORE PEOPLE IN, new technology that Encanto doesn't have access to, new ideas and cultures - it can even bring drama if the new people try to do bad things and the family goes all x-men on them.

It's so many possibilities that if they never do it it's a damn shame.

#THAT'S ONLY WHAT I COULD NAME AT THE TOP OF MY HEAD #LIKE DAMN LET ME WRITE IT. I NEED THIS #jokes jokes #encanto #encanto disney #mirabel madrigal #abuela alma #alma madrigal #bruno madrigal #camilo madrigal #isabela madrigal #dolores madrigal #luisa madrigal #antonio madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustin madrigal #felix madrigal #pepa madrigal #disney

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lycheedr3ams · 6 months

Text

ℑ𝔩𝔩 𝔐𝔢𝔱 𝔟𝔶 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

werewolf!könig x fem!reader

Prologue | October 29th | October 30th

Summary: You're a bakery worker in the small, isolated town of Heiligenblut, Austria. könig is a hunter and lumberjack who stays to himself and always has an aura of mystery and darkness. and through a series of strange circumstances, you're the one to uncover his secret. (set in the modern-day) CW: like all of my fanfics reader is fem she/her, adult content, predator/prey dynamics, werewolf-fucking, mentions of animal carcasses and blood, a bit unsettling at times. (can't think of anything else atm, this might count as dark content? not sure) WC: 2.2k

LORE EXPLANATION, READ BEFORE PROCEEDING: i had to make up some of my own werewolf lore mixed with real world history, so plz bear with me: when a werewolf falls in love with someone, and that person also falls for them, the werewolf becomes spiritually tied to this person. when this spiritual connection is created, the werewolf's ties to the spiritual realms are interrupted. the werewolf must physically bond with the person whom the feelings are mutual with to restore the werewolf's connection to the other realms. Halloween is the day when that veil between our world and the spiritual one is thinned, allowing for connections to take place. this is why people always wore costumes: to scare off the ghosts that came onto our plane during this time. i can't say anything else without spoiling it, just know most of this is NOT from folklore, i just made up my own werewolf lore bc plot~

morning

your routine walk to work on this chilly and dewy morning was interrupted by a crowd of townspeople in the main square. people from all regions of town were there, but the ones who were talking the most fervently were the farmers. they were standing in the middle of the crowd, waving their hands and not looking very happy. you removed your earbuds as you approached the crowd.

"what's going on?" you asked the woman who used to be your elementary school teacher. she glanced at you for a moment before locking her eyes on the farmer.

"there's been no prey harvested at all for the festival. the hunter hasn't brought in anything, and the farmers haven't been able to catch anything either."

your lips parted slightly in shock, and you were about to ask more questions when another farmer started talking loudly, commanding everyone's attention. "everyone is going to have to give up one of their largest and two of their smallest livestock for the festival tomorrow!"

the townspeople around him shouted in protest, and among all the voices that could be heard, the most shouted message was that they couldn't rely on the hunter anymore.

your blood ran cold. was könig even safe? surely they wouldn't revolt against him for just one failed harvest season? but your thoughts were interrupted by farmers arguing and some people going home, not wanting to hear anymore of it. you watched everyone as if from afar, like you were dreaming, until you felt like you were being watched. it was the same feeling you felt the day before when könig had stared at you. you were snapped back to reality as you turned around and stared straight into the dark forest, but there was no one there.

...

mid-afternoon

almost no one had come into the bakery today, and it was already 3pm. but there was barely any movement of townspeople outside your window. normally, the day before the festival, everyone would be pitching in to help cook, set up tables, and decorate, but it was eerily still. a few people pattered here and there, carrying some vegetables and tablecloths, but it was nothing like how it usually is. the prey was supposed to be cooking by now. that's how it went, every year. that's how it was supposed to go. things never deviated here. they were never supposed to.

you paced around the bakery for almost your entire shift. all of the baking for the festival was pretty much done, and everyone had bought the things they needed. there was too much time for your mind to wander. and in the middle of your rumination, you remembered that könig had never come for the bread he meant to pick up yesterday. you decided to pack up some bread - an extra loaf too, when your boss wasn't looking - and set it underneath the counter, just waiting for when you expected him to walk through the door and look at you with those alluring, dark eyes of his that scared off everyone else.

...

early evening

but closing time came and went, and könig did not show. when your boss wasn't looking, you put cash in the register for the bread that was supposed to be könig's and shoved it into your backpack. you had made up your mind: one way or another, you were going to find könig, give him his bread, and find out what was going on with him.

you tried not to look overly determined as you walked around town trying to find his house. you knew he didn't live within town, since no one had ever seen him enter or leave a nearby building. you tried not to attract the attention of the now restless townspeople as you scoped the perimeter woods of town. but you saw nothing so far on your walk home, so you stopped to change into more outdoor-friendly clothes before slipping away when you were sure no one would notice.

you had no idea which direction of the forest to explore first, so you went towards the most secluded part there was. underneath the canopies of the large, old trees, the forest felt so much cooler than the clearing the town was in. you rubbed your arms as you walked, clearly looking lost. there were no paths to be seen - not even faint deer paths - to guide you. the forest looked completely untouched, but you kept moving forward, remembering what direction the sun was in to get you home.

you wandered around, looking for any signs of life, and almost gave up to go back home when you leaned against a tree trunk to rest and felt deep grooves within its bark. you lifted your hand from the bark and found three deep gashes in the bark, about 2 inches deep. the sharp, straight edges of the cuts suggested that it was a claw mark. but what kind of animal that large could be in the forest? you began to feel even more afraid than you already were. you turned around and almost started charging back home through the forest when you saw a faint cloud of fog just beyond a stream. you followed the fog, slipped over some mossy rocks while trying to cross the stream, and found an old, mossy cabin in the middle of the forest.

you stared at it for a moment, trying to see if anyone was inside without getting too close. but the windows were shut with curtains, and there were no signs of life aside from the fog resting just above the ground around it, likely from the fireplace inside. if it weren't for that fog, you would think the cabin to be abandoned.

you heard a stick crack far in the forest and nearly jumped out of your skin. when you turned to see what it was, you rather saw how dark it had gotten without you noticing. without many other options, you had to swallow your fear and knock on the cabin door.

you knocked a few times, and no answer. so you knocked again. and again. it was getting darker, and you were getting very nervous. you finally decided to try to speak through the door. "i'm not sure who lives here, but i'm lost and it's getting dark."

the door opened, and you were looking up at a very tired and angry-looking könig. you breathlessly gasped at his disheveled appearance. he was never fine-groomed to begin with, but this was dirty even for him. his hair wasn't half-way combed like usual, his bandana was slightly ripped and dirty, there was mud caked to portions of his forearms where his plaid shirt was ripped. könig looked at you with narrowed eyes for a moment before pulling you inside roughly by your arm. you nearly stumbled as he threw you inside, unaware of his own strength.

"what the hell are you doing here?" könig asked angrily. "the woods aren't safe at night! the hell were you thinking?" he nearly growled.

you tried not to shrink at his tone and the sheer power he always seemed to ooze. you cleared your throat. "you never came for the bread you wanted yesterday." you took your backpack off your shoulder and reached for the bread inside. you took the white paper bag and handed it to him nervously. the crinkling of the bag nearly echoed in the eerie silence of the cabin. könig stared at the bag, looked up at your eyes, and then back down at the bread.

"you came looking for me just to give me bread?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. you sighed.

"first, you're welcome," you got a little closer to him to try to give him the bread. he backed away enough for you to notice, but he took the bread when you tilted your head in confusion. "second, i just wanted to make sure everything was okay. the whole town is in a bit of a crisis about the halloween festival tomorrow, and it's unlike you to not have a harvest."

"did you tell anyone you were coming out here?" he asked quickly.

you shook your head. "no. i made sure no one saw me."

könig thought for a long moment as he held the bread bag, now dwarfed by his large hands. he turned and set the bag down on a table. he splayed his palms over the table and leaned down, his back to you. "you need to leave."

you stood still for a moment, not sure how to react to his demeanor. this whole experience - him living in this weird cabin deep in the forest, being all secretive - was unlike anything you had ever been through. you took a deep breath and managed to find your voice. "well, you're welcome for the bread. but i can't walk home alone at night in the woods."

könig cursed under his breath. he took a shaky breath in, still facing away from you. his voice sounded strained. "how did you find my cabin?"

"i just...walked. i got lost a bunch of times. but i saw some fog from this direction."

könig cursed under his breath again. he began to pace the cabin, his hiking boots making dull impact sounds as he tread the wooden floor. he muttered under his breath as he paced.

"könig?" you asked as you tried to lean within his line of sight. his eyes sharply looked down at you as you wrenched him from his thoughts. "please tell me what's going on. maybe i can help."

könig made a sound that was half-grunt half-scoff when his eyes met yours. "you cannot help. not in ways you want to."

"what?" you asked, confused. "i want to help you. just tell me how."

könig crossed his arms as he looked down at you, his feet in line with his shoulders, standing square and tall before you. your heart started racing, but whether out of nervousness or desire you couldn't tell. all you knew was that every nerve in your body was active when he looked down at you like that, making you feel so small - in the best way - beneath him.

"why did you come out here all the way just to give me bread?" könig asked with a flat voice and neutral expression. "it was completely unnecessary."

you inwardly winced, but you got used to his less than refined manner of speech long ago. this man was anything but subtle. "you're right. it was unnecessary. but i wanted to."

könig narrowed his eyes. "and why did you want to?"

you blushed and fell silent. was he seriously trying to make you confess right here, right now? you were so afraid of rejection, even though all the signs hinted that he liked you. but you couldn't talk yourself out of this one, so you took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "because I have feelings for you."

könig's eyes grew wide, and his previously squared shoulders drifted upwards as he tensed up. you rubbed your forearm while you looked away from him.

"listen, i know you probably don't feel the same way, and that's fine. but you've just been so secretive that i was worried about you, and i know you love your bread. and i don't know why no one in the town talks to you, because you're actually nice to be around. and..." you blushed when you saw his shocked expression. "and I should probably stop talking..." you sighed, feeling more embarrassed than you ever have. your cheeks heated up as you looked at anything but the looming giant before you.

"you are wrong," he said quietly after a long pause.

you looked up at him, your eyes widening with confusion. "what?"

könig took a deep breath and seemed to regain the confident pose that he had before, almost as if he had some renewed vigor. "i said, you are wrong."

"wrong about what?" you said, slightly panicked.

könig looked down at you with an unreadable expression. "your feelings for me... are returned."

you froze, your breath stopped for a moment. "you feel the same way?" your heart hammered. this whole experience had been so equally ethereal and eerie that you weren't sure if you were hearing things at this point.

könig slowly closed the distance between you two, his arms returning to his sides. you looked up at him, feeling a bit jumpy; he had been so unpredictable this whole night. he placed his large hands on your shoulders, engulfing each one, and gently pressed his fingers into you. his attempt at holding you close, maybe? but his arms seemed to tremble, and his breathing was shaky and loud, almost like he was a crazed man. you leaned away a little, but könig brought his masked mouth to your hear.

"please," he whispered desperately into your ear, his voice slightly cracking. his entire body trembled before you. "please help me."

i wanted to get this all out before halloween, but i've had a ridiculous amount of schoolwork. the last part will be coming out this weekend, and it will be the long-awaited smut chapter! i hope you guys are enjoying. i love werewolf!könig.

some people expressed interest in a taglist. i tried to find their usernames, but i get so many notifications that it got lost. i'm sorry!!! i'm going to figure out how i can get a signup sheet for a taglist for my whole blog here soon

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trivia-yandere · 6 months

Note

Hello! I love the stories you guys write! Thank you for taking the time to write. I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests, but I was wondering if you could write king jungkook/jimin tying princess reader up to the bed and having his way with her and it’s her first time. She has to marry him now. Thank you again!

so i followed most of what you sent, with a little twist :) i hope what we came up with is enjoyable

word is bond

in order to save your kingdom from perishing, you agree to give your body to the demon king - jimin. @chimmy-licious @bangtans-momma @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @darkuni63

word count: 5.142

warning: unsolicited touching/groping/biting/grinding, blood, voyeurism, public humiliation/degradation, oral (f receiving), throat fucking, yandere tendencies, finger sucking, dark themes, sadism, compulsion, riding, creampie, violence, multiple character deaths, manipulation, mind break,

halloween masterlist | alternate universe masterlist

The castle walls are tall, towering hundreds of feet above you. The throne room is bright - pentagon shaped windows shining the early morning sun into the throne room. You saunter down the marble floor, the heels of your boots clicking against it. Your royal attire is made to attract attention - and to separate you from the townspeople, of course. The royal jacket is larger than you’d like, but plated in gold, fur lined around the collar of it. Your skirt drags along the floor as does the cape you wore.

You can feel the eyes of the townspeople, behind a mountain of guards, on you. You keep your eyes straight ahead on the throne, the large elevated seat that you once dreamed of sitting upon.

You made your way to the throne chair, a guard assisting you upon the elevated surface. You look back at the large crowd, so many people in such a closed off room - all of which are here for you. Your heart feels heavy with joy knowing that your people were here to witness you be crowned as Queen.

Your eyes caught with your brother - the former King. He’s seated at the far right of the large throne room, an emotionless look in his eyes. He doesn’t smile your way when your eyes meet, but you aren’t surprised. You cannot recall the last time your brother smiled at you, maybe back before he was crowned as King once the death of your parents; and that was many years ago.

The crowd begins to clap and cheer once they witness Haneul, an old soldier who once fought alongside your father and now stood as a mentor, lift the crown high above your head. The crown is gold, several circle ornaments displayed upon it with several different gemstones and diamonds upon it. A smile forms onto your lips when you feel the crown be placed upon your head.

“All hail the Queen!” Haneul says, voice boisterous and loud so all of the crowd could hear.

You bow your head slightly to the crowd, eyes roaming to all faces of the people - your people.

Once again, your eyes meet those of your brother. You aren’t upset that he doesn’t appear cheerful - after all, the throne was overthrown and now you took his spot as ruler. However, there's a tint in his eyes that you cannot understand.

Your elder brother had been King for years now, nearing a decade since the death of your father a year after your mother. He wasn’t married, and still hasn't found a wife to call Queen. He was always a busy man, becoming a soldier once he was of age, working his way up to lieutenant, sergeant and so on.

The death of your father came sudden, and your brother was crowned King a week after. You saw the once youthful look turn to one full of stress and disdain. His expression turned emotionless overtime, appearing completely far gone.

Your brother was once loved as a Prince, but became hated as a King. He became tyrannical once he was in power, no longer valuing the townspeople's needs or wants. He was now responsible for the suffering of the same people, forcing working hours to increase, along with tax becoming nearly unreasonable. Anyone who rebelled against your brother was arrested, sended to an underground confinement - and likely to die.

What caused the rebellion against your brother had you at the forefront of it all. You had begged your brother to stop his madness, that it wasn’t like him to be such a cruel individual. You had stormed past guards and elite soldiers to get to your brother, in his hands a gun pointed straight at a man. Guards are attempting to hold back a forming mod, all protesting the life of the man who your brother held a gun at.

You’d never forget that day your brother had made you decide the fate of the man. Princes or Princesses never had the authority over a King or Queen’s decision. “I allow you to live a good life in the palace, sister.” your brother stated. “But since you are too stubborn to mind the business of a Princess, then I’ll allow you to make a decision of a Queen just this once.”

The life of the angry mod - nearly 100 - or the life of the man was in your power to decide. You had refused, shaking your head at the thought of it. The man didn’t deserve to die, he was just one of the first to go against your brother's harsh ruling, the mob following soon after in protest.

“You’d be a weak Queen, sister.” was your brother's final words to you after he killed the man and detained the angry mod in confinement.

“Sister.”

It was now evening, the townspeople all guided out of the palace. It’s eerily silent inside the castle, even the guards don’t appear to speak much.

You sit inside of your study - the same that once belonged to your father and brother while they ruled. Your arms are crossed as you look upon your brother. He leans against a large bookshelf, dark eyes on you.

“Brother.”

Haneul observed the pair of you with a sigh. He was such a close friend to your father, he was there when the two of you were born nearly a decade apart. He was seen as a mentor when you both needed him to be, or a friend if it was that. Witnessing your brother become a complete tyrant wasn’t something anyone expected, but neither was the fall of love the two shared as siblings.

“Congratulations on becoming Queen.” your brother steps away from the bookshelf, hands behind his back. “You’ve surprised me by holding a sword in front of you so threateningly.”

Your brother’s teasing. He had scoffed when you had come, stating that he had no business being the King if he couldn’t run it without causing such fear upon the people.

“I have given you the title as Queen willingly. To think my own flesh and blood would betray me in such a way.” your brother hisses with a shake of his head, dark hair flowing around him.

“You became a tyrant!” you hiss, slamming your hands onto the table. “You were never a leader or a King, brother. You became someone that not even I knew.”

“I’ve done whatever to assure your safety most importantly, sister.” your brother stalks towards you, a malice look in his eye. “I’ve done everything with good reason.”

“Good reason?” you scoff. “Murdering our own people is a good reason, brother? Forcing them to work such cruel hours and raising the prices of taxes and rent is a good reason?”

You shake your head. You had no need to listen further to your brother's ramblings.

Haneul steps between the pair of you with raised hands. “Let’s attempt to remain calm.” he says with a warning tone.

“No.” your brother hisses. “Since my dear sister believes that I am nothing but a tyrant, how about I tell you the truth.”

You knit your brows at your brother.

“There’s a reason we do not get out of our Kingdom's walls and why they are so high, sister. You’ve been told countless folklore of the mountains that surround us and just how we are to not step foot from the gates - especially at night?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod your head slightly. There was never a need to question the elder people in your lives who told you how dangerous outside the walls were. The townspeople remained inside, living comfortably in their own homes. Schools, sanctuaries and factories remained inside the Kingdom grounds, surrounding the castle you resided in. There was enough food to be had between the townspeople and the royals - farmers growing the best vegetables and raising livestock and all.

“There’s a reason for this, sister.” your brother continues. “I had good reason to become the way I am. Haneul, you were one of several survivors that fought the darkness that are outside our Kingdom walls decades ago while our grandfather reigned. You understand the threat we face day by day.”

Haneul nods slowly, eyes glancing at you.

“What darkness?” you question, leaning closer to your desk.

“Women are not allowed in the army, sister, and thus you have no true reason to understand just what we are raised to fight outside the Kingdom walls. We have been able to slain such darkness for decades until a new threat came upon.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise at your brother's words.

“I’ve come face to face to a new threat, a King such as myself, of this darkness.”

Haneul is the first to react, his eyes widening at your brother's words. “Impossible.”

“I tell no lies, Haneul.” your brother shrugs. “It seems as though us slaying the lower demons were just a distraction for the King to rise into power once more.”

Demon?

“W-What-”

“Your grandfather has slain the King back in his reign. I’ve watched-”

Haneul is interrupted by your brother once more. He waves the older man off with a huff. “He was never slain, Haneul. He killed all of my men that came with me years ago and left me as the sole survivor.”

You gasp at the words.

You recall the time your brother was brought in several wounded after returning, but you were not given a direct answer to what had happened. The sight of the blood stained floors had haunted you for weeks on end.

“What exactly are you saying, brother? What darkness is threatening us?” you try your best to not appear frightened, but it’s impossible.

Your brother - after all these years - wore an expression. That of sadness…fear.It’s as though you can finally let his guard down and tell you what he was feeling; allow everything in his mind to fall right into your lap.

“The demon King was never dead, Haneul. He was unable to seek his revenge for he was wounded, which is why he had his own army to do so. But in the last few years, he’s grown stronger by the day. He warned me that we would be coming to take over our Kingdom and get revenge on the very people he managed to defeat him temporarily.”

Your brother's eyes never leave yours.

“You and I, sister, are who he wants dead. He left me alive just to spread the word - that or this is all a game to him.” your brother’s voice cracks - one that was once so deep and stern, now has a whimper to it. He can finally break the wall he has put up, but at what cause?

“I did what I had to do to raise an army to fight this darkness, sister. Haneul. I needed the townspeople working constantly on our weapons, armory and anything else we needed to fight them off. We needed the money to bring in outside sources from down the mountains if need be.”

“Brother…” Why didn’t he tell you?

“All the sacrifices I made, sister, was to not only protect the Kingdom, but to protect you.” your brother turns away from you. He was your elder brother and right before your father’s death, he had promised that you would always be out of harm's way. “You told me that you’d never forgive me for the tyrant I’ve become, sister. And that was the risk I was willing to take if it meant you’d remained alive.”

“What is a Queen willing to do in order to protect her Kingdom?” is what the demon had asked you.

“Anything.” is what you told him.

Your brother had told you that soon - maybe within the next five months - that darkness would take over your Kingdom and that was the reason he became completely tyrannical. You now understood why he became so harsh, why he needed such a large amount of money to supply weapons and armor; even if you didn’t completely agree with his reasoning.

You were now Queen and the Kingdom and the townspeople needed you to be there for them. Against Haneul and your brothers wishes, you made your way out of the large Kingdom’s walls, assuring to close the gate behind you. You never been outside the Kingdom, walking down the dark path towards the forested area - you never had a reason to, either. The moon is high and shining bright and you’re thankful that it gives you enough light to see where you were going.

Though you were never raised to fight in the imperial army, you were trained in combat and how to protect yourself if need be - you just hoped that what you were taught was enough if you came across whatever darkness was out there.

You’re unsure how long you’ve walked the dirt path and yet, you’ve found nothing. Your plan was something you weren’t sure of yourself - find the darkness and what? Fight them off yourself?

Your head snaps to the left, instantly, you grab your dagger to defend yourself. Before you can do anything to defend yourself from any attacker, you feel your feet being lifted from the ground and the side of your body throbbing in pain.

You’re at a loss of breath, chest heaving while your heart is beating erratically. Your back is pressed firmly against a tree, your hand clenches along your ribcage.

“I’ve never seen a woman out this late.”

The voice is sinister and you do not see who it belongs to at first. Your vision is blurred and you’re doing everything in your power to focus on your surroundings.

Footsteps, you hear them coming. Your eyes slowly become wider when they capture the thing in front of you - was this the demon your brother spoke of? Part of the darkness that was going to take over the Kingdom?

The demon is tall, you note. Its eyes are dark and appear to have no irises. It’s covered in hair and its spine is curved. You recall the tales you heard when you were younger from your brother of werewolves, but this cannot be that - right?

You raise your dagger, the light from the moon flashing the demon right into the eye. You gulp just as the demon lunges.

You scream upon feeling something slash along your cheek, but you were determined to win this fight. Your dagger comes down onto the demon's shoulder as it gets closer to you, and your feet kicks it away from you, but to no avail. You feel your royal attire being ripped, your jacket going first.

To think you survived this long without truly knowing the truth of the darkness that plagues the forest and mountains outside your kingdom - lived long enough to become Queen.

To now possibly die before finding a way to fight for your Kingdom long enough.

Your clothing is ruined, near shreds when you hear a high pitched scream come from the demon before you. It begins to burn before your eyes. Your hand immediately touches your cheek, the warm blood oozes onto your fingers.

“You…”

You cannot see anything surrounding you - or whoever the voice belongs to. There's a breeze in the air now and it causes you to shiver due to your shattered clothing.

There’s a force pulling you by your hair. Your hands reach out to try to get whatever it was off of you, but you’re shocked to feel your clothes being ripped, as well. You struggle against the unseen force, your thighs being pulled apart.

“I’ve yet to see a woman out of the Kingdom.” The voice speaks once more. “Until now. And not just any woman…” you’re shocked to feel a wet sensation upon your cheek. “...the Queen.”

Your clothes - though shattered - are completely off of your body. You’re left in nothing but undergarments and chest binding, and soon the bandage bindings are off of you, as well. You feel disgusted with the unseen’s force hands upon your skin, touching and groping.

You feel a pair of lips kiss down your bare skin, the wind blowing erratically around you. The unseen force places kisses upon your neck, down to your collarbone, breast to your stomach. There’s goosebumps littering your skin, the foreign sensation disgusting you - more so because you feel a pool of pleasure between your legs.

“What is a Queen doing outside her kingdom?” the force asks.

“The King…” you trail off, just as you feel hands tug at your undergarments, the cotton clothed that is the only piece of dignity you had left. “I-I need to see him…”

You force stops and for a moment, you begin to think that you’ve hallucinated. You go to cover your breast, chest heaving as you breathe.

You close your eyes for a moment to capture your breath, and once you open them you’re startled.

“You’ve come out of your Kingdom to see me, Queen?” the man's voice is the same as the unseen force - low and sultry, a hint of taunt in his voice.

The man appears human, tan and smooth skin with dark hair with matching dark eyes. His lips are plush, pink and full.

You feel as though you’re hallucinating once more. The man is right where the unseen force had been, now instead he’s pinning you down. You feel far too exposed for his eyes and unsolicited hands wandering.

“Usually I kill whoever comes so deep into the mountains…” the man's nails are long as he trails them down your cheek. You feel the cut on your cheek begin to burn and you winch slightly. The cut disappears in a matter of seconds and you no longer feel the throbbing pain from your side. “...but you look far too appealing to get rid of, Queen.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Why have you ventured out to see me, Queen?” the man doesn’t stop his touches, nor does he care about asking for any form of permission. His hands grip both of your naked breasts, tongue dipping down to capture a nipple into his mouth.

“Please, stop.” you beg, shuddering beneath him at the foreign sensation. “I-I…you’re going to attack my kingdom.”

Your back arches when the demon continues to suckle onto your breast, eyes flickering up to you. “I am.” he says after popping your nipple from his mouth. “Such a whorish body for a virgin, Queen.”

The demon shoves your thighs apart, his eyes on your clothed center. He notices the wet spot on your underwear and hums.

You feel hot with embarrassment, thighs quivering to close.

“I sense that you’ve come out here to make a deal with me, Queen? You’re far too weak to kill me.” the demon laughs, as if the thought of you attempting to cause him any harm is just that comical.

The demon rips off your underwear and dips his head between your legs. His tongue laps between your folds.

Once again, your back arches and your eyes clenched shut. You want to fight the demon, but there’s no use - he’s stronger than you, even if he appears human. He holds onto your legs tightly as he ravishes your clit hungrily.

Your moans don’t go unnoticed from either of you. You didn’t want this - he was a demon and presumably the King your brother spoke of. However, you cannot control how your body feels - and it feels far too amazing to not moan.

“What is a Queen willing to do in order to protect her Kingdom?” is what the demon had asked you, lifting his head from your throbbing clit, licking his lips.

“Anything.” is what you told him, fresh tears pooling down your cheeks with overstimulation.

“Sister…” the look on your brother's face breaks your heart. “...what have you done?”

The demon’s name is Jimin - or that’s what he called himself when he allowed you to leave, making sure your skin was littered with bite marks and bruises before he did so.

The last time you saw Jimin was months prior when you had strolled through the forest. He had allowed you to leave and told you in five months time, you would see him again.

Jimin didn’t say that when he’d return, it would be without bloodshed. He allowed the darkness - as your brother called them - to wreak havoc upon the Kingdom. Innocent lives were lost and nearly half of your soldiers had gone with them.

Your brother’s eyes fall upon you, running towards the same demon King he had warned Haneul about months prior, a look of disbelief on his face. He holds the sword high in one hand, ready to attack Jimin if given the chance to - only you had stepped right in between the blade and the demon. The demon held a smug look upon his face, a smirk forming on his plush lips.

You were crying, your brother notes. Your hand grasps Jimin’s top, pushing him away with all your might - something he allowed you to do. You had fallen to your knees next, begging for the King to call off the darkness surrounding you - to stop the havoc upon innocent blood.

“I told you I’d do anything.” you cried to the smug King.

“That you did.” Jimin quips.

The demon king raises his hands, flicking it slightly. It was as if it was a call to attention - the once demonic entities that savagely attacked the townspeople and guards - now surrounded you.

“Sister…” your brother murmurs, eyes gazing along the different types of entities surrounding you all.

“A Queen is willing to do anything to protect her Kingdom.” Jimin states to your brother.

Jimin snaps his fingers, and in a blink of an eye, the scenery changes. You are now inside the palace in the large throne room. Your brother, several guards and soldiers including the demonic entities occupy the room.

You swallow the lump in your throat, eyes roaming to the frozen crowd.

“They’re conscious. Just unable to move.” Jimin states from behind you, a hand gripping your shoulder. “I want them to watch their Queen crumble beneath my fingers. Especially that brother of yours.”

Jimin snaps again and now, you feel it once more - the unseen force. Your royal attire is being ripped from your body once more - falling to shreds at your feet. Jimin watches intently at the show before him, you flushed and hot and embarrassed.

Jimin raises a hand and points two fingers at you. He flicks it low and instantly, you fall to your knees.

Jimin is slow to walk towards you, and when he does, he grips your cheeks harshly. He pries your mouth open and enters two fingers inside of it.

“Don’t choke.” Jimin commands, forcing his fingers deeper inside of your mouth.

You do, feeling the tips of his fingers reach closer to the back of your throat.

Jimin sighs with a shake of his head.

You gasp when your cheek stings. You fall to the side, barely managing to catch yourself.

“Open your mouth for me, human.” Jimin commands, but it’s as though he does it himself. Your mouth opens wide as if on impact - having no true control of your actions.

Your eyes are wide as you watch Jimin release his trousers. It falls to his knees and before you is his cock - erect, veiny and large.

“I can smell your fear, Queen. You being afraid will not stop me from taking you in front of your soldiers, guards and brother.”

Jimin places the tip of his cock on your tongue, rubbing it along the wet muscle for a moment before he fully enters your mouth.

Jimin is a true demon - your human tears do not affect him. With each thrust, he hits the back of your throat, but your mouth never falters - you’re compelled to keep your mouth open until he is finished.

Jimin grunts, surprise how your throat takes him so well - he can see the outline of his cock on your throat as he fucks you, and it only makes him want to hurt you more.

Your throat swells with a thick, salty substance and you find it difficult to breathe. You’re squirming beneath Jimin, wanting everything in your power to fight his compulsion and to get away from him.

“Swallow.” Jimin hisses - and you do. It’s difficult at first, so thick that it takes several tries. But when you do, you begin to cough at the new found oxygen you receive when Jimin takes his cock from your mouth.

Jimin cackles at your appearance - puffy lips and face, blurry eyes with tear stained cheeks.

“Go ahead, Queen,” Jimin tilts his head. “tell me how you are going to save your kingdom.”

As if it wasn’t humiliating enough to have the eyes of people who respected you watching, Jimin wanted you to further be embarrassed.

“B-By letting you use me.” your throat hurts, throbbing with such pain.

“Hm…” Jimin shakes his head. “I want to hear you beg, Queen. You came to me, afterall.”

You’re shuddering, naked skin erupting in goosebumps. You bowed to Jimin, wishing that this was nothing but a cruel nightmare you’d wake up from. “Please u-use me…”

Jimin snorts, unamused. “If that’s what you call begging, then I’ll kill them now.”

One guard is unfrozen. He falls to his knees, engulfed in bright orange flames. His screams echo off the wall of the throne room, echoing deep within your mind.

“Please use me and don’t hurt my people!” you scream, hot and fresh tears soring down your cheeks. You’re trembling in fear, Jimin’s true nature showing. “Hurt me as much as you’d like!”

Jimin’s interest peaks, a smirk forming onto his lips. “Oh?”

The unseen force slams your face against the marble floor and forces your legs apart. You feel Jimin behind you, sharp nails against your naked skin. His skin burns yours, so hot that it feels as if it’ll melt yours.

“A Queen would do anything to save her kingdom.” Jimin cackles once more.

You scream out when you feel yourself being stretched out. Your eyes clenched shut, tears finding their way out of your eyes somehow.

Jimin grinds deep inside of you, hissing at just how tight you were - a true virgin. Instantly, you’re bleeding, blood seeping down your thighs mixed with slick. But Jimin doesn’t care. He doesn’t slow his abusive thrusts.

“For years I’ve been bound into the forest until I was able to break free.” Jimin says, his abdomen slapping against your ass as he takes you. “Years my kind has been falling to the likes of filthy humans such as yourself.”

You’re going to die, the pain excruciating. With each thrust, you’re pounded against the marble floor roughly, hitting deeper and deeper inside of you that you’re positive you’d be split open.

“And now, Queen, I will take out decades of frustration upon you with no remorse.”

Jimin’s promise rang true. He continues to pound into you at a brutal pace for who knows how long. You felt yourself being filled countless times - each time more than before.

Jimin had flipped you onto your back, admiring how your breast bounced furiously as he fucks you, his cock causing a bulge so large in your stomach. Your cries are nothing but music to his ears, pussy clenching him so tightly as it drips a large puddle around him.

Jimin hoists you up, fucking into you against one of the frozen guards, not caring about any of them or their lives - humiliating you was his true purpose. You’re unable to speak, only screaming and crying louder with each thrust.

Hours upon hours had gone by and you had no tears left to cry or any protest to give. You accepted your fate by now. Your insides hurt and you’re truly unsure just how many times you could be pleasured by such a demon - an insane amount of liquid had squirted out of you countless times.

“It’s your turn, Queen.” Jimin drops you onto the ground, amused by your twitching form. His cum oozes out of you rapidly, clit throbbing and red.

Your body suddenly feels hot and any exhaustion you once felt is now gone. This had to be the work of Jimin’s demonic powers.

You spring from your fetal position to wrap your legs around Jimin. He sits upon the cold marble floor, wrapping his arms around you.

What was going on? Why had you suddenly regained such strength and stamina?

You sit upon Jimin’s erect cock and moan out. Your hips rise and fall at an alarming pace - you’ve never done this before, however, you appear a pro at it. Your fingernails dig into his skin and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Jimin chuckles at your new eagerness, allowing you to go wild against him. It may be his compulsion over you, but he cannot fake your orgasm or your slick - that was all you.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Queen. Does my cock do this to you?”

You nod your head erratically, your hips never buckling. You’re creaming his cock, stars forming in your compelled eyes. All you could think about his Jimin - his cock, his cum, and him overall.

“You’ll only cum when I allow you to, Queen. Is that what you want? To cum?”

“Please, please, please!” your mind is blank - you’ve forgotten what you initially agreed upon with the demon, all you can think about now is cumming all over his cock. “Please let me cum!”

“Cock hungry whore.” Jimin wraps a hand around your neck and squeezes. “These people would never respect you as their Queen even after you risked your life to save theirs.”

You’re cumming, a pool of slick shooting out of you, but even then you cannot stop your aggressive riding. You wanted more than to cum - you wanted Jimin’s cum deep inside of you once more - over and over again.

“What are you willing to do to have my cum, whore?” Jimin begins to thrust along with you, reaching deeper. “Would you watch your Kingdom burn for it?”

You’re too far gone now and you nod your head.

Humans were truly easy to fool.

“So be it.” Jimin snaps his fingers, the room erupting in a fit of fire.

Even with the sounds of screams, you want nothing more than for Jimin to use you - to breed you. It’s what whores truly desire, Jimin thinks, to be bred by whoever is willing. He’s positive once you come back to your senses, you’d be devastated to know that your brother, Haneul, the royal guards and soldiers are dead - however, he promised you that your Kingdom would remain; not the people occupying it.

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studioghibelli · 3 months

Text

masterpiece - a joel miller x reader

summary: joel moseys on in to your art store, despite seeming distant and cold towards you. an annoyed artist and an aggressive man, now that seems like quite the match.

warnings: artist!reader, grumpy!joel (no shit lol), post-outbreak, jackson era, age gap (early 20s reader/ 56 year old peepaw joel), sort of enemies to lovers but the “they’re annoying to me” kind, no use of y/n, female reader, short but sweet smut (semi-public, f receiving oral, unprotected sex)

notes: this is for @iamasaddie’s moodboard writing challenge! thank you for the wonderful inspiration <3 also i know the photo is not joel, but i only write for him at the moment so everybody let’s just PRETEND OKAY!!!! enjoy my lovelies Xx

Memories from before the world collapsed were hazy for you.

Bucket hats sewn for toddlers, bright colored toy dinosaurs made from plastic, a red wagon your grandparents used to pull you around in through the neighborhood sidewalks- vaguely, their pictures sat within the confines of your mind. Vaguely you could remember the sound of your aunties laughing whilst cooking, the way your father would roar at the television during football season.

You could remember them, and yet they felt more like ideas than memories. As if they were something you read about in a book, not an experience you had once lived through.

When you were thirteen and your family had found their way to Jackson, you fell in love with all the art encyclopedias Maria had given you. On missions, your father would bring you every single book he could find that talked about art. All different types. From Giotto to Fragonard, Vélasquez to Monet, Van Gogh to Millais- all of them had enraptured you, they had taken you over, body and soul, and in a world that was chipping away around you, you found solace in their creations.

After you turned eighteen, you had enough courage to try your hand at portrait art. The first one you made of Tommy was unnerving. You made him look more like a neanderthal than a man, with mismatched ears and crossed eyes, thick and uneven facial hair and wild curls. Still, Tommy had it framed and hung above the mantle of his fire place.

It was a reminder of growth. Of where you once were.

Now you did portraits around town, traded them for some dried out herbs or freshly pressed paper. People liked having art around. It reminded them of what once was. They flocked to you happily, wanting to feel the same contentment they once fell, before the world had sunk to its knees and submitted.

You were a reminder to the townspeople that life didn’t have to be so gray, nor dreary. Everyone seemed to love you and your quirky, distant, eclectic personality. A true artist. A Van Gogh, as Maria had described you once. You saw the world in whatever color you so pleased, you saw things others didn’t, you picked up on pockets of beauty that many looked over. People admired you for that, they wanted to talk to you, wanted to pick at your brain.

Everyone except him.

The moment you watched Joel Miller trot in through those gates, you knew you had to have him. To paint him, that is. His thighs stretched taut across the saddle, his broad shoulders budging at the seams of his flannel, chocolate eyes distant and full of worry, anger, hunger- he was.... incredible. Your dream man. For painting purposes only, of course.

Well, that's what you continuously tried to remind yourself. You would reprimand your own mind, stating what you felt was the obvious: You were attracted to him the way an artist was attracted to the rising sun or the waves of the ocean. You wanted to paint him, study his features, color in his skin. There was no physical, emotional, or romantic attraction there.

No. No way. Not you. Not for a man as old as your own father, if not older. Not for a man who had only ever given you grunts and one worded answers in response to your questions. Not for a man who couldn't give you the time of day.

It was a normal Wednesday when it finally happened. Sitting in the little studio in the town's strip that Maria and Tommy had created for you, doodling away and sketching. You were working on a watercolor of the tree line in the distance, now focusing on the rise of the mountains behind them. Snowy, navy, serene. You weren't that good with scenic paintings, but Maria wanted a big canvas of your work to hang in the Tipsy Bison, for everyone to see.

And, as you so often did, you decided to indulge her.

The record player was scratching in the corner, some melodic crooning of Sinatra filling the room.

A deep huff escaped you. Things were not going your way today. "Not right. No, no." You muttered, looking at the wonky, twisted tree trunk you had just messed up on. "Not right at all." Amidst your personal berating, you hadn't heard the bell of the front door swing open and chime its familiar song.

"How hard is it to draw a fucking tree?" You grumbled, hissing in annoyance as you wiped away the dripping paint. Somehow, it only looked worse. You wiped your stained hands across your pants, groaning out in defeat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

The voice startled you. As your nerves dissipated, you recognized who that voice belonged too. Deep and baritone, the kind of voice that sunk through your chest like honey dripping from a spoon, swirling in to a cup of steaming tea.

He was honey, wasn't he? If honey was old and bitter, you thought to yourself.

You turned, finally meeting the face of Joel Miller.

"Hello." You stood up from your stool, wringing your messy hands out on your apron once again. "Why... are you in here?" You spoke slowly, as if you couldn't believe he were actually in front of you. Was it him? Or an apparition? Your eyes could be deceiving you. Perhaps you were Van Gogh after all.... slowly descending in to madness. You shook the thought away.

"You give that warm a' welcome to all your guests?" Joel narrowed his eyes at you, looking around the slightly messy studio. Hanged paintings for sale on the walls, splatters of paint dripping down wooden easels, tubes of oil and acrylics strewn around. Not many people visited you in here, lest to pick up their orders.

"I..." You trailed off in search of what to say next, narrowing your eyes at him in return. "No."

Joel hummed out between his teeth in response, fingers gently trailing down the sides of a few handmade journals you had for sale. "What do you want for one of these?" He asked, picking up the leather bound pages.

"I usually do a trade. Some vegetables, um... pretty much anything, really."

"You drive a hard bargain." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Did you come in here to annoy me, or do you actually want something?" You snapped, sitting back down in your chair with a huff. The current painting you were working on was doing your head in, and your artistic talent was definitely being challenged.

You felt shit at your craft today, to be honest.

"I don't really got none of that." He responded sheepishly. "I could do somethin' for you? Got a leaking sink? Broken cabinet?" He sat down on a stool adjacent from you, flipping through the blank pages. "I wanna get this, for my daughter. She's, uh... she's a bit like you. Real in to art and stuff."

You rolled his offer through your head, thinking on it.

Portraits! There was your answer.

"I know what you could do for me."

Joel looked up at you and shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Let me paint you. I-I need to work on my portraits, need to.... find my style." You explained softly. You watched his face spread over with confusion.

"That's just extra work for you, you ain't gettin' anything in return for painting me."

"Yes, I am! I'm honing in my skills."

Joel looked around at the art all around him. Paintings of the dogs he had seen wagging their tales through town, a portrait of Maria in the corner, a field of blooming flowers- he didn't think your skills needed any honing. You were remarkable, but Joel didn't really know that much about art, anyways.

"Fine."

"Free tonight? After dinner?"

Grudgingly, Joel agreed.

• • •

His ass was hurting. The cold, metal stool beneath his thighs was uncomfortable, digging in to his skin. He wondered how you could do this all day, how you could sit and stare and paint and move without complaining.

Because, god damn, was this seat uncomfortable.

When he had walked in for his portrait, you were changing the track on the old record player. The Goo Goo Dolls. He had rolled his eyes, unable to count all the times he had heard Iris on the radio.

Still, it brought a sense of nostalgia he had thought died out a long ago. It made him feel…. normal. And normalcy was the most beautiful thing in the world now.

“How d’you sit on this all day?” He snapped half way through your session. Your body was hidden behind the canvas, and every so often he saw splatters and drops of paints exploding. He was curious what you were doing back there.

“Just do.”

Joel snorted. “That ain’t a real answer.”

He heard your annoyed sigh. “It is. Once I get in the zone, I just go for it.”

That answer satisfied him enough.

“Why do you like art so much anyways?”

You peeked out from behind the canvas, eyebrows furrowing. “Because it makes me feel alive. Do you know that feeling? Inhibition? Freedom?” Your words dripped with sarcasm, hissing out with impatience. Why did he care, anyways?

Joel rolled his eyes, holding on to the edge of his seat as he winced. His back was strained, and he knew he was getting too old for this.

“I do, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re really damn annoyin’, you know that?”

You grumbled beneath your breath, tweaking a few strays of eyebrow hair on his portrait. “Been told.”

“Sure you have.”

A long bout of silence eased over the room, and for a long while, the only sound was the scratching of the vinyl and the thick breeze outside.

“What’s your deal, anyways?” You finally asked, working on the thick vein of his neck.

You stared at him for a long while, tracing over his face. He was undoubtedly handsome. The curve of his Aquiline nose reminded you of the Roman sculptures you had seen in your books, the softness of his perfectly curved lips, the shape of his moustache. He really was a true masterpiece.

The length of his neck bled into two sturdy collarbones and thick shoulders, biceps strong and deep beneath the sleeves of his dark green flannel. The color of his skin, tanned and slightly golden and perfect, had been your favorite to paint thus far, the depths of his cheeks and cheekbones perfect beneath the swinging light of the studio.

Joel stared at you, your question racketing through his brain like a pinball machine. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you so angry? Why don’t you like me?” You finally asked, disappearing behind the easel once again.

“Never said I didn’t like you.”

You laughed softly, the tip of your brush swiping down the side of his jaw. “It’s implied.”

“By you, maybe.”

“By me? You’re the one who avoids me. I don’t have the plague, y’know.”

Joel snorted. “Worse than that.” Hu grumbled beneath his breath.

“Heard that.”

He took in a deep breath, and although you couldn’t see his face at the moment, you knew without a doubt his brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The typical mask Joel Miller wore with such pride.

“Look.” Joel began speaking, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. “You….. I….. look.”

“I’m looking!” You exclaimed in annoyance. “Just spit it out already, man.”

In one swift move he had gotten up from his stool and had grabbed your wrist. His grasp wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mean. In fact it was gentle, sturdy with an unfamiliar sort of warmth. His brown eyes bore down in to yours earnestly, and you saw them flickering with something you couldn’t quite pin point, an emotion you had never seen him show you.

A thick lump was forming in your throat, and you felt your stomach churning with butterflies, aflame by the feeling of his calloused palm on your skin. He was warm, rough, masculine.

He was perfect. A masterpiece.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Joel crouched down, now level with your eye sight.

“Look.” He began once again with his new favorite word. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Okay?”

“What?!” That’s what he was trying to say?

“Yes. It’s embarrassing, I know.” He was seething through gritted teeth, jaw clenching with annoyance. His cheeks had grown a soft pink, no doubt out of embarrassment for the admittance of his secret.

“I-”

Joel wasted no time cutting you off. “I ain’t the poet type, alright? Lord knows I’m not. And when I see you…. fuck. This is so fucking stupid. When I see you, I feel shit. Okay?”

A laugh of amusement escaped you. “You feel shit?” You asked incredulously, and his grip on your wrist loosened.

Joel took a step back, sitting down on the floor. “It’s stupid. A fuckin’ crush, in the middle of the world ending.”

“It hasn’t ended yet.” You purred, setting down your brush as you sat in front of him. “So, maybe take the time to kiss me? Just in case it doesn’t end, tomorrow or something.”

Joel stared at you, a long moment blanketing your bodies. He was weighing his options in his mind, calculating what could happen if he did, if he didn’t. Damn the risks.

He had spent so long wondering what you tasted like, what you felt like. He said a silent prayer to whatever god may still be alive, and leaned in towards you.

His lips were softer than you thought, and his facial hair tickled and bristled against your cheeks. Joel was a good kisser, a passionate kisser. Your mouths melded together like two pieces of iron being hammered into a ring, thick and sweet and harmonious in their shared movements.

Joel couldn’t help his wandering hands. The rough tips of his fingers made you shiver, calloused thumbs drawing circles in the dips of your hips as he pulled you closer. You were straddling him now, arms thrown around his neck as you kissed him fervently, as though his spit was the last thing you would ever taste.

“You could’ve done this months ago, y’know.” You mumbled against his skin.

“Probably could’ve.”

Your fingers moved down to the buttons of his shirt, Joel’s mouth attaching to your neck.

“Probably would’ve saved you a lot of annoyance, you know.” You grinned down against him, a soft gasp escaping you as your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his curls. You grinded your hips down, feeling that bulge pressing into the crotch of your leggings. “If you woulda told me, I could’ve helped with all that pent up aggression.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the playfulness of your words, pulling you closer to him. “You’re trouble.” He muttered, lips attaching back to yours. A smile broke out across your face as you pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Joel pulled away, throwing off his shirt, before tugging yours off in turn. Your chests, bare and warm, pressed in to the other, and in one swift flick of his wrist your bra came off with ease.

He pushed you back on to the ground, grinding himself against you. You tugged your pants off, left with a pair of panties that were now soaked through. Your clit, swollen and throbbing beneath the cotton material, was ignited with each movement of his hips, his covered bulge tracing circles into your sensitive nub.

Joel moved downwards, until he was face to face with your covered pussy. He leaned forward, dragging his nose across your clit as he pressed his tongue flat into your folds, tasting your arousal that had settled into your underwear.

“Off.” He commanded, undoing his own belt. You flicked your panties away, and he was face to face with your cunt once more. “Pretty little thing.” He mumbled, leaning forward to taste you. When his lips wrapped around your clit, your back arched off the cold tiles of the floor, pleasure coursing through you in electric droves.

“Taste pretty, too.” Joel smirked against your pussy, his tongue pressing in to your hole, dragging out that sweet wetness that dripped from you like syrup.

He tasted you, breathed you in, swallowed you. You were the only thing that filled his senses at the moment, the only thing that he had his mind on. In that moment your pussy was the only thing he worshipped, the only thing he wanted to spend any time tending to.

Your hips were grinding against his face now, his tongue swirling and lapping at your swelling clit. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t even think. He was all you could pay any attention to. Damn your art, damn your painting- right now his mouth was the only thing you could wrap your head around.

Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your orgasms on brewing in the pit of your belly. Joel’s rough palms carved up and down your sides, his well worked hands scratching your skin in a delicious sort of way. He was moaning against your folds, nose brushing up and down your pussy as he lapped at the pink of your cunt.

“Joel, Joel-” You were drunk on him, on his movements, clit tingling against the tip of his tongue. He chuckled against you, knowing just what he was doing to you.

Joel knew how to make a woman feel good, and you were no exception.

“Gonna cum.” You breathed out excitedly, hips bucking one last time as your orgasm washed over you. Your moans and cries echoed across the wall, and you tugged him by his curls farther between your thighs. Joel licked you through the height of your orgasm, until you had no choice but to push him away.

You lay on the floor, breaths hard and shaky, blinking as you came back down to earth. Joel crawled over you, his thumb gently trailing down your cheek. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, which was now pushing past your lips and exploring the softness of your mouth. You moaned, legs opening to grant his throbbing cock access.

With your small hand, you guided the tip of his leaking cock to the folds of your pussy, pressing it gently against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck me.” You begged against his mouth.

Joel happily obliged you.

To say you had never been fucked quite like that was the understatement of the year.

Joel’s cock was thick and perfect, curved ever so slightly to the left. He hit every spot deep within you that made you shiver and moan, he knew just how to roll your hips to drag you towards your second orgasm.

And god, did he know how to last.

By the time your third orgasm had rushed over you, his fingers had tangled themselves in your hair and your teeth had sunk into the thickness of his pretty neck, his cock still hard and stern inside of you. He was panting like a dog, grinding and humping in to you as his twitching cock filled you to the brim.

Your thighs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as his fingers tweaked your nipples. He was breathing hard and heavy in to your hair, eyes shut tight as he took you all in.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered, eyes pricking with tears of pleasure.

“Fuckin’ love your cunt.” He grumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “Gonna paint these fuckin’ walls. Gonna fill you up, make you mine.” It wasn’t just dirty talk, it was a promise. His hips stuttered into you, your aching clit pressing into his pelvis with every deep thrust he gave you.

“Cum inside me then. Make me yours.” You whispered, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back. You had etched your sketches into the skin of his back, drawing lines of ravenous pleasure that only he would be able to see, when all was said and done.

Joel groaned at the sound of your sweet voice, and with a final grunt, you felt ropes of his cum filling you up, dripping and sliding out of you as he lazily thrust, riding out his own high.

By the time he had fallen beside you, your hand had grabbed his, and you both knew you were done for.

Months of built up pressure, stolen glances, curt conversations- you both knew what was there, beneath the surface. Two people who didn’t quite know how to approach the other, and yet still, two people who knew what was lurking beneath the surface.

God, you were so happy Joel had walked into your shop.

He had helped you get dressed, and you both walked outside to the street, sharing a cigarette you had bartered for a couple weeks ago. You took in a deep drag, gently holding it to his lips. As you exhaled, he inhaled the tobacco, and both of your eyes settled on to the bare street, the winter moon beating her sweet, silver light on to the pavement.

“If you keep doing that, I don’t think I’ll ever finish your panting.” You finally spoke, filling the comfortable silence with the sweet cadence of your words.

“I like it how it is.” He whispered.

You turned, looking at the canvas that was drying ever so slowly beneath the store light. It was a bit whacky, a bit unfinished, as though a part of its story had yet to be told. But Joel’s eyes though…. well, his eyes were what struck you the hardest out of it all, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the beauty and skill of your craftsmanship.

Those umber orbs, painted with that familiar distance his eyes so often held, swirling with mystery, regret, wonder, and a little bit of admiration that you hadn’t quite picked up on while painting. They were full of emotion that Joel so often showed, in his own quiet way.

You turned to him, taking another puff from the cigarette. A smile stretched across your face, and his arm gently hooked itself around you.

“Yeah, me too.” You admitted quietly.

After that night, the townspeople wondered why Joel was a little bit more approachable. They wondered what made him a little bit more softer, kinder, a bit more poetic.

And each time you would sneak away into his house underneath the cover of darkness, the reminder of that fateful night hung just above his sofa, Joel’s unfinished portrait staring at you with that familiar beauty of his.

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wielderofmysteries · 8 months

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A Vorthos Defense of Lukka

Sorry this response turned into a small essay (~1400 words) that doesn't really answer your question, but my Hot Take™ is that I don't think Lukka needs to be fixed.

I believe the problem doesn't lie in Lukka himself, but in the way both the narrative and the fandom treated him extremely unfairly. I'm not asking anyone to like Lukka. Personally, I don't even think anything about him is particularly likable. But I think as a character he deserves a lot more respect than he gets, and I'm tired of seeing other people hate on him without actually engaging with his story or understanding what his character is about.

Here's the thing: Lukka is basically the homeless veteran of planeswalkers.

He started his story in Sundered Bond (Ikoria ebook by Django Wexler) already successful in his military career, engaged to be married to Jirina, and having General Kudro's favor. He was a model citizen and his life was great. One day, a flying-hyper-murder-tiger killed Lukka's entire squad and people discovered Lukka was a monster Bonder because the tiger spared him. The rumors got to General Kudro, whose decision upon hearing Lukka might be a bonder was to have Lukka immediately executed.

Lukka didn't betray Drannith. Drannith betrayed Lukka.

Lukka escaped his execution and was rescued in the wilderness by Vivien, who traveled with him to the Ozolith, where a mysterious evil voice caused Lukka to unlock the full power of his monster bonding abilities. Through it all, Lukka still tried to hang onto his old life. His allegiance hadn't changed. At first, Lukka wanted to use the monsters he controlled to fight for Drannith, not against it. Lukka was convinced that the offer of a loyal monster army would be enough for the city to take him back, but he was no longer welcome in Drannith.

Lukka became increasingly unstable and spiraled into insanity because he had his life unexpectedly, completely ruined and wanted nothing more than to return home to his old life, but that wasn't possible because he now belonged to a class of people who were extremely stigmatized in Drannith's society. He had become an undesirable. Once the city's shining star, he was now the lowest of the low. He lost his loyalty and turned against the city when he realized Drannith didn't care about people, Drannith cared about keeping people in their places.

In Sundered Bond, Lukka loses literally everything. He loses his job. He loses all his friends. He loses his fiance. He loses his home. Everything. He even loses the cat. This all happens to him within like, a week.

Lukka experiences the same hostility in his second appearance, Strixhaven. At this point, he's still a new planeswalker, and he's been planeswalking blindly trying to find civilization again. He arrives on Arcavios thirsty and starving and tired and injured. When he finally finds a town, he visits an inn and asks only for food. But they don't give him any food! They won't allow him to wash up or to rest! This is a man who has nothing and has done nothing, and the townspeople are suspicious of Lukka and want to call the Dragonsguard –Strixhaven's magical cops– on him because he committed the crime of... existing near them while visibly having basic needs that are unmet.

=========

"Looking for something, stranger?" said the innkeeper, a round man with a head of robust curls.

"A hot meal," said Lukka. The innkeeper hesitated as though about to say something, then nodded and moved toward the kitchen.

"Haven't seen clothes like that before," came a voice behind Lukka. "You're not from around here, I imagine."

He turned. A tall man in the same rough clothing as the rest of the townsfolk had stood up from his table and was walking over.

[…]

He heard the man suck his teeth. The innkeeper still hadn't returned from the kitchen. Lukka was starting to doubt he ever would.

"Okay, Oriq, I think I've heard enough. We don't take kindly to meddlers in this town, or those who seek to disturb the peace. If we were a proper city, we'd get the closest, least busy Dragonsguard to sort you out. But we're just a small farming village—so we've learned to deal with strangers ourselves."

[Episode 2: Lessons - Adana Washington]

=========

Fans like to point at Lukka and make "ACAB" ("All Cops Are Bastards") jokes about him, but they don't understand that he's explicitly an anti-cop character. Lukka was formerly a cop, but he quit and fully turned his back on the entire concept of policing when he realized that the reason cops exist is not to protect people, but to rid society of undesirables like him.

=========

"These dragons," Lukka said, his voice a growl. "Those Dragonsguard. They've held power over these people for too long. They've made them fearful of every shadow, every unfamiliar face. What happens when it's not just the Oriq they're hunting down—when it's anyone who practices magic in a way they don't like?"

[Episode 3: Extracurriculars - Adana Washington]

=========

I know what many of you will say: "How can Lukka have such a based take when he's such a terrible person?" It's true– he is not a good person. He's an asshole and he's harmed / killed innocent people and animals. But he's been both a cop and a homeless man, and he knows that cops are far more dangerous. You don't need to be a "good" person to deserve food and shelter. It's cops who promote the idea that you can deny the basic rights of the people you think are "bad".

So on Arcavios, he's again forced out of civilization and back into the wilderness. His suffering seriously never ends. The way he was treated, it's no wonder he accepted when the Oriq kidnapped him and asked him to help attack Strixhaven. Why should he give a damn about society if they don't care about him? If their society is so fearful of others that they are unwilling to practice compassion, unwilling to provide for people's most basic needs even when they haven't done anything wrong, then doing wrong doesn't matter. They will share his pain. He will watch it all burn to the ground.

Lukka is an example of what happens when someone's basic humanity is repeatedly denied to the point that they can no longer feel anything but anger.

This line from the story Survival of the Fittest, by Roy Graham, expresses it perfectly:

=========

He had been a cruel man by the end, a villain in so many ways. But perhaps in his position, there was no way to become anything else."

=========

Lukka reaches out for stability and support and never truly finds it. He's a character who keeps getting punished over and over for having bad things happen *to* him, not because he *does* bad things. Most of the bad stuff he actually does is in response to others treating him like shit for no reason.

Despite everything, Vivien still cared for Lukka and wanted to help him get back on his feet. She thought Lukka's military expertise would be useful to the strike team against New Phyrexia, and she encouraged him to join. They both saw it as an opportunity for Lukka to regain some of his dignity and protect his home once more. How does the narrative reward him for his effort? By corrupting him, humiliating him, and having him be put down like an animal by the only person who showed him any compassion through all this.

What could Lukka have become if he survived to be rehabilitated? I guess we'll never know.

Unfortunately, there is absolutely no hope for a character who mistreats animals. Most fans will never ever get past that, and there's a part of me that honestly believes Lukka just got phyrexianized and killed off because the Magic narrative team realized they couldn't salvage his reputation and didn't know what to do with him. The fandom's overwhelming negative response to Lukka had irreparably damaged him as a character.

As my bespoke friend @xantchaslegacy said, "The only meaningful difference about Lukka and Gideon's cop-to-planeswalker journey is that the narrative let Gideon live long enough for other people to make him a better person. And Lukka got shanked before it could happen."

Again, I don't need people to like Lukka. I just want people to understand. I wish people were more willing to actually engage with the story and see the value in characters they dislike. There's no reason Lukka should've been treated like a punching bag the way he was. He was trapped in a cycle of being dunked on by the story and then dunked on by the fans, again and again. And people continue to push an understanding of Lukka that is just false.

The fandom reacted to Lukka the same way the strangers on Arcavios did: He'll never get a second chance because they wouldn't even give him a first chance.

#lukka #mtg #gwunky #sorry i wrote most of this between 2am and 5am on very little sleep lmao #DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE SENSE #analysis

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alexiethymia · 1 year

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If I could gif, I would probably gif three scenes. The ‘what rope’ scene where Vash calls Meryl and Roberto his friends so that the townspeople of Jeonora Rock don’t lynch them, and then the scene where Vash says Meryl and Roberto aren’t his friends to Wolfwood when they separate on the Sand Steamer and Wolfwood calls him cold, and finally the scene where Luida definitively calls Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood his friends when he first wakes up.

It’s such a nice progression of his bonds in such a few number of episodes. For all that Vash is a nice guy, and has people he helps, and even family in the form of the people in Home, it’s possible Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood are his first friends. It’s only when the three stick by him even after Monev and finding out that he’s a Plant, that it really dawns on him that huh in his hundred years alive, he may have finally found his first friends.

Vash isn’t naive. He knows the capacity of people to betray his trust. He’s resigned to it in a way. But he still extends that trust to people. The plan to stop the Sand Steamer wouldn’t have worked without Meryl. But Vash still leaves the task to her without any assurance that she would do her part. At the same time, I get the feeling that he wouldn’t have blamed her if she did decide to run away, same as Roberto was telling her. And it’s such a wonderful thing that through the friendships he formed with Meryl, Wolfwood, and Roberto, the trust that he freely gives is finally reciprocated. (And of course he would always have faith, what with his experiences with Rem, Luida, Brad and the people in Home).

In the same way, Vash saves what was precious to Wolfwood which was the orphanage, Wolfwood eventually gets to return the favor in saving Meryl. Even though it was out of order, you can also look at it as Meryl saving Vash, who saved Wolfwood at the Sand Steamer, who eventually ends up saving Meryl. Even Roberto, cynical as he is, does end up advising Vash on occasion.

People get hurt. People die. It’s a dangerous world they live in. But it’s nice that Vash who always asks if people ‘need a hand’ eventually meets ordinary people who also ask him if he ‘needs a hand’ sometimes too.

#trigun #trigun stampede #taggin #vashmeryl #because fave always #but really it’s the friendship that gets me #vash eventually comes to trust the three of them #not because of their words but because of their actions #and I guess that’s why I like vashmeryl so much #because of the friendship and trust #I really loved the dynamic of the four of them #rip roberto gone too soon #I really liked the touches of ordinary heroism #like how rosa was trying to help meryl even though the bombs were attaching themselves to her too #or that one julai soldier who made sure he was far away from the others when he was about to blow up #like nebraska jr. too #or how heartbroken that one julai soldier who shot vash was because of his friend #which makes it heartbreaking when they turn away from vash because these are good and decent folk #but survival forces them to be cruel #nicholas wolfwood #roberto de niro

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pedrointofolklore · 9 months

Text

Rosebud

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: carnations bloomed when you saw joel. too shy to admit your feelings, but too overcome to not, you began leaving flowers at his doorstep.

warnings: very brief but graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death/grief, tragic backstory, emotional processing, reader is a loser who falls in love in two seconds, lots of metaphorical language, swearing, mostly just self-indulgent fluff, joel is soft, big age gap (reader is in late 20s), no smut, no use of y/n (reader has a nickname), jackson era.

word count: 6k

a/n: hey y’all. i’m delving into the world of fanfiction writing and i’m tentatively posting this as my first story. this story by @army-author is what inspired me here—i read it years ago and loved the concept ever since. i also super don't know much about flower gardening so apologies for any inaccuracies.

Your earliest memory was sitting in the garden with your mother one September. You were small then, no more than three years old, covered in soil and some residual stickiness from whatever fruit you’d just devoured, watching with a curious eye as your mother pruned her roses.

When you thought of her, you thought of that garden. In your memories, it was a labyrinth. Flowers, shrubs and vines overflowed the yard. You used to fear getting lost in the brambles, but at some point, you started to crave their thorny embrace.

It was a pink rose, so bright and intense, like a painting come to life. She shed the thorns, tucked it behind your ear and pinched your chubby cheeks. That was the first time she called you ‘Rosebud.’ Nobody ever called you anything else.

You couldn’t have known then that you were just a few Septembers away from losing her.

She died on the first day, in the centre of the garden. Your lasting memory of her was your father driving a pair of garden shears into her jugular. She collapsed to the ground, blood as dark as a crimson rose pooled around her as your father wept over her lifeless body. You sprinted inside and threw up.

She died a stranger. You didn’t understand what was happening to her then, but you understood that she was gone before the shears even entered her neck.

It haunted you for the next twenty years—but that person was not your mother.

Whenever the wound opened, and that memory came flooding back, you closed your eyes and thought of her as she truly was—kind, gentle, passionate. You recalled her soft smile, her musical laugh, the books she read, the flowers she loved.

When you were a kid, you thought of her as the sun that kept those flowers alive. As you grew older, she became the sutures that kept you from falling apart.

You knew your father had no other choice, but you could never quite look at him the same. Still, he was all you had, and he kept you safe until the day he died.

It was your mother’s leather-bound notebook that kept you going. She listed every flower she could think of, and wrote the meaning next to it. That notebook went with you everywhere, all across the country. Every new species you came across, you found it in the book, memorised its meaning, and crossed it off your mental checklist.

Flower seeking had to be the most frivolous thing one could do at the end of the world, but it kept you close to your mother, and gave you some semblance of purpose. Each new flower felt like something blooming inside you—your own secret garden that grew from the depths of your soul.

Carnations bloomed when you saw Joel.

He first came to Jackson in December with a girl by his side. They were gone by the next morning, but you saw him. He was coming out of the bar, tugging his coat back on when you spotted him through the crowd of carolling townspeople.

Even from a distance, you noticed the pain in him—a pain similar to yours. There was a wistfulness in his face, a longing for something he missed, and a fear so intense it seemed paralysing. He clutched at his chest, holding in the marigold that grew where his heart should have been.

You wanted to know him.

He came back that spring with the same girl, and this time, he stayed.

It was a while before you spoke with either of them. Everyone who arrived in Jackson had a tendency to be closed-off at first, and you couldn’t fault them for that. You didn’t know where they’d been or what they’d done, but you knew they’d gone through hell.

You met Ellie first. She came by the greenhouse one day, arms crossed and face vacant. Her reticence might have been mistaken for hostility if you didn’t relate so much.

You tore your soil-covered gloves off and wiped a hand over your cheek, probably just further smudging whatever dirt was caked on there.

“Hi there!” You did your best to sound cheerful, to come across as someone who was definitely okay with unexpected visitors. “What can I do for you?”

“Maria told me you might need some help around here.”

You didn’t think you needed help, and it seemed like the girl wanted to be anywhere but here. But as you pondered her, you started to recognise what she was actually getting at.

She didn’t know what to do, but she needed to do something.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” You held out your hand, which she stared at for a good couple of seconds before shaking. “Call me Rosebud.”

“You’re a florist named Rosebud?” She was incredulous, and you didn’t even care that she was making fun of you—it was the first time you’d seen her smile during this entire interaction.

“It’s a nickname,” you told her, “and I'm more of a floriculturist. If you want to help me out, grab some gloves and a trowel.”

“What the fuck is a ‘trowel’?”

You spent the next few hours with her digging holes in the soil, un-potting flowers and planting them in the ground. As apprehensive as Ellie had been to begin with, it didn’t take her long to warm up to you.

The first thing you learned about her was that she asked a lot of questions.

“Why do we have to move these?”

“It’s spring. They’ll do better in the ground.”

“Why didn’t Maria show us this place when we first came here?”

“It was winter. Half the flowers had gone to shit, so there wasn’t much to see,” you replied, flattening the soil around a sunflower plant.

The greenhouse had been established before you got there. Nobody ran it, it was something for everyone to tend to, but nobody cared enough to do so. The gardeners of Jackson preferred to focus on crops that could actually feed them. But then you arrived, and you knew how to grow a thriving flower garden, and with all the bees it brought, it only helped the agriculture. It also meant that Jackson had honey.

“This one’s cool. What is it?” Ellie asked. You looked over at the plant she was settling into the ground—a grassy little shrub with white flowers blooming at the ends.

“Starwort. It means ‘Welcome to a stranger.’”

“Appropriate,” Ellie said. “I didn’t know flowers had meanings.”

“It’s called floriography,” you replied. “I have a book all about it.”

Ellie stayed until the sun began to set, leaving in much better spirits than she arrived. You were used to working alone, and you thought you preferred it that way, but she turned out to be good company. You sent her home with a starwort blossom and a jar of honey as a thank you, and told her to come back any time. You really hoped she would.

You met Joel the next morning.

There was a knock at your door, which you expected to be Ellie back again. Instead, you opened the door to find her guardian standing on your front porch.

Your eyes flicked shamelessly over his form. He was broad, strong, with plaid sleeves hiked up to his elbows—you didn’t know it was possible to be attracted to someone’s forearms. His features were beautifully angular, especially his nose. But it was his eyes that really got you. They were dark like coffee, deep and intense. You could fall into them and never stop.

The garden you carried in your soul had never felt more alive. It was weird you hadn’t spoken yet, but you worried if you opened your mouth, the brightest, reddest chrysanthemums would come bursting out.

“Good mornin’. Sorry to bother you,” Joel finally said, with the rehearsed politeness typical of a Southern man. There was still an earnestness to him, like he didn’t quite remember how to do this but he was determined to try. “I think Ellie was here yesterday?”

“That’s right.” You internally cheered when your voice didn’t fail on you. “Is that okay? I know I didn’t get your permission. She just kind of showed up.”

“No, that’s okay. I just came by to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“She's been struggling to…adjust, I guess,” Joel explained, “but she was in a good mood when she came home yesterday. I think being here helped her, so thank you.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. People silently appreciated what you did for the commune, but nobody had ever gone out of their way to thank you for anything. It was a little overwhelming.

“Well, she’s welcome here any time.” You didn’t think Ellie was particularly interested in gardening, but you could see that the girl just needed to feel busy, and maybe needed some company. You were just glad she could find that with you.

“Thank you,” Joel said again. “What was your name, darlin’?”

“Just call me Rosebud.”

You expected a laugh, a mocking jab of some sort, but instead he just tilted his head and looked at you with complete sincerity. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Your cheeks were embarrassingly warm.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Joel said. Your heart fell. “It was nice meetin’ you. And, uh, thanks again.”

He started to leave, but you weren’t ready for him to go. Before you could think it through, you called after him, “Wait.”

You might have imagined it, but for a split second after he turned back around, you could've sworn you spotted an eagerness in him, like he was hoping you’d say that.

“You can come inside,” you offered, “if you want.”

He did.

Five minutes later, Joel was standing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter. You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, getting the water ready and setting out two mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” You were already sure of the answer.

“Black. No sugar.” Yep.

You poured the coffee into a mug, absent-mindedly blowing on it as you handed it to him. He didn’t wait for it to cool down before taking a sip, not even flinching at the heat.

You opted for tea with a generous amount of milk and honey.

“Thanks for the honey as well,” Joel said. “Ellie loves it. She’s never had anything so sweet.”

“That doesn’t surprise me if she grew up in a QZ,” you replied, turning to face him with your mug cradled in both hands. “I think I cried when I first got here and they actually had sugar.”

“When did you get here?”

“Around two years ago. My dad knew Seth—you know, from the bar—got in touch with him, and he told us how to get here,” you explained. You truly hated Seth, but he did save your ass and that left you obligated to be nice.

“Your dad’s not here, is he?” Joel spoke without any particular sentiment. It was an observation, plain and simple. You didn’t mind, you just shook your head. It felt normal to talk about your dad. You missed him, but his death wasn’t horrifically tragic to you—the man had a heart attack.

“What about you? I mean, how’d you end up here?” You were nervous about prying, or accidentally chasing him away before you really got to talk, but Joel had fascinated you since December. You needed to know more.

“I was in the Boston QZ for a while, left to look for my brother, found him.” He wasn’t going to get more detailed than that. Too much had happened that was difficult to talk about, and you could see that, because it was the same for you.

No matter how much you wanted to, you didn’t let yourself ask anything more. You didn’t ask why he’d been here in winter, why he left so soon, why he came back, why he didn’t come sooner if his brother was here, how Ellie fit into all of it. You didn’t ask, and you wouldn’t ask. All you could do was hope he’d open up in time.

It occurred to you just how different Joel looked now than he did in December, and not just because you were actually seeing him up-close. His whole spirit had shifted. Back then, he’d been like an open wound, barely being held together by exposed, bloody tendons that threatened to snap at any moment. He was different now—still wounded, but no longer in pieces.

There was something else in him too. Something dormant, but always on the verge of springing back to life. A quiet guilt.

“Flowers always been your thing?” Joel asked. You were grateful for the subject change.

“Pretty much. I used to know someone who loved them. Made me love them too.”

He nodded with an unexpected softness in his expression. It wasn’t pity, or even sympathy, but a warm kind of understanding.

“I know the flower stuff seems silly,” you said, looking down into the milky beige of your tea, “but it really is useful.”

“I know that,” Joel said. “I don’t think it’s silly.”

You could practically feel your chest split open that very second. Flowers sprouted from your heart, and they bloomed for Joel. They longed to reach out, wrap him up in their stems and vines and pull him into you.

Carnations. Chrysanthemums. Vervain.

You kept your composure until Joel left. You said your farewells, waved him off, shut the door, and immediately collapsed on your couch in a lovestruck heap. It was all so dramatic, the sofa may as well have been a bed of roses.

It wasn’t just that Joel was attractive—and fuck, he was attractive—it was the way he wholly and truly respected you. Respect was something you’d had to earn from everyone else around here, but Joel didn’t need any convincing. He saw your worth right away.

He was all you thought about for the rest of the day, the evening, until you went to bed that night. Even then, your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

These feelings were big, too big. Keeping them inside hurt, but you feared letting them out would be agony. They were safest with you, blossoming into flowers in your soul, where only you knew about them.

But still, you were wide awake, consumed by the urge to do something, say something.

So you got up, pulled your shoes on, went outside and picked a flower from your garden.

Jackson was desolate as you wandered down the street. The only residents awake at this hour were those on patrol. It might have been eerie if you weren’t so wound up.

You scanned each house as you passed by, looking for Joel’s. Your heart pounded in your chest when you found it. You didn’t need to be so nervous, the lights were off, but you kept imagining someone walking out and catching you in the act. But you’d come this far, and his front door was just a few yards away.

You climbed the stone steps with a quiet urgency, twirling the flower between your fingers one last time before dropping it just outside his door.

A single gardenia.

You were going to leave it at just one flower—you didn’t want to be weird and scare Joel off before you really got to know him. But then Ellie came by the greenhouse again.

“Did you leave a flower on our front porch the other day?” she asked, watering a yarrow seedling.

“What? Why?” You felt so lame, and so stupid for forgetting that Ellie lived there too. Your gesture was bound to get intercepted.

“There was a white flower out there. I showed it to Joel, and we figured it was from you.” It was a very reasonable thing to figure considering it was from you.

“What did Joel say?” you asked, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt.

“He said it was for him.”

“So he took it?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Don’t know what he did with it.”

Ellie wasn’t nearly as invested in this as you were, but it still sounded promising. Joel had accepted the flower, maybe even liked it. The thought made your stomach feel strange, like a bunch of petals were flurrying around in there.

“Well, it was for him…” you mumbled.

Ellie glared at you in feigned outrage. “I’m insulted.”

“What are you complaining about?” you laughed. “I gave you a flower.”

“It’s wilting.”

“Fine then”—you handed her a pair of pruning shears—“go cut yourself a new flower.”

She wandered around the greenhouse for about five minutes and came back spinning a flower between her thumb and index finger. It had pure white petals and a bright yellow pistil. “I chose this daisy.”

“That’s a cosmos,” you corrected. “It represents harmony and balance.”

Ellie assessed the flower in her hand, genuinely mulling over the meaning of it, and you realised how much you appreciated her. She saw value in something you cared about.

“What did Joel’s mean?” she asked.

“I’m actually not sure about that one.” It was a total lie, but you sounded convincing enough that Ellie shrugged it off and carried on watering flowers.

You couldn’t help yourself after that. Knowing that Joel accepted your gift made you want to do it again. And again.

So you did. Every few days, when you were sure he and Ellie were asleep, you sauntered down to their house and dropped a flower outside the door. An aster, agapanthus, camellia…

Joel never mentioned it, and you never really expected him to, but the nods and soft smiles he gave you when he saw you around were enough to let you know he appreciated you.

But Joel would never know the true meaning of your flowers. It was better that way.

Maria and Tommy’s son was born later in the spring, and your garden had never seen so many visitors. The new parents were practically drowning in congratulatory flower arrangements, and eventually Tommy had to tell you to start turning people away.

One of these visitors happened to be Joel, and he was the one person you couldn’t turn away.

Unlike everyone else, Joel came to your door first. The slight nerves he’d had the first time he came over were gone, but so was the facade of sociability. Maybe this uncouth version of Joel should have irked you, but seeing him comfortable enough to drop the pretence just made you like him more.

“I need help with something,” he said, not even bothering with a hello.

“What is it?”

“A gift for the happy family,” he spoke bitterly, like he was actively trying not to grimace as the words came out.

“Flowers?”

“Flowers seem appropriate.”

Joel was strangely upset for someone who was welcoming their nephew into the world. You didn’t know the story between Tommy and Joel, just that they hadn’t seen each other for years before Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson, and that Maria really disliked him.

But despite his sour attitude, it was clear Joel was trying. Whatever was weighing on him, he was pushing it down and choosing to be thoughtful for the sake of his family. Tommy could deal with one more bouquet.

You walked down to the greenhouse with Joel trailing behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets the entire time. On a better day, you would have tried to make conversation with him, but he obviously didn’t need that pressure right now.

He finally spoke up when you arrived at the greenhouse. “This place has seen better days.”

It wasn’t the flowers he was talking about, it was the structure itself. The contractor in him must have noticed the rusted metal pipes holding everything together, the holes and tears in the plastic sheets, and the fact that there was almost no room to walk.

“I know it’s bad,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It was built before I got here. I don’t think they used their finest materials.”

It was always cramped in here, but Joel being so broad and having such a presence made it even worse. He was closer to you now than he’d ever been. He smelled warm, like fresh coffee and leather and musk. It made your head spin.

“So, what kind of flowers are you thinking?” You needed to change the subject before you threw yourself at this man.

“Uh...pink?”

You laughed—you couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have been more vague if he tried.

“Why’s that funny?” He wasn’t mad, but he did seem impatient.

“Sorry,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you could elaborate on that?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned, running a hand over his prickly beard. “This is why I need help.”

You felt bad for laughing when he was so stressed out. He was overthinking something that should have been simple, and it made your heart ache for him. He was looking for guidance.

“We’ll do peonies for good fortune,” you told him, “and daffodils for new beginnings.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left him. Whatever was weighing on him was still there, but this was one thing that made it bearable.

You walked back to your house after cutting the flowers, where there was actually space to work. You expected Joel to leave then, go home and wait until the flowers were ready like everyone else did, maybe even have you deliver them on his behalf, but he stayed by your side.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Joel asked, sitting across the table from you as you worked. “About flowers, I mean.”

You never got into this with anyone, but your inexplicable attachment to Joel compelled you to open up. Whatever pain resided in him reminded you of your own. He understood you.

“My mom had this book. She wrote down the meaning of every flower she knew of, and I guess I’ve memorised it all over the years,” you explained.

Talking about her didn’t hurt like you thought it would. It was actually a relief.

“When did it happen?” You knew what he was asking.

“First day,” you replied.

He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”

This wasn’t the first time you had seen through the gaps in Joel’s armour, but it was the first time he’d made the choice to let you. You didn’t know his limits, if those two words were as deep as he could get, but you wanted to see what would happen if you just asked.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t seem happy about this,” you said, straightforward but still cautious.

“I guess I’m not,” he admitted, looking down pensively.

“Why is that?”

“Just don’t understand bringing a kid into all this.”

You agreed with him. The people of Jackson were as safe as they could be, but outside the walls were infected, raiders, FEDRA, and a multitude of horrors too awful to speak of. It would only take one mistake for Jackson to be completely wiped out. You wouldn’t want to bring a child into a world like that either.

But you also knew that most people who had kids post-outbreak hadn’t done it by choice.

“It’s not as if people have access to birth control,” you pointed out, stacking peonies onto a piece of tissue paper. “But I don’t disagree.”

“It’s just a lot for me to wrap my head around,” Joel continued—or maybe he was starting on a completely different train of thought. “Tommy’s the uncle. He’s always been the uncle. I’m…“

He couldn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

“You still are,” you told him. “Tommy’s still an uncle.”

Joel was silent, letting your words sink in. It was cold comfort, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but it was what you believed.

“Why do people call you Rosebud?” The question took you aback. It was completely unrelated, yet felt so important. He was the first person in twenty years to ask you that question.

“My mom came up with it when I was little. It’s what everyone’s called me since.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Joel asked. “Seems like a constant reminder of what you lost.”

It was hard having to live without her, but you never wanted to forget what you lost. “I guess I like the reminders.”

His hand absent-mindedly fell to the broken watch on his wrist, and for a fleeting moment, you were seeing the man you first saw in December. An open wound. Marigold.

“She didn’t stop being my mom,” you said quietly. “I didn’t stop being her daughter.”

And as quickly as the wound opened, it was once again sewn shut. He even managed a smile. “You’re wise, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

Ouch.

It felt like a kick to the stomach. In an instant, the carnations that bloomed when you first saw Joel all those months ago, that had been so red and vibrant, faded into yellow.

You held yourself together until he left. You finished arranging the flowers, wrapped them up, handed them over to him, said goodbye and wished him luck, then trudged over to the couch and flopped down onto it—this time in a dejected heap.

It wasn’t as if you thought you had much of a chance with Joel, but this just felt so awfully final. It didn’t matter that you were basically thirty years old—in his mind, you were a kid.

It was embarrassing. You thought about the flowers you left—a quiet admission of feelings—and prayed the couch would swallow you whole and suffocate you.

You’d gotten it all wrong. Joel never appreciated it. He probably thought it was weird and pathetic but didn’t have the heart to tell you. You wondered why he even accepted the initial flower, and if you weren’t feeling so spurned and humiliated, it might have dawned on you that you were overreacting.

You still left a flower that night, if only to get some closure. It would be the last one you ever left him.

A red tulip.

Joel came to your door one day in July.

You’d come to expect Ellie on your front porch at least once a week, but Joel wasn’t a surprise either. You were friends now, even after such an embarrassing rejection.

Joel still never mentioned the flowers. He was probably relieved when you stopped leaving them and wanted to pretend it never happened, and that was fine by you.

Being friends didn’t help matters though. He was always rough and grumpy in his Joel way, but he was sweet too. So sweet. It felt impossible to move on.

“Hey, Joel,” you said. “Need help with something?”

“I wanted to help you, actually.”

“Me?”

“I can’t keep lookin’ at that greenhouse,” Joel said. “It’s a piece of shit.”

You had to laugh at his honesty. “You want to patch it up?”

“Was thinking of taking the whole thing apart and rebuildin’ it.”

The offer stunned you. It was so generous and so out of nowhere. Your first instinct was to say no, that it wasn’t worth the trouble, but something stopped you. It was Joel coming to you in earnest and saying he wanted to help. It felt like an insult to deny him.

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Okay.”

“When can I get started?” he asked.

Shit. You had dozens of flower pots you didn’t know what to do with. “Uh, I’ll have to empty the greenhouse first. I guess I'll bring the flowers here in the meantime.”

“Ellie and I can help with that,” Joel said. “I’ll go get her.”

You blinked at him. “Now?”

“You got other plans?”

You absolutely did not. “Ah, no. Now is good.”

“Great.”

That was how you spent your day, lugging flower pots from the greenhouse and unloading them in your front yard with Joel and Ellie in tow. It was so lovely it bordered on being painful—pink roses unshed of their thorns pierced your heart.

You let yourself imagine for a moment that this was reality. That you, Joel and Ellie were a weird, happy family. The carnations in your soul had never been more yellow, and you instantly regretted indulging in that particular fantasy.

Joel was already at the greenhouse when you went there the next morning. He was up on a ladder, and half of the structure was already torn down. Rusted metal pipes and discoloured, ripped up plastic sheets were piling up a few feet away.

“Need any help?” you called out.

He looked down at you and smiled—a real, wide smile you hadn’t seen on him before. “You know what you’re doin'?”

“Not really.”

“Then, no,” he replied. “Don’t want you droppin’ anything on that pretty little head.”

Huh?

You flushed all over, wishing your couch was here so you could collapse onto it. Less than two months ago he was calling you a kid, and now he thought your head was pretty. The thought crept in that maybe he was purposely messing with you, but you liked Joel too much to entertain the idea.

“Well, I probably can’t help with the physical labour,” you said, cursing how nervous your voice sounded. “But if there’s anything else…”

“You’re a sweet one, Rosebud,” Joel said. He had to be doing this on purpose. “You just let me do my thing, and we’ll leave it a surprise.”

You laughed. “In other words, you’re telling me to get lost?”

He grinned at you fondly. “Just trust me.”

It only took one exchange for that hope to come back to life. You tried to stop it, tell yourself he was just teasing, that he didn’t mean it that way, but it was too late. Those carnations were already morphing back into a searing red.

You wanted to come by everyday and watch him work, but you stayed away and waited for him to come to you. It only took a few days for him to show up at your door, looking infuriatingly hot covered in blotches of sage green paint.

“Is it ready?” you asked.

“It’s ready.”

You followed along behind him, keeping your eyes down so you didn’t accidentally spot the new greenhouse before he was ready for you to look. You ended up just ogling his ass, which was a decidedly better and much more pinch-able sight than the ground.

“Look now.”

You lifted your gaze, and your hands flew up to your mouth as you let out a dramatic gasp.

It wasn’t just good, it wasn’t just an improvement, it was beautiful—masterfully pieced together with timber and painted the same sage green that Joel was sporting on his clothes. And it was bigger. There would actually be space for you to walk around inside.

Joel started to panic from beside you, and you realised you were crying. “Is it the green? I can repaint it if you hate it.”

You seemed to have lost the power of speech to reassure him, so instead, you threw your arms around him and held tight. The suddenness of it shocked him, and his hands found your waist. You weren’t sure if he was about to push you away or pull you in.

“So, you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” you snivelled into his shoulder. “Thank you, Joel.”

He hugged you back then, caging you in with his big arms and making you feel so safe. You felt a prickly sensation on your temple as he brushed his lips against it.

Red tulips were threatening to burst out of you in droves. You didn’t want to let go, but you were seconds away from making a confession you couldn’t take back if you spent too much longer in his embrace.

You pulled yourself away, and even with the sun beating down on you, you missed his warmth.

He walked you back home, came inside when you offered him iced tea (you were out of coffee), drank it all even if it was too sweet for him, and all you could do was thank him repeatedly for what he’d done.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I wanted to do this for you.”

What did that mean?

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Joel continued, a pink flush apparent on his cheeks.

“About what?” You knew exactly what.

“The flowers. I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know how. I’m not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Kindness.” He almost winced, like it hurt to say.

“It was weird. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Joel assured you. “It was…nice. Bummed me out when you stopped.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I get it.”

You didn’t know what to say at this point. You didn’t want to be talking about any of it, and you were about to tell him that, ask him to move on from this, until he decided to put you on the absolute spot.

“What did they mean?”

Fuck. “Hm?”

“The flowers,” he said. “You said flowers have meaning. What did they mean?”

“I actually don’t know those ones.” That harmless little lie worked on Ellie, but Joel saw right through it.

“Why are you lying to me?” He didn’t even sound angry or annoyed, just genuinely curious, and a little sympathetic.

You considered doubling-down, insisting you didn't know, but you couldn’t do that him. It was a vulnerable conversation for not only you, but Joel as well. You understood how hard this was for him, and you cared for him too much to shut him down.

But you couldn’t say it, not verbally. Instead, you grabbed the notebook that was laying on your coffee table and held it out to him. There was a split second as he was reaching for it where you imagined yourself tugging it back out of his reach, forgetting about this entire thing, but then it was in his hands and it was too late. Nothing would ever be the same.

You held your breath as he flipped through it, his eyes flicking over the words. His face gave nothing away, but his finger was tracing over something.

Red tulip - declaration of love.

He gently shut the book and set it down, and your eyes stayed firmly on the floor, hoping if you stared at it long enough it would split open and consume you.

“Are you surprised?” You couldn’t project your voice above a whisper.

“I guess not,” Joel said. It was the honest answer, and the one you most expected. “I thought you were just bein’ nice, then Ellie kept insisting you were interested.”

That girl was smarter than you gave her credit for—and you already thought she was very smart.

“I thought there was no way,” Joel continued. “You’re sweet and young and so pretty. I’m just an old man.”

“I don’t care how old you are,” you replied.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things...”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. I care who you are now.”

You were looking at him now. He looked moved, rapt, and not at all like someone about to deliver a devastating rejection.

“And you want me?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause where neither of you said anything, but the air was thick with an unspoken question: Where do we go from here?

“Can I kiss you, Rosebud?”

You nodded, and he did. It felt like dozens of chrysanthemums, camellias and carnations all springing to life under your skin.

He was gentle in a way you never could have imagined, cupping your cheek with his palm and holding your waist with the other. It was reminiscent of the hug you’d shared earlier, and you wondered if he’d wanted to kiss you then.

His lips were rough, a little chapped, but soft in the way he moved them. This wouldn’t be how he always kissed, you were sure of that. Someday it would be messy, frantic, all-consuming. But this careful, slow movement of his lips against yours was all you needed right now.

He wanted to be gentle with you, because he cherished you like a rosebud.

flower translations:

rose (pink) - perfect happiness

rose (dark crimson) - mourning

carnation (red) - admiration

marigold - grief, despair

starwort - welcome to a stranger

chrysanthemum (red) - i love you

vervain - enchantment

gardenia - you’re lovely

yarrow - healing

aster - symbol of love

agapanthus - secret love

camellia (pink) - longing for you

peony - prosperity

daffodil (bunch) - new beginnings, hope, good luck

carnation (yellow) - rejection, disappointment

tulip (red) - declaration of love

rosebud (red) - pure, lovely

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #the last of us fanfiction

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so-long-soldier-writes · 11 months

Text

Do You Believe in Soulmates, Darling?

poly!mikaelsons x reader

summary: after waiting a thousand years to find their soulmates, the mikaelsons find it in mystic falls. one thing though - they all share the same lover. | request

word count: 7k (I don’t know how this happened)

tags: soulmates, fluff, human!reader

It is Kol that sees you first. He is standing in the town square, observing how people are in the twenty-first century, and how much has changed since he’d last been undaggered. He hadn’t really planned on being out that day, but Klaus was getting unruly in the mansion, needing quiet time to paint. Kol wasn’t in the mood to be on the receiving end of his anger again, so he scurried out the door and decided to explore the town.

It’s peaceful and no one bothers him. No siblings, nor vampires, nor townspeople. For once, the inhabitants of Mystic Falls mind their own business.

By nearly three o’clock, he still occupies the square. Klaus was probably over his anger hours ago, but Kol finds he quite likes the scene. Despite enjoying the time away, though, he knows he should go home soon before a sibling catches up to him. One cannot escape the family for too long; that’s the blessing and curse of family. With a sigh, he stands up to leave, sparing one last glance to the park before him.

Thank god for that last look. Had he not taken it, he wouldn’t have noticed you. That would be a missed connection never known, but to secretly haunt him forever.

You, with your gentle smile as you look at the girl to your left. The way your eyes roll at something she says. The way you walk gracefully towards him, though he knows that’s not where you’re headed. Suddenly, something inside him wishes it were. Something fluttering in his chest; something that starts to beg for your attention. He stares at you as if his gaze would somehow attract yours.

“Are you daft? Kol! Hello?!” None of the words register to him. However, the swift hit to the head does.

Kol whips around to see his sister. Her hands open to him in frustration.

“I’ve been calling you for ages, standing right beside you. What are you even looking at?”

“Nothing,” he says, almost stutters.

“Certainly not nothing to have your attention like that.” Rebekah scoffs, then tries to follow his line of sight.

By then, you had dipped into a store. Kol secretly curses his sister for the distraction.

“That bird over there, you were seeing?” There’s a bluebird standing where you just were.

“No.”

“Then whatever in the name of-”

“Just a girl, Bekah. So like I said, nothing.”

“Oh? A girl’s caught your attention?” She snickers, “tell me, is she pretty?”

“Can you bugger off?”

“Why don’t you just answer?”

“Because I-” he stops upon seeing you again. You and Caroline tumble out of the store laughing, clutching onto each other’s shoulders. He listens to the words he sees leave your lips.

“That was so weird,” you mutter.

“People here are so strange sometimes,” Caroline agrees with your statement.

“Because you what?” Rebekah’s voice cuts back in. When Kol doesn’t answer, she follows his gaze again. “Caroline Forbes?”

“No, the girl beside her.”

A tease is prepared on the tip of her tongue, but upon seeing you, it’s gone. The two Mikaelsons are quiet for a moment as they watch you and Caroline continue to laugh.

“My, she is pretty,” the blonde finally admits. “Go talk to her.”

“Do you really think it’s wise for me to go over there with Caroline Forbes right there?”

“Well if you don’t now, you could lose her forever!”

“Or I could lose my life when her blonde friend rips my head from my neck!”

“You never know until you try.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea what will happen if I do that.”

“Caroline won’t kill you because then she’ll lose brownie points with our brother.”

“Fair point, Bekah, but-” He’s interrupted by two ringing phones. Specifically, his and his sister’s. “Bloody hell. Almost went all day without a summoning.”

“Who’s calling you?”

“Klaus.”

“Elijah’s got me. Guess we have to go back now. Wish your pretty girl farewell.”

Kol rolls his eyes at her words. He steals one last glance at you before following his sister to what he hopes isn’t some new brand of chaos.

◇◇◇◇

“So is it true?” You turn to your best friend.

“What?”

“That Klaus has a thing for you?”

She slouches in her next few steps, “really?! Y/N! As if I hadn’t had this conversation so many times.”

“Well, is it?”

“Ugh. I don’t know! I think he does, but trust me, I don’t feel anything for him back!”

“Aw,” you joke, “why not give him a chance? He could be your soulmate for all you know?”

She lets out a sharp laugh, “no way! In fact, Klaus has no soulmate, and do you know why?” She doesn’t give you a chance to answer before saying, “because I don’t think he even has a soul.”

“Caroline!”

“Am I wrong?”

“I- I don’t know, I’ve never met the guy!”

“Well good. Avoid him. He can be charming, I’ll give him that, but it doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a killer.”

“He can’t be that bad. We’ve all killed once or twice.”

“First of all, yes, he is. Second, no, we haven’t. I have. You have not, and that will stay that way.”

“Maybe I have, you don’t know that.”

She snorts, “You’re too sweet for that. And besides, even if you have, you’d tell me right away with your guilty conscience.”

“I do not have a-”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Fine, I might. But don’t mistake that for me not having fire, because I can assure you, I do.”

“Oh I know you do. That’s what makes us such good friends. But you need to remember that you’re human, so you still need to be careful.”

“I know, I know!”

“Which includes talking about Klaus, because he could be listening.”

“Sorry,” you try to hide your smirk, “I won’t ask about the big bad vampire again.”

“Good.” Caroline’s not at all convinced that this’ll be your last question about them, but at least it’ll be the last for today.

Ever since the Mikaelsons have arrived in Mystic Falls, you’ve been curious about them. It’s hard enough keeping you out of the Salvatore drama, but that difficulty increased tenfold when the original family came into play. With you and Matt being the only two humans left in the friend group, they’re very protective of you. You, even more-so than Matt. Matt’s met most of them by working at the grill, but the girls do their best to hide your existence from the four siblings. They all swear that if they ever find you, nothing good would happen.

◇◇◇◇

“You two have been out all day, where could you have possibly gone?” Elijah questions as soon as he sees his two youngest siblings enter the mansion.

Kol already has his answer ready, “well seeing as Klaus was about ready to kill us all this morning, I decided it would be in my best interest to get away from him.”

“He’s been steady since one. It’s past three now.”

“Lost track of time, I guess. Tell me, what is it you wanted?”

“Why? Have something to get back to you?”

Rebekah, who had left to fetch a glass of bourbon, replies, “yes, actually. I was quite occupied before you called.”

“You two? Together? Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” the eldest raises his eyebrows. “Hopefully not planning a kill in the square?”

“On the contrary, dear brother. But unfortunately for you, it’s none of your business. So again, what is it for which you called?”

“Ever so fiesty, Rebekah. Worry not, we just wanted to make sure you weren't starting anything."

"What? That's it?"

"What kind of older brother would I be if I don't check up on my younger, more troublesome siblings?"

"You called us both home for that?"

"What’s got you so bitter, sister? Mystic Falls isn't so interesting that you should be so upset."

"Not to you, but this time, we actually did find something interesting, thank you!"

"Oh, do tell, Rebekah," her other brother asks as he fetches his own drink.

"Doesn't matter now that we'll never see her again," Kol mutters, sharing an annoyed look with the blonde.

"Her?"

Rebekah glares, "yes, a girl. But Kol's right, doesn't matter." She swallows down the rest of the liquor in one gulp.

The two eldest brothers are too confused to question further. Kol takes this as a chance to retreat to his room, while Rebekah, after one more look at Elijah, leaves to hers.

"What girl could have stolen the attention of our two siblings so quickly?"

"Doubt there is one at all. They just wanted a reason to get away," Klaus snaps with a tone full of anger.

Elijah detects a hint of jealousy, but says nothing. Nor does he share about his curiosity for this supposed girl that infatuated them both.

◇◇◇◇

Two days later, you’re spotted in the square again, this time, by Elijah himself. At first glance, he makes no connection between you and whomever his siblings saw, but rather takes in the sight of you. You are sitting by the fountain, legs crossed on the cement, and a hand reaching into the water. A stack of books are in front of you, the one on top open, and a notebook to your left. You pay no attention to them, though, and keep your eyes trained on the small waterfall. The sight of a human so seemingly relaxed in such a busy and perilous town has him unable to draw away his attention. He watches you carefully from the square’s metal bench, far enough that you could not catch his eye.

Only a mere five minutes pass before you have company. A girl Elijah recognizes - April Young - touches your shoulder lightly. You turn to her with a smile as she starts to speak. Curiosity kills him, so Elijah tunes in to listen.

“If someone finds you out here, they’re not going to be happy.”

“I don’t care, April, I’m so bored. I can’t be inside all day just because they’re scared I’m going to encounter vampires.”

“Shh! You know they could overhear you, right?”

“It’s fine! They have no reason to hurt me, I’m just minding my own business.”

“They don’t need a reason to hurt anyone, Y/N, they just do. They drink blood, remember?”

“Okay, sure, point taken. But since I apparently have a team of protectors, I should be fine, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“And, hey, you’re human. Why are you allowed to talk to them? Who’s the girl again? Rebekah?”

“Y/N, be quiet! Yes, I talk to them, but it’s because they found me first and dragged me into all this. And Matt’s been dragged in almost since day one. You haven’t been discovered by them yet, and we all need to keep it that way.”

“So boring! I want to be in on the fun.”

“It’s not fun, Y/N. I’m serious. None of them will be gentle if they find you; they’re all dangerous.”

You sigh, giving up on arguing with the girl.

“You know what they say, ‘curiosity killed the cat’,” April says.

“Okay, but they also say, ‘satisfaction brought it back’,” you finish, eyebrows raised.

April rolls her eyes, “stay out of it. In fact, I’m texting Caroline right now that you left your house if you don’t go back right now.”

“I’m not going back, I’m studying here.”

“Study at home.”

“No.”

Immediately, she starts to dial Caroline. In an instant, you pack your books back into your bag. “See you later, buzzkill.”

The girl hangs up, but doesn’t leave until you do. You know better than to try and win a fight against both of them, so you head home, missing the square already.

Elijah knows he shouldn’t follow you. Caroline could be on her way; April’s in the distance. Yet, he can’t watch you walk away, either. He must at least know your name, or else it might kill him. At the very least, he could compel the conversation out of your mind as soon as he hears it.

He waits until you’re alone to approach. Probably not the best way to do it, but he doesn’t know how many there are keeping you hidden in your supposed “team of protectors”. And this way, it would be easier to compel, should it come to that. So, as you travel down the sidewalk, humming to yourself, he suddenly calls out to you,

“Excuse me, miss.”

You turn quickly towards the voice. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the handsome stranger. “Um, hi.”

“I mean you no harm, but I saw you in the square just a little bit ago, and I have to know your name.”

You hesitate, unsure if you should give it.

He continues, “I know this is quite random, but I truly do not wish to frighten you. I saw you by the fountain, unbothered by the world around you. The screams of children, the barking of dogs, but nothing disrupted your focus from the gentle flow of water. I could tell it brought you peace, and I could see the secret you harbored to jump in and enjoy it. It was beautiful, not to mention the beauty that you are, yourself. So, apologies if I am crossing a line, but I can’t help but wonder what name to put on this delicate soul that has imprinted on my own.”

You stare at him, speechless from his words. Never has anyone said such beautiful things to you, and in such an alluring accent, no less.

“My apologies, love. I fear I have said too much.”

“N-no! Forgive me, I’ve just never had a man tell me I’m beautiful before.”

“That is quite a shame. Sure they just have never told you out loud.” He walks closer to you, feeling a bit more confident that you’re not afraid.

A blush rises to your cheeks, but you’re still unable to form a response. “I-I, um… Y/N. My name.”

He repeats your name, tasting it on his tongue. “Lovely name. Lovely name for a lovely girl.”

“Thank you. And what’s yours, may I ask?”

Elijah hesitates. It hurts his heart knowing he’ll have to compel this conversation from your mind, but at least, he can give you his name before he does. “Elijah Mikaelson.”

“You- you’re a Mikaelson?”

“Afraid I am.” He scans your face for fear, which he wholeheartedly expected. However, nothing.

“You’re the first I’ve gotten the pleasure to meet. I’ve been curious, I’ll admit, but my friends tell me to stay away,” you pause, “which you probably found out from my conversation with April a few minutes ago. Oops.”

“It’s alright, love. I won’t tell a soul of your secret.”

“Thanks,” you smile, “I hate being cooped up in the house all day. You were right - I did want to jump in that fountain.”

“You should’ve. I bet the joy on your face would have been unmatched.”

You swallow hard. You’ve never been good at taking compliments. Especially not those given to you by a handsome man who has lived long enough to see thousands of beautiful things. Never would you have expected to be one of those things. “I think I should’ve, too.”

Suddenly, you get a text. In a brief glance, you see it’s Caroline. “Oh crap.”

“Is everything alright?”

You sigh, “it’s Caroline, asking me to send a picture of myself in my kitchen, with an egg in my hand, and a spoon on my head. I guess I have to go.”

“Such an odd request,” he wonders out loud.

“She likes to put me up to things like this to prove I’m at home. It’s something I won’t have in my pictures already, and have to do that instant. If I don’t get it done in five minutes, she comes over.”

“Well I guess I better let you leave, then.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I liked meeting you, Elijah.”

He smiles, “you too, Miss Y/N.” He steps forward and takes your palm to kiss it. In a deep breath before he starts to compel you, you suddenly interrupt him.

“Wait! I’m way more than five minutes away. Crap! She’s gonna catch me.”

He shouldn’t offer. He shouldn’t know where you live. Yet, the idea of you getting caught out of your house worries him. He may never see you again if that happens. “I could, perhaps, take you home? Could get you there much quicker than if you were to walk.”

“You would do that?”

“I owe you that little, being the reason you might get caught otherwise.”

You blush at the thought of him picking you up, but try to force it away. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He picks you up bridal style, and before you know it, you’re on your porch.

“Thank you.” You smile, then check your phone. “Oh, shoot! Two minutes left.” You’re quick to unlock your door and throw it open. “Come in and help me find an egg!”

Surely you know the rules about those words pertaining to vampires and one’s home, yet you said them without hesitation. You didn’t stick around for him to question you, either, and instead ran to complete the quest. Slowly, he tests the entryway, and enters with no resistance. He then finds you in your kitchen digging through the fridge, then pulling out an egg. As quickly as you can, you take a selfie and send it to Caroline.

“Whew!” You breathe out, then notice him, “hi.”

“You completed your challenge?”

“Hopefully! But she might still come by because it was April that called her.”

“So I should probably leave.”

You bite your lip, not wanting him to go.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you invite me inside?”

“Because I needed you to find an egg. Which I found myself, so thanks,” you joke.

He smiles, but only for a second, “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know, I trust you.”

“Why? I’m a Mikaelson. The very family that your friends told you to avoid.”

“Well maybe I don’t like being told what to do. And maybe you don’t seem so bad to me.”

“I would like to prove your feelings right. I wish I could.” He says truthfully, catching your eyes.

You start to look back, but then his words hit you. I wish I could. You straighten, then look away from his gaze. “Don’t compel me.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare compel me to forget this. I don’t want to forget this. I don’t want to forget you. You, or your smile, or the things you’ve said. Please don’t take it away from me.”

“Y/N-”

“Please.”

He takes a deep breath. It must be done, but he hates it. He doesn’t want you to forget. In fact, he wants to know you deeper. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t. I won’t tell, I promise. If anything, compel me to never forget.”

“Y/N-”

“‘Lijah, don’t.”

The nickname you’ve already given him weakens him. It renders him unable to finish the task; there’s no way he can force himself to compel you now. “Alright.”

“Wait, really?”

“If you’re sure you want to remember, but you’re sure you’ll never tell.”

“I promise. And I won’t say that I invited in a Mikaelson, either.”

He chuckles, “that would be wise.” He kisses your hand again. “I hope to see you again, Y/N.”

“You too. And thanks for taking me home.”

“Of course, love.”

After he leaves, you collapse on your couch, head swirling with thoughts of him. The words he said: how he described your time at the fountain, the beauty he saw in you. His own appearance: kind eyes, small wrinkles under them from a lack of sleep or hundreds of lifetimes lived, or both, a perfectly neat suit, the dark blue ring fitted on his finger. The way he watched you take Caroline’s picture with a smile on the edge of his lips. How he kissed your hand gently as a parting.

Your cheeks are hot with blush, not to mention the heat you feel throughout your body. Butterflies are alive in your stomach. It all makes you feel so silly, but some part of you whispers that it’s love at first sight.

◇◇◇◇

The minute Klaus hears the door open, he’s already yelling, “another sibling spending hours out and about in Mystic Falls. Where in the bloody hell have you been all day, Elijah?”

Elijah enters the room to find Klaus standing beside another painting, while the two other siblings sit on the couch. All three have glasses of bourbon and are sipping carefully. “What’s going on?”

“For once? Nothing. We all just happen to be here.”

“Where have you been, Elijah?” Rebekah turns around in her seat to question him.

Before he can answer, Klaus chuckles, “let me guess! Out with a girl. You only wear that smile when you’ve found a girl to fancy.”

“Niklaus, I have not-”

“Oh don’t try, I’ve known you for a thousand years!”

“Better not be my girl, mate,” Kol mutters, though his tone isn’t rough like Klaus’.

“Your girl is my girl, too, Kol. Remember that.”

“Heaven’s sake, you all are idiots.” Klaus turns back to his work, ignoring the three.

Elijah ignores him right back, and instead looks down to the others. “Describe this girl you saw. Everything you remember.”

So, Kol and Rebekah do. Everything from your appearance, to the sound of your voice, and to the way you walked. The more they described, the more it sounded like the ‘you’ Elijah was with all day. When he admits this, their faces pale.

“There’s no way all three of you idiots have fallen in love with the same girl,” Klaus mutters, still listening despite his annoyance.

“It’s happened before, brother. Remember Mary?”

“I remember, Bekah, but that doesn't mean it’s plausible to happen again.”

“I think it is entirely plausible,” Kol admits, “in fact, I think this goes deeper than it did with Mary.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Something draws me to her. And it’s like I know her, yet I don’t at the same time. Do you guys feel this too, or is it just me?”

“No, I definitely feel it,” Elijah says, “and spending time with her today felt so natural. Like it was something I could never tire of.”

“You three sound so stupid. Talking like this girl, that two of you have never actually met, is your soulmate or something.”

“Well maybe you need to see her, Klaus. You’ll be in love instantly, I promise.”

Klaus rolls his eyes one more time at his youngest brother before going back to his painting. He refuses to admit the curiosity he feels towards you, and instead plays on animosity. His siblings don’t give up, though, and continue talking about their feelings for you until they all part to go to bed.

The following day, Elijah, Kol, and Rebekah actively seek you out in hopes of inviting you to dinner. They spent the morning planning that they’d find you and convince you to come over, where they could all gain your trust and get to know you better. The difficult part of this was getting you alone to talk. Elijah had warned his siblings about what you had said and told them to keep a close eye on their surroundings. He did also mention how excited you were to meet a Mikaelson, though, and said to use this to their advantage if one of them finds you instead of himself.

So, in three different parts of the city, the siblings fan out and keep their eyes peeled for your presence. Shouldn’t be that hard to find; they’ll just follow the pull of their hearts.

◇◇◇◇

For ten minutes, you’re able to sneak away, just long enough to visit your favorite store on the street corner. After meeting Elijah yesterday, the thought of being stuck in your house all day sounds miserable, and you are prepared to risk your friends’ wrath to see him again. Granted, inside the little shop is probably not the place you’d find him, but being out in the open at least makes it seem possible.

You are looking at a row of necklaces when a man comes up beside you. You don’t see his face, yet he doesn’t seem threatening to you, so you’re not too worried.

“That color would look beautiful on you,” he says aloud.

“Me?” You glance around to see if he’s talking to someone else.

“Yes, darling. I mean you.”

You blush instantly. “Thank you.”

“Let me get it for you.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. It must be expensive!”

“Not a problem for me. I happen to come from a well-off line.”

“Oh do you now?” You turn to face him fully. “And what line would that be?”

He smiles at you, then plucks the necklace from its place and brings it to the counter. Immediately after buying it, he’s fastening it around your neck. “As expected, you look beautiful.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“How could I not? It was made for you.”

“You’re too kind.” You reach your hand out for him to shake, “Y/N L/N.”

Instead of shaking it, he presses a kiss to the back, “Kol Mikaelson.”

He watches your eyes light up, just as Elijah said they would. “Mikaelson?”

“So you’ve heard of me?”

“Heard of you? Definitely.”

“And I heard you met my brother yesterday. God, he would not stop talking about how beautiful you are.��

You blush deeper at the thought of Elijah talking about you to his family. Either that, or it’s because Kol’s still holding your hand gently. You’re not sure.

“Say, Y/N, would it be possible I could invite you to dinner? I would love to get to know you better, and I know Elijah would love to see you again. Bekah, too, has a curiosity.”

“I, um…” you so desperately want to, but fear your friends finding out. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”

“If it’s Caroline Forbes you’re worried about, I bet we could fake an alibi.”

“It’s not just Caroline, it’s all of them. But, if we could think of a good enough alibi, I bet I could escape for a little bit.”

“Perfect, I will let my siblings know. This is our address, but if you need one of us to pick you up, my number’s on there, too.” He slips you a piece of paper. “I look forward to seeing you again, darling.”

“I do, too, Kol,” you smile.

With one last kiss to your hand, he disappears from sight.

You show up on the Mikaelsons’ porch at seven in one of your best outfits, playing with your hair nervously after ringing the doorbell. When the door swings open, the girl - Rebekah - is on the other side.

Before you can greet her, she looks you up and down, “wow… you are gorgeous.”

The redness rises back to your cheeks, “thank you.”

“No wonder my brothers are smitten with you.”

“Don’t lie, Rebekah,” Kol’s voice rings through the house, “you know you are too.”

She rolls her eyes, “come inside, dear. We promise we won’t bite.”

You follow her into the house, smiling as you pass the threshold into the mansion. “It’s beautiful in here.”

“Not as beautiful as you, darling.”

You’re starting to pick up on the affectionate nicknames that each gives you. Elijah calls you ‘love’; Kol calls you ‘darling’; and Rebekah just used ‘dear’. It’s one thing that they’ve all called you beautiful, but they all have nicknames for you, too. If they get any more romantic, your heart will flutter right out of your chest.

Just as you think that, they do. Elijah and Kol both kiss your hands as they greet you, making you weak in the knees.

“Thank you for coming, love. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Thank you for inviting me. About that alibi, Kol, I’m gonna need it tomorrow. No doubt I’ll get some kind of spoon-on-head, one-nail-painted-black kind of challenge that I’ll fail, and have to find an excuse for.”

The boy laughs, having been told by Elijah about Caroline’s antics. “We will certainly come up with something. But for now, are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually. And I’m excited to know what you guys eat when you’re not drinking blood,” you joke. The giggle fades out once you see the kitchen table, though. From end to end, it’s covered in dishes. “Holy crap.”

“Only the best for a woman such as yourself,” Kol sends you a wink.

Rebekah pulls a chair out for you. “Stick around, and you’ll find we actually have quite the appetite for more than blood.”

“Oh that was just a joke,” you say, afraid you’ve offended her.

“No worries. I know it was.”

Soon, you’re all seated, except for the head of the table. “Um. Don’t you guys have another brother?”

“Niklaus, yes,” Elijah smiles at you, “he’s painting at the moment, but he should be here shortly. I apologize for his absence.”

“It’s okay! I was just curious.”

Speak of the devil, Klaus enters the room not a minute later. Elijah gestures to you immediately, introducing you. Klaus, still skeptical as to why his siblings are so obsessed with you, has a threat prepared that sits on his tongue. The three wait for it to come out, expecting it, and ready to defend. However, as soon as he looks at you, his mind is wiped of all things foul and offensive.

“Hello, love,” he says instead.

All four of you are caught off guard. The tension in the room was thick; you were expecting an insult, too. Not to mention how Caroline speaks so poorly of the man.

“Hi,” you respond, voice smaller than you’d like, “nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” He sits down with a newfound attitude towards you. “Tell me, how do you like Mystic Falls?”

After you answer his question, the five of you talk for the next two hours, sharing every bit about yourselves. They learn how you’ve lived in Mystic Falls your whole life, and have barely traveled out of the town. You discover they were born in Norway, but were turned in this very town, some thousand years ago. You find common ground in the parents’ department, none of you having the best relationships with your parents, especially your fathers. Though you get a glimpse into the abuse that they all faced from their father, and feel an indescribable rage towards the man you’ve never met. This part of the conversation helps you understand each of them better, including how that fear and anger has made them into one of the most dangerous families - a term they admit describes them well.

“Dangerous,” Rebekah says, “but fiercely protective over those we love.”

“Quite exactly the reason we are so dangerous,” Elijah adds to her statement, “we will do anything to protect whomever we love.”

Hearing the word from their lips makes your body shiver. A thought passes through your head wondering if you’d ever be someone that they’d protect that much. Something deep in your soul tells you that you already are.

After the childhood topic, conversation moves onto lighter subjects. Everyone’s favorite foods, shows, and pastimes are shared. You learn the birth order of the four siblings in front of you, and discover that there’s three others not present. One of them, alive, but so disgusted that they’re vampires that he refuses to associate with them. This, in turn, gets a truth out of you,

“Well you don’t have to worry about me, I think vampires are sexy,” you say before covering your mouth. Too much wine, you suppose. “I mean, I just think they’re cool. There’s a reason the gang tries to keep me in the dark about everything that goes on in the town.”

Eyes go wide, but maybe for the sake of your embarrassed gesture, the topic moves onto the so-called perfect group of miscreants. After, it shifts to your alibi that will be used to explain your disappearance.

“You were bored and went to a restaurant to study. Lost track of time,” Kol tries his best.

“Ran to the store for a much needed grocery trip,” Klaus provides after his brother’s failed idea.

“Or,” Rebekah rolls her eyes, “you just fell asleep.”

“Watching a movie and falling asleep,” Elijah finishes, “so that you have about an hour to be engrossed in the movie, but then you nod off into a deep sleep.”

“I think Caroline would buy that. She always does get after me for not answering immediately.”

“Perfect,” Klaus concedes, “now I would like to know more about what you think makes vampires so sexy,” he says, smirking at you.

You blush for a second, but then can’t help spilling the truths stacked on your tongue.

◇◇◇◇

After that night, you stay in contact with the Mikaelsons, and even visit their mansion for several more dinners. In time, you find yourself getting close with each one. Most nights, Rebekah walks you home, and always kisses your cheek before leaving. Sometimes, too, she’s in your kitchen, making coffee or tea when you wake up. Kol visits you everytime Caroline puts you on “house arrest”, and tries to help you study to the best of his ability. That, or he distracts you completely, begging you to watch a movie with him instead. You almost always give into him. Elijah keeps up his charms of kind words and gentle touches. The moment he learns what your favorite flower is, he brings you one every time he sees you.

Between the siblings, Klaus is the least trusting and the last to give into his desire to know you. Though the more he sees you with the others, the more jealous he becomes, and eventually, he cracks. His first gesture towards you is a painting of you standing in the Mikaelsons’ ballroom. He says he could picture you dancing in it, someday, in a beautiful dress made tailored just for you. After that, he’s now just as smitten as his siblings.

You love being with all of them, separately and together. One thing though - you find your heart being torn in four different ways, and it scares you. You can’t break one of their hearts, nor do you want to, but there’s no way you could be with all of them. Look how that went for Elena and the Salvatores.

Oh, and speaking of Elena… you still haven’t even told your friends that you’re even hanging out with the Mikaelsons, much less that you’re in love with them. You feel bad keeping secrets from them, but you know how they’ll react if they find out. Even if you can prove the family has been nothing but kind, they’ll be overprotective and most likely try to ban you from seeing them entirely.

“Maybe I can just tell one of them,” you wonder out loud one night. Tonight was easy to get out of your house; everyone went to the grill to drink and you played the ‘too tired’ card. Little did they know what you were actually going back to the family’s mansion.

“Who would you start with?” Rebekah asks from behind as she plays with your hair.

“Caroline, maybe? I’m closest to her. But with Elena, I could use the excuse that she’s dating a vampire who’s almost just as dangerous.”

Klaus scoffs playfully, “almost as? Love, he doesn’t come close.”

“Well I know that, but some people think he’s pretty dangerous.”

“Oh he certainly is. But when it comes down to it, my family will always come out on top.”

You remember the conversation from your first night meeting them. How you wondered if you’d ever be one they’d fight to the death to protect. Klaus answers this for you now. “Like we said before, we protect those we love. That includes you, little one.”

Your eyes snap up to him. “Me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We open our home to you; share our deepest and darkest secrets. We don’t do that with just anyone. There’s something different about you.”

“He’s right,” Kol comes beside you on the couch to sit down, “you’re one of us now.”

Elijah clears his throat, a little worried the two will scare you away, ��if you’re comfortable with that, of course. Do not feel pressured in any way. We will not be upset.”

As he’s talking, you reach your hands out for Kol to lean against you. The youngest boy does, putting his head on your shoulder, while you wrap your arms around his neck. “Pressure? No, I don’t feel pressured. I love hanging out with you guys. I love-” you pause, blinking. You’re not sure what to say.

“Y/N?” Elijah starts.

“I’m… I don’t know… I’m confused, and I feel awful for it, but I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“What’s wrong, girlie?” Rebekah kisses the top of your head gently. The boys focus their attention on you fully. “I promise, whatever you say, you don’t have to feel awful.”

“Bekah’s right, you can tell us anything.”

“I just… I love you guys. I love being with you all as a family, but then, I don’t know, I love you all separately, too.” They say nothing, so you continue. “And it’s not just a friendly thing, either. It’s like blushing, butterflies in the stomach, wanting to be with you kind of love. Which would be okay if I fell for only one of you - well, actually, it wouldn’t, because then I’d hurt the rest of you - but it’s not just one. I love all of you like that.”

Elijah’s first to speak. “Why do you think that would be wrong?”

“What?”

“Why is that a bad thing to you?”

You stare at him, “I can’t have a thing with four different siblings. That’s crazy, right?”

You can’t see her face, but Rebekah’s smiling wide. “Are there any rules when it comes to love?”

And before you can answer her, Klaus follows up, “crazy pretty much defines this family, I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

“Hold on,” you put up a finger, even more confused, but now for a different reason. “You are all okay with this?”

“We may have had a talk,” Elijah says, sitting down, “the night after you first came here. You see, we’ve all shared lovers before, so this is nothing new to us. However, usually they rotate. Start with Klaus, move onto Kol, have a fling with Bekah, start something with me, and then they go. But, as you’ve heard us say plenty a time, you’re much different.”

You nod, “so what was the talk?”

“Well, dear Y/N, none of us can quite keep our feelings about you to ourselves. Nor do we ever think we could tire of loving you.” Elijah’s slow and cryptic talk is making you antsy. Apparently, it’s frustrating Kol, too.

“Do you believe in soulmates, darling?”

“Soulmates? Um, ish? I mean, Caroline and I used to entertain the idea as kids.”

“Would it be absolutely crazy to entertain the possibility that you’ve met yours? And perhaps it to be in the form of four siblings to whom you’ve just admitted your love?”

“I-” slowly, it hits you. His words sink into your head and your heart at the same time. A fire burns, heating your palms, reddening your cheeks.

“Because polyamory was a thing with the Ancient Greeks, though it’s not too common anymore. But then again, here you have four siblings who love you just as dearly. In that same ‘butterflies and a warm feeling’ that you described.”

“I, um…”

“If you had let me explain it, you wouldn’t have scared her,” Elijah chides his brother.

“You were taking too long. I’ve been waiting a thousand years to tell this girl I love her.”

Hearing the three words finally broke the dam. Whatever fear you did have melts away instantly. “It’s okay,” you mutter. “It’s clear to me now. I do love you. All of you. As crazy as it sounds, I can’t deny my feelings; I don’t want to. I love you.”

Immediately, Kol spins around so he can kiss you properly. You kiss him back, relaxing into his hands which hold onto your face. As soon as he breaks it off, Rebekah mutters that he needs to move, and then she kisses you, too.

“I just have one question,” you pant, out of breath from the excitement.

“And what is that?”

“How do I know this isn’t going to end terribly, like how Stefan and Elena’s relationship did ever since she fell in love with his brother?”

“Because,” Klaus zips across the room to put less distance between you two, “we all love you and are quite capable of sharing. We’ve lived thousands of years together, and have been looking for you for thousands more.”

“Besides, there’s this cool thing called communication that we do that the Salvatores like to ignore. Take it from someone who’s slept with both,” Rebekah adds.

You crinkle your nose at the information, “no more sleeping with Salvatores.” You pull her back in for another kiss, “you’re mine now.”

When you let go of Bex, Klaus steals his turn, and then Elijah. It’s a little overwhelming, but your worries are overpowered by how much love you feel from them, and by how much you want to give them in return.

After you all settle down, you let out a giggle. “I had nearly given up on the idea of finding my soulmate. Little did I know I’d be so lucky to have four.”

“Not as lucky as us,” Elijah claims the last word, “to have found our girl after thousands of years of searching.”

#poly!mikaelsons #mikaelson siblings #mikaelsons x reader #tvd fanfiction #requested #i hope this is okay!

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