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hollyhomburg · 2 months

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Before I leave you (Pt.67)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You and Hobi bury a dead body (That's a lie, Yoongi buries it for you).

Tags: blood, gore, body horror, death, dead bodies, everyone is pretty beat-up in this, brief implied self-harm but it's very quickly squashed- seriously it's nowhere near as bad as past scenes but i do have to tag it, Dissociation, tae is in the freeze part of fight or flight. hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns, flashbacks, discussions of past abusive relationships, everything is very fluffy until it's not,

W/c: 12.5k

A/N: Are you guys ready for Hoseok's secret reveal??? I'm really excited!!! But also terrified because this whole series has lead up to this point!!! A good number of people have already guessed his secret so congrats on getting it early <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Jimin sits on the stairs going down to the basement. His arm in a sling and bandaged up to the elbow. It aches with every small movement he makes as he peals a tangerine. He hasn't had any narcotics in a few hours and they're starting to wear off.

Jimin needs all of his brain power for this; For covering up the murder.

The fewer things running through his system the less sluggish and fuzzy his thoughts are. Jimin picks his poisons and fewer things make him less coherent than the panic and pain and near constant avalanche of thoughts. Tae, Tae's hurt, Tae's-

Tae's fine, Tae's upstairs with Y/n. he has to remind himself of these facts every few breaths. Tae's going to be okay because you wouldn't let anything happen to her.

There is evidence of that virtually everywhere; In the lines across your hands that Yoongi had dabbed at with a cool cloth, the swollen side of your jaw that he'd cradled. The blood drenching the opposite side of your face that he'd tenderly washed away. Not to mention the blood on the kitchen table, the floor, the ceiling. The blood splattered across your nest-

You don't fuck with an omega's nest; you don't fuck with their packmates.

Jimin quiets his brain with a steady breath as he looks down at Yoongi, Jin, and the body between the three of them wrapped in plastic.

He manages to peel the tangerine in his hand despite how uncooperative his left hand is. Numb at the fingertips just like it’s been since the surgery.

Namjoon had stroked his fingers and tested their give every chance he got, holding onto them and prodding while they waited in the hospital room and then again when Jimin got discharged. He said that they’d probably get better. Probably.

Tae's going to be fine because Namjoon is there too- had checked out her head with that soft alpha grumble croon of his. The most soothing sound in the world, and yet incapable of soothing this.

But Jimin knows nothing’s for certain, he might never get the feeling in his hand back. (This is Jimin's penance; The reminder of these tangled few weeks and how things went will be ever present. The reminder will be the first press of every touch with his non-dominant hand. He will never regain full feeling to the tips of his fingers. Never).

There are a few of noodle paw prints in the dust here, Jimin's ass is no doubt covered in it too from resting on the rickety stairs that lead into the half-finished basement. Little paw print marks that would make you coo and take pictures if you were down here.

But you’re not, you’re upstairs getting the evidence washed off of you.

No one's in that kind of mood right now anyway. No one’s been in that kind of mood for a few hours (or a few days, if he’s being honest, from Jungkook’s seizure, to getting shot, and then coming home to a dead body in their living room).

It’s been 4 hours since you killed someone in the kitchen. 3 hours since Jimin was discharged prematurely from the hospital and the rest of the pack was summoned home via a disturbingly calm call from Jin.

It’s been a tangle of moments even for the people not on hard drugs. Jimin feels like he's doing pretty good at answering the pack’s questions given the circumstances. You'd never know that, given Yoongi's eye roll and Jin's heavy sigh.

"Minnie- we're not asking you how you would have killed him just how you'd cover it up."

They used an old shower liner to wrap the body before they carried it downstairs. It makes a squeaky noise against Jin's rubber gloves (The pink elbow-high ones that he uses to do the dishes) as he pulls back the plastic sheet to reveal what's left of the assassin's head and face.

“I already told you, I don’t know his face- not even a little.” I’d have a pretty hard time identifying his face with the state she left it in regardless Is what he doesn't say.

Jimin tucks his chin, unsettled to look at the man's half-blown apart face for long. "I think he might be the spider but I don’t know. I never met him, only heard his name in passing.”

A small tattoo on the man's wrist reveals as much. A small spider tattoo that someone going to have to cut out and bury separately. Someone's going to have to get all of his teeth too- no identifying marks. None.

He’s a little too impressed with the state you’d left him in when he thinks about it. But once he’d seen your face and Hobi’s neck, not an inch of Jimin had felt the kill wasn’t justified. The whole pack feels that way, he knows they must even though they don't say it. Everyone's a little bit in shock right now.

Even Namjoon hadn’t even given the body a second glance when the pack had tumbled into the house. The pack alpha had simply alternated his fussing from you to Hobi to tae and then Jin. Torn between who needed him first. It was the first words Jimin had heard you speak. Your wet gasp, blood that wasn't yours flashing on your teeth. "Joonie- Hobi needs you."

Namjoon had calmed only once he realized that most of the blood on the three of you was the man’s. Yoongi had a similar reaction and so had Jimin, clutching at Tae. Angry at his arm for its uncooperativeness. About ready to tug off his sling and his bandages and stitches if it meant holding tae easier. He'd even tried it, only to be on the receiving end of a disapproving pack alpha growel too.

“Jimin you can’t; your stitches.”

“Fuck my stitches hyung.”

Numb fingers meet numb faces.

He's a bit ashamed of it, but when he first looked up from Tae to you- where you sat crumpled in Yoongi's hold. Your mate laying down a volley of sweet nothings to you to get you to stop shaking. There was only one sentence running through his head.

That’s my girl.

He'd reached over and squeezed your hand, blood and all. That blood has dried now. Soaked into the lines of his palm. Coloring his fate and love lines all rusty while he eats the tangerine. He should probably wash his hands. All of them probably need too.

Jungkook had been the only one willing to speak, closing the door softly behind him, locking it and treading softly closer. Careful to sidestep both the pools of blood and the piece of a skull sitting next to the couch. He looked down at the 7 of you with a surprisingly calm expression on his face.

"Can't we have one normal fucking day?"

Jungkook was the one who’d gone to the kitchen and gotten one of the hand towels to clean your face. His lips tightened to a line when he wiped away the blood and started to see the bruising, the cut across your temple dripping fresh. Lower lip wobbling ever so slightly.

“Kookie-”

Jungkook had turned to Jin and Namjoon, “I don’t want to deal with the body hyung." His hands were already under your arms, lifting you up, helpless. "Help me get them upstairs. We need to-” he’d let out a frustrated noise. Instincts coming to the full front- instincts he rarely feels.

Who knew blood would incur Jungkook's grooming instincts?

The last time Jimin saw Jungkook; He was helping Namjoon and Yoongi herd the three of you upstairs for a much-needed shower. Hobi hadn't been able to do it under his own power. Namjoon had to carry him.

Hobi; who's choked on every word he's tried to speak. Whose eyes are still red from all the burst blood vessels. Who easily got the closest to dying out of the four of you.

Everyone shakes when they touch Hobi and everyone touches him softly. Namjoon just about snaps his teeth at anyone who tries to get close. His hands turning red from the cold of an ice pack wrapped gently around the alpha's throat.

Jimin knows Jungkook's a lot more unnerved than he lets on, shuffling from foot to foot as he bound Tae up with a towel, taking her delicately from Jimin's arms. Carrying her in the same way Namjoon carried Hobi.

Yoongi was all soft helping you upstairs. Speaking in that quiet voice that he saves for Sunday mornings and stolen moments of quiet. Every moment, all of this is stolen.

And now- the beta is down here, leaning over the body and looking at it like it will tell him something that you won't. After your initial demand that Namjoon he tend to Hobi; you haven't spoken a word. Neither has Tae. Jin's done all of the talking.

There isn’t much to say.

Jimin feels the numbness in his hands and looks at Jin. He hasn't apologized for the bullet yet. But the more time that passes the less Jimin wants an apology. Mating marks come in many forms. Jimin has a scar on his body from one of his omega's- so really? What does he have to be upset about?

The whole house needs to be deep cleaned, and then deep cleaned again. There's blood everywhere; on the couch, the ceiling, the curtains. It's a lot to clean. It's going to be a lot to hide.

That's the only reason why Jimin's not upstairs helping you and Tae clean up right now; the body is unfortunately the biggest threat to the pack's safety at the moment.

There’s a bloodstain on the stairs too, a droplet next to where Jimin sits. he makes a mental note of it but doesn't move to wipe it up. He puts a tangerine slice on his tongue and chews before he answers Yoongi’s next question.

“I don’t know how to dispose of a body, I never dealt with this part. My only job was to kill, not take care of them after. I know there’s a way that you can do it with soap.”

Jin snorts, “You only know that from breaking bad-“

Jimin’s a little miffed, “We already have a plastic tub upstairs-”

“Lye,” Yoongi corrects, looking down at the body before he stoops to retape the plastic over the man's face. It was a bitch to wrap him up, the body stiff and heavy from rigor Mortis. The blood beneath it bubbles and darkens, coagulating. Yoongi's long hair falls over his face and he tucks it behind his ear.

“We could use the soap, but it might take a few days.” Jin clarifies.

“Do you think we can wait that long?”

“Absolutely not,” Jin’s got a similar ice pack to his wrists, the skin there bruised and red and swelling where he fought to get free from the handcuffs, where he eventually ripped down the banisters and broke through them with brute strength and panic.

You’d found the keys on the man’s body soon after and released him from the handcuffs, they're wrapped up in the plastic along with the frying pan, the gun that killed him, and a few other items from the living room that were just too bloodstained, every big piece of evidence will lie right beside him where he rests.

Jimin eats another slice of the tangerine, and Jin shrivels his nose at it. “Isn’t that a little gross?”

Yoongi mirrors his disgust. “Yeah Minnie, weren’t those covered in blood?”

But Jimin just shrugs, “I washed it and peeled it hyung” And keeps eating. After a few days of hospital food, the tangerines taste divine.

Yoongi stands from where he’s kneeling on his knees with a faint crack. “One part kitty litter, two parts concrete should keep out the smell,” Jin says, eyeing the 6 by-six-foot hole in the basement's foundation, already there from the plumbing that needed replacing.

Most of Yoongi's tools are down here too. His scrap pile of wood and the dozen bags of concrete. His hack saw and his circular saw that none of them are looking at. Yoongi had only just fit in the plumbing a few weeks ago. He'd been about to re-pour the foundation anyway.

“I’d rather not have a body buried in our house.”

Yoongi touches Jin’s wrist, so feather-light, removing the ice pack to check the swelling to see if it’s gone down. Jin's left hand is just as useless as Jimin's, the knuckles bruised and ballooned.

“It’s just for a few weeks, we can deal with this once it’s all calmed down, but we absolutely can’t go try and bury it. Who knows what the neighbors heard?”

They're all silent at that, silent at the idea that these few hours might be the last few that the pack spends free.

But over the next few hours, there are no blue and red flashing lights outside or concerned neighbors that come knocking. Your one saving grace is that this all happened during the middle of the day and all of your nearest neighbors have nine to five's. Is it so simple to hope that everyone was just at work? That no one heard the gunshots over the nearby roar of the passing train?

(Maybe they're just too used to the pack next door; the one that has the noisy ruts and noisy noisy packmates. The one whose alphas have a habit of opening the windows in the back room and let the sound of their roughhousing and video games flood the street. The ones who have extra loud movie nights. They're just a bunch of kids, how harmful could they really be? At least the pack alpha and omega look respectable.)

It's a good thing that no one comes; because Namjoon has more important problems, more important things to handle beyond the body in the basement or the police at the door.

Namjoon’s hands cradle Hobi’s neck. He wheeze as he tries to speak, his mouth falling open. He's mostly clean, but a rusty trickle of water from his hair trails down his shoulders.

Jungkook tugged him into the shower first and gave him a rough clean before handing him back to Namjoon. They sit on a towel together on the edge of the nest. they only moved him in here to give him some privacy- to distract him because Hobi kept reaching for you. you'd kept reaching back, tae was already in the shower under the stream.

"Pup- your hands- you're going to hurt yourself."

The Nestroom is dark and quiet. Every single blind in the house is draw. Only the christmas lights illuminate Hobi's injuries. Namjoon will tend to Tae and then you after he's checked out Hobi's injuries. will send him downstairs with Jin for some cold water to soothe his throat once he's done. once he's been cleaned again probably.

Hobi was covered with the most blood, having been just under the man when Tae had blown his throat apart while you- Namjoon doesn't want to think of it, doesn't want to see it.

(Namjoon thinks of every moment, sees them behind every blink. Blink and he sees you sitting in his lap over breakfast squirming happily. Blink and you're kneeling in a bloody puddle looking up at him.

Blink and you're curled up in the nest wearing the first pajama pants he'd given you. Blink and he's watching Jungkook dab at your bloody cheek, blink and you're turning into his hand to nuzzle as he wakes you for sunday morning breakfast. Blink and there’s sunlight spilling across your face and blood slipping down your chin. Namjoon's smallest and most sensitive pup not so innocent anymore.)

Namjoon touches Hobi's throat with no small amount of reverence. it cools the anger in his throat. Namjoon's anger has no good place to go.

When Hobi closes his eyes, he sees it too; the explosion of the bullet and the splat of blood pouring down his face. The shower earlier felt so similar- he almost couldn't handle it. He had to concentrate on Jungkook's voice narrating everything.

"Here Hobi, I'm gonna use some soap now. I like Tae's body wash. You know she always just picks whatever bottles are pinkest because she wants all her toiletries to match. It smells good, doesn't it? Can you take a deep breath for me? Through your nose?"

Endless meaningless Jibber jabber to distract all of them.

Now he shivers and shakes in Namjoon's hold. One part terror and one part near frostbite. Namjoon turns the heat up but Hobi still shakes as Namjoon checks his throat. "Open for me baby- that's a good boy."

He flashes a light down there, listening with his stethoscope. The cold metal end of it presses against his collarbones and the bruises too. Finger-shaped that lace over his jugular like a collar. Over Hobi's heart. Every thump ba-thump ba-thump music to Namjoon's ears.

Namjoon’s growl is soothing as he scoots closer to gather the injured alpha close to his chest. Shushing Hobi as he tries to speak for the dozenth time in the last hour. “Don’t try it, careful- I don’t think he did any lasting damage but-”

Namjoon breaks and his forehead drops to Hoseok’s shoulder, fingers rub out soothing circles on Hobi's wrist even as he starts to cry. Namjoon already stitched up the deep puncture wound there. He had to hold his wrist still as he dabbed the stingy antiseptic, the impulse to pull it away too great. The wound wasn't from a bullet but from the piece of the door that embedded itself in Hobi’s wrist. Blown apart the way he could have been.

Namjoon was so close to losing everything, to losing them.

The bruises, Hobi’s eyes, and his little raspy breaths. Everything both punishment and payment for every violent thing Namjoon wants to do. He feels powerless to do more than hold the smaller alpha right now. The strength in his arms doing little to protect Hobi from the hurts he's already nursing. Hoseok leans his head on Namjoon's shoulder and Just lets the alpha hold him.

If he’d come home to the four of you dead what would he have done? more accurately- What wouldn’t he have done?

Namjoon imagines it- the same way he's imagined it thousands of times. Tae's blood on her lips as pretty as any lip stain. Jin on the floor, his little big love wrapped up in permanent stillness like a mating shroud. Your body turned small and quiet the way you'd been when he'd met you- only so much worse. Hobi with his heart slow and absent of his near-constant music. Bodies stiff as statues, turned alters meant to worship both grief and love.

He’d probably have demanded Jimin and Yoongi tell him everything they knew. And then he’d have gone hunting.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath and pulls away from Hoseok only to continue dabbing at his wounds. The violence of his alpha's instincts calmed by the sanctity of this- of making it better. of being gentle even when namjoon wants to be anything but.

Hoseok’s mute. Throat too swollen to make more than a soft hissing sound on command. Vocal cords not damaged just swollen. Leaving his brain to hurdle through the last few hours. Eyes closed but his mind wide open.

He sees it all behind his eyes; your hand descending with the frying pan, the explosion of wood near his head. The splat of hot blood against the wood floor. Gasping and getting blood in his mouth accidentally. Choking in it- drowning a little. Everything. The sting of smoke on his eyes. Your words ring in his ears like the final notes of a symphony.

“You can take me. I’ll go with you. Willingly. That’s what she wants isn’t it?”

Hoseok’s brain teases through what you might have meant with that. The unnamed she that you mention. Who, why, and what aren’t you telling them? Is it the woman that Yoongi talked to you about before?

He's unable to say anything to Namjoon even as the alpha softy cradles his damaged throat. Unable to even whisper it out through the swelling that threatens to cut off Hobi's airway. It feels like he's breathing through a straw. Namjoon says he's not going to choke, that it only feels that way. The panic is hard to let go of.

But who do you have to go back to there? You've never talked about the family like you wanted them, like they were your pack. Who have you run from? What monsters are here to haunt you? Who is after you? Or is it something darker- more sinister?

Maybe Hoseok's heart has never truly healed from Yoongi leaving them. Maybe a wounded heart remembers. Yoongi always had them to go back to that Hoseok had never questioned. But he's never wondered about you or stopped to consider that maybe, Yoongi's not the only one who left something.

The family doesn't exactly seem like something you can walk away from unscathed. Yoongi managed it, but Jimin didn't.

Hoseok should warn Namjoon, should tell someone but- it's impossible. His airway protesting with an agonizing twinge with every attempt he makes at speaking. He wonders if this is what being nonverbal felt like for you.

The pain pulses dully without adrenaline to dilute it as Namjoon so lovingly examines the marks, again and again. But he shouldn't be spending so much time. You and Tae are bruised and battered too- even if Hoseok’s are by far the worst; you need tending to.

Jin’s hands. Your face. Tae’s head. Hoseok’s throat. Each of you has lost the thing most necessary to your survival.

Hoseok thinks of the body, not the one that sits downstairs, but the one that you found months ago in the ocean. Maybe this wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe none of this was. How far back do the coincidences go? Between Jin and Yoongi who wouldn't have a relationship to stand on without Yoongi's family- how many other things in the pack are because of this?

Hoseok struggles to speak, to talk to Namjoon about what you'd almost done, what you'd almost bartered- but nothing but air comes out, and the pack alpha shushes him. His hands grip Namjoon's shoulders hard.

Namjoon wishes he had more than just numbing cream and sutures for Hobi’s hurts. Jimin’s already offered up some of his opioids for Hobi to sleep and as much as Namjoon hates the idea of anyone swapping medication- Hobi might actually need them.

Jimin’s doctor had been a little bit liberal with them, sure that his 6 on the pain scale had to be at least a 9. He could spare one or two. The truth is that nothing hurts more than this- seeing the people that you love in pain. Jimin and Namjoon save their 10s for days like this.

With the blood cooling, Namjoon’s anger has nowhere to go. The body in the basement has already gone cold.

In the quiet of the house they can audibly hear Seokjin and Yoongi start mixing the concrete. The dull scrape of a shovel against a bucket and the sound of a faucet dripping.

Namjoon wipes at Hobi’s throat, and Hoseok tries again- futile in his efforts to speak. Namjoon shushes him.

In the basement it goes; drip, scrape, drip.

~-~

Jungkook holds Tae up underneath the warm spray of water. The glass is foggy in places and clear and others, occasional spots of red water joining the constellation of them. She rests against Jungkook's chest, her body is prone and almost lifeless. Eyes vacant and glassy.

So shaky and tired as her body rockets down from its adrenaline high. A drop so abrupt that she could hardly hold herself up. A drop so terrifying that Jungkook must do it for her.

He doesn't mind, none of him minds as he cradles the back of her head oh so gently. Tae flinches, whether from pain or the sudden movement. Jungkook meets Jimin's eyes through the foggy glass and then yours. Biting his lower lip before Jimin nods and tells him to keep going.

Evidence is evidence. Washing off can’t wait.

Jimin has joined you upstairs with the body already packed away and on its way to being buried under the foundation of the house. Jimin watches on from outside the shower as he instructs Jungkook in a quiet voice on how to clean Tae of evidence properly. He's been quiet since then. Staring at them while Tae stares blankly back.

You watch them from where you sit. Mostly you just watch Tae. When Namjoon's body doesn’t block your view. He stitches the gash on your forehead, hands pulling the sutures closed in a gentle and practiced way. The pass of the needle through your skin a distant sensation.

The wounds on your hands are in that awkward place of not being deep enough for stitches but still a little too deep to not need something. After a brief debate, Namjoon sealed them with a bit of non-surgical glue that stung terribly and then regular gauze over the top.

Your hands are swelling and clotting. Scabbing although trying to touch anything is too painful. Closing your fingers at all hurts. Namjoon holds you so lightly it hardly feels like he's holding you at all.

Namjoon apologizes after every wince.

The second he’s done he tosses his suture kit into the bathroom sink with a clang the second he’s done. Namjoon gets on his knees before you. The plastic that covers the whole bathroom crackling as he does.

Jimin had the great idea to cover the bathroom with sheets of plastic to cut down on the cleanup. Hoseok's bloody footprints join Tae's trailing from the doorway to the shower. Join the trail that you left. Parts of you are still dripping.

"It's going to scar," Namjoon says, a little sadly. Thumb skimming over the mark on your forehead.

You swallow hard. You still taste blood. You want to brush your teeth; you want to shut the lights off and go to sleep. You want Noodle and you want Yoongi you want everything from the past few hours- the past few years to be gone and over with. You want-

You want to snap at him and tell him that it doesn't matter that it will scar. That you're covered with scars already and you don't care but-

Namjoon kisses your forehead. A lingering brush. The one spot that's not bloody.

You look over at Tae and her eyes flicker blankly to you. Jungkook keeps bringing the boar bristle brush up and down her back in soothing little circles.

When you turn back to Namjoon he's pursing his lips and blinking away tears as he looks down at your hands. You resist the urge to say you’re sorry. You’re not sure what for. The terrible feral hunger in you gone as quick as it's come.

Namjoon’s fingers wrap around the hollow of your knees, and you meet his eyes, even though you don’t want to. It feels too much like a confession already.

“I’m going to say this now, before you get any ideas; This is not your fault and I am not mad at you and Tae for doing what you did-”

“Namjoon-”

He continues on, words rushing out. “I’m proud of you pup, so proud. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here. I promise I won’t disappoint you again as pack alpha-” You cover his mouth with your hand, gauze and all.

The bit of gauze over your palm is already turning bloody. It's hard to tell if it's your blood or if it's his. You’re the last one to shower. The last one to get clean. Namjoon shouldn’t be touching you at all.

And yet he does, yet he cradles your face, brushes the tears from your cheeks, gets blood on his hands. Evidence is evidence, but love has a steeper sort of price if you don't express it when you can.

When you take your hand away, Namjoon doesn’t try to speak again. someone says something that you don't hear, that you can't hear.

Namjoon stands and when you look up, Jungkook has the shower door open for you.

Because the bandages and the glue on your hands can’t get wet Namjoon binds your hands with Ziplock bags and duct tape. The plastic rustles, and you follow Hobi's bloody footprints into Jungkook’s arms. Namjoon closes the door behind you.

Every bit of plastic is going to get melted down later, until all the blood and terror evaporates through something as simple and trivial as fire. Fire will cleanse it of all evidence, as sure as the burning water you step under.

You're not quite sure what you're going to do about the bullet holes in the walls or the blown-apart door to the upstairs bedroom, but Yoongi’s always had a handle on the home improvement stuff.

Jungkook helps you disrobe off your bloodied clothing. Lifting your shirt over your head and stooping, telling you to hold onto his shoulders so that he can take off your sweatpants. You're pretty sure they're Yoongi's but there's no time to get sentimental as he puts them inside a garbage bag along with Tae's and Hobi's clothes.

Everything on your person is evidence. When you look back Namjoon's gone, summoned by Jin's distant call from downstairs. It's just Jimin outside of the shower. watching you, but mostly watching Tae.

You’d be more self-conscious of your nude body if your brain wasn’t still racing. It’s hard to do much with the bags on your hands. But Jungkook squirts out a healthy dollop of your favorite shampoo and gets to work once the conditioner is in Tae’s hair. She sits like a discarded ball-jointed doll on the built-in bench. Her long hair hair stuck like a sheet over her eyes.

Nothing is as important as making sure you’re not found out. And the frothy shampoo turns rusty around Jungkook's fingers. You have to have a lot of blood on your face. All the water that rolls off of you goes pink.

Jungkook is gentle even by your hairline scratching against your scalp with his fingers. The skin there is tender. Namjoon taped a bit of gauze over the sutures too. You don't remember when he did that.

You make a noise. “Too rough?” his voice has something unreadable in it, something soft and concerned.

You don't respond because Yoongi makes his reappearance at the doorway. The black shirt he wears is dusty at the front from the concrete. His eyes single focused on you the second he enters the room. You stare at him the way that Tae stares at Jimin. Jungkook just huffs and pulls you a little more snugly against his chest.

Tae stands in the corner of the shower, still staring at Minnie. Minnie who stares back, practically not blinking. Both of their anguish are hidden behind glass. Like fish in tanks that could never get out. Not really.

Part of Tae gets washed away down the drain. Swirling and gurgling down and down with no one to notice.

Tae stares off blankly into space. Sometimes Jimin talks to her and sometimes he hums through the glass, he'd be in there too if his bandages couldn't get wet either. If Namjoon hadn’t yanked him back from the doorway and told him that he couldn't.

Jungkook takes the boar bristle brush to your body too. Everything has to be scrubbed multiple times until your skin feels nearly raw from it. Tae’s fingernails, her arms, your neck, the side of your face, the hollow at the inside of your arms. Your knees. Everywhere.

He apologizes when he goes over bruises, wincing, clutching you a little tighter, a little closer to make up for the pain. But Jungkook is meticulous as he cleans of evidence until you feel groomed clean. Until there’s no more blood swirling down the drain just clear water, and the light outside has turned pearly and blue in the twilight.

Tae's still silent. She's been quiet beyond the occasional heartbreaking whimper since you both killed that man. Eventually, You push at Jungkook's hands with a pointed look in her direction where she's slumped and he goes with a soft nod. Two omega's taking care of their alphas.

Jungkook’s delicate with Tae’s head, gentle in the way he cradles the bruising, half hidden by her hair. Washing out the conditioner with a quiet hum. Namjoon had diagnosed her with a concussion pretty quickly, it's not a crack in her skull plate but she's not going to go putting her hair up in a bun any time soon.

Jungkook alternates from you to Tae. One moment you're standing, the next Jungkook is taking you up gently from the floor and Yoongi is at the glass, hand on the door- looking at you anxiously. Letting out a volley of cursing. You can't remember the last time you heard him use language like that.

"Hyung she's fine- she's just slippery, I've got her."

Their voices are so soft and grave and so quiet. Or is it just that you can’t hear it? Why are their voices so far away and muffled? Sometimes Yoongi is here and sometimes he isn't. Sometimes Jungkook is holding you, talking to Namjoon about something, and other times he and Yoongi are talking. Keeping their voices low. Your ears ring. It's so loud it deafening.

“Do you need me to take over?” Yoongi asks Jungkook. Jungkook has blood on his feet, from you or Tae you’re not sure, it soaks the hair there. Jungkook’s got hairy fucking feet for an omega- you’re not sure why you’re concentrating on it. Why you’re noticing all these things now. Cataloging little things about them like you might never get the chance to notice them again.

Your heart beats quick, fear still consuming you even though the danger has passed. You look down at the tiled floor and the room spins.

You don’t feel a thing when you close your eyes. You don’t feel anything when you think of the man that you just killed. You don’t feel anything but roaring, like the crashing of the ocean or the sound when you lift your ear to a shell. The hearing in your left ear where the gun went off feels…off, muffled. You put your hand up to toy with it and freeze when you realize it isn't right.

"Guys" You paw at your ear. But they don't seem to hear you.

"No, I've got them.”

“We need to clean up the downstairs. Kookie, where do you keep the oxyclean?”

"Guys"

They still don't hear you. Maybe you're not making a sound at all just mouthing the words. Your movement gets Tae's attention and her eyes focus for the first time in hours. Slumped on the bench, her hand grips the tiled edge hard as she tries to stand but can't. Jungkook hands Yoongi something through the steam, the black trash bag full of bloody clothes.

The notice Tae trying to get to you first. she hits the floor with a small thud and tugs her way over to you. You make a noise in your throat- a distressed chirp that makes the alphas flinch. Tae cups your cheek as you dig your finger in, slippery from the plastic- and pull something small and fleshy out of your ear.

It's soft and squishy. A curved piece of pink and white brain matter. A little bloody but bleached from the water.

You try to stand to your feet but teeter, shaking, staring down at the chunk of person that you just got out of you, that was just in you.

For a second, no one says anything, but then-

“That’s so fucking gnarly.” Your head jerks up in Jungkook’s direction.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tae actually does look a little green, but it's good to hear her voice at the very least. She hauls herself over to the drain and starts to dry heave.

"Oh tae don't-" the sound of vomit hitting the floor joins the sound of the shower. You don't look at her. just at the lump of person in your hand.

"Someone please take it from me," Jimin is already there opening the glass door and holding out a cloth for you to place it in.

Yoongi presses his hands to the glass as he watches you struggle to grab the brush that Jungkook was using on you from the floor after finally getting your feet under you. Jungkook is torn, his hand on Tae's shoulder as she wretches turning from her to you like he doesn't know what to do or who to help first.

You don't care about the state of your hands you just need to get clean. You Ignore the twinge of pain in your hands as you try and get the bottle of body wash open. Ripping off the plastic bags that cover your hands when you can't unclick the cap immediately. frustrated and panicking. You ignore Jimin calling your name. The gauze falls to the floor with a wet thwack and you take the boar bristle brush to your hands. Cuts and all.

Big hands stop you. Hands that dwarf yours. Hands that you'd know blind.

Yoongi's standing under the spray fully clothed, the water pinning down his hair and quickly soaking him. His hands tangling with yours, taking the brush from you. Wordless as he grabs your wrists and jerks you forward hard.

He holds on until you stop shaking. resting against his chest. guiding your face to his scent gland. "Take a deep breath for me now sweetheart- there you go- just like that."

Jungkook doesn't say anything and neither does Jimin, not as Yoongi starts to wash you again. Jungkook just stoops to lift Tae and place her back on the bench. She goes easy, limp, and doll-like. But she's almost done- she's almost clean. Tae pushes at Jungkook’s shoulders.

"I’m fine. I need to wait for the nausea to pass before I try getting out of here.”

With you, it's going to take a little longer.

Jungkook has already shampooed your hair, but he does it again. The telltale signs of rusty red in the peach-scented shampoo. Bubbling orange-pink. Yoongi does it slower, gentler- it feels more normal. Like the slow loving you're used to.

“Do you ever feel like-” your voice is a little crackly from all the screaming you did earlier. You hate how the terror makes you not remember all the details. Did you make any sound while you killed him? Did you say anything through the rage?

The others are looking at you but you have eyes for just Jimin. his hand tightens to fists, knuckles pressed against the glass. eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Do you ever not feel guilty? About killing people Minnie?”

You are nude, as bare as you’ve ever been before him, it's hard to be self-conscious about it. Maybe this would be a little sexier- showering with Tae and Jungkook and Yoongi with an audience if you weren't literally trying to cover up a very violent murder.

You remember the words Jimin had said to you weeks ago now. “Would you kill for me?” “I’d do worse” you wonder if this qualifies as worse. You can’t imagine what would be much worse than this.

Jungkook's hands are rough as they massage a bit of soap down your back but instead of being comforting, it feels like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin.

Jimin hums. Eyeing Tae still sprawled on the built-in bench. Jimin gathers his thoughts before he speaks. “In my contract, at the beginning-” He starts but cuts off as you start to slip. Jungkook's hands find you, helping Yoongi hold you up more properly. Your mate doesn't let Jungkook take you entirely just moves a bit to the side to give him space. Any other day you'd love to be in the middle of a yoonkook sandwich but-

“Your contract?” he nods, blond hair bobbing. Yoongi meticulously removes the dried blood from under your fingernails, careful to hold your glue sutures out of the direct spray.

“I specified that I’d only ever kill bad people. of course I got a little lazier after I got used to it." He shoots an anxious glance in Tae's direction, but she's still just sitting. "But at the beginning, I’d go back and look through their files to try to find out what they’d done to warrant a hit getting taken out on them. I couldn’t always find a reason but most of the time I did."

You can see it in his face, that Jimin doesn't want to say that they deserved it. Because if they deserved a violent ending then you could say the same about the 8 of you. Jungkook's hands get a little close to the nape of your neck and you turn to him and snap.

"Don't scruff me."

"Sorry." You need it. Is what he doesn't say.

“Most of the time it was worth it?” You cling to his words. With Geumjae you’d never had to guess if he deserved it or not but this-

Jimin’s eyebrows are brought into a hard line, “Karma is a fickle thing. Sometimes it never comes but-” his eyes are downcast, "Sometimes it's a good thing, being the karma."

You sit quietly, digesting his words. Your lower lip trembles, and you don’t know if you feel terrible or better when the tears just won’t come. Yoongi delicately cradles your body, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pulling you back against his chest.

“Yoongi.”

“Let me hold you for a minute.” You do, body sagging under the weight of your exhaustion.

Tae teeters in Jungkook’s hold, but she pushes against his hands weakly when he tries to make her stand again. Her voice sounds warbly and fragile when she shakes her head. “I’m still dizzy.”

He tries to guide her gently back to the bench, but she doesn't make it that far. Pushing away his hands when she descends to the marble floor. Closer to the wall, Closer to Minnie who mirrors her, falling to the floor too. Getting as closer to her as he can without being in the shower.

Jimin lets out a sad and bitter-sounding laugh and Tae smiles in reply while Jungkook and Yoongi share an anxious glance over your head.

He's still grinning, words twisting, eyes shining with sorrow and fondness. “You couldn’t wait 24 hours until you had to make it even, didn’t you?”

Tae closes her eyes as her smile twists and she starts to cry “Where you go, I go. We’re the same now Minnie.” Jimin doesn't mean to ask what she means. He knows.

If you're a killer I'm a killer. If you're damned, I'm damned. Even though neither of them believes in God or heaven or damnation. Not really. Not anymore. It's very half-hearted.

(I don't know if it's worth wondering if the people you love are bad people, I think when worse comes to worse, you just put the heaviness down and keep on loving them anyway).

Jimin’s eyes are soft on her, the way that they only ever are with Tae. He places his hand on the glass fogging around his fingertips. She doesn’t match his hands, just leans her cheek against it. Love is only a thin layer of glass away.

You know it hurts her a little bit, must make the dysphoria a little harder to breathe through, to let Jimin and Jungkook see her like this; just the long hair and nothing delicate to cloth her soul in. A soul that now you’ve irreparably tarnished.

A soul that is damaged beyond repair now thanks to you.

It is your fault. All of this is because of you. all of this pain and anguish and damage is because of the choices you've made. the stupid idiotic childish choices. If you'd never needed it- if you'd just been strong enough- Tae could have been whole. Tae could have been unharmed. Hobi and Jin too- if you’d just-

Back at the hospital, Tae had so many questions about Jimin’s job, so many questions about when and where, and why. But she finds her head empty of them in the aftermath. She has no desire to learn anything else about Jimin’s job. Not now that she knows what killing feels like.

Tae is never going to be able to look at red nail polish the same way again.

Jungkook reaches over and turns off the water.

~-~

Eventually, you finish washing. Wrapped up in fluffy white towels that will have to be burned too. The house smells like bleach and gunpowder. It covers everything.

Even the noodle is looking a little more grubby than usual when he zips by, meowing for someone to give him attention. You hear the saw going and you know that Yoongi is cutting the bullet holes out of the walls while the others clean up the blood.

Your skin feels pink and sensitive were the towel brushes as you go looking for pajamas, you'll get some for the others too. Later, Jin will fuss and ask to put some cream on you. Will massage it in something of an apology and pretend that Yoongi isn't going over the whole house with a blacklight to spot any errant blood splatters.

Later Yoongi will take a wood scraper to the floorboards where the man died, will rip them up, and burn them in the house's ancient fireplace just to be sure that no one finds any evidence.

You'll all pretend that Tae doesn't shake through a panic attack when you have an informal dinner in the nest. jin's rule of "no food in the nest" broken for this. You'll all pretend that Hoseok won't choke choking on all but the smallest sips of water. You'll all pretend. You're good pretenders, good liars too.

Later, Jin will put cream on your skin and dot it all with kisses, the swelling in his hands won't take too long to go down. You'll get the love and You won’t deserve a single second of it.

You don't know how you fooled yourself into thinking you ever deserved it. The last 8 months have been stolen. Not earned.

The one-year anniversary of Geumjae's death comes and passes as you go to the top of the stairs in your towel, Ears straining to hear what's going on downstairs.

There is a lot of talking going on downstairs, between Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jin. About what to do, and how to handle this. Hushed voices kept mostly out of earshot. And other more dangerous questions get asked, with equally as dangerous answers.

One of Jimin's guns sits on the kitchen counter through all of it. No one moves to put it away. They're not sure when they're next going to need it and they'd rather not get caught off guard again.

“I could talk to some people- call them. Some people owe me favors, There has to be some section of the family that doesn’t want her too-“

"Absolutely Not, I am not having you get into some weird ass mafia debt"

"Yeah, jailcell orange is so not your color hyung"

“We stay quiet. For the next 48 hours- it’s likely no one will know what happened. They’re too hurt- we need some time to regroup and think.”

Hobi’s voice is absent from the fray. You hear something quite like he's trying to speak, and someone shushing him softly. Namjoon says that his swelling won’t go down enough to talk until tomorrow. You hear the sound of someone opening the refrigerator to get ice.

The door to the bedroom has been blown apart, and a flurry of bullet holes chewed through the top corner. It sits off its hinges and in two pieces.

You remember watching Yoongi paint the door, sitting at the bottom of the stairs while he worked at the top of it and painted it to match the wallpaper in the staircase, a dark cobalt blue. You remember all of it, every little thing you watched him do to make this house into something worthwhile. To make it into a home and now it's riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood.

It's funny, you hardly remember every little thing he did for you, to make you worthwhile.

You have always been a reminder that you don't make houses out of abandoned buildings, and mates out of monsters that bite.

The water has turned the cuts on your hands white and gummy when you look down at them in the closet room. They’re already oozing, not bleeding, it will be at least a day or two until you can touch anything without discomfort. Namjoon will scold you ever so gently later and re-do your bandages.

The pink curtains are drawn already to keep out any wandering eyes from the outside. This is a dressing room after all. The whole room feels like a blush-toned jewel box and you, the one piece of cheap costume jewelry at the center.

You get up and shut the door before you sit on a small poof- something silky and tufted that Jimin had gotten Tae right after she'd come out.

You sit in your towel and look down at your wounds. Thinking about Tae's concussion. Jin's wrists. Hobi's throat. Both of their blank looks and the violence of death and trying to live. You think it all through, every possible ending to this before you pick up your phone and dial Her number.

Moonbyul picks up on the first ring. It’s like she’s been waiting for your call.

“Did you like your courting present pup?”

Your throat is dry and you don’t know exactly what to say, even less how to say it. She hums at your silence, an alpha's imitation of a purr. Waiting until your quietness builds to a frantic pulse.

In the pack, you've always been the one with the best survival instincts. Geumjae made you this way. Although the pack has spent the last few months trying to heal you; deep down you know you've never been anything more than a scared animal. Fight or Flight. Freeze or fawn.

Bullet to bullet. Tooth to tooth. Heartbeat to heartbeat. This time is different. This time you have something worth protecting.

You stand, no longer able to sit. There is a noise at the door, and you wait with bated breath for someone to come in. They don't come. But you stand and move farther inside. Hoping that the distance will disguise the sound of your whispered conversation.

She continues when it becomes clear you're struggling to speak. “I’ve got another one on the way. Hyejin’s here, wanna say hello? You’re on speaker.”

“Pup,” she giggles, and you feel like you might vomit. It’s a struggle really, not to end the call right there, not to let the fear overtake you. “We haven’t heard back from Spider yet, and I have a feeling someone’s been a little naughty.”

You lift the curtain to look outside, the train chugs past and the cars flit by like the fast small birds searching for seed in the snow. The whole world is grey and flat. The sky is orange from the lights of the city reflecting the clouds. The trees bare of all but a few crumbly leaves. It’s strange how all at once, the train is all you can look at. All you can think about.

You think about hoseok, the night at the train tracks where he stopped you from leaving. When he asked you to stay.

“Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what I need to do to get you to stop this, please.” Your voice sounds off, even for you. Too flat, strange even to your ears.

“I’m afraid we’re too far along for that.”

"Please, please Moonbyul-" You turn, pacing back towards the door. Past Tae’s clothes, past yours, past Jungkook’s, past the alcove where Hobi hangs his sweatshirts for you. You pause there. Looking at them.

“You said- you said when it was over you’d give me anything I wanted. Well I want them alive. Even if-"

Your voice is so shaky, you're careful to make sure you're not overheard. The pack is in the other room, just downstairs. You can hear the distant hum of their sweet voices; the people you love always sound like a melody. Your absence hasn’t been noticed yet.

"Even if I’m not here.”

For once they’re silent on the other end of the line. It’s a full silence, filled with one part lust and one part hunger. Both of them are like Noodle playing with a mouse. Waiting for the right time to drive their teeth in and end this game.

But even mice have teeth. Your hand is holding your phone so hard that the plastic makes your bones ache and your cuts bleed fresh.

“If you don’t let them live, I'll never stop fighting. But if you want me to be willing- If you want me to be your pup the way I think you do."

You can’t even close your hand into a fist with how wrecked your hands are. They hurt with every clumsy movement. you hold the phone. Your every heartbeat lurching with the horror of what you're doing.

I can’t lose them; I can’t be the reason why they die. They'll keep sending people until we're all dead unless I do something.

“All of them, all of them need to be safe, Jimin- you need to let him go of his contract and let him go back to living a normal life and you need to not punish Jin for working for the FBI.” Your words rush over themselves. "Leave my pack alone and I’ll be obedient. I'll be yours. I’ll never try and go back to them again. I won’t ever try and leave. I promise.”

Moonbyul and Hyejin are silent on the other end of the phone. You wait for a few moments. They must be looking at each other, deliberating.

Everything in this room aches. The closet bedroom that Yoongi made he made for you. The wainscotting just so. Everything in this house was crafted with an equal amount of love.

It was never meant to be yours forever, you’ve been keenly aware of this fact since the moment you met Yoongi. Since the moment you met his eyes across the dining room table and the moment his teeth met your skin. Borrowed things don't belong, they never do. Good things do not last. You only get them for as long as you get them and not a moment longer.

You're looking at Hobi's sweatshirts, in the alcove where he stacks them for you to take when Moonbyul and Hyejin respond.

“We'll agree to those terms, but remember their safety depends on your performance."

"You have 24 hours to get to us pup. Make them count.”

The dial tone drones like a funeral drum.

~-~

(Hoseok, a few years prior)

The backroom at the record shop is cramped with all sorts of things from a bygone era;

A mini fridge with a decrepit desktop computer and logbook balanced atop it. Pictures and bulletins glued to the wall from the 1960's. A greasy coffee machine piled high with bags of expired tea. A cramped spot for employees to hang their coats and a yellowing old table with a pair of chairs; both occupied by people also out of place. a beta that has a thing for 1980's rap and an alpha with a broken heart who admittedly loves 2010's pop.

A poster of some glittery showgirl omega from the 20s bats her eyelashes down at Hoseok as he has a mental breakdown. Offering neither comfort nor absolution nor love.

Maybe if he'd been born an omega like that, it would have been easier. Maybe they'd have wanted him then.

Yoongi's hands rub down Hoseok's shoulder, his back, places only lovers have touched. Up and down. An endless circle. An ouroboros of affection nibbling Hoseok's fickle heart. Hoseok aches harder with every passing moment.

Yoongi looks at the clock as Hoseok continues to sob. The shop should be open right now but Yoongi won't let it. It can go out of business for all he cares. As long as no one makes Hoseok get up from this chair before he's ready.

Beta instincts are fickle things, but Yoongi has always had a third sense. Something in him always knows if people are trustworthy and if they need him. Something in their scents or faces or eyes- like small planets reflecting the cosmos back to them. Do planets bear life only when someone is willing to look for them? Do people only deserve help when they're willing to ask for it? or is it like this?

Eventually, Hoseok gets his breath back in his chest and his sobs quiet down. His eyes open bloodshot. All sadness has an expiration date (thankfully). Yoongi's hand slides down his arm and gives his hand a firm squeeze (and stays there).

It's the first time someone's touched Hoseok without wanting something in God knows how long but he's too sad to properly appreciate it or savor it. (Yoongi doesn't want anything from him that Hoseok wouldn't willingly give. Doesn't want anything but his smile. fuck- he's just a co-worker, isn't he?). Who knows when the next touch like this might come? (Yoongi is going to hold his hand tomorrow because Yoongi likes holding people's hands, Jin will give him the tacit permission to do that at least. But all of the pack are keenly aware that Hoseok needs time to heal, no matter how obvious Yoongi's crush and Hoseok's needs).

(Hoseok is definitely not just Yoongi's coe-worker at this point, but saviors come from all sorts of unlikely places)

Eventually Hoseok's sobs quiet and Yoongi sighs, pulling back. He takes one look at hoseok's red nose and pale cheeks and puffs up. "I'm making your hot chocolate and you're going to tell me what's happened."

He gets up like he needs something to do. Like he's tired of taking care of Hoseok. He doesn't take it personally, he's tired of it too.

“My mates they- they kicked me out of our den,” Hoseok confesses. Yoongi's got two mugs in his hands, they thud against the counter when he reaches into one of the cabinets.

It’s warm in here but Hoseok is still thankful for the sweatshirt the beta gave him. Not only for its warmth but for the layer of scent it provides; It’s soaked with the smell of chocolate. So comforting and heavenly that it makes Hoseok a little dizzy when he tucks his nose into it and takes a hefty sniff when Yoongi's got his back turned.

Hoseok was never given the other pack's items, never allowed or encouraged to indulge in their scents. They never asked for his either.

Yoongi hangs both their jackets above the radiator in the back so that they’ll dry faster. He bears an impressive bite mark on his arm, visible because of his short-sleeved shirt. It's bruised just ever so slightly- an alpha bite but not a mating bite because betas don't mate. A mark like that on him is as good a claim as any. Even with the other scents that cling to the sweatshirt.

Hoseok hasn’t known him long, but they’re friends even if they’ve never met up outside of work. You can't not be friends with someone you spend upwards of 30 hours a week with.

Yoongi just hums. "Have you been with them long?"

Hoseok appreciates that Yoongi doesn't use the past tense, his heart too tender around the idea of endings. Some part of him is unconvinced that it really is over. A stubborn heart for a stubborn alpha.

His hair is starting to dry when he nods. "It's been a few years." Hoseok bites his lip, "I could lie and say I didn't see signs but-" his hands end up in his hair, elbows leaning against the creaking yellow table. Tugging a little. "I'm so fucking stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid," Yoongi says, hand on the back of his head. warm rough fingers. Touching him ever so briefly as he passes to put the milk back in the mini-fridge. "It's not stupid to want to find more love where you got it."

But in truth, There's not much more than Yoongi can say. Not much more that he knows to say. He'd never met Hoseok's pack. Whereas Namjoon and Jimin and the pups have a general tendency to linger around Yoongi person at all hours and locations. Stopping by to drop off coffee or just to make funny faces at him through the window when they're on their way to work. Yoongi has never met his co-worker's pack and has never seen much evidence at all on him beyond some vague hints of scents.

That alone is enough of a hint; usually, when people have packmates they're soaked in their scents. Visceral claims to keep any wandering eyes wandering still. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wondered why Hoseok didn't wear his packmate's scents.

It’s not like the alpha smells bad at all- a little strong sure, but less genetically dominant alphas tend to smell a little sweeter like omegas.

At least that’s what Namjoon says when he feels like info dumping. Late at night when the pack asleep around them and only Yoongi's stayed up to listen. Because Yoongi likes the sound of Namjoon's voice when he gets into the details. Stroking across Namjoon’s bare chest just to feel the alpha's words rumble against his fingertips. His heartbeat against his ear the backtrack for all of it.

Whoever Yoongi’s pack is; they surely love him a lot. That much has been evident since the second that Hoseok met him. Evident in the packed bento boxes and the bunny-eyed omega that walks with him to work sometimes. Or in the tall omega and alpha pair that Hoseok has seen perusing the shelves when he comes in to relieve Yoongi of his shift.

Hoseok has worked here for 6 months. It’s impossible not to collect these details. The hickeys on his throat that he wears after weekends, how ruffled but generally loved Yoongi looks when he comes back from rut and heat leave.

“Is there a reason why they left?” Yoongi tries to be as undiscerning as possible. Voice gentle and measured. Stirring the hot cocoa and putting it in front of Hoseok.

Hoseok takes a sip and it feels like he's drinking a cup of the beta in front of him. Yoongi melts a little into the chair at the happy noise Hoseok makes.

It's good. Really good actually, Yoongi uses twice as much Swiss mix as the package instructs and a tablespoon of honey to boot. More chocolate can never be a bad thing.

Before Hoseok has a chance to respond, The phone next to the cabinet rings. And Yoongi takes it off the stand and hangs it up again in quick secession so that it doesn’t ring anymore. It has to be important but he ignores it for Hoseok's sake. Yoongi does a lot of ordering for the shop, the rare records that their boss is always trying to source and sell. It's a lot of chasing down leads and curators.

(This is not true. This is a lie that Yoongi and his boss have fed him. This phone is set up for the family's use. Hoseok doesn’t know that most of the calls Yoongi answers are more delicate than just simple stock orders.)

“I just found out that my brother has stolen from me, what should his punishment be beta?”

“How much did he steal?”

“300k”

Yoongi swallows, fighting his narrow margin of benevolence. The drops of mercy that he's allowed to show without suspicion. He tells himself that the other beta would order a far worse. People only call him when they want lighter punishment.

“A finger for every 100 then.”

The people who call ask him all manner of things. Things like “I think my child might be planning on going to the police, what should I do before anyone finds out about it?” He is both a secret keeper and a jury.

“Send them away. Out of sight and out of mind of anything that they might be able to share. I hear the military academies are lovely this year. So much snow. Yes, they take omega recruits.”

“My firstborn child presented as an omega instead of an alpha. They're my firstborn and heir, how should I proceed?”

“I can ask around for an advantageous match but I’m sorry, there is no fixing presentation.”

Hoseok hasn’t seen a phone like that in years. Didn’t even know they made old-fashioned ones like that anymore. Ones with a dial, the blue plastic worn from the number of times Yoongi's had to pick it up. It doesn't stay silent for long, ringing soon after yoongi's hung it up.

“I'm the only- they’re an all-omega group.” As if by the mention of his sub gender Hoseok’s angry burning sugar scent fills the room. In reply, Yoongi’s sweetness rises. Hoseok takes another sip and pretends it's just the hot chocolate warming his cheeks. “I guess they wanted to keep it that way.”

"I've got two omegas and they keep me on my toes, I can't imagine four." That gets a laugh out of Hoseok.

"You've got a bunch of alphas in yours though, right?" A bunch already, I wouldn't be needed. Hoseok has seen them, the tall one with dimples that looks like something out of a soap opera. The scary-looking one with the chubby cheeks who's always holding hands with the pretty academic one who likes the jazz in the corner.

Yoongi nods, "That must be nice," Hoseok's eyelashes are all clumped together from the tears. "Having so many people to take care of you."

Yoongi hums, knuckles brushing Hoseok’s hand on the table. It’s just one tender touch but Hoseok starts to break. To crumple.

Yoongi senses Hoseok breaking, pulling him in close before he has a chance to really fracture (he comes just in time, Yoongi loves Hoseok just in time). Yoongi’s scent alone is enough to soothe him- beyond the way he guides the alpha to rest against his throat. Hoseok fights it only a little, what's a little scenting among friends?

They're not just friends, it's not just scenting.

Hoseok wants to bury his nose in the beta’s throat, but that wouldn’t be appropriate, not with the scent of so many others clinging to him. He still sags into the hug. Turns his face away to avoid the temptation.

“They didn’t even tell me- and now the lease on the apartment is up and I can’t afford it on my own and-“ I’m so scared and I just wish there was someone to take care of me. I wish I was a pup again.

They sit like that at the table and Yoongi just lets him cry, He pulls back after his sobbing has cooled. They hug until they both smell like gooey chocolate chip cookies with too much brown sugar.

Hoseok sniffles, “We have to open up the shop,” Yoongi's arms tighten around Hoseok's shoulders in reply.

“It can wait a few more seconds.” Hoseok wants to say that the owner wouldn’t like that but he doesn’t.

Yoongi sips and hesitates. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Hoseok pauses for a second, flushing before he shakes his head. “Okay, it's okay. You can say with me.”

“Are- are you sure they won't mind?” But Yoongi is already typing away on his phone, shooting a quick text to the pack group chat (a chat that Hoseok will be added to in exactly 23 days, but who's counting?)

“Not at all. It’s a bit cramped with all of us but we have a spare bed in the closet room that Tae likes to read on sometimes- Jungkook's boss slept there last night after they came back from drinking and Namjoon was so mad- he won't be mad about you though- it's just that Jungkook- he just really shouldn't be drinking."

"Is he underaged?"

"No, he's just got health issues."

"Oh." Yet another person who gets the love he needs, the care he needs. Hoseok tries and fails miserably not to be jealous over Yoongi's omega whom he's never met.

He won't be jealous for long. Later Jungkook is going to challenge him to an arm wrestle just to prove he doesn't need babying. Beating alphas in feats of strength is his favorite thing. He'll feel Hoseok’s hand in his and get completely distracted. "Wow, you've got like- really pretty hands!" and drag them close to his to compare sizes. He'll be smitten nearly instantly with Jungkook- for what it's worth. The jealousy only lasts for a few hours.

Within a few seconds his phone is ringing off the hook, he shows Hoseok the chorus of, “Yes it’s okay!” and “Poor thing, tell him he can stay as long as he wants.” "Of course hyung!" "Does Hoseok like kimchi-jjigae or should we just order pizza?" “Oh! Can we get some with pineapple?” “Gross Jk.” "Yeah we all know Minnie doesn't like the aftertaste of burnt fruit."

And Hoseok can't help but feel like he doesn’t deserve this kindness and such an effortless acceptance. There is a knock at the front door before he can say anything. A few short taps against the glass. Yoongi tells Hoseok to stay put while he goes to deal with a pushy customer who wants in. Leaving him alone in the backroom with his cooling hot coco and the poster still staring down at him.

(They say two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, but that's not the only way a secret stays buried; the best secrets are the ones you’re not even aware of.

Out of all the people in your pack. Hoseok is the only one in possession of a secret like this. The best kinds of secrets are the ones you don't even know are secrets see- he doesn't even know that this memory is enough to save you. Hoseok is entirely unaware that in his mind lies this memory.

Hoseok was the first person to get on the no-kill list, and it wasn’t because of Yoongi.

All packmates of a Don get put on the list;

no matter if they're active or past.)

Sitting at that yellowing wood table; Hoseok feels more settled now that he knows he has a place to sleep tonight that isn’t this backroom. Pulling the sleeve of Yoongi’s sweatshirt over his palms and sniffing at the collar where it was pushed up against Yoongi’s scent gland.

If he thinks hard, he can pick out a few scents here and there soaking the fabric. (Milky Omega Jin, Honey Sweet Puppy Jungkookie, Cinnamon sweet Alpha Tae and vanil-lalalala Jimin, Coffee Alpha Namjoon and Chocolate Yoongi).

It's so different from his ex-pack's scents. Their sugary sweet omega peppermint and sharp lemony evergreen, winter berry and pine, the cold smart of snow against his nose. His burning caramel scent- so off-putting. The one scent not Christmas-themed. The one that didn’t fit.

By comparison- Yoongi's pack smells like a bakery in summer. Every scent that could be added to a cake maybe (one day, in the kitchen, he’ll eat your tiramisu and realize yes- that’s exactly what it’s missing. Your cakey scent makes them all complete, the warmth of baking things).

He has somewhere to go now. Somewhere to be. Someone to trust. He trusts Yoongi- even if they’ve only known each other for a handful of short months.

And Yoongi’s pack can’t be worse than his last one.

As if in reply to Yoongi’s phone (buzzing with more texts that he doesn't check because Hoseok is nothing if not respectful of people's digital privacy. If he checked he would see "Is that the hot coworker you're always talking about? The one who always looks a little sad?")

Hoseok’s phone buzzes with the notification he's been waiting for.

Pack Omega 🌙 calling.

Pick up? Decline?

Hoseok hasn't yet gotten around to changing her contact information. He scrambles at it, spilling the hot cocoa across the table as he rushes to pick it up. Scrambling to get to it before it goes to voice mail. Blood pounding in his ears.

Hoseok’s voice is broken as he says his pack omega’s name, his old pack omega’s name.

“Byulyi- Moonbyul please-”

Moonbyul is cold on the other side of the phone. Maybe she’d have liked him more, and wouldn’t have given up on him if he didn't beg. But Hoseok has never been above begging. Not for love. Not for the thing he wants and needs the most. Hoseok needs love more than air and as Yoongi said- it's easiest to go looking for love where you once got it.

Even when you know it could hurt you.

Her voice is flat and unaffected. “I just wanted to make sure you found a place to stay tonight. Are you still going to be around to give the landlord the keys?”

Hoseok finds himself nodding even though he knows she can’t see him. “Yes- I can do that, I can do anything you want. Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Moonbyul please-”

“Goodbye Hoseok.” She says, hanging up after a second. Hoseok looks at the phone. Pushing the button to redial. It doesn't go. She’s already blocked him.

It will be a long time until Hoseok hears from his last pack again, a long long time until he says their names again. He will remember the way he’d begged, the way her name had sounded smack dab in the middle of it. And hate hate Hate how it makes him feel. He won't ever say their names, regret and self-disgust getting in the way.

It's a little funny, thinking of how different things might have gotten if he'd just told yoongi their names. If he hadn't let his alpha pride get in the way. A few days from now they'll talk about it together. "I don't like the way saying their names makes me feel- it feels- I hate how much I want to say it- to see them again- saying their names just reminds me of the power they had over me."

Never again, will Jung Hoseok beg for someone to give him the bare minimum. This is his lowest point. The moment where it shifts- for good.

His head is in his hands when Yoongi comes back into the room. Still sniffling, crying yet again. Yoongi sets a palm in his hair, ruffling it. Eyeing the spilled hot cocoa with a raised eyebrow.

“If you wanted coffee you could have just said so-“ he makes an attempt at levity and is rewarded with Hoseok’s small snort. Wiping his wet cheeks. Neither of them is aware of the secret. Neither of them is aware and so much worse off for it."

Hoseok grins, “Are you buying hyung?”

~-~

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Notes:

in the story there has always been this question- mainly raised by jimin during his secret chapters- if the m/c is actually in love with them or if she's just manipulating them- at the beginning of this chapter- we actually see jimin finally dispel the last bit of him that thinks even a little bit that this is the case. once he sees how much she put her body on the line- that question isn't even in the back of his mind- even a little. i ended up re-editing this part alot because of it.

every time i write something from jimin's pov i'm always like "why is everything so meandering? why are things disjointed?" and then i remember that's literally jimin's character- that he is in a lot of ways an unreliable narrator.

(TW) i have this idea in my head that namjoon DOES NOT become a good person in the event that all of them die like- a whole separate idea of him becoming a doctor for the family through yoongi's connections with the soul purpose of one day killing moonbyul and her entire pack…including their pups on accident which ends up destroying the last bit of namjoon's innocence as a person…and he ends up becoming one of the families assassins alongside jimin as a result, in this event jungkook does not stay with them and instead moves on and yoongi stays and tries to get them to stop only to ask them to kill him as their last kill because he's unable to cope with the loss of jin, hobi, the m/c and tae. BUT ANYWAY I DIGRESS THAT IS NOT THIS STORY.

i think in this story there is this really interesting dynamic of femininity and death and morality- that being said red nail polish is definitely a metaphor for whose comfortable killing and who isn't. i like the contrast between tae who will never wear red nails again- vs the moon pack who all are not allowed out of the nest if their nailpolish isn't perfect like- thats another layer of the fucked up shit.

are you suprised that the m/c is going to leave? Did you see it coming from a mile away? i mean...it is in the title of the series 😈

….the parallel between hobi losing his voice and the m/c not having a voice at the beginning of the series- you can project whatever meaning you want onto that <3

also on that subject the line "Jin’s hands. Your face. Tae’s head. Hoseok’s throat. Each of you has lost the thing most necessary to your survival." it's worth mentioning that thats not what i think is the most necessary thing to their survival but it is their own interpretation of what keeps them alive. like i for one actually think that the m/c is a lot more pragmatic than anyone gives her credit for but i digress. i could go on about all of their strenghts.

what did you guys think about hobi's secret reveal???? a fair amount of people have guessed it and i think when someone got it at the beginning of the series i lied and said it wasn't- i'm allowed to be an unreliable narrator too!!! kudos to everyone who got it! i feel like it could have been revealed better and originally the big one off was slated for next chapter but i decided to shift it to this one (mostly because i think the next chapter is about to get up there in terms of word count tbh 😭) but T-T its done now! please give me praise because i'm baby and this week has honestly been really hard

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 6 months

Note

can we please get a logan sargeant fic 🥺 something soft and sweet?

My One & Only - Logan Sargeant

Lowkey, this is my boy. This little blonde patriot deserves so much better from the fans. So I can definitely do this.

Much like Oscar, Logan ended up finding a girlfriend when he moved over to England for his racing career and while their upbringings couldn't contrast more they are the best thing in each other's lives.

Despite him not being the most followed or even gaining much positive attention from the media and fans. None of that matters because he is absolutely the centre of y/n's world and she is without a doubt his favourite person in all of existence.

The two of them are up against the infamous relationship of Alex and Lily. But they're definitely starting to gain some attention for it.

Mainly because what started as lives with her friends, ended up being found by some Logan fans and now it's a regular thing.

"Hi, everyone. Logan is asleep...I'll show you." Y/n whispers to her phone then turning the camera to show her boyfriend napping. "Anyway, I'm going to make us some focaccia bread." Y/n states as she moves back into the kitchen.

Y/n actually studied for and got a qualification to be nutritionist so Logan completely trusts her with making food that follows his diet and on the rare times it doesn't she makes sure he's allowed the treat.

"So I actually prepared this dough earlier." Y/n grinning at her own reference before she grins. "Anyway, we are going to just get it all ready and in the oven dead quick-"

"Baby, who you talking to?" Logan asks with a sleepy voice looking very much freshly woken up.

"Hey, sleepyhead. I'm making my bread." Y/n giggles as Logan comes up behind her nuzzling his face into her neck. "I didn't mean to wake you up. You can go back to sleep."

"No, I just want to be here with you." Logan mumbles completely unaware of the live that is capturing the moment and the people watching who are commenting about how adorable Logan is.

"Do you want to say hi to everyone then?" Y/n asks raising her hand up to his hair since she'd not yet touched the dough.

"What?" Logan frowns looking up only to hide his face with a groan and small laugh. "You didn't tell me."

"I didn't have a chance before you came over here." Y/n giggles before sighing. "Can you move with me? I need to wash my hands before I keep touching the bread."

"Ok."

Attending the Qatar Grand Prix with Logan is hard, y/n hates seeing what people say about Logan after every race and there's really nothing she can do to protect him from it.

So instead she makes sure he knows that she's his number one fan and he shouldn't worry about other people's opinions because they don't matter.

The Qatar race is hard to swallow, the drivers are all struggling but more importantly she's listening to her boyfriend's radio and he sounds in pain. It's even worse when James gets on the radio.

"Logan, you've fought a brave day. But let's bring it in, let's look after you." James tries making her

"Guys, I promise you I can do this."

"Alright, all up to you buddy."

"You have my word."

"They have to bring him in." Y/n murmurs hating to support the side of ending her boyfriend's race but something big is wrong. Logan wouldn't say he felt unwell if things weren't really bad.

Eventually Logan accepts to retire from the race and when y/n sees him being pulled in then helped out the car she panics moving towards him once they've got him seated out of sight of any camera.

She helps him get his helmet off while his trainer gets the medical team in to check him.

"Hey...hey...I'm so proud of you." Y/n smiles feeling tears in her eyes when she sees the sheer exhaustion written on his face.

She steps aside to let the doctors look at him, watching with a focused gaze before the doctor informs them in desperately needs to cool down and get plenty of rest.

His trainer and y/n get him to an ice bath where he does make some major improvement but it's still obvious that he needs to just get some rest.

"How are you feeling?" Y/n murmurs swallowing thickly as she looks at him.

"Baby, you're crying." Logan states raising a shaky hand up to her cheek but she just catches it between her hands and kisses it instead.

"It was just hard hearing you struggle out there and seeing you like this is hard." Y/n admits then resting her head on the edge of the bath. "Let us know when you want to get out."

Another few minutes pass before Logan nods and he's pulled up and out of the freezing water that's cooled him off.

"Alright, let's get you dried off and cleaned up a little and back to the hotel." Y/n sighs as she helps wrap a cooled down around him.

Eventually they're back at the hotel and she assures everyone she's on duty to watch her boyfriend carefully. And while Logan really tries to stay awake, his body succumbs to the demand for rest and sleep.

Y/n tries to stay awake the whole night watching him just hoping to be there if he needs her. But eventually she joins him in the realm of sleep. In fact she out sleeps him, not waking when he gets up kissing her softly and moving to shower to try and refresh himself again before he orders them room service.

Yesterday was hard on him yes, but clearly y/n was pretty emotionally drained from the whole experience too.

"Babe, you want to wake up?" Logan asks leaning over her and kissing her a couple times which finally stirs her from the depth of her sleep.

"You're awake." She mumbles before sitting up so quickly she nearly headbutts him. "How long have you-Are you ok? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Well, I still feel a bit...not right but I'm better." Logan nods earning a soft but sad smile from her. "Let's eat ok?"

"Ok. Let's eat." She nods before smiling at him softly.

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hp-hcs · 4 months

Note

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ‘furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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#harry potter #hp #fuck jkr #x reader #hp x gn reader #hp x male reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #mattheo riddle x reader #yandere mattheo riddle #yandere harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x male reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader

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anyasathenaeum · 2 months

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Cherish You (Vash x Reader smut)

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back from the dead after one hell of a time. Anyways, literally nobody asked for this, I just felt like writing this because Vash is the loml and he deserves to be loved and be given lots of orgasms. I'm still awful at writing smut so please don't perceive me okay thanks bye Warnings: MINORS DNI, AFAB!reader (female terms used), smut (lots of it), P in V sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, FOLKS), overall loving & tender sex, restraints, riding, praise, a hint of angst (poor baby Vash struggles with his self-worth), reader doesn't cum (intentionally), crying Word Count: 4.8k

You had known Vash long and well enough to know when he was having a bad day, just like he was today.

While it may not have been obvious to others, with his troubles well-hidden behind his bright smile and goofy personality, you could see past it all to notice the pain in his eyes. His smile, while blinding to others, was hollow to you, and his goofiness seemed slightly more exhausted and strained than usual, as if he were overexerting himself to keep up the façade of everything being alright.

Sure enough, when the two of you had retreated to the safety of your room in some shabby little inn for the night, the carefully curated mask that Vash wore chipped off piece by piece, revealing the wounded, tortured soul of the man underneath it all. The man who believed he deserved nothing good in this world, that only sadness and evil and death would follow him until the end of time.

The man that you loved more than anything.

"Vash..." You called softly to him, kneeling down in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

You gazed up worriedly into his face, a face so beautiful and yet so marred by pain that didn't belong there.

"Don't worry, Mayfly," Vash replied immediately, looking at you with a weak and tired smile, "I'll bounce back in the morning. I just... don't feel too good right now. I'm sure some rest will fix me right up."

"Don't give me that, Stampede," you retorted immediately, feeling frustration rise within you as you reached up and cupped your lover's face in your hands gently yet firmly. "I'm the one person in this world who can see through your lies. You know that."

Your words, while meant kindly, still made Vash flinch slightly, his eyebrows furrowing as he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy sigh. He had no answer to your words, which was an answer in itself - he'd been caught in his blatant lie and he knew it. You knew him better than anybody else, so why did he even bother trying to brush you off, to convince you that he was fine when he was far from it?

You could tell that Vash was struggling with trying to voice what was bothering him, so you waited patiently, your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks as you granted him the time and space to find his voice. Instead, you focused on taking in every little detail of his face - his fluffy blonde hair, his beautiful and expressive blue eyes, his soft lips, the curve of his nose, the mole under his eye, every little piece of him.

"I... I can't protect you, (Y/N). Nothing I do ever seems to stop all the death and anguish that seems to haunt me. Nothing I do is good enough. I lose everything and everyone. I'm afraid... that one day, I'll lose you to it all, too. I can't risk losing you, (Y/N). Not you. Never you. You're... you're the one life I can't ever part with, and you're the one person I never deserved."

Vash's words echoed through the empty room, filled with such fear, pain, heartbreak and love that you felt your eyes begin to sting slightly. You looked up just to see the infamous outlaw gazing down at you, his blue eyes watery and filled with the same emotions you'd heard in his voice.

"Shut up."

You couldn't stop yourself, your tone quiet but your words filled with an underlying anger as they spilled forth, your whole body trembling.

"Shut up, Vash. Stop talking like that, you hear me? You deserve love and happiness and peace. Nothing less than any of that. I chose you. My heart chose you, and it continues to choose you each and every day that I live on this planet. It deemed you worthy. So, I don't believe what you're saying for a second. I love you, Vash. I always have. No matter what happens or what has happened, I love you. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Stampede. Understood?"

Vash's gaze never left you, not even for a second as you spoke, his blue eyes widening at your words and a few tears slipping down his cheeks as he took in what you had said to him. His brain struggled to comprehend how you could possibly love him as much as you did while his heart practically sang in his chest, calling out to its other half that lived in your chest.

As Vash sat there on the side of the bed, seemingly frozen in place, you stood up before pulling Vash tightly into your arms, holding him as close as you possibly could against you, pressing kisses into his soft hair. After a moment or two, you felt Vash's arms wrapping around you in return, one warm and one cold as he pressed you against him, his face burying itself into your belly as he took comfort from you.

You could feel him trembling as he clutched onto you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin as he held you close, soft, shaky whispers of "I love you. I love you, Mayfly" escaping him against your skin as Vash struggled not to cry.

You ran your fingers through his blonde hair, the tips of your fingers just grazing over his scalp in a soothing, gentle motion, attempting to soothe the love of your life as best as you could. You could feel Vash calming slowly, his breathing evening out and his trembling subsiding as he breathed in your familiar scent and took in your comforting warmth and gentle touch.

"Hang on a second," you murmured to Vash gently once he had calmed, stepping away from him for a moment and causing him to whine loudly in protest at the lack of your embrace and warmth.

You quickly stripped off your clothes, piece by piece, as quickly as you could until you were completely bare before walking back over to Vash, whose eyes were wide in surprise at your sudden nudity, a slight blush spreading over his cheeks.

You giggled at the sight of the colour rising in Vash's cheeks, "Why are you blushing, my love? You've seen me naked many times."

"I've also seen the suns rising over the dunes many times in my life, Mayfly. Doesn't make it any less beautiful every time I see it. Just like you," Vash replied, his eyes taking in every bit of your body as you stood before him.

Now, you were the one blushing, looking off to the side for a moment before smiling lovingly at the man sat before you. You reached out and took Vash's flesh-and-blood hand into yours, intertwining your fingers with his gently before guiding his hand to your breast, letting it rest on your skin. You heard a shaky little breath escaping him as his hand cupped your breast oh-so-gently, and you couldn't help but smile bigger when you saw how Vash gazed at you, as if you had hung the stars in the sky yourself.

"Let me show you how much I love you, Vash," you whispered softly, your tone gentle yet firm. "Please. Let me cherish you."

Vash swallowed softly, nodding his head slowly in consent as he looked up into your eyes, heat and desire beginning to course through his body. Sex was nothing new between the two of you at this point, but something about how you were looking at Vash and how you spoke to him made him feel like something was going to be different this time.

And sure enough, as Vash reached to pull his shirt off, you quickly stopped him, your smaller hand wrapping around his bigger wrist as best as it could. You shook your head at him, smiling softly when you were met by a confused grin from him.

"I want to take care of you. Completely," you explained, a hint of heat rising to your face.

Vash blushed even darker than before at your words, but nodded assent as he let go of his turtleneck, allowing for you to take over just as you had wanted.

Slowly, silently, with nothing but loving touches and gentle caresses, you worked Vash's shirt off of him, then his boots, his holsters, his pants and his socks, leaving him in just his boxers. Your diligent and tender work of undressing him had already affected him, given the very obvious tent in Vash's underwear and the wet spot darkening and growing on the fabric.

"Sit against the headboard, please," you directed Vash gently, waiting for him to follow your request.

The Humanoid Typhoon seemed a little confused by this, but he nodded as he did as you asked, shifting so his back was resting against the headboard, with him sitting up in the bed. Vash seemed gently restless, unsure of your next move, but he trusted you with his heart and soul.

You were his best friend, his other half, his soulmate. You were the only person who had ever seen him this vulnerable, the only person who knew what Vash sounded like as he cried out and moaned in the throes of passion, the only person who knew what he tasted like. You were the only one who ever felt him inside them, the only one who had been filled by him over and over again as he moaned out confessions of love for you against your skin, the only person who would ever be with Vash that way. He belonged to you heart, body and soul, just as you did to him.

Without a word, you crawled into the bed towards Vash, making your way over to him until you were straddling his lap, your pussy grinding oh-so-gently against Vash through his boxers, pulling a hiss from his lips, his hands coming to grip onto your hips, clenching onto you tightly.

"M-Mayfly! S-Sensitive!" Vash whined out, trying to take deep breaths and calm himself, a wave of pleasure coursing through his veins as you continued to grind against him.

"I know," you cooed gently, continuing your gentle grinding as you watched Vash's expressions carefully, seeing the pleasure he was getting from your touch.

You reached over and took Vash's wrists in your own, removing his hands from your hips and bringing them up gently against the headboard, next to his head. His eyes widened as he watched you hold him, and another soft whine escaped his lips as he tried to grind against your bare pussy, clearly wanting to feel more of you.

"Not fair... wanna feel you, (Y/N)..." Vash pouted at you, gazing at you as you smiled a bit mischievously at him.

"I asked you to let me take care of you, Vash. This is part of that," You replied softly, stopping your movements altogether and making Vash groan in slight frustration at the lack of friction. "Stay here, just like this. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, Mayfly," Vash replied, panting softly as he tried to move his hips against you, his entire body aching for just a hint of friction from you.

You giggled as you got off of Vash entirely, teasing him further as you stood up off the bed, making Vash groan even louder, his frustration building as he whined you name, "(Y/NNNNN)!"

You couldn't help but continue to laugh softly as you dug through Vash's bag, looking around for something in particular before letting out a triumphant "Aha!" as you found what you were looking for.

Glancing over at Vash, you grinned softly and said, "Close your eyes, please."

Vash rolled his eyes playfully but conceded, closing his eyes as you made your way back to the bed, getting back into Vash's lap and straddling him once more. Gently, you took the piece of rope you had pulled from Vash's bag and tied Vash's hands to the headboard, being careful to be gentle with him and making him comfortable. When you were done with your work, you smiled softly and sat back in Vash's lap.

"There. Open your eyes, love."

Vash opened his eyes, looking over at his hands to see the ropes now binding him to the bed, and his eyes widened in surprise to see what you'd done.

"M-Mayfly? What is this?"

"You always focus on everybody but yourself. Tonight, I want to focus on just you, Vash. I want to make you feel good, I want to make you feel loved. The way I'm doing that is by ensuring you can't focus on anything but what you're feeling. Okay?"

Your voice was gentle yet firm, your words loving as you explained to the love of your life what you were hoping to do, and you could see the blush on Vash's face darkening as you explained what you wanted to do, his heart fluttering in his chest at your genuine desire to make him feel loved.

With a nod from Vash, you proceeded to gently work his underwear off of him, finally allowing his cock to spring free, already rock hard and throbbing slightly in time to his heartbeat. Globs of precum leaked from the head, dribbling down his shaft just from the few touches you had shared with him, and you felt a spike of desire and confidence go through your body at the sight of just how badly Vash wanted you.

"God, Vash... you're so beautiful," you murmured softly, tracing your hands slowly down Vash's body, taking your time with each and every scar that littered his body.

You knew Vash was sensitive about his scars, about how mutilated and broken his body looked, but to you, he was nothing short of angelic, a being of beauty beyond compare. You loved every tiny piece of him, scars and all, and you wanted to ensure that Vash understood that, that that knowledge was engraved in his soul.

A soft little whine escaped Vash as you traced down his body, your fingertips grazing over his scars with a featherlight touch, and all he could think about was just how badly he wanted to hold you, kiss you, and touch you. Vash found himself tugging against the ropes holding his hands in place, but you giggled softly and leaned in towards him, your lips teasingly a mere few centimeters away from his.

"Ah, ah, ah... no touching, Vash. Tonight's about you," You scolded him playfully.

Vash simply whined, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of pleasure, pleading and frustration, wanting nothing more than to feel you against him, to be able to hold you and touch you to his heart's content. While you weren't fully going to give into his pleading puppy-eyes, you decided that you would allow yourself to rest against him, straddling him once again and now grinding your bare pussy against the sensitive skin of his cock, a soft gasp escaping Vash's lips as he finally felt you against him.

You began to move slowly, biting your lip and letting out soft, muffled moans of pleasure as your soaked folds glided over Vash's cock, his tip nudging your clit with each thrust of your hips. You could feel Vash tensing against you, soft whimpers and pants escaping his lips as he strained against the ropes restraining him once more as you rubbed your pussy against him. The fact that he couldn't hold you as you moved against him and teased him like this was driving him crazy. Vash knew that he could easily break free from the ropes restraining him from you, but instead, he allowed you to continue your thrusts, opting instead to get lost in the pleasure you were giving him.

"B-Beautiful," you moaned against Vash's throat, pressing soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses to his skin as you continued to press your pussy against his cock, rocking back and forth with a bit more pressure, "You're so beautiful, Vash. S-So beautiful, and so good... God..."

Your loving praise mixed with such sensual and intimate touches made Vash shudder in a way you had never felt him before, his head slumping against your shoulder as you felt his whole body tensing, a loud moan escaping him as you felt his cock throbbing against your pussy.

"M-Mayfly, ha-ah! I- I'm gonna-... I'm gonna cum!" Vash cried out, his body trembling slightly against you as he felt his orgasm approaching faster than it had ever done so before.

"Cum for me, my love," you encouraged Vash gently, continuing your gentle praise and bringing your fingers up to his hair, tugging it gently as you pulled him into a passionate kiss, finally giving him a taste of you. "That's it. Cum for me. I love you. Cum for me."

With a soft cry of your name against your lips as he returned your kiss with equal passion and need, you could feel Vash coming undone beneath you. His cum spurted all over your cunt, coating both your folds and his abdomen with his seed as his orgasm washed over him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over him. Vash closed his eyes as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily as he struggled to recover from his orgasm.

You continued running your fingers through Vash's hair as he snuggled into you, cooing to him gently as you held him close to you, "Breathe slowly, my love. Deep breaths... that's it. You did amazing. I love you so much."

Vash shivered slightly in your hold, pulling back a bit to look into your eyes, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed from your praise and the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling. As you shifted in Vash's lap, you quickly realized that despite cumming mere moments ago, his cock was still rock hard and throbbing once again, clearly still aching for you.

"(Y-Y/N)..." Vash panted softly, looking up at you with need and slight desperation, his tone and his gaze indicating how much he still wanted and needed you.

You didn't respond, instead leaning down and pressing another softer and gentler kiss against Vash's lips, your hands gliding down his body slowly. As you reached the base of Vash's cock, you sat up a little and guided Vash to the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your core, sinking down slowly and pushing the tip of Vash's cock into you.

The moment he entered you, a loud whine escaped Vash's lips as a gasp escaped from you, the feeling of him stretching you out and filling you making you see stars as you settled into his lap, allowing him to fully bottom out within you.

"I love you," Vash began to babble softly the moment he felt your pussy clenching down around him, his face burrowing into your neck once again as he pressed desperate kisses against your skin, frantically beginning to thrust up into you in order to feel more of you around him, "I love you so much, (Y/N), you feel so good, please... please... I need you. I want you, (Y/N), please... God, I love you."

"I love you, too, Vash. I love you so much," you moaned softly in return, pressing your palms against Vash's chest to steady yourself as you began to bounce in his lap, driving his cock deeper and deeper into you.

Endless praise spilled forth from your lips as you drove Vash deeper and deeper into you, your pussy tightening around him as he brushed that perfect spot deep inside you with each thrust. Any and all thoughts left your mind except for wanting to make Vash cum over and over again while telling him how good he was, how perfect and how beautiful, how much you loved him and how good he made you feel.

"You're everything t-to me," you gasped out, grinding down on Vash and driving his cock even deeper into you, your cunt milking him and pulling endless whines and moans from his lips as you did so, "You're my world, Vash. My universe. I-I love you, I'll always love you."

The sounds escaping Vash changed suddenly, his whines and moans suddenly becoming soft whimpers and little hiccups, and you could feel his body trembling against you in a way unlike before. As you pulled away to look at him, you realized that Vash was crying in your embrace, crystalline tears coursing down his cheeks as he looked up at you, his bottom lip quivering as he tried not to sob openly.

"Vash..." you whispered softly, slowing your movements and bringing your hands up to cup his face gently, brushing away his tears, your heart aching at the sight of his tears. "Shh... it's alright."

Vash wasn't entirely sure why he was crying - you were in the middle of making him feel amazing, and yet, as he heard your words, words of love and tenderness and devotion, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all. How did somebody whose hands were as stained with blood as his end up with somebody as incredible, kind and pure as you? How did your heart belong to somebody like him? Thoughts swirled endlessly through his mind, his emotions overwhelming him as you sat in his lap, holding him close and caressing his face gently.

"Look at me, love."

Your voice was gentle yet insistent, tilting his face up so Vash could look you in the eyes. You pressed gentle kisses all over his face, untying Vash's hands from the headboard and allowing him to finally wrap his arms around you tightly, clutching onto you tightly as he buried his face into your bare chest, soft sobs escaping him as he held you close.

"I l-love you s-so much," Vash whimpered softly against your skin, holding you as close to him as he possibly could as his emotions overwhelmed him. "I'm sorry, (Y/N)... I-I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, my love," you replied immediately, kissing his face gently, "You're allowed to feel overwhelmed. It's okay. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Another soft sob escaped Vash's lips, but instead of burying his face into you, he tilted his face up and pressed his lips to yours in a passionate, emotional and surprisingly tender kiss, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you against him. This kiss was Vash's way of showing you just how much he needed you, how much you meant to him, how much he loved you and never wanted to be parted from you for as long as he lived. Vash's heart ached for you, wanting nothing but to spend the rest of his life by your side, loving you, making love to you, protecting you and being happy with you, if only the universe would allow it.

A sudden upward thrust from Vash in the middle of your tender moment made you gasp against his lips, the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing against that perfect, gummy spot inside of you making your whole body shudder in his grasp. His movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring both of you could feel him thrusting every inch into you as he kissed you and held you close. Both of you moaned and whined against each other's lips, and you began to grind your hips against Vash's in time with his thrusts, somehow driving him even deeper than before.

"L-Love you," Vash borderline sobbed against your throat, "I lo-love you, Mayfly. Love you so m-much, (Y/N)."

You felt your orgasm beginning to build as Vash continued his thrusts, and you matched his tender and loving movements, trying to focus on him rather than on the pleasure you were feeling. You decided then and there that you would forfeit your pleasure in favour of ensuring Vash was looked after rather than him looking after you. You reached down and pressed down on Vash's hips, silently asking him to stop his thrusts as you continued your own movements, wanting to make him feel good.

"I love you," you gasped out softly in reply, grinding and bouncing slowly and more intentionally in Vash's lap, plunging his cock deeper and deeper into you and pulling the most beautiful sounds from him. "I love you more than anything. I'll always love you, Vash. Always. You're mine and I'm yours."

A strangled sound, half a sob and half a whine, escaped Vash's throat suddenly as he clutched onto you, pulling you down hard into his lap and holding you flush against him with incredible strength as he buried himself inside you completely, "(Y-Y/N)!"

With the cry of your name, you felt Vash spill himself inside you, his cock throbbing as his seed coated your walls in white and spilled out of you as he filled you more than he ever had before, the sticky substance pooling on Vash's thighs. His whole body was shaking against you as he came down from his orgasm, his heart pounding as he tried to calm himself down and recover from it all.

"It's okay, love," you whispered gently, embracing Vash and holding him against you tightly, letting his head rest against your chest as your orgasm slipped away from you, your pleasure disappearing. "I love you, it's okay, Vash. Breathe. I've got you."

Vash's breathing slowed gradually, his eyes sliding shut as he rested against you for a moment until his body suddenly stiffened and he sat up, his eyes wide and filled with concern as he looked at you in alarm.

"(Y/N), wait... wh-what about you?! You didn't-!"

"And I'm not going to," you cut Vash off gently yet firmly, "I'm not interested in my own orgasm right now, Vash. I just want to focus on you, love. Not me. I told you that from the beginning, didn't I?"

"But this isn't fair! You've made me cum twice, a-and... I've done nothing for you in return!" Vash exclaimed, his expression borderline upset as he took your face in his hands, looking at you worriedly.

You couldn't help but laugh at how endearing Vash was, and you kissed the palms of his hands before placing your hands overtop of his on your cheeks, intertwining your fingers with his.

"It's not a big deal, Vash," you laughed softly, gazing at him with tenderness and love.

"It is to me!" Vash exclaimed immediately, frowning and pouting as he tugged you closer to him.

"How about this, then? Let me take care of you for a little while longer, and then, afterwards, if you still want to, you can do what you'd like to make me feel good. Deal?" You offered, cocking your head to the side as you gazed at the love of your life.

"Deal."

Vash didn't hesitate to take you up on your offer before leaning in and kissing you again, this kiss gentle, loving and sweet rather than lustful and passionate. His embrace was strong, yet gentle, and as Vash held you close, he felt an overwhelming sense of true peace for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. In loving him and cherishing him as you had, not just tonight but every day before this, you had shown Vash what he meant to you. You had shown him just how much you loved him and believed in him, and it made his heart swell and break simultaneously.

"I don't know how somebody like me could ever deserve somebody as precious as you."

Vash's words made your heart ache in your chest, and you shook your head resolutely as you pressed your forehead to his, closing your eyes and taking a deep, slow breath before answering, "You deserve so much more than just me, Vash. You deserve the world."

"You are my world, (Y/N). You always have been and always will be, for as long as I live."

You couldn't help but kiss Vash once again, wanting nothing but to spend the rest of your life burrowed in his embrace, but you pulled away so you could clean both yourself and him off and continue taking care of him.

"Come on, my love. I'll run you a bath and you can soak your muscles. You've worked hard, you need to rest," you offered gently, standing from the bed and heading to the bathroom to do as you suggested.

Vash sighed happily as he slumped back against the headboard and watched you walk to the bathroom, a blush on his cheeks and a goofy little smile on his face. His heart was still awash with a flurry of emotions and residual pleasure, but the most prominent thing he felt in that moment was overwhelming love for you as he let out a quiet whisper that nobody but he could hear.

"Gods, how I love you, Mayfly. I will spend a thousand lifetimes trying to deserve you."

#anya's athenaeum #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun #vash the stampede #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede smut #vash tristamp #trigun stampede smut #trigun smut #vash x you #vash smut #vash trigun

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momentomori24 · 2 months

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I swear to God, Twitter being able to accumulate so many brain-dead, malicious, pseudo intellectual low lives all in one place at the same time is a phenomenon worthy of being studied under a microscope in a science lab. And no, that is not a compliment.

Thankfully people have already spoken out against this bullshit-- the fact that people needed to is already maddening to think about-- but as someone who got the basic gist of what happened literally yesterday I'll also put my voice out there: Don't you fucking dare try to paint Hbomb as a murderer over this situation.

Somerton may be a lying, misogynistic plagiarist and conman, but he obviously doesn't deserve to die and while I do make fun of the guy, I genuinely hope that he continues to have a life after the dust has settled on everything. Not on YouTube or any social media platform for a long time at least, but just a life nontheless. I don't wish what he's potentially going through on anyone, and I hope that he makes it through this. But regardless of if he does or doesn't-- and God forbid he doesn't-- none of this is Hbomb's fault. It's not his fault, or Kat's fault, or Jessie's fault (because apparently there's people blaming her too cuz WHY NOT), or anybody's fault. All they did was call out his actions, hold him accountable for the harm he's done. They have done nothing to deserve having to carry this on their shoulders should the worst happen. They did nothing wrong. They didn't kill James (he's not confirmed dead yet either btw). They are not murderers. And to the people saying they are: say those words out loud, listen how they sound like, and re-evaluate. Just cease.

And to people like this:

''Oh I'm not blaming him for anything I'm just blaming him for what his audience did because according to HIM you're responsible for your audience'' Yeah, you people can shut your mouths too. Of course you're responsible for your audience, and that includes Hbomb too. However, your tiny, godless little monkey brain can't see why your argument is still rubbish even with that in mind. The difference between James, Internet Historian and Hbomb is that Hbomb never promoted problematic behaviour to his audience. If you promote problematic shit like harassment or misogyny or racism, then yeah, you're absolutely responsible for how your behaviour influences your audience. But that's not what he did. He made it very clear where he stood on those things, literally stating that ''if anyone were to harass Somerton on his behalf they are worse than him and will not see the light of heaven''. He's done his part in making it clear that harassment is wrong, so if someone went out of their way to go against that and harass James anyway that doesn't reflecf on him at all. Also, what the hell do you mean ''hatemobbed'' to suicide? I don't doubt there are people who went to extremes because those bad apples always exist, but most of the things I've seen are valid critisisms, memes and call outs about that guy. If holding people accountable for their actions and poking fun at them a little counts as 'hatemobbing'' (which has Filip calling his critics a ''lynch mob'' energy tbh) what the hell do you call actual hatemobbing then? Do we just let people continue being shitty because calling them out ''damages their mental health'' or ''drives them to suicide'' then? Is that a world you want to live in?

Same thing goes for people like this:

Criticing someone for their objectively bullshit content and wanting them dead are two seperate things. What the actual hell is wrong with you. The plagiarist in question is a person. Those ''harshest critics'' are still people. And because we're people, we care. I'd rather James pump out more plagiarised slop than commit suicide. I'd still hate him for it, but I'd prefer him being alive over the alternative any day. We all do. None of us would sleep easier knowing he's dead just because he wouldn't be ''committing the cardinal sin of putting out a 'pure content mill' video'' because someone taking their own life is horrific-- especially Hbomberguy, how dare you even try to imply that?

And this gets me to the reason I'm furiously typing all this out in the first place: Hbomb is the fucking victim here, so stop treating him like he isn't. He tried making things as right as possible by compensating those that were burned by James through a video where he revealed everything there needs to be known about the guy so that less people fall victim to his actions and lies. To just ignore the harm James was causing while he had the evidence to prove it and platform too big to threaten into non existence should he speak out would've been bad. So he didn't. He did the right thing by sticking with the people James had stolen from, giving them a voice and making them known after they've been scrubbed from the picture by decidedly being uncredited for their works or bullied into silence. He shouldn't have to deal with this for doing the right thing. He shouldn't be labelled a murderer for doing the right thing. He shouldn't have to have the death of a man on his conscience for doing the right thing. People claiming otherwise are obviously wrong, but I can't imagine what all this must feel like right now. Because even tho they're wrong, guilt isn't a rational thing, and I know that if I were in his position I'd still feel like a morally bankrupt individual were the worst to happen even if I knew that it was not my fault. This isn't a funny story. So to add to this dumpsterfire by using it as a prop to bash on a creator you don't like and immediately write Somerton off as dead even when he's not even been confirmed dead yet to do that shows how little these people actually care about the thing they're talking about. They don't care a guy potentially killed himself-- what they care about is using it to paint Hbomb in a bad light because they don't like him. Here they are, posting memes and ill jokes about this very delicate situation while barely a day since the news broke out had passed. It's opportunistic, it's sickening, and literally the exact thing he criticised in his video when talking about 'content mills'. Like, I know none of these clowns bothered to actually watch it, but have some self-awareness. And some shame too, while you're at it.

This long story short: I'm writing this to contribute to the narrative not getting twisted to make Hbomb out to be the villian. Same goes for everyone else. Don't let these people paint them as the villians. If I see another person pull this shit again I will literally bite you and shred you into salad and spit you back out because I hate you so much and I mean that wholeheartedly.

To Hbomb: you will never see this but if you do, take care of yourself.

To the asshats this post is about: Delete your account. Cease all together. Stop talking about this. Just leave him the fuck alone.

#hbomberguy #james somerton #this post took me ages to finish and really grinds my gears #i would not survive on that hellscape with people like this holy shit #really hope this situation turns out for the best #i wrote this while i was frustrated and sleep deprived so apologies for unnoticed grammar i'll correct it later #i'll be keeping my eyes peeled for any updates on this situation this is actually getting scary

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amaramizuki666 · 1 year

Text

DC x Dp crossover

Soul speak part.2

John and jason sat in the justice league's main conference room. "What do you think is going to happen?" Hood asked looking at the blond. "No fucking clue I tried to dig up stuff on this guy but I didnt find out much, just that he's been king for the past 10 years" Constantine muttered while lighting a cigarette. "Well you sold your soul to the guy so I get why he wants to talk with you, but what does he want from me?!" Jason sighs.

Jason is agitated, he dosnt understand what this ghost king wants from him. "I dont know red hood mabey it's because you died and came back to life, dont lie I can tell, you have the stench of death on ya" Constantine says blowing smoke from his lips. "You are suposed to be dead, not sure how you came back or how ya died but you arnt supposed to be breathing right now." John continued "and this king phantom is upset that I'm still alive or something?" Jadon asked and Constantine just shrugged mummblinging a mabey.

The door to the room slid open. Constantine and red hood felt a cold chill go up their spines. They turned their heads to see a kid that looked like one of the bats brood walk in, he had coal black hair and ice blue eyes. He was tall about a few inches taller than both john and jason. But he was still young looking, around late teens to early twenties.

They just watched the young man walk in front on them pull a projector from who knows where and plug it in. He turned it on, and on the wall of the room seemed to be a Google slide show presentation labelled, ghost adoption/how to form and keep your baby ghost core healthy.

"Ok so let's get this started shall we" the boy says turning to the other men in the room. "Excuse me who are you" Constantine asks flatly a puff of smoke leaving his lips "john Constantine, I know it's been a month but I know I'm not that forgettable" he replied smiling flashing them with his too sharp teeth, his eyes flashing green.

"What how are you-" jhon was cut off "alive? Well I'm not, not really anyway" the boy says tilting his head lightly unblinking at the men. "Wait your the ghost king. Are you possessing that kid or something" hood glared at the demon/ghost/thing. "No I'm not overshadowing , this is my body, you see I'm only half dead, but that's a story for another time, I'm here for in right now" phantom says still starring unblinkingly.

"Why are you in this form and not your other form?" John asked the king. "because it's less of a mind fuck, now" phantom says and clicks the next button on the presentation "let's talk about how we are going to form your ghost cores shall we".

"What are you talking about?" Hood snaps, annoyed "why am I here? Do you want to finish me off or some shit? Collect my soul?!" Hood interrogates green sleeping into his vision. Phantom looks at him walks over to where hood is seated and places his hand on his shoulder. "You are here because you are a starved baby ghost with anger issues, well halfa that hasnt formed a core yet".

John looked at phantom "and why am I here?" "Because you have a core, but it's very unhealthy, and to talk about how I kinda ghost adopted you" phantom supplied. John and jason where so confused "now back to the slides" phantom says. They then spend 3 hours and a half talking about ghost cores, ghost adoption, and how to keep ghost cores healthy.

On the flip side danny is also considering fighting batman for custody for red hood. He'll have to talk to sam and tucker first though. Sam was pretty upset he adopted john without informing them first. Not that he originally knew he ghost adopted him. I mean what was danny suposed to do with Constantine's soul eat it?

#writing prompt #writing #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc comics #dc x dp #batfam #dc #jason todd #jhon constantine #john constantine #king phantom #jason is about to end up with a new dad #Constantine is so confused

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radley-writes · 9 months

Text

A confession:

Most 'character development' help posts do nothing for me. Nada. Zilch.

This is not a denunciation of such posts - they evidently work for a lot of folks! But if I see questions like 'what is your character's favourite colour?' or 'what is your character's biggest fear?' I am clicking away.

Obviously, working this sort of thing out is important! These details add fun little quirks to your character, or shine a light on their backstory. But when I'm developing a complementary cast of characters, with a smorgasbord of unique and interesting personalities...

I just put them in situations.

I call this the fanfic approach, as it basically amounts to writing mini fics about how your characters would react to a variety of stressors. For instance: let's start with a simple scenario with a potential for conflict!

A barista gets the character's coffee order wrong. Like, horrifically wrong. They create an unholy abomination of syrup shots and espresso that probably tastes of cough syrup, and hand it to your character, straight-faced. How does the character react?

Working with the cast of No Man's Sky...

Mavrik would shrug and chug the coffee anyway. She's drunk worse; she ain't bothered. No point causing a fuss.

Vox would threaten to kill the barista and their entire family, in graphic detail, until they were escorted out of the coffee shop and banned for life.

Oleander would smile politely, engage the barista in small talk, show genuine interest in their hopes and dreams, then proceed to make such a pleasant yet insistent song-and-dance about how this was not their order that the barista would apologise profusely, remake his drink, and offer him complimentary free croissants for the rest of the year.

Jagura would drink the coffee-trocity without noticing the error.

Renzou would apologise to the barista.

As you can see, we have five distinct, diverging reactions - and thus, five unique characters! I like to repeat this exercise with three-ish prompts of varying intensity. Here's some ideas, if anyone wants to play along:

Your character is waiting for a train. It's running late, but only by five minutes. However, they are hoping to catch a connection at the next station, and this will reduce their transfer time by half.

Your character finds a box full of sickly kittens, abandoned in a rainy street. There are far too many for your character to adopt and look after alone.

Your character walks into a room where there is most definitely not supposed to be a dead body. There... is a dead body.

You get the idea! Your characters don't always have to react in a unique way to every scenario, but there should be some individual flavour to their actions, whatever they may be.

Go forth and put those little guys in situations and scenarios! And pretty please feel free to reblog and let me know how your cast would react!

#writing #writing advice #writeblr #writers on tumblr #character development #radley writes #radley rambles

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sorrowsofsilence · 4 months

Text

Burning Out • 1

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 7.3K

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, Alcohol consumption, devils lettuce consumption, violence, mentions of murder, panic attacks/ anxiety

Authors note: Chapter One: The Apparition - This story was a request by an anon! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of the prompt (prompt is here). I am excited to see where this goes! Let me know any thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged leave a comment :3 (ps. Listen to the apparition by sleep token hehe)

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY IN REAL LIFE! IT IS FICTION! IT IS JUST FOR FUN! <;3

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking

NOAH

The world was always in a state of grey, the life of the concrete jungle persistently sucking out the souls of its inhabitants with every passing second. Destruction. Crime. Greed. A shattering abyss of capitalism and corruption.

Yet, within this lifetime, I don’t think I was meant to be the good guy either.

Perhaps there was a chance for me, someday or somehow within another universe.

For now, the only thing I could think about was how my heart pounded as the gun sat between my fingers, threatening the innocent ahead. Destruction, Crime, Greed.

“Noah, let’s go,” Ruffilo pulled at my wrist in desperation. My arm remained still, resisting his force.

The woman’s eyes watched me in horror, tears brimming as her back hit the brick wall behind her, arms wrapping protectively around her body in defeat.

My heart raced, and I stood frozen in place.

“I won’t say anything I swear,” She pleaded, lips trembling, saliva foaming from her mouth as she was too afraid to swallow.

I don’t want to do this, but I fucked up.

“Noah,” Ruffilo said through gritted teeth, “We need to go,” he placed a hand on top of my gloved one, in another attempt to have me lower the bad decision.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut in contemplation as my chest heaved, the voice of rationality fighting against the voice of destruction.

I’ll be even more of a fuck up if she rats on us.

You’ve never been able to kill anyone before you moron, why do you think this time will be any different?

My eyes snapped open, leathered finger dancing along the trigger as I stared at her. My teeth barred through chapped lips, a snarl of frustration crawling from my throat. The woman's eyes turned away in fear as if watching her own demise would kill her. Ironic.

Seeing her in complete terror left me broken. Is this who I am? I am nothing more.

The next thirty seconds passed as though I was walking through molasses, my thoughts battling contradictions before I audibly screamed in frustration, shoving the gun back into my pocket as Nicholas and I ran towards the van.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming the car door as forceful as possible. The tires squealed in place, burning out as Jolly’s foot pounded onto the gas pedal.

I ripped off my ski mask, throwing it angrily onto the floor of the vehicle.

“You should’ve just left her Noah. Now if they find us we could be charged with assault with a weapon.” The deep Swedish accent was the last thing I wanted to hear. He eyed me sternly in the rearview mirror. I lingered on his gaze for a moment before turning my head towards the window.

“Oh Fuck off Jolly,” I sighed angrily, closing my eyes as my breathing quickened, the anxiety beginning to set in. The pounding of my heart began to vibrate along my entire chest, and my leg bounced in anticipation, waiting for the panic to subside.

I kept justifying to myself that we’re all dead anyway, so what’s the difference between a God and a loaded gun?

+++++

Y/N

Wrapping the grey apron around my waist, I clocked into work and tightened my low bun, tucking the loose strands of my H/C bangs behind my ear. Another shift, another day that felt wasted away, confiding into the capitalist abyss.

Overall, I enjoyed my new job working in the coffee shop. The city was busy, something I definitely wasn’t used to, but the cafe was a comforting environment filled with tasty pastries, and an unlimited amount of caffeine to fulfill any heart's desire.

I did appreciate having a solid routine, and a stable job that paid me well, however, I envied those with freedom. Those with spontaneous adventures and the ability to travel; those who got to spend their days making memories. You never know when a day is going to be your last; and at this rate, my soul was going to linger within this fucking place forever.

I sighed as I checked on the coffee pots, organizing them before neaty lining the glass display with more cakes and croissants. Stocking up the cups and lids, I hummed to myself, letting my mind wander into my corporate daydream distractions.

Why are you never real?

Whenever you appear

You leave me with that grace

I am trembling with fear

But I know that you will disappear

“How’s it going Y/N?” My coworker asked, smiling, pulling me out of my trance.

Annika; I have grown quite fond of her, even though I’ve only known her a week.

“Good,” I smiled, pulling a sanitized cloth out of a bucket and wiping down the counters, “yourself?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.” She said, sighing with a sad smile. I matched her as we shared a moment of familiarity, before concentrating again on wiping the surface, the cold cloth running along the faux marble.

The seating area was already busy; friends chatting, students studying, and business meetings occurring. I enjoyed watching the bustle of life that everyone brought inside. I smiled as I watched our regular elderly couple I’ve seen each morning this week wave goodbye.

“See you Lauren, bye Ray,” I gave them a nod, before wandering over to empty tables, giving them a wipe. The door dinged as more people came in, but I didn’t bother glancing up, letting myself work.

I hummed again, singing ever so quietly as I walked back to the counter and began to daydream, thinking of things I’d love to write about, and places I’d love to go. It’s only been three weeks since I left my old life behind, and this was just the beginning of my freedom.

So let's make trouble in the dream world

Hijack heaven with another memory now

I make the most of the turning tide

It just split what's left of the burning silence

“Sleep token?” a man's voice asked, pulling me out of my trance.

My head immediately spiralled, flushing with embarrassment as I realized Annika was off helping someone else, and I completely ignored the customer in front of me.

“Oh- sorry.” I avoided eye contact, throwing the cloth back into the bucket and scrambling my way back to the till.

“What can I get for you?” I asked as I stared at the buttons in front, preparing myself to hit stay or go, before looking up at the man in front of me. As soon as I met his deep brown eyes, I was lost in a certain intensity, the mysterious depths beckoning me towards him.

My lips parted as I stared at him, my cheeks immediately warming from infatuation. His chocolate eyes were paired with a head of long brunette hair that flowed in all the right places, just below his collarbone. A variety of coloured tattoos covered his arms and neck, and when he smiled, I just about felt weak in the knees; the crinkle of his eyes and the fold of his smile lines left me captivated. However, another story lingered behind his gaze, my mind trying to peel the layers to reveal whatever it may be.

He too watched my face, eyes trailing over every detail as a light tint of blush trailed down his ears to the top of his cheekbones.

“Uh- is it to stay? Or to go?” I stuttered as I looked away, realizing I was staring for too long. My ears felt hot and I eyed the counter intensely, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“To go please,” he said; and my god his voice, the slight Virginian accent that danced off his tongue held me in a chokehold.

“What could I get for you today?” I asked, glancing up shyly. I've met plenty of attractive customers in my years of retail and serving, but I never had anyone caught my eye the way he did. The unknown puzzle he appeared to be was leaving me captivated.

“I'd like a coffee please, black?” he said slowly, as if it was a question.

I let out a small laugh, “Did you want cream or sugar? Or we have a variety of syrups-” I watched as he smiled, before shaking his head, eyes remaining fixated.

“No, just black is okay…” he said. Something about his October eyes tantalized me, pulling me towards him as if invisible strings were being woven between us as the seconds ticked by. His body was a magnet, and I was being tugged.

“Sure thing,” I nodded, averting my eyes from his gaze in embarrassment, “that's everything for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, fiddling with his wallet before pulling out cash.

“Can I grab a name?” I asked shyly, looking back at him again, my eyes searching his entire face for answers as if his name would reveal all the mysteries he was hiding.

I extended my hand to grab his money, and he hesitated for a moment as if scared to touch me. He placed the bill gently in my palm, the tip of his tattooed fingers brushing across my skin. My hand burned as butterflies churned in my stomach.

“Noah,“ he said, giving a slight nod and tight smile.

“Noah,” I echoed, giving him his change, the cool silver coin radiating the heat off of his palm.

“I’ll have that ready for you shortly,” I smiled up at him, and he returned it, stepping back with his hands in his pockets. With shaky hands, I turned around and walked to the coffee pot, grabbing a cup and filling it with a warm drink.

Annika slithered next to me, bumping my shoulder gently, “That’s Noah, a regular. He hasn’t been here in a while, but he’s always so glum.”

I looked at her, nodding slowly, unsure what to say.

“He also always grabs cream and sugar, so I’m surprised he’s changing it up.” Annika turned around, eying the boy for a moment before leaning into me again, “must be because he’s so distracted, checking you out.”

Blush tinted my cheeks as I scoffed, “Yeah, sure.” I exhaled with doubt but took a quick glance at the brunette. Sure enough, he was watching from behind the counter, averting his eyes as soon as we made contact.

“You should give him your number, maybe that’ll cheer him up,” Annika whispered, giving me a wink before walking away to help another customer.

I laughed lowly as I put on the lid, sliding a sleeve up the cup. Grabbing the sharpie I opened it, and my fingers hesitated- what if I did?

I shook my head gently, shaking away the thought before scribbling Noah’s name across the top of the lid.

“Noah,” I said, his name passed off my lips as if he breathed it from me.

His inked fingers wrapped around the cup, “You were singing the apparition earlier,” He said, and I watched him curiously, “fascinating, the line about the past.”

Every word felt like it was being taken from my body as we watched each other. Both of us seemed to hesitate, waiting for the other to say something.

He spoke first, eyes gazing upon me for a moment as he turned towards the door, “I’ve never seen you before, you must be new around here.”

I wanted to respond, but I felt frozen; so I watched every step he took towards the door, the black hoodie he wore lingering in my memory.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Have a good day,” He nodded, before walking through the door, the bell signalling his dismissal as he left.

Well, I believe,

Somewhere in the past,

Something was between,

You and I, My dear

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Perhaps it was infatuation or complete adoration; but regardless my heart yearned, regretting the way I held myself. Thoughts churned throughout my mind as I replayed the way he looked at me. I don’t think I've ever been looked at with so much intensity.

Fuck, why didn’t I get his number? I internally groaned, scolding myself, turning around to fix another pot of coffee. A few minutes went by as my mind raced with thoughts before I heard the door open again.

I instantly turned around, surprised to see the same long-haired brunette standing at the till once again, his locks tousled messily, but still cascading down to his collar bones elegantly.

“Hi,” He said, out of breath, as if he had been running. With parted lips and quick exhales, he smiled.

“Hi,” I said confused, my heart picking up pace once again.

“I think, I forgot cream and sugar,” He said, holding out the cup. His fingers shook as his cheek blushed.

My head tilted slightly as he eyed me, and I grabbed the cup from him gently, “How many of each would you like?”

“One and one.” He smiled, face flushed.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I turned around to pour the sugar and cream, mixing it in his still-hot coffee.

“One cream and one sugar,” I watched as our hands touched as we passed the beverage, fingers grazing, tingles sparking through my appendages.

Noah looked at me, our eyes searching each other for any other form of communication, but he spoke first, the question bluntly leaving his mouth, “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

I gave him a dumbfounded look, eyebrows turned inwards in shock. My lips slowly upturned into a smile of disbelief, his questions catching me completely off guard. I tilted my head to look at him as a laugh escaped me, and he too joined in, his own laugh shy and reclused.

“I- I think you should walk by again,” I watched him, coming up with a quick witty response, “But only so I can get another look as to what you’d look like walking towards me on a date.”

I cringed at my own words, laughing, and Noah’s smile widened at the banter.

“So, I’ve gathered that we are both really terrible at flirting,” He said, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips once he pulled the cup away.

I hummed in agreement, “I think that can be a safe deduction from this one-minute conversation,” my eyes following his fingers that now ran through his long chestnut hair, eyes trailing over the flower on the back of his hand, “maybe, you’d like to see how bad a longer conversation could be?”

Noah’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, giving me a look, “Do you want to risk it all right now?”

I smiled as my heart began to race, the glint in his eyes only excited me more. I grabbed the sharpie that was initially filled with regret earlier, wrote my number on top of a napkin, and handed it to him. “I’m off at 5, and I don’t work my next job till 9”

Noah licked his lips again, “I’ll see you then.”

---

I stood outside the coffee shop with my earbuds in, awaiting my bad decision. Pulling my hair out of my bun, I attempted to run my fingers through my hair to make it look even a little flattering. Would he show up? Was I delusional? Was this whole idea absolutely insane? Who does this with a complete stranger?

“Hey.”

I recognized the upbeat of his voice, and my ears immediately shifted colours. I pulled out an earphone as he strode towards me, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. The way his hair flew behind his shoulders left me watching him in complete adoration. He was beautiful.

“Let me guess,” Noah bit the inside of his cheek as he approached me, “Same song?”

Don’t wait, ‘cause this could be the last time

You turn up in the reveries of my mind

I wake up to a suicide frenzy

Loaded dreams still leave me empty

“Possibly,” I smiled.

“I think you’d really like this song by Deftones,” He began as we started walking down the street aimlessly without a plan.

“Can I guess?” I asked, looking up at him. Noah towered over me, inches above in height. I felt so small against his frame, despite his own lanky figure, and my heart began to race at our proximity. Every step he took it felt like I had to take three, his Dior cologne radiating through my senses.

Why are you never real?

The shifting states you follow me through

Unrevealed

Just let me go or take me with you

“Is it sex tape?” I asked, and Noah gave me a toothy grin, clearly impressed.

“I don’t know how you guessed the exact song,” He said, squinting at me quizzically.

“What can I say,” I shrugged, “Good at reading pretty boys’ minds. Plus, it’s a good song, similar vibe.”

He eyed me playfully as we stopped at the crosswalk, “So you think I’m pretty?”

I watched the other side of the street, smiling as I faced forward and hummed, “Well, I don’t think I’d spontaneously go out with just anyone.”

He turned to face me, looking down at me with amusement. “Fair enough.”

“For the record, 100 percent my type,” I said, looking at him through my lashes.

Noah’s face flushed again, “What is that type? Just so I can scope them out for you, ya know?”

I thought a moment, chewing on my lip, “Oh you know, hot long-haired brunettes, brown eyes,” my eyes trailed down his body to scope his hands, before trailing back up to see the snake poking above his hoodie collar, “with tattoos,in a variety of places.”

“Well,” Noah’s cheeks tinted deeper, “I do have tattoos all over my body if you ever feel the need to explore them all.”

I laughed, watching him. We stared at each other for a moment longer, my heart pounding, as his eyes devoured me before the beeping of the sidewalk timer pulled my attention away from him.

“This is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed and shook my head as I laughed in disbelief.

“What?” Noah asked, hands in his jeans pockets as he gazed between me and the path ahead.

“Going out with someone I know nothing about,” I began, “for all I know you could be a serial killer,” I teased.

Noah chuckled, “Fair. I suppose this was the last thing I thought I’d be doing this fine Tuesday evening- but I do find a dash of danger titillating.”

I smiled widely, “so, you’re not a serial killer?”

“Not that I’m aware of, I can’t say it’s something I would get much from,” Noah laughed, but I noticed he looked away, eyes becoming distant.

“So who are you then?” I asked, Noah and I follow each other down the park path towards the neighbourhood. I pulled out my earbuds, shoving them back into my pocket. The wind was picking up slightly, causing me to shiver and pull my sleeves over my hands, fingers intertwining together in my hoodie pouch. We were walking along a path by the inner city river, the leaves of the birch trees swaying as they danced along to nature’s beat.

As I strolled next to Noah I felt an odd sense of comfort, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the man beside me. I watched him, his hair flying behind him, his eyes squinting through the wind.

“I don’t really know who I am,” He said, staring out at the water. The river flowed rapidly, the water washing over the memories of the city, carrying them through the ground in a prophesied path. I walked along with him quietly, waiting for Noah to continue speaking.

“I’m just a lost soul, I guess,” He spoke softly, eyes glazing over slightly as his mind pulled him inwards.

I nodded in understanding, “I suppose that I am too.”

Noah chuckled lowly, “Nah, there’s much more to your story,” he pried, pulling himself out of his trance.

“I mean, of course. Everyone has a past,” I looked at him curiously.

“What’s yours?” Noah watched me intently, pulling his hoodie over his head in an attempt to block the wind from blowing his hair into his face, “You’re not from around here.”

“How do you know?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Accent,” He said, “And I’ve never seen you around. I know these parts pretty well.”

“Hm. Fair enough.” I nodded, smiling, “I just moved here, from Canada.”

“To the shit hole city of Los Angeles?” Noah scoffed, surprised, “You had the whole world, and you chose LA?”

“City of dreams, they say,” I shrugged, my gaze falling upon the leaves again, “and I needed to get as far as I could.”

Noah was quiet for a moment, pondering. We walked in silence again, heading towards the houses.

“Running from something?” He asked, barely forming a whisper. Noah’s eyes met mine as they searched for an answer, attempting to read through me.

I sighed, tilting my head to give him a small smile, “Always.”

“Who?” Noah asked after another pause, sitting forward in interest.

“Ghosts and demons,” I laughed, lightening the mood, “Oh, and people too.”

We laughed together, our voices creating a harmony that I wanted to listen to forever.

“I left behind everything—everything I ever knew,” I began, turning to avoid Noah’s eyes.

“My parents were murdered,” I said. I expected him to immediately bombard me with apologies, as people always did when dropping a bomb like that; but he was silent, letting me continue. “I was thirteen. Lived in and out of different foster care homes- no one wants to ever take in a teenager.”

Noah hummed, prompting me to continue. We walked down the sidewalk along the street of houses; nearing my own. Staring at it as we walked by, I turned my attention forward.

“Unfortunately got in with the wrong crowd and some really bad people who only loved and wanted me when I could provide them with things.” I stifled a laugh, suddenly feeling insecure and small, “Basically I worked my ass off to get out, and I’ve finally made it and bought my own place.”

I looked over at him now, giving him a smile, “So still running, but a lot closer to my destination.” I felt an immense amount of appreciation for his ability to listen.

Noah smiled back, giving me a knowing glance; almost as if he understood. Turning his attention toward the houses he scanned them, watching each one intensely as we walked by.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I just trauma-dumped on a stranger,” I gave an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Nah, we aren’t strangers now,” He said, “Definitely more like acquaintances.”

I smiled at his reassurance, “And you? You’re quite mysterious.”

Noah was quiet, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and thought as we enjoyed each other’s company, his eyes darting rapidly over the grass as if he were filtering through memories. I watched his lip run between his teeth before he turned to me, giving me a curt smile.

“I’m just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that.

+++++

NOAH

“Where the fuck were you?” Jolly yelled, “We’ve been waiting for hours.”

I slammed the motel door, the place we called home, glaring at him, “nowhere mom, it's not like you need to know.”

“You’re right,” Jolly said, stepping forward, pushing himself towards me so our chests were almost touching.

“I don’t give a fuck what you were doing, who you were doing, or whatever- But you know what time you need to be back, and you’re late.” Jolly’s finger pressed into my chest as he scolded me. We stared at each other, eye to eye, his gaze furious. I pushed against his chest, making space between us as I furrowed my brows.

“Whatever, sorry, I got carried away,” I mumbled, throwing myself onto the cot that rested on the floor I sighed, my cheek smashing into the musky-scented pillow. Staring at the 80’s retro carpet splayed on the floor, I analyzed the faint outline of the blood stain left by Ruffilo last week when he cut his knee open from a previous job.

“It’s your turn, Noah.” Nick Folio slapped the backpack onto the table as he sat back in the chair, crossing his legs on top of the wooden surface. The joint was lit between his lips as the smoke trailed through his teeth.

“I fucking hate doing this shit,” I protested, shaking my head as I rolled onto my back, letting myself close my eyes momentarily. Ruffilo tossed me my gloves and mask, the fabric hitting my chest. I groaned angrily as I sat up. I pulled the black leather gloves over my fingers to cover my tattoos. Standing up I shoved the black ski mask into my hoodie pocket, before throwing my phone into my cargo pants.

“Just this one for the week brother. Then you don’t need to worry about it till next week.” Nicholas Ruffilo said, smiling at me gently. He knew I hated this. He knew I wanted it to stop.

“How many more fucking weeks, huh? It’s been years. I’m sick of this shit.” I snapped, and Nicholas, being the glue of this group, placed his hands on my shoulders.

“I know,” he said, watching me cautiously.

A bitter laugh escaped Jolly’s lips, “What else are we going to do Noah? Magically pull a million bucks out of our asses?”

I loved Jolly, I really did. He was my oldest brother for as long as I can remember- but fuck, did I ever want to punch his face into the wall sometimes.

Jolly sat back in the wooden chair next to Folio, “You know the drill. It’s nothing new. We do what we gotta do to survive; how else are we going to pay back D?”

I shrugged Nicholas’ hand off my shoulder, muttering to myself in annoyance as I grabbed my combat boots, kicking my black vans underneath the cot. I tied up the laces, knotting together the memories of previous jobs, the back of my mind replaying years of regret.

Cracking open a beer, Jolly took a swig before mumbling, “Don’t forget you’re the whole reason we are in this mess in the first place.”

My head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto his, ears burning a deep red as my face heated, “Yeah? Why don’t you say that again you fucking prick?”

Jolly raised his voice, sitting forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees as he leered into me, “I’m sick and tired of hearing it, Noah. Do you think we enjoy doing this too? Do you think we want this? Don’t complain about the work when you fucked us over first.”

My chest heaved as I grew irritated, eyes glaring as his words stabbed me, “I was fourteen!” I shouted, spit flying from my mouth, “I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t told me to in the first place!”

Nicholas reached for me again, pushing against my chest to hold me back. I aggressively hit his hand away, grabbing my backpack vigorously and throwing it over my shoulder.

“I didn’t tell you to do anything,” Jolly growled, watching me as my fists clenched, muscles tightening.

“You’re the one I’m supposed to look up to!” I yelled.

“It’s not my fault your parents died,” Jolly said, and both Nicks immediately turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

“Don’t you fucking bring them into this!”I screamed, seething, ready to lunge at the long-chestnut-haired man in front of me. Nicholas wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me away. I squirmed against him, closing my eyes in anger as I fought the tears that brimmed them.

An hour ago I was sitting with one of the most beautiful humans I had ever laid my eyes on. I’ve never done anything as risky as spending time with someone I just met, especially someone like Y/N. She seemed so brave, so gentle… so worthy. How someone could captivate me within mere moments, left me baffled. I knew I was in complete infatuation, and I already felt myself craving to see her again. I have gotten a coffee from that cafe almost every day for a year; it’s the only stable part of my routine. Everything was always the same. The coffee, the customers, the servers, everything. Everything but Y/N. Seeing her threw me off, not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that felt like she was placed there as if maybe she was just for me. She seemed like a breath of fresh air in my stale, grey, lifeless world. Something about the way she spoke, how she seemed so mysterious, her wit and her beautiful fucking eyes.

Now here I was, being reminded that I was unworthy of anyone.

“Do you know where you’re going to go?” Nick asked me, pulling me from my thoughts. He handed me the joint, a way to divert from the tension,

I nodded, “I walked around a neighbourhood I’ve been eying lately, the one close to the coffee shop.” Wrapping my lips around the joint I inhaled, letting the smoke fill my throat and lungs. I coughed as I handed it back to Folio.

“Don’t you think that area is a little risky?” Nicholas said, raising a brow, “we spend enough time around there.”

I shrugged, “I scoped some places earlier. Close together and tight nit. Enough places to hide. Seems like most of the owners are elderly, it's an old neighbourhood.”

Nick took a final puff of the joint, before blowing out the smoke through open lips, placing the bud in the tray beside him, “Elderly is good. Lots of nice shit; if you sort through the useless junk. Bring the gun for the scare factor.”

“Yeah, I was planning on it,” I said as Nick held out the weapon, my finger grazing across the metal. Even through the glove, I felt its cool, metallic texture, my mind jumping back to the woman held before it earlier.

What am I even doing?

Shoving the gun into my waistband I opened the motel door, “See you guys later.” I nodded to each of them, eyes lingering on Jolly for a moment longer.

“Text if you need anything,” Jolly said through gritted teeth, taking another sip of his beer, and avoiding my gaze.

I walked down the wooden stairs, passing the rundown vinyl wall that lined the entire building. As I passed the paint-peeled doors listening to various arguments, and the sounds of sex. The scent of weed and stale alcohol lingered on the cement, decades of grime living within the premises, never fully washing away. As pathetic as it was, it smelled and sounded like home. It was all I had.

I pulled my hood over my head, letting my hair cascade as a shield around my face, my legs carrying me through the neighbourhood. It was 12:30 am, the nightlife bare as only a few cars passed by me, unaware of my felonies.

I wasn’t sure which house would be my victim tonight, but I prayed, to whoever God was, that it would be quick. Get in get out.

I placed an earpod in my ear, scrolling through songs, before choosing The Apparition. Perhaps, if this is all a dream, I can go back to the time I met her. As they say, ignorance is bliss; and I was tired of consciousness.

And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade

+++++

Y/N

I clocked out of work, sighing through the exhaustion of my 12-hour day. Thankfully my bar shift was only four hours, but I was tired regardless, knowing I had about 8 hours till I had to be back at the cafe, to do it all over again. I reapplied my red lipstick in an attempt to hydrate my lips, the crisp 1 am air biting at my cheeks. Thankfully home was only a ten-minute walk away, and the only motivation carrying me was that my warm, comfortable bed was waiting for me; and my cat.

I also couldn’t help but still feel giddy about meeting Noah earlier today. My heart yearned as I reminisced about his smile and mysterious aura. My stomach churned with butterflies from the exhilaration. Was this just a one-time thing? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d go on a ‘date’ with someone I just met; but It’s not like I do much other than work. My life needed that little bit of excitement.

I sang to myself, letting the incitement of possibly receiving a text from him in the morning carry me through the dread of working tomorrow. I let my thoughts wander to ridiculous daydreams as I reached the front door of my townhouse. I put the key in, twisting it; realizing I locked the door.

Shit, did I leave it unlocked this morning? I know I was tired…but I’m pretty good at remembering that.

With furrowed brows I opened the door, closing it and double checking it was locked. My orange cat, Juice, was not sitting by the door in his usual spot. Every time he heard the door he was always right there, waiting. None of the lights were on, which usually never worried me; but I knew that I kept the living room lamp on so it wouldn’t be dark when I got home. Maybe the power went out.

“Juice?” I called out, my stomach beginning to churn with a dreadful feeling. Something wasn’t right. The house was eerily silent as I walked quietly toward the kitchen.

“Juju baby? Where are you?” I yelled, turning on the kitchen light. I placed my bag on the counter, listening intensely for his meow.

The floor creaked above me in what sounded like a pattern of footsteps, and I froze in place. That was too loud to be a cat.

There was rustling above the stairs and my breath hitched in my throat as my heart raced. I felt my pulse radiate through my ears as I reached for the biggest kitchen knife from the block. The adrenaline rushed through me as I slinked towards the stairs from the kitchen.

I peered up the stairs into the darkness, the only source of light coming from the windows, illuminating the crevasses of the doors upstairs. Another creek sounded and I watched the shadow dance along the wall as the door to my bedroom opened. With shallow breaths I carried myself up the stairs, tiptoeing, barely allowing myself to exhale in fear I would be too loud.

This is how people get murdered in horror movies you dumb bitch.

As my heart pounded heavily underneath my rib cage, I made it to the top of the stairs, turning on the light to the hallway.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and I screamed, deep from my diaphram; but the only thing appearing was my cat; wide-eyed and meowing.

“Jesus Christ cat!” I yelled, falling onto my knees as I scooped him into my arms, running his orange fur through my fingers.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me,” I let out a breathy laugh, mocking myself for being so silly, before kissing the top of his head. Juice wriggled in my arms, letting out a meow to be put down. I placed him on the floor and he ran into my room. Shaking my head I placed the knife on the bannister, following Juice.

He sat on my bed, meowing towards my mirrored closet as I entered. Turning on the lamp next to my bed, I pet him, “What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is literally full.”

I pulled off my sweater, throwing it into the laundry hamper. Juice began hissing and I stared at him confused.

“What the hell is-”

A hand covered my mouth before I finished my sentence, and I immediately screamed into it, my sounds muffled into the gloved appendage. Another arm wrapped around my torso as my eyes widened with fear, and I froze in place, held tightly against the captor’s chest.

I felt the pace of their heart match my own, their chest heaving up and down heavily.

They turned our bodies towards the mirror and I stared at the reflection, tears beginning to fall from the terror I felt.

The man behind me towered over me, his grip never loosening from my body. Everything was covered except his eyes and mouth, peeking through a black ski mask.

I whimpered against his hand my stomach sinking at the sight of the gun that poked through his black cargo pants, but the most terrifying thing of all was the scent of Dior cologne.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He said, accent burning into my memory, and I watched him in the mirror. It was him. Noah. I knew his voice, this had to be his cologne.

A wave of dread filled my body and I began shaking, crying into his hand. He followed me home, I never should have gone out with a stranger. How could I be so fucking stupid?

“I’m going to leave, and you’re going to let me. Understood?” I nodded, tears drying on my cheeks as I watched his every move. He closed his eyes, as if in regret before he took a deep breath. I don’t think he knows I know who he is, but there was no way in hell I was going to get killed being a crying little bitch. I’m going to harm this motherfucker and get his ass thrown into jail.

“Please don’t scream,” He said, his grip loosening on my body, and when he fully let go I swung around, kicking him forcefully in the family jewels. Noah fell onto his knees, a deep guttural groan emanating from his throat as he held himself in agony. I scrambled into the hallway, grabbing the knife off the bannister and pointing it towards my door.

“You fucking followed me you creep!” I screamed, anger seeping through me, “You’re a fucking lowlife, get out of my house or I’m calling the cops, Noah.” His name crawled off my tongue while dripping with complete disgust, the syllables sickening. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fingers shaking as I typed in 9-1-1.

“I swear to god I had no idea this was your house,” He said pained as he crouched out of my bedroom, “please Y/N, don’t call the cops.”

“Why shouldn’t I call the cops!” I yelled. Noah’s eyes darted between the phone and me, following my thumb as it hovered over the green call button.

“Just don’t,” Noah said, holding himself against the door. I pressed the button, holding it up to my ear as it dialled.

Noah immediately looked frantic, before his hand reached for the gun placed in his waistline, pulling it out and pointing it at me. Immediately I froze, and the voice of the 9-1-1 operator was dampened by the drowning ringing of panic.

“Hang up,” Noah whispered, the gun shaking in his hands through his demand.

“Hello? Are you there?” The lady on the phone said.

“Y/N, hang up, please.”

Time felt frozen as I stared at the gun, memories flooding back from the murder of my parents. My bottom lip trembled, the phone falling from my hands, onto the carpeted floor. My body was stiff, completely locked in place.

“Hello?”

Noah’s other hand reached out gently, palm open and inviting; countering the symbolism of the weapon present in his other hand. He reached down towards the phone, ending the call.

He let out a sigh of relief, hanging his head in guilt. Throwing the gun to the floor, he kicked it towards the bathroom, before pulling the mask off, revealing the face I yearned for earlier.

He looked broken, and torn, as he watched me completely crumble before him, the panic attack rising in my lungs.

“I- I didn't mean to scare you I- I” Noah began to stutter frantically, moving towards me, “I can’t have the cops come- I can’t leave my brothers.”

I fell to the floor, holding my knees to my chest as I stared at the gun by the bathroom, terror taking over. My breathing became erratic as I began to hyperventilate.

“I swear to god I’m not going to hurt you,” Noah leaned down, sitting in front of me as he held my wrists.

I tried to take in breaths, I tried to pull myself away from him but I couldn’t move. I gasped for air, suffocating myself, unable to exhale.

“Breathe,” Noah’s hands now grabbed either side of my face, “please Y/N breathe!”

His eyes ran across my entire face, holding me, “Count back from 100 in 3’s with me, ok?”

“100, 97, 94, 91, 88…” Noah began, and I followed.

“85, 82, 79…” I choked out, and Noah’s grip on my face loosened, and he moved his hands to hold my own.

I wanted to run away so badly, I was terrified, but at the same time I was scared I wouldn’t be able to breathe again.

Noah counted with me, demonstrating a stable breathing pattern and my chest followed his own, mimicking him, “58, 55, 52, 49…”

Finally, we reached zero, and my breathing was normal. I retracted my hands from his own violently, pulling them into my chest as I scooted away from him as if he were the most vile thing in the world.

“I don’t know whether to say fuck off,” I said, glaring, “or thank you.”

Noah watched me with worry before he ran his gloved hand over his face. Realizing they were still on he groaned in frustration, peeling off the leather angrily and tossing them to the side, his tattooed hands now exposed.

I watched as his fingers shook, my eyes following the outline of the flower once again.

“I’m sure you don’t believe me but I swear I didn’t know this was your house.” He began, holding his hands up in surrender. His eyes looked at me, pleading.

He looked so genuine, so sincere, he had to be telling the truth; but fuck that.

“You’re right, I don’t,” I snarled, “But what the hell were you doing in someone else’s house anyway?” I wiped my mouth, the lipstick I put on earlier smudged across my skin. I probably looked like a complete mess right now. Noah watched, eyes tracing my lips.

“I- I swear If I could tell you I would,” Noah rambled again, looking at the carpeted floor, “but I-”

A loud triple-knock at the door interrupted his sentence, and he stared at me with wide eyes, the colour draining from his face.

“This is LAPD!”A loud voice boomed from the other side of the door, the doorknob turning, attempting to open.

“Shit,” Noah mumbled, looking around the hallway frantically. He stood up, searching for something before he stared down at me, an idea clicking in his mind. Noah tore his sweater off, along with his black tank top underneath, leaving him shirtless before me.

“What the hell are you doing!” I whisper-yelled, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

“Kiss me,” He said, kneeling in front of me again, complete distress and fear glazing over his eyes.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled, a little too loud as the door below us rattled again.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah’s eyes bore into my own as he begged, “Trust me, just this once, please Y/N.”

I analyzed Noah’s features, his deep October eyes imploring.

Call me crazy, but somehow I obliged, leaning in with permission. Noah’s hands gripped the back of my head, fingers tangled through my hair as he pulled me onto him, kissing me with complete desperation.

Holy shit this was a really long chapter I am so sorry, but I hope you enjoyed it! I am excited to continue!! <3

Chapter two

#burning out fanfic #bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian davis #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #nick folio #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #smut #bad omens smut

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