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okaylikesmomo · 8 months

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Chapter 7: Paris

le sserafim smut, ~6k words, chaewon, kazuha, male reader

“This is so cute!”

“I heard you wanted to go on a date in Paris,” you chuckled. “You like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” Kazuha gushed. “How did you set this up so quickly?”

“I had to pull a few strings,” you smiled at her as you pulled her chair back.

“Wow, you must really like me,” Kazuha teased while taking a seat. “Oh my God!”

The excitement on her face as she looked at the variety of breads on the table was enough to make this whole endeavor worth it. Maybe it was your history dating idols, but you were definitely spoiled by their intense reactions.

“I think they call that bread.” you chuckled, taking a seat across from her.

“Why are there so many?”

“Because you deserve all the breads!” you laughed as you watched Kazuha gawked at the table.

“When are you going to take me to the real City of Love?”

“I think I’d get in trouble if I stole you and flew away in the middle of promo week.”

“I’d let you steal me,” she said slyly as she began buttering up a roll.

“How is it?” you asked, already knowing the answer as Kazuha physically leaned back into her chair, looking up at the roof in a state of utter satisfaction.

“It’s so good,” she moaned, her voice wavering as if she was about to spill tears over a simple bite of bread.

“Save some room, there’s a whole meal to come,” you laughed, overflowing with happiness at Kazuha’s antics.

Before you knew it, the appetizer, main course, and dessert had been served. Dinner was a mostly silent affair as Kazuha was far too busy with the food, only sparing enough time to drop a flirty one-liner here and there as she worked on finishing every bite from dishes she couldn’t even pronounce.

“Wow!” Kazuha gasped, even making the waiter smile through her excitement as they torched the sugar in front of her.

“Have you had it before?” you asked, tapping the top of your own little cup with the back of your spoon.

She shook her head excitedly before breaking the sugar layer with her spoon and giving it a taste. As usual, her reaction was excruciatingly cute as she alternated between a flurry of astonishment, shock, and content. She admired the little white ramekin with a bliss-filled expression on her face for a moment before looking up at you with wide eyes.

“How is it?” you smiled.

“There’s only one thing at this table I’d rather eat,” she moaned.

“Huh? What would you… oh,” you facepalmed, disappointed that you fell for her cheesiness.

“Have you brought Chaewon here before?” Kazuha asked with a smile, proud of herself as she took another bite.

“Not yet,” you answered, thinking back to the time when you brought Sakura here.

“I think she’d like it.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll bring her next time.”

“Or you can just bring me again,” Kazuha giggled, scraping her spoon around the bottom of the dish.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Depends, will you take me out?”

“After tonight? Always.”

“Then let’s talk about where you’re taking me while you drive me home,” Kazuha smiled, wiping her lips with her napkin and standing up.

Despite her suggestion, you drove her back to the dorm in silence. Suddenly, Kazuha seemed to be a bit nervous, you even noticed her leg shaking slightly, but you decided not to comment on it. Once you got to the dorm, you contemplated whether or not you should come in, but your decision was made when Kazuha stopped walking two steps away from your car and looked over her shoulder expectantly.

Still, without saying any words, you walked Kazuha all the way to her room. All the other members were nowhere to be seen, the house was mostly silent. As you got to Kazuha’s door, she turned around and looked at you with slightly blushed cheeks.

“Tonight was fun,” she said softly.

“Yeah, it was,” you replied, trying to figure out what she wanted.

“Do you…” she began before stopping.

“Do I?”

Kazuha leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on your mouth before leaning back.

“Goodnight!” she shouted before hurrying into her room, closing the door behind her.

“Goodnight…”

—

“Still awake?”

She answered by cheerily patting the bed next to where she was sitting with a tablet in her lap.

“Whose fancam are you…” you began asking as you sat down and looked at the screen. “You’re watching your own fancam.”

“Yah! Stop judging me, I like to monitor myself, so what,” Chaewon complained as she turned off the screen and leaned over to place the device on her side table, the blanket lifting off her as she bent over, flashing you her bright pink underwear. “Did you have fun with Zuha?” she asked as she leaned back, cuddling into your arms.

“I did,” you mumbled as you ran your fingers through Chaewon’s short hair. “Kazuha’s great.”

“I know,” Chaewon laughed into your chest, laying her face on you. “Where is she now?”

“In her bed, I think.”

“Wow, didn’t you guys just get home? Guess you had some stamina issues tonight,” Chaewon teased. “Not that I blame you, Zuha is a hottie.”

“We didn’t.”

Chaewon lifted herself up and looked you in the face.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to sleep with her.”

“Of course I want to,” you replied. “You said it yourself, she’s a hottie.”

“Do you not believe me when I say it’s fine?” Chaewon asked, face full of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“No, I do,” you said, rubbing your hand against her back. “I literally just told you I want to sleep with her, would I do that if I didn’t believe you?”

“Probably,” Chaewon smirked. “You tend to gush over her a lot.”

“That’s true,” you smiled back. “She’s just so… precious.”

“Wanna give it another try tomorrow?” she asked nonchalantly while spinning in the bed and reaching for her phone.

“Why does it seem like you really want me to sleep with Kazuha?” you questioned while placing both hands on her ass, pressing into the pink panties.

“You don’t get jealous when I fool around with Kkura and Yunjin, why should I get jealous if you fool around with Zuha?” she answered without turning back around, flipping through her phone.

“So, what about that surprise?” you asked slyly as your hands squeezed and played with her supple ass. “Do you still wanna get all sore?”

“The condition for the surprise was that you actually slept with her,” Chaewon tutted, rolling onto her stomach and taking her shirt off.

“What an odd reality,” you said while climbing over her legs, straddling her lower body. “It really feels like my girlfriend is begging me to sleep with one of her friends.”

“I have… my reasons…” Chaewon grunted as you pressed down into her body.

“How’s the comeback stuff going?” you asked while working on the knots in her shoulders.

“It’s… good… busy…” she moaned, tossing her phone to the side and leaning her face into her pillow. “Lower please.”

“Not too much though, I hope?” you continued down her body, reaching around her chest to give her tits a quick grope before working her middle back.

“I can handle it,” she said before releasing a drawn out breath through her teeth. “Oh yes…”

“I know you can handle it,” you said, moving farther down her spine, pressing into her lower back.

“Ah fuck,” she cried out, arching her back slightly.

“Sorry.”

“No,” she moaned. “More.”

“So,” you continued, sliding lower on her body and working her lower back. “Why are you so fixated on me and Kazuha?”

“She’s being shy,” Chaewon grunted as your fingers explored her muscles. “I just want her to open up.”

“Open up…” you repeated, rubbing your thumbs in small circles, pressing harder.

“Yeah,” Chaewon continued. “She’s never gone all the way with me, I want her…”

Your hands paused the massage. She turned her head just a little into the pillow and tried to get you to keep going by reaching behind her. You jerked your arm away and slapped her ass, secretly admiring the jiggle while she whined until you started your massage again.

“It’s not like that,” Chaewon said, clearly smiling despite hiding her face in the pillow.

“I feel used.”

“Oh boo hoo you have to sleep with a gorgeous girl,” Chaewon laughed, turning around under you so that she was laying on her back. “What ever will you do.”

“I didn’t know this was how you actually felt,” you sighed, exaggerating your disappointment as you cupped her tits in your hands. “Turns out I’m just a tool for you to get what you want.”

“You’re not actually upset, are you?” Chaewon asked, propping herself up on her elbows slightly.

“I can’t even look at you the same way anymore,” you monologued dramatically, sliding your fingers down from her tits and rubbing her abs.

“Sweetie.”

“Even as I touch these abs, I don’t even feel Chaewon anymore, all I can think about is Kazuha.”

“Hey!” Chaewon pouted. “That’s mean.”

You leaned forward and kissed her tummy before sitting back up and smiling at her.

“Sorry, too far?”

She fell onto her back, crossing her arms, lips still pouted.

“I was just kidding,” you pleaded, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around her. “Sweetheart, no mad.”

She didn’t stop pouting until you kissed her on the lips.

“I love your body,” you whispered into her mouth before kissing her again. “It’s perfect.”

“Tomorrow,” Chaewon replied, kissing you back. “She has to - stay late - surprise - her,” she breathed between kisses.

“I better be invited when Kazuha ‘opens up’ to you,” you smirked, laying next to her.

“Alright, the truth is she asked me directly,” Chaewon confessed, turning on her side to face you.

“Asked you what?” you implored. “I know you said she found me cute, but…”

“Yes,” Chaewon answered. “I know she wants to go all the way with you, because she straight up told me.”

“Then why does she keep…” you thought aloud. “Ah, okay I think I get it.”

“See what I mean about her being shy now?” Chaewon added. “I love both of you so much, I really don’t mind if it happens as long as it stays physical.”

What if it doesn’t stay physical you thought silently.

“Also, if things work out well, it’s better for me,” Chaewon continued.

“How so?”

Her lips curled up slyly as she slipped her hand between your legs.

“Zuha and I made a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” you asked as Chaewon slipped her hand into your pants.

“I’ll tell you after you help me fulfill my end.”

“Some encouragement would help,” you suggested as she lowered your pants to your knees and began sliding under the sheets.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Sweetheart I’m joking, you don’t have to,” you said as she ignored you, disappearing beneath the sheets. “I know you’re tired.”

Still, she didn’t speak, her mouth instead planted itself on your cock. A symphony of sensations unfolded, amplified by the fact that you couldn’t even see her, only feel. Her warm lips enveloped your cock, gentle, tantalizing suction dancing along your sensitivity.

The wetness of her tongue created a blissful contrast of feelings as it explored every ridge and contour. The skilled caresses of Chaewon’s tongue around your cock felt divine - she knew what you liked. The pressure and rhythm of her lips were perfect, invoking a deeper sense of desire within you.

“Oh Chaewon baby that feels…” you moaned out softly. “Oh fuck…”

Her tongue, the perfect instrument to your pleasure, invoked a myriad of sensations through your body. Her talent as a dancer, the body control, the skill, it all condensed into her tongue as she expertly sent shivers up your spine. Her tongue managed to stay nimble and agile despite her lips plunging up and down your length.

“Baby…”

Waves of pleasure coursed through you, heightening the sensitivity in your cock. The gentle flicks and swirls, the occasional press against your shaft and your tip, she managed to do it all while keeping her head bobbing up and down.

Not being able to see her working her magic turned out to be the greatest travesty - one you could not accept any longer even though it enhanced the feel. You flung the sheets off the bed, revealing Chaewon’s perfect topless body. She looked up at you, never losing pace, her eyes full of pride and confidence, her mouth stretched over your cock.

It was almost embarrassing to admit you were already feeling your orgasm creeping up. All that subtle foreplay was catching up with you, and seeing Chaewon with her lips wrapped around your cock was the impetus for your climax.

“Chae chae, I’m close…” you moaned softly, earning a seductive wink from her, the nonverbal permission.

Your arousal built up, reaching the peak, turning your body into a vessel of sensations. Waves of pleasure surged through you, spreading like an electric current. The muscles in your thighs contracted, tense, stressed by the anticipation of your cock being moments away from coating the inside of Chaewon’s pretty little mouth.

Your heart began to race, breaths rapid, and your mind quickly became overwhelmed with euphoria. The pleasure suddenly culminated, focused directly into Chaewon’s mouth as that first blast of cum launched itself down her throat.

It was as if the universe paused itself for you, converging into that single, exquisite moment. Your body convulsed, pulsating as you filled her mouth with your cum. Pure bliss, ecstasy, filled your mind as the contractions flowed through you like waves.

The pleasure left you breathless, completely unable to do anything but lay there and let Chaewon suck up the final donations leaking out of your cock. It was too much, even with her licks being as delicate as possible, you shivered each time her tongue rubbed against you.

“I fucking love you,” you moaned, shutting your eyes tight, hearing one last giggle before fading to darkness.

—

The next day, after the other four members had already left the offices, you took Chaewon’s advice. You walked through the halls until you found Kazuha by herself in a small lounge, reading something on the wall while pouring herself some water.

“You’re here late,” you said as you walked up, pretending as if it was a coincidence.

Her face lit up as she turned to see you.

“Oh, hey cutie,” she purred, leaning backwards against the small countertop. “Chaewon already went back to the dorms.”

“I’m not here for Chaewon,” you said, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“So who are you here for,” she smirked, leaning closer to you.

“Uh, have you seen Sakura around?” you asked, pretending to look around.

Kazuha was visibly irked at your joke, unable to hide her annoyance.

“She’s also at the dorm,” Kazuha replied, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

You smirked, loving the not-so-subtle jealousy she was displaying. It felt nice flipping the tables on her from time to time, becoming the one who does the teasing for a change.

“Cool, but I’m not looking for her either,” you moved even closer. “I can’t move much closer,” you whispered, lips practically touching hers at this point.

“Say you want me,” Kazuha moaned quietly, gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white.

“I. Want. You.”

She lunged forward before the last syllable even finished leaving your mouth. You almost fell over with how much passion was behind the kiss, grabbing onto her fit body for support.

“Holy shit Kazuha,” you gasped as she held herself in front of you with the prettiest smile you could imagine. “How about we go somewhere more private before you get in trouble?”

“Yeah,” she turned around, picking her jacket up off the counter. “You can’t just be kissing me at work like that, you should know better.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “It’s like you don’t care about the rules at all.”

“I’m pretty sure-” you froze mid sentence, jaw dropping to the floor as Kazuha pulled her pants down, flashing her ass at you. “Kazuha!”

“Come on, you can drive me,” she giggled, quickly pulling her pants back up and grabbing your hand.

This girl was something else, you thought to yourself.

—

“The dorm will be so packed right now.”

“My place is empty,” you suggested. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

“You’re taking me back to your place? Isn’t that inappropriate?” Kazuha asked in her classic playfully teasing tone.

“It’s only inappropriate if you make it inappropriate.”

“I can do that,” she purred, leaning over the gear shift, looking up at you while hovering over your lap.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” you laughed, trying to focus on the road.

“Come on,” she whined. “You still haven’t shown me that cock that Chaewon keeps talking about.”

Kazuha sat up straight, smile on her face, as a car blaring its horn flew past you.

“You’re going to get us into an accident,” you sighed, locking both hands onto the steering wheel.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she cooed. “Maybe you need to punish me.”

Focusing was impossible, Kazuha was in too much of a mood this afternoon. You tried to ignore it, but the involuntary glances you shot at her just made it so much more difficult to focus. She had her arms up over her head, tying her hair back in a ponytail, the hair tie in her mouth as she fumbled around. Her sleeveless top flaunting her bare arms without any care, her toned muscles flexing as her fingers worked around, and the smallest little bit of cleavage peeking over the low-cut neck.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Kazuha asked nonchalantly as she took the tie out of her mouth. “Do you like what you see?”

“Yeah, love it,” you stuttered, not realizing how obvious you were being.

Kazuha reached over and slowly pulled one of your hands off the steering wheel, dragging it over to her chest. You tried to keep your eyes focused on the road, ignoring her games despite how difficult it was. As you pulled up to a red light, Kazuha moved your hand lower, placing it between her legs.

“Can you feel how wet I am?” she moaned softly.

There was a smirk plastered across her lips, one you could only see in your periphery as you started driving again. She began rubbing your hand around, using you like a toy to get herself off. Then she moved your hand towards her waistband, threatening to slide it into her pants.

“Stop stop stop, we’re here,” you yanked your hand away as you pulled up into your parking garage. “You know these windows aren’t tinted, right?”

“Yeah, and the office is full of cameras, what’s your point?”

“Holy shit you’re right,” you gasped as you put the car in park. “What got into you today?”

“Hopefully you, soon,” she answered provocatively.

“I don’t know, Chaewon was extra touchy today, and then you came and started kissing me,” she said casually while getting out of the car. “Also, relax, there weren’t any cameras there.”

She basically skipped to the elevators as you followed closely behind. At times Kazuha would remind you a lot of how Chaewon would act around you; She was just so happy and excited.

“I want to do it,” Kazuha stated as the two of you entered the elevator.

“Aren’t you a bit old to ask to push the button,” you smirked as you pressed the button to your floor.

“Not that,” she whined cutely. “Take off your pants.”

You couldn’t even respond to her audacity because the door opened right after and two other people entered the elevator. For the next few floors, Kazuha wouldn’t stop giggling, right up until they both left.

“Oh my God Kazuha,” you laughed as the elevator reached your floor.

“Which one’s yours?” she asked joyfully, running ahead of you.

“Left side, third door.”

She ran up to it and turned around, watching you walk towards her. She raised one leg up towards the roof, pressing it against the wall, showing off her flexibility as she was basically performing a standing splits.

“What are you doing?” you laughed as you inserted your key.

“Stretching,” Kazuha answered, rushing into your apartment as soon as you opened the door. She ran in, kicked her shoes off, and jumped onto your couch. “Wow, why doesn’t Chaewon just move into here, it’s so nice!”

“I’ve offered, but she likes living with you guys,” you replied as you took off your jacket and shoes. “Sorry for the mess, I haven’t really been sleeping here that much lately.”

“What mess?” Kazuha responded carelessly as she ripped her shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

“Zuha, what are you doing?”

“Huh? Nothing,” she said, faking innocence as she pulled off her sweatpants. “It’s just kinda warm in here, you don’t mind, right?”

“Right,” you said carefully, trying not to stare too much as she stripped all the way down to her underwear.

“Hey, do you mind helping me?”

“How so?” you inquired, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

“I’m cold, can you warm me up?” she asked.

“What the-”

“Please!” she whined, with that cute pout as she stretched her arms out wide.

With a shake of your head, you succumbed to her games and lay down on the couch with her, unable to contain your smile as she happily held onto you. She nestled her cheek against yours, the floral tones of her shampoo filling your senses.

The impromptu hug turned into an exploration of Kazuha’s body as she started rubbing herself all over you, making you feel around. She guided your hands around her back while she wrapped her legs around your hips, sensually grinding on you.

She began yanking at your shirt until she got what she wanted, leaving you topless on top of her. Now it was her turn to explore, her hands having fun sliding around your bare torso, wrapping around and feeling your back. She slipped them lower, starting to unbuckle your pants.

“Hold on,” you stopped her. “Are you sure?”

“I want to see you,” she whispered.

Her expression was soft, for a second it felt like she was your girlfriend. You stood up from the couch and pulled over a chair, sitting in front of her after removing your pants.

“You sure you wanna keep going?” you asked as she also sat up on the couch, facing you, both of you only wearing your underwear now.

Kazuha reached behind her back, unstrapped her bra, and let it fall into her lap before nodding at you. As she spread her legs slightly, you could see a very noticeable wet patch on her crotch, staining her gray underwear. You stuck your hips out forward slightly, leaning back in the chair, and gestured downwards.

She slid off the couch onto her knees, crawled the two steps forward and reached up with both hands. You lifted your hips, making it easier for her, and she slowly lowered your underwear. Her face was full of anticipation, finally getting her wish. Your cock sprung to life, already mostly erect, in front of the topless girl.

“I…” Kazuha choked, gazed locked on your cock.

You grabbed her by her arms and pulled her up, forcing her to look at you before you kissed her softly on the lips.

“Say you want me,” you whispered to her.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, contemplation maybe, but you were in no rush. If she was ready, then you were ready, the choice was hers.

“I want you,” she whispered back.

Her words rang through your ears over and over as you slid your hands down her body and pulled her panties down to her ankles. She stood there, her shining pussy right in front of your face, until you leaned forward in the chair and pressed your lips to it.

The wetness immediately coated your lips, satisfying the taste buds in your mouth. With how wet she was, it was clear she was ready, you were simply getting your own fix as you licked her freely. Her hands ran through your hair, quiet whimpers escaping her lips while you worked her pussy with your mouth.

Once you were satisfied and thought she was ready, you leaned back and took hold of her hands. You looked into her eyes, her flushed face a warm red as you pulled her closer until she was standing right above you, her legs straddling you. You softly tugged at her hands, encouraging her to lower herself until her wet pussy made contact with your cock.

Then you stopped. You focused on her, made sure she was actually ready, made sure she wanted this. After giving her hand a squeeze, one which she reciprocated, you simply held yourself there, waiting for her to make the next move.

Kazuha bit her lower lip, and after a few moments of just holding herself there, she lowered her body. A sharp gasp left her mouth as your tip began stretching her pussy. It took a second to adjust, but there was absolutely no rush. When she was ready to continue, she lowered herself some more, gritting her teeth as your cock filled her pussy up.

For you, the warmth of her pussy created the most exquisite pressure around your cock. A soft, pliable mold, shaped just for you as Kazuha’s intimate embrace filled your mind with sensation. A gentle gripping feeling as her pussy flipped between contracting and relaxing, even without thrusting into her, it felt phenomenal.

She lowered herself some more, taking even more of your cock, building up the excitement of her first time, her face full of vulnerability. You let her move at her own pace, you wanted this to be as comfortable as possible for her.

Every time she moved lower, a cascade of pleasure ran through your body, the intimacy and desire coursing through your veins.

“It’s tight,” she moaned, voice full of strain.

“Breath,” you whispered back, keeping the pressure up on her limp fingers. “Take your time.”

Kazuha closed her eyes and started breathing through her mouth, her breath hitting your face. The way her breath hit your skin could put a masseuse to shame, and she didn't even know it. She had no idea how much she turned you on - or maybe she did.

“You’re doing great,” you encouraged her.

Her face was still scrunched up, adjusting to the new sensation, but a hint of pride snuck through. Slowly, she made that last little push, sitting on your thighs, taking your entire cock. Her lifeless fingers regained strength, and she began squeezing your hands painfully hard.

That wasn’t an issue for you, the tightness of her grip was still nothing compared to the tightness of her pussy around your cock. The warmth, the wetness, she was perfect. After a few seconds, she began to slowly move up and down, getting truly accustomed to your size.

“Ah,” she moaned softly as she bounced slowly. “Yes…”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” you moaned back, your words encouraging her to move faster.

She rode your cock for a bit longer, eventually picking up the pace quite a bit. Her pussy was stretching out, getting extremely comfortable on your cock. She even began to build up a slight sweat, her shining little tits bouncing up and down in front of your face.

The two of you felt like you had a connection. Some sort of bond, as if you were both born specifically to fuck each other one day. All that sexual tension released, flooding out of your bodies as you finally got to fuck Kazuha’s tight pussy - something you’ve thought about for a long time.

Her hands released yours, and she placed them on your shoulders for support as she fucked herself on you. It felt so good, her body felt as amazing as it looked. Her breathing began to elevate, and her hips started moving in different directions.

Maybe it was her experience as a dancer, but a girl as pretty as Kazuha had no right knowing how to move like this during her first time. Why did it feel like she just had everything? A true natural talent. It made no sense, was this girl just perfect in every sense? All her teasing, all her flirting, everything that led up to this one moment suddenly flooded through your body.

“Please, fuck me,” she cried out, voice cracking, pitch higher than either of you expected.

Who were you to deny such a request? You grabbed onto her hips, her own hands pressing slightly harder into your shoulders as she stopped moving up and down, bracing for what was to come. With her body in your grip, you started to thrust your hips upwards.

You started to really fuck Kazuha.

Apparently that did it for her as the slapping noises filled your living room, she began to shout profanities of pleasure, even switching to Japanese halfway through her slurry of moans. It didn’t matter that you had no idea what the words meant, you knew exactly what she was saying. Your cock couldn’t handle it much longer, this was the first time you’ve fucked someone to the point of reverting them to their native tongue, and it felt better than you could have ever anticipated.

The girl who didn’t sweat was glistening. You couldn’t control your hands as they explored every inch of Kazuha’s skin that they could reach: Her back, her ass, her hips, anything you could touch, you touched. Without ever letting up, your hips kept pumping away, her moans very clearly screaming how much she loved your cock inside her as you pulled her into your body.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you groaned into her neck, licking up a few beads of sweat. Your tongue roamed all over her soft and tender body. “I’m going to fucking cum,” you whispered into her sternum before moving your mouth lower. “You’re going to make me cum.”

For just a second, you paused your thrusting to give yourself the chance to keep going - you didn’t want this to end yet. Kazuha’s body, however, didn’t get any break. With your cock still balls deep in her pussy as it trembled, you forcefully cupped one of her tits in your hand before shoving it into your mouth.

“Ah!” she moaned as your lips made contact with her nipple. “Keep going.”

Your body complied - your hips began to thrust again. This time you started up slowly, feeling sharp waves fly through your body each time your cock pumped into her. Each thrust felt like it could be the last, the one that pushes you over the edge, yet by some miracle you were holding on.

Why you couldn’t keep going slowly, you had no idea, but your hips had a mind of their own. Kazuha’s pussy refused to be gently taken - realistically it was your cock that was being uncooperative. It didn’t matter. What did matter was Kazuha’s pleasure becoming your pleasure. Her moans, her cries, they fueled you.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned out quietly as if it was a great struggle to speak. One of her hands found the back of your head, enticing you to keep your mouth pressed to her chest. “Don’t stop.”

There was no desire to stop, none at all. Literally none. You wanted to fuck Kazuha’s pussy all night if you could, if she would let you, if your body would let you, but you knew your time was coming soon. An impossible dilemma that you simply could not solve. You released her nipple and ran your tongue across her chest, trying to distract yourself, but that salty tang of her skin just brought you that much closer.

Your best efforts were nowhere near enough. Kazuha’s body, that perfectly sculpted body of a goddess, took over. It was too intense, the sharp fire coursing through the nerves in your cock, half of your body shaking as you fucked her with the last little bit of whatever you had left in you.

“Oh fuck!” Kazuha screamed directly into your ear.

Her loudest of the evening, and it was just as soon as your cock began unloading. Could she feel it? You certainly could feel every drop of warmth fly up into her body. Filling her pussy, fighting against gravity until it failed and spilled out of her tight little pussy. The warmth began spilling onto your thighs, the wet combination of Kazuha and your cum was the last thing you felt before your mind blanked out entirely.

It was a mess (mess mess mess), yet you refused to let go of her. You needed her body, you were holding onto her for dear life, and she was holding back just as hard. Warm and covered in sweat, her body was still trembling, you could feel waves flowing through her. She must have finished at the same time as you, a rare coincidence that you failed to even notice in the moment.

The only sounds in the entire room were Kazuha’s deep breaths and the kisses you were planting all over her tits. You were just filled with affection for this girl, all of a sudden she became that much more special to you. All the wait, all the delays, none of that mattered anymore. Your relationship with Kazuha would never be the same after this night, and you didn’t care.

“That was…” Kazuha sighed, her grip on your body relaxing but not letting go.

“Yeah,” you quickly replied before continuing the barrage of kisses on her chest.

“Don’t,” she protested, her voice cuter than normal. “I’m all sweaty.”

You kissed her one last time before looking up at her. Her face was completely flushed, slightly dewy from sweat, her lips pursed, her beautifully healthy hair sticking to her forehead. You ignored her embarrassment, she had nothing to be shy about, and started moving towards her mouth. Right before your lips connected, she licked her lips.

This one was special. The more you kissed her, the more she kissed you, it was completely balanced. Aggressive, maybe, but still incredibly tender. Your hands slid up and down her hips, fingers rubbing against the greatest abs in the industry, while her hands remained fixed on your face as she held you.

Time didn’t exist anymore, the two of you kissed for far too long, but neither of you wanted to stop. Eventually your hands made their way down to her ass, gently massaging it, squeezing the firm yet soft cheeks. How was her body so perfect? It was all you could think about.

Whenever you tried to pull back to stop the kiss, she pushed forward harder, refusing to let you go. It was easier to just let it happen, kiss her forever, as long as she wanted. Just when it felt like the kiss would actually last forever, the two of you slowly separated.

With your help, she carefully stood up off your lap. As she pulled herself off your cock, clearly still extremely sensitive, a rush of cum spilled out, adding to the mess on your thighs. She stood in front of you, letting it drip out of her, using your shoulders for support to keep herself upright.

With one hand, using the utmost care, you slowly began rubbing her between her legs. The sharp inhale through her teeth, the hard - subconscious - squeeze of your shoulder, she couldn’t hide how sensitive her body was.

“Are you alright?” you whispered as you lightly brushed your fingers against her most sensitive area.

“It’s…” she moaned, looking at you with her brows furrowed.

You reached forward and picked her up from her thighs, being as gentle as possible as you carried her over to your bed and placed her down. She looked so unbelievably adorable, laying there completely nude, her hair splayed across the bed.

“Can I stay?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course you can, I’ll drop you off in the morning.”

A single nod, as if she was still embarrassed, is all she answered with. You couldn’t leave her now, not after that, so you lay down next to her on the bed, not caring about the sheets being soiled by the aftermath of your session.

Kazuha turned to her side, her arm going straight up towards the head of the bed with the side of her face resting against her bicep, and stared lovingly into your eyes.“Thanks for tonight,” she whispered, a light smile blessing her face.

---

A/N:

Finally, it's here, I'm sorry for dangling this in front of your faces for so long. I really really really hope it lived up to the expectations, I didn't mean to hype it up so much!

Just a quick life update, I'm going to be incredibly busy going forward. No, I'm not quitting, I'll still write in my free time. I just wanted to let you guys know there might be some longer breaks between my uploads. This also means there might be more typos/small mistakes, I'll try to catch them all, but please be understanding!

Regarding the story, please do let me know if you guys are still enjoying it! I'll be honest, I quite enjoyed this chapter myself, it was a fun write. I don't know if I quite did it justice, but there's plenty of time for improvement; This is only Chapter 7!

#kpop smut #smut #fanfiction #kpop fanfic #male reader #le sserafim smut #le sserafim #chaewon #chaewon smut #kazuha #kazuha smut

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defectivevillain · 5 months

Text

tongues and teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reading (can be read as romantic or platonic)

reader's pronouns & race: unspecified, ambiguous

summary:

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in misguided arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.” “Chef Lecter?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Chef Hannibal Lecter is a world renowned chef praised for his innovative dishes. He’s won numerous awards and his restaurant, Hawthorn, reflects his talents. There’s something off about him, though. It isn’t until you’re seated in Hawthorn, a distance away from the door guarded by security workers and looking down at a breadless bread plate, that you begin to connect the dots.

word count: 6k | ao3 version

Warnings: spoilers to The Menu, canon-typical blood & violence, suicide, hanging

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is going to be an alternate universe, in which the characters from the Menu are replaced by those from Hannibal. Hannibal is the main chef and the reader takes the place of Margot. In this universe, we’re pretending that the dinner guests—many of whom are criminals in Hannibal—are not hardened killers, but rich consumers in the highest echelons of society. There’s an exact list of which character corresponds with The Menu dinner guests in the endnotes, if you’re super interested.

I have many different justifications for some of the choices I made while writing this, but I don’t want to bore you all to tears, so I’ll detail them in the endnotes. Just know that Hannibal and Julian (the antagonist of The Menu) have very different reasons and motivations for killing, which will impact the story

You’re not sure how you find yourself sitting at a table in Hawthorn, one of the world’s most exclusive restaurants, next to someone you can barely consider an acquaintance. Actually, you do know—you’d just rather not think about it. The boat ride over to the private island, the entirely unnecessary tour of the facilities, and the weirdly stringent rules governing your every move… You indeed remember how you got here. These occurrences all seemed outlandish and entirely otherworldly to you. This entire day has been nothing but a flight of fancy for those with more money than they know what to do with. Not for the first time today, you regret every decision that led you to step into the boat, walk along the sandy shores, and step into this cage of a restaurant.

Indeed, the space is nothing more than an enclosure. Everyone in the group seemed too excited about the upcoming meal to notice how the door promptly swiveled shut when you entered, sealing you into this urban nightmare of a building. You had turned over your shoulder upon hearing the door close, only to find several men in suits blocking the exit. A horrible feeling had settled in your chest. Whatever may come tonight, one thing is for certain: you are not supposed to leave. This may very well be your last meal.

You’re ushered rather forcefully to your table. Franklyn Froideveaux, the man who invited you, looks completely ecstatic. You berate yourself for accepting the invitation; in your defense, however, you weren’t exactly given a choice. You owe this man a favor, as begrudged as you are to admit it. You’d rather wash your hands of the scourge that is Franklyn Froideveaux as soon as possible, which is why you find yourself in Hawthorn tonight. This restaurant doesn’t accept single reservations—something Franklyn made sure to announce several times on your walk over. You should be grateful for this opportunity, Franklyn says every few minutes. Currently, he’s prattling on about the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and about some television series that he claimed to watch about the executive chef. You nod and hum at the appropriate moments, but your attention is elsewhere. Conversations fill the space, combining with clinking glasses to create a pleasant ambiance. At least, you suspect it is intended to be pleasant. However, you can’t help but see past the pleasantries scattered around you—especially when in the presence of such… notorious dinner guests.

First, there’s Frederick Chilton—self-proclaimed genius and institutional leader of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Next to him sits Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, another high-profile psychologist known for her numerous research publications. Dr. Alana Bloom is seated in the third spot at the table. From what you know, the three professionals are colleagues in the medical field and research partners.

Next is Freddie Lounds. You remember seeing her make the news for her self-published food review magazine, TattleCulinary. She sits with James Gray, another critic who is more well-known in the art world. Gray edits the journalist's pieces, and you can pick up on the underlying tones of superiority in their dynamic as Lounds dominates their conversation.

Scott Komeda sits at a table off to the side with his wife, Cheryl. Neither of them look too happy to be here. You can’t say you blame them; although, judging from their luxurious attire, they’re all too familiar with a rich dining experience. A sordid state of affairs, you might say, if they weren't absolutely dripping in wealth. It almost appears as if they’ve dined here before. You certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Mason and Margot Verger sit at the table to your left. Rumor has it Mason is a cruel bastard. Since his rise to stardom, he’s been embroiled in many scandals—scandals that have dragged him into the courthouse, of all places. He is not a good person. Margot, his sister, sits next to him. Her shoulders are drawn tight, as if she’s on guard. You can’t find it in your heart to pity her—not when you remember her and her brother’s exorbitant wealth.

And, of course, Franklyn is sitting across from you. Truly, you’d rather be sitting here with anyone but him. Mr. Tobias Budge was supposed to dine with Franklyn instead—as the hostess so rudely reminded you several times—but he couldn’t make it. You wonder if Franklyn also has Tobias under his thumb; although, if he was able to escape this dinner, you suppose Tobias is in a much better spot than you are.

You allow your gaze to wander about the room. Everyone is preoccupied with speaking to one another or sipping the proffered wine. Upon first glance, there isn’t much that this group has in common. However, the more you look at them, the more you’re struck with one fatal realization: this entire group is enamored with greed. You can see it in the most minute of gestures—the roll of their eyes when they’re left waiting, the expectations they carry on shoulders that have never known burden or suffering. Indeed, it costs an excessive amount to take part in this dinner—this dining experience, Franklyn is keen to remind you.

Amuse bouche is served first. You stare down at the dish. It looks to be no more than two mouthfuls of food. You can’t help but huff a laugh from under your breath, which goes entirely unnoticed by Franklyn. He’s too busy sneaking pictures of the food—something the group was explicitly ordered not to do—and ranting about something pretentious.

As you stare down at your plate, you feel a prickling sensation rising up your spine. Unnerved, you turn around, only to find that a new addition to the kitchen is staring at you. It’s not just a new addition, you realize with growing horror, but the chef himself. You’re the first to break eye contact, as you tear your gaze away and focus on the appetizer. The man unsettles you.

Ultimately, you don’t end up eating the dish, so Franklyn takes it and eats it himself. Somehow, his behavior has grown worse since you first set foot on the island. You contemplate the thought for a moment, before you’re interrupted by a loud clapping sound. It makes your heart race out of your chest; startled, you turn around to find the chef standing in the center of the room.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” he says, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. “Today, you will ingest some of the building blocks of nature and, perhaps, even nature herself.” You take the gifted opportunity to study the man before you. Perfectly coiffed hair frames a sharp, angular face and mahogany eyes. An understanding smile is plastered on his face, yet malice curves his lips and sharpens his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You’re thrown out of your reverie by the light applause scattered about the room. Clenching your fists at your sides, you try to remain calm and turn back to face Franklyn. The cooks descend the stairs and serve you the first course. Once again, the dish you’re presented with resembles a display more than a meal. You pick around at it for a few moments before abandoning the thought.

If the first course is sparse, the second course is almost entirely empty of nourishment. Lecter’s description—an allusion to the privilege of the very guests sitting around his restaurant—is a warning for what lies ahead. The group will not be receiving bread, you realize as the cooks step down from the kitchen and fan out across the room. You have to suppress your irritation at the scene. Sure, you understand what the chef is trying to say. However, you get the feeling you’re not his intended audience. You’re not from the same world as these people. This is painfully present in the way Freddie Lounds tastes her dish, gushing about its distinct flavor profile. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from saying something stupid.

You’re anchored to your seat. Ultimately, you don’t belong here amongst these upper-class socialites, born with silver spoons on their tongues and privilege in their every movement; you feel like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

The third course doesn’t bring nourishment, but it certainly brings a host of other feelings. The chef’s anecdote about his childhood is disturbing—especially when punctuated by the dish he serves, chicken thigh with scissors stabbed in it. When the dish is served, you can’t bear to touch it. Thankfully, there is an accompaniment to the poultry: tortillas. The tortillas have engraved drawings on them, supposedly. You unfold the tortilla cautiously. To your disbelief, there are indeed intricate depictions on the tortilla. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look at the single tortilla you were served. It’s an exact replica of how you’re seated right now, except Franklyn is missing. His chair is pictured and there’s a dish placed on his side of the table, but the man is excluded from the image. Upon closer examination, you find his fork and knife positioned vertically on the plate. Dread courses through your chest as you recognize the nonverbal sign of a finished meal. This does not bode well for Franklyn.

Franklyn, seeing that your attention has been captured by the tortilla, moves to grab his own. His tortillas are engraved with sketches of him seated at this exact table, holding up his phone and sneaking pictures of the meal. The color promptly drains from his face. You’re about to ask him why he looks so disturbed when you hear several outcries from the tables around you. Each person’s tortillas are depictions of unsavory, humiliating truths. The three researchers are whispering hurriedly amongst each other. Mason Verger is glaring at Margot, as if the dish is somehow her fault. Mrs. Komeda is staring at her tortillas with wide eyes and her husband seems to be sweating. Suddenly, you feel as if you were spared from any potential humiliation and embarrassment.

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in unfounded arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.”

“The chef?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Franklyn’s preoccupation with his tortillas prompts you to look down at your own. You look down at the tortilla warily. Suddenly, you realize your picture has another meaning. It’s not just an omen for Franklyn, but for you, too. It’s a warning: this night is going to be a bloodbath.

The fourth course validates the trepidation settling in your chest. Chef Lecter allows a cook, Jeremy, to take center stage. Immediately, you know something is wrong. From what you’ve seen, Hannibal Lecter treats cooking as a performance. What performer would willingly let another take the stage? Unless… that other performer was the entertainment. Your suspicions are proven correct when you see Jeremy put a gun to his mouth and fire it off. You flinch at the gunshot, even though you’re expecting it. The guests around you scream.

The subsequent dish is aptly dubbed “The Mess.” There’s a significant resemblance to the human body, and the dish’s sauce looks like blood. You swallow hard, feeling rather nauseous. Franklyn rubs his hands together and begins eating, as if someone hadn’t just committed suicide before his very eyes. He is entirely unbothered and you’re sorely tempted to snap your fingers in front of his face.

You feel completely sick to your stomach. You grip the table hard, trying to keep yourself anchored to this horrible reality. A man died before your very eyes. You’re going to die tonight, surrounded by wealthy, privileged assholes. Bolts of pain slide through your fingers. Before the sensation can begin to truly burn, there’s a harsh grip on your shoulder. Hannibal Lecter, the chef, is looming over you. You flinch at the sudden touch and look up at him, while trying to regain feeling in your locked joints. There’s a buzzing sound in your ears. The chef’s eyes gleam crimson in the bright lighting. Franklyn lets out a weird squeal, clearly excited by the prospect of Lecter visiting your table. Unfortunately, the chef doesn’t have eyes for Franklyn. He’s staring at you hard enough for your skin to be lit with a phantom burn.

“How are you enjoying the meal?” Lecter implores, looking down at you. He’s rather handsome up close, you realize. You try to choke out a response, but Franklyn is quicker.

“It’s wonderful, sir!” Franklyn gushes shamelessly, “Truly exquisite-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the chef interjects, sending him a withering glare before focusing back on you. He raises an eyebrow ever so slightly at you. You’re scrambling for words, empty promises and compliments that will leave him satisfied enough to leave you the hell alone. Thankfully, you’re spared by the enraged scream of Scott Komeda. The chef’s attention is drawn away from you and you breathe a sigh of relief. Lecter clasps his hands behind his back and levels the man with an expectant gaze.

Mr. Komeda’s eyes are frantic and he breathes heavily. “Get me the hell out of here!” He screams.

There are a few beats of silence, before the hostess—Abigail, you think her name is—paces over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. She whispers something quietly to him, something that goes unheard by everyone else. Whatever she says, it must be suitably disturbing, because the man’s face pales significantly. Abigail’s grip tightens on his shoulder.

“Which hand would you like to lose, sir?” She asks politely. The placating smile on her face almost makes you second guess what you just heard her say. The man blinks at her in evident disbelief. His wife tries to pull him back, but security guards descend on the man and he doesn’t budge. “Left or right?” He does not answer.

“Left hand, ring finger,” Lecter announces, breaking through the tense silence that was descending in the air. You inhale sharply, nearly choking on air at the reminder of the dangerous man lurking near you. You had nearly forgotten his presence. Abigail nods and walks back towards the kitchen, returning with a sharpened butcher’s knife.

You avert your eyes, but the man’s scream is enough to inform you of what occurs. When you turn back, you find Mr. Komeda holding his bloodied hand. His ring finger rests on the elegant tablecloth. You very nearly vomit right then and there—just barely managing to avoid the urge by placing a hand over your mouth and turning away. Mrs. Komeda’s jaw is frozen wide-open, and everyone else seems just as nauseated as you. At least, everyone except Franklyn. Somehow, amidst all this chaos and madness, Franklyn is still eating. His unaffected ferocity unsettles you.

“Let’s get a breath of fresh air, shall we?” Lecter asks, before motioning for everyone to rise from their seats. No one seems to understand his question, in the wake of what just happened. After he repeats the question, the guests are quick to rise from their chairs. It is dangerous to try opposing the chef. You stand up and follow the group back through the entrance hall, until you step out the door and outside the building. The chef waits in the center of the assembled group, pausing for a few moments to let any stragglers catch up. Franklyn is still chewing. The researchers are whispering amongst themselves, and Mason looks two seconds from decapitating his sister with his own hands. You keep your eyes firmly on the ground.

“You will be given a forty five second head start,” he begins. Everyone stares at him in confusion. “You may try to run. After forty five seconds have passed, my staff will chase you down.” Lecter doesn’t finish speaking before Frederick Chilton is sprinting away. The chef huffs in amusement, not looking the slightest bit threatened. He turns to regard the rest of the group. “Your head start begins… now.” Alana Bloom and Bedelia Du Maurier exchange glances before running away. Mr. Komeda stumbles away, with Mrs. Komeda tugging him along. Freddie Lounds and James Gray run in opposite directions, foregoing the path straight ahead and diving through the trees and bushes. Margot Verger doesn’t hesitate to run away. Mason watches her go for a few seconds, before pursuing her. This leaves Chef Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, and you. You turn on your heel, about to run alongside the exterior of the restaurant and behind the building. A loud clap interrupts your momentary escape.

“Stay.” You swivel back around, only to see Lecter staring you down. His eyes are glittering in the dark night. You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course, you could simply ignore his command. However, you know you’ll be caught by his staff eventually, anyway. Might as well spare him the chase, you think to yourself. You nod and take a step to break the distance between the two of you. Franklyn sends you an incredulous gaze that you pretend not to notice. “We will go inside.” Lecter doesn’t wait for your answer, instead walking past you and back towards the door. You follow after him apprehensively, wondering what he could be planning. Perhaps he will slaughter you and serve you as the fifth course. The thought makes you shudder. You step through the opened doorway and stop once you’ve crossed the threshold. Chef Lecter is staring at Franklyn with a bored expression.

“Not you,” he says, effectively dismissing the man. Franklyn, evidently embarrassed, steps back from the door. The attendant closes the door, leaving you as Lecter’s only dinner guest who is still in the building. The chef’s shoes click against the polished floors. You momentarily contemplate ducking down into a hallway, but you realize you don’t know the building well enough to ensure you have a fighting chance at escape. Lecter leads you through the kitchen and into another room, waiting for you to enter before closing the door behind you. The room is sparsely furnished.

“This entire evening has been meticulously planned,” the chef says, taking a seat. You move to do the same. “You are not according to the plan.” He doesn’t seem too troubled by the notion—it’s a mild inconvenience. You frown. Before, you had attributed the chef to be a person taking his grievances out on his guests—each of whom serves as a reason for his loss of love for his craft. You were wrong, you’re beginning to realize. Hannibal Lecter is doing this for his own amusement. The social commentary behind it all is certainly motivation for his actions, but he does not intend to offset the system—the fragile ecosystem of the high-end restaurant industry. He is utilizing it to cater to his desires. What exactly are his desires, though?

“Why are you doing this?” You decide to ask, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.” It is not an answer to your question, yet it somehow provides you an explanation nonetheless. From there, the chef manipulates the conversation expertly, asking you all sorts of questions about your childhood, your adult life, your career… You’re beginning to feel unnerved, all up until he releases you from your pseudo-captivity. His attention has been recaptured by his staff, which you are extremely grateful for. His gaze felt as if it was searing through you. When you return to the dining area, you’re surprised to find the rest of the guests are already seated. They look tired, their hair messy and their clothing slightly rumpled. Just as you sit down, you’re immediately assaulted with tons of questions from Franklyn. They start off innocuous enough, but soon descend into an envious madness.

“Why would he want to speak with you?” Franklyn spits, stabbing at the remains of his meal. You watch as he shoves another bite into his mouth, seemingly immune to the positively disgusted glare Chef Lecter is pointing at him right now.

“Franklyn.” The chef is heading towards your table. Franklyn practically lights up upon the chef saying his name. Lecter steps impossibly closer, until he’s almost towering over your table. It feels as if he’s looking down on you—and he sort of is, from his position. You try to just breathe. His attention isn’t on you right now. “There’s something you haven’t told your friend here.” The chef’s tone is slightly mocking. His mention of you throws you for a loop.

You look to Franklyn, only to find that he’s steadily paling. Agitation itches beneath your skin as you try to rationalize what could possibly cause such a fearful expression. Lecter is nearly smirking from his position at your side. You grit your teeth and clench your fists under the tablecloth.

“What were you told about tonight?” Lecter prompts the man. Everyone is looking at Franklyn now. Even the kitchen seems to have fallen into an uneasy quiet. What could he have possibly been told about tonight? You’re not sure.

“Everyone would die,” Franklyn admits. There’s a ringing sound suddenly, and it takes several seconds for you to realize the sound is in your mind. Every thought almost seems to come to a screeching halt, as you try to come to terms with the unshakeable fact that Franklyn willingly attended this dinner, despite knowing he would die.

“And what happened to your original companion?” Lecter muses. “Who did you bring in Mr. Budge’s stead?” You don’t stay still for long enough to hear his next remark. There is a sharp knife lying next to your fork and spoon, almost as if this very interaction had been planned (if not for you, then certainly for Tobias Budge). Rage governs your every move, as you realize that Franklyn brought you here despite knowing you would die. This night was a death sentence, executed by Franklyn himself. Before you can contemplate the consequences, you lunge across the table in a fluid movement, before reaching out and cutting him. Before you can stab him, you’re roughly yanked backwards by someone. The knife slices at the skin on Franklyn’s cheek, and he screams loudly. You try to fight the person’s grip off, and it takes a few people to hold you back from Franklyn. When you see the shock and fear on his face, you’re filled with a cruel sense of satisfaction and vengeance.

“That is enough,” the chef remarks, slicing through the tense air with a simple sentence.

“Sorry, Chef,” Franklyn immediately replies, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Does the thought of falling out of Lecter’s favor really distress him so? Although, when you think about it, you’re not sure if he was ever in the chef’s favor.

The chef looks at you now. You don’t bother apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. If you’re correct, Chef Lecter engineered that very interaction. You don’t regret lashing out at Franklyn, so you meet Lecter’s expectant gaze head-on. Eventually, he seems to come to terms with your resolve, because his attention falls back to Franklyn.

“Franklyn,” the chef starts. You see Franklyn nearly go limp at the prospect of Lecter using his name. You grimace. Something feels wrong here. Indeed, the chef’s next remark seems to be an omen. “You believe yourself superior to me.”

“No, Chef,” Franklyn is quick to say. The patrons around you are entirely silent. The room almost seems to buzz around you, ringing with unresolved tension. You think back to Franklyn’s hero worship of the chef, clumsily combined with his own attempts at thoughtful critiques.

“You have made a mockery of my craft,” Lecter continues.

“No, Chef-” Franklyn sputters.

“Now,” the chef breaks off, a glint in his eyes, “We will test your assertions. Come here,” the chef orders. Franklyn obeys and, once he’s in the kitchen, Lecter awards him an apron and ties it around him. Franklyn looks absolutely over the moon, but you see the gesture for what it really is: the final nail in his coffin. “Everyone, please step back. Franklyn will cook something for our guests.” A hollowed laughter echoes throughout the space as the cooks chuckle, before stepping back to let Franklyn have control over the kitchen.

What ensues is quite easily the most embarrassing and humiliating display you have ever been forced to witness. By the end, there are tears slipping down Franklyn’s face. You almost feel bad for him—almost. Your sympathy quickly fades to obscurity when you remember that he invited you here despite being told everyone would die.

When Franklyn’s dish is complete, there’s a renewed silence around the space as the chef takes a few steps forward and leans down to smell it. Chef Lecter motions for a cook to step next to him and gestures for them to taste the dish. The cook eats the food, their left eyebrow ticking up ever so slightly.

“How is it?” Lecter questions.

“Horrible, Chef,” the cook answers. “The lamb is undercooked, and the sauce is practically inedible.” They grab a napkin and wipe their mouth, before putting it in the pocket of their apron and stepping back to join the rest of the cooking staff in the background. The background is an apt term for the group—they are mere backdrops, accessories, to Chef Lecter’s performance.

“Do you see now, Franklyn?” Chef Lecter asks, an understanding smile on his face. All you can see is sharpened teeth and a crooked malice. “Guests must remain in the dining hall, just as cooks must remain in the kitchen. Take off your apron; you’re dismissed.” But Chef Lecter isn’t done yet. The moment Franklyn takes off his apron and holds it in a clenched fist, Lecter places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper something to him. It’s incomprehensible to you, but you can still see the way Franklyn’s expression falls, before an eerie resolve sets his shoulders. Without explanation, Franklyn steps further into the kitchen and disappears from sight.

Things don’t end there, however. Lecter then calls your name, beckoning you to follow after him as he weaves through the busy kitchen with ease. The rest of the patrons are banished to return to their seats. You glance back at them for a moment, before returning your attention to the chef in front of you. Once you turn the corner and are out of view of the guests, the chef turns on you.

“Abigail was supposed to bring dessert,” the chef remarks. His gaze flits to the hostess behind you for a moment. You hadn’t noticed her presence. Lecter stares at you. “Fetch the barrel from the smokehouse. It is a key instrument for the next course.” You stare at him in disbelief. You desperately want to object, but you suppress the urge. Once you think about it, you realize you’re being given a golden opportunity: a chance to leave the restaurant and explore the premises. Perhaps you could find something to aid your escape. With that knowledge in the back of your mind, you accept Lecter’s request.

You nod and turn around, intending to retrace your steps. You’re walking into the kitchen when something enters your field of vision. You squint and take a step closer, eyes widening as you process just what you’re seeing. Franklyn is hanging from a noose, feet hanging limp in the air. There’s a horrible motley of bruises around his neck and his eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets. Your eyes are inexplicably led to the bloody cut on his cheek. You take a deep breath and pretend you didn’t see anything, before heading through the winding hall and exiting through the door Lecter mentioned. When you reach the open air, you feel a new sense of tranquility and calm hit you. The night air doesn’t know of the pain and suffering inflicted tonight; its briskness seems to ground you to the present.

You manage to make it to the smokehouse and, once you find the barrel, you drag it outside. However, knowing this may be your only opportunity for exploration, you decide to look around a little. Leaving the barrel to rest near the smokehouse, you head towards the nearest building. To your surprise, the side door is unlocked. When you open it, you’re certainly not expecting to be standing in a living room. Upon closer examination, this appears to be a home—the chef’s, most likely. Abigail had mentioned that all the cooking staff sleep in barracks, which leaves Lecter as the only viable owner of this residence. You look around the space, unsurprised to find that it looks meticulously clean.

You look around a little more, finding a gleaming stainless steel kitchen and an elaborate dining room. There’s only one space that remains: hidden behind the wooden door that you’re currently staring at. You tentatively grasp the door knob and slowly twist it, only to find that it’s locked. You tug at the door again, only for the sound of footsteps to distract you.

You turn around, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you see Abigail standing a short distance from you. “No one is supposed to enter Chef’s personal quarters,” Abigail remarks, her voice hollow. There’s a dullness to her eyes that disturbs you.

You frown. “Why are you here, then?” You ask. She stills for a moment, clearly not expecting the question. A moment later, the hostess regains her composure.

“You were asked to fetch the barrel, because of my mistake,” Abigail recounts, eyebrows furrowing to let you know what she really thinks of that idea. She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes gleaming in the dim lighting. “But Chef never asked me to fetch it.” There’s a dangerous look in her eyes and a weapon in her hand.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, Abigail is running at you; the next, you’re standing over her bleeding body. A knife juts out of her throat and it seems that she’s choking on her own blood. The light slowly leaves her eyes, until her form is terribly still on the kitchen floor. You take a shaky breath in, finding the effort rather laborious. It takes you several moments to come to terms with the fact that you just committed murder. Once you’re finally able to steel your nerves, you take the hostess’s key and walk over to the door. After twisting the key, the door swings open to reveal a hallway. You don’t make it more than a few steps into the hall before noticing a doorway to your left, barricaded by a steel door with a small glass window. Against your best judgment, you steal a glance through the window.

There are chains and sharpened tools lining the walls, metallic gleam burning your vision. A corpse hangs from the ceiling, flayed and mutilated beyond recognition. It isn’t even the thought of a corpse that frightens you. No, this corpse is different from the ones you saw in the smokehouse—this one isn’t an animal. The realization slowly sinks into your skin, sending your heart roaring in your ears. Human corpses hang from dangling meat hooks, in various states of mutilation.

You’re suddenly immensely glad you never ate anything. That chicken thigh served in the third course… was probably not chicken. You shudder. One thought triumphs over all others in your mind: you need to leave.

Afraid of what else you may find, you decide to turn back. You retrace your steps and walk back through the kitchen with bloody flooring and the empty living room until you’re outside once more. The walk to the smokehouse is quick, but once you grab the barrel, you’re reminded of how heavy it is. Your trip back to the kitchen takes longer than you’d like but, fortunately, Chef Lecter doesn’t seem bothered by how long it takes you to return. He only nods and instructs you to give the barrel to one of the cooks. Lecter’s attention is then taken elsewhere—as he still has a dessert to prepare—so you decide to take advantage. You know a way out now, after all. You have to wait for an opportune moment to access the outside door, since cooks are mulling about the kitchen near the exit. Eventually, you manage to find an ideal time frame for your escape and, with equal apprehension and anticipation, you walk over to the door. Your hand doesn’t even clasp the doorknob before there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?” You turn around, dread prickling across your skin as you’re faced with Chef Lecter’s disappointment. You’re not sure you’ll make it out of this alive, after all. Every time you blink, you see yourself as the next course in this absurdly fanciful feast. The Unwanted Guest, the chef would probably call it. “The final course hasn’t been served yet.”

You manifest a confidence that you don’t necessarily feel. “I’m finished eating,” you assert. Beneath what you hope is a cool exterior, you’re panicking. You can’t think of an excuse that will permit you to leave. Lecter seems to recognize that, because he only arches an eyebrow at you. He is not threatened.

“You’ll miss dessert,” he remarks, a sad smile on his face. You know the gesture is nothing but an act, a performance put on for an audience of one. You bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from doing anything rash.

“I’m not much of a sweets person,” you eventually say, when the torrent of noise in your mind manages to calm down. The kitchen continues to hustle and bustle behind you, providing a subdued background of sound. It’s not enough to drown out your fear.

“Stay,” Chef Lecter insists.

“I couldn’t possibly,” you answer. You need to think of something quickly. What could justify your departure? “My clothes…” You break off, motioning down to your dress clothes, which are now stained with Abigail’s blood and who knows what else. This is as good of an excuse as you have, but it just may work. Stained clothing is extremely improper, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this hellish night, it’s that Chef Lecter abhors rudeness.

It must only be a few seconds of silence before Lecter speaks again, but it feels like an eternity. “Very well,” the chef finally responds. Lecter reaches towards you, his hand frighteningly close to your hip, before he opens the door for you. It feels too good to be true. There’s no way you actually convinced him to let you go, right?

He’s still holding the door open. This isn’t a trick. As you stand in the doorway, you briefly contemplate staying to rescue the other people. You contemplate fighting back against this chef and his staff. The thought doesn’t last long—not when visages of the guests are conjured up in your mind’s eye—Mr and Mrs. Komeda’s annoyed, impatient expressions, Miss Lounds and Mr. Gray debating the integrity of an ingredient worth more than your very life, Franklyn eating while blood splatters, the researchers amicably discussing the lives of their patients over the very depiction of the chef’s own trauma, Mason Verger gazing at his sister predatorily. None of these people are worth saving.

“Thank you for the meal,” you murmur to Lecter. Somehow, it feels like the appropriate thing to say. It must be a good choice, because a small smile appears on the chef’s face. It’s a fleeting gesture, but it almost looks genuine.

“I hope to see you here again soon,” Lecter says. You don’t acknowledge that remark, instead turning on your heel and walking away. The chef’s ensuing laughter follows you and echoes in your ears, even as you board the ship and sail back to the mainland.

Character Guide Chef Julian = Hannibal Lecter Margot = Reader Soren, Dave, and Bryce, business partners = Frederick Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, and Alana Bloom, research partners Lillian Bloom, food critic = Freddie Lounds Tim, Lillian’s editor = James Gray Tyler Ledford = Franklyn Froideveaux Ms. Westervelt, Tyler’s original guest = Tobias Budge Richard and Anne Leibrandt, restaurant regulars = Scott and Cheryl Komeda George Diaz, movie star = Mason Verger George’s personal assistant, Felicity Lynn = Margot Verger Elsa, Chef’s right hand = Abigail Hobbs

Adjusted Menu (Appetizer) Amuse bouche: compressed and pickled cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. (First Course) The Island: plants from around the island, seaweed, raw scallop served on a rock from the island (Second Course) Breadless Bread Plate: no bread, savory accompaniments (Third Course) Memory: house-smoked chicken thigh, served with scissors stabbed in the meat, along with house-made tortillas (Fourth Course) The Mess: pressure-cooked vegetables, roasted filet, potato confit, beef au jus, and bone marrow Franklyn’s Bullshit: undercooked lamb with inedible shallot-leek butter sauce

Justifications At first, I thought Abigail as Elsa was a stretch. Then, I remembered that Abigail helped source the victims for her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs. That led me to conceptualize an older Abigail—one who wasn’t afraid to embrace the cruelty that she witnessed all around her. She is rather similar to Elsa, especially in the sense that she longs for Hannibal’s approval (just as Elsa longs for Julian’s). Just like Elsa, she is delegated to the sidelines—forced to carry out the chef’s every whim without even a moment’s gratitude.

Freddie Lounds as the food critic (Lillian) just makes perfect sense. She would be a perfect food critic—entirely unflinching and brutally honest. The Komedas fit pretty well too, and I wasn’t even aware of their existence until I looked through the Hannibal wiki for characters to substitute. Mrs. Komeda—and her husband, by extension—was a frequent guest at Hannibal’s dinner parties, which bled rather well into her status as a regular at his restaurant.

Since Hannibal’s relatives aren’t exactly alive or easily accessible, I scrapped the whole alcoholic mother bit that Julian had going, and instead just kept the third course as a vague allusion to Hannibal’s childhood. The bit about having the males hunt and the females dine felt misogynistic (and also exclusive of people who aren’t exclusively male/female), especially without the context of Katherine and Julian’s interactions, so I just scrapped it. Now, everyone gets to run from a murderer! Woooo!!

Y’all, I did A LOT of research for this fic… so pls lmk if u enjoyed reading it !!!! <3

TAGLIST (hoped y'all don't mind I'm tagging you in this, but I figured you'd like another Hannibal piece): @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #x reader #reader insert #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #the menu #the menu fic #fanfic #sorry for all the tags lmao

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wardenparker · 3 months

Text

Summer Rose

Professor!Santiago Garcia x female OC Co-written with @julesonrecord

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: OC is named (Daphne Antonelli) but has minimal physical description. Age gap 10+ years. Both parties are consenting adults. Alcohol consumption, mutual pining, professor/student, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, sexy mythology references, vaginal sex, protected sex, fingernails/scratching, a bit of biting. Summary: Daphne is having an absolutely terrible day and has missed office hours to turn in her final paper to Professor Garcia. When she turns up on his doorstep to turn in her assignment, the professor she's been crushing on for ages offers her a supportive ear -- and help relaxing. Notes: A little collaboration between myself and my beloved Jules featuring a character we've working on (Daphne) and today's wet daydream of college professor!Santiago. Honestly this is just a bit of porn with the barest thread of a plot, and we're not sorry. Also, just a disclaimer that I have no clue how one finishes a masters degree, but it doesn't matter. We're here for the porn, not the threadbare plot.

Twilight is beautiful on campus. Santiago has always thought so, even before he had the letters after his last name that demarcate him as faculty. He enjoys the blush of the sun fading, the purple of the dusky sky fading to blue-black, indigo, then glitter with starlight.

He likes walking home after class this way; a quiet moment to ease his mind after lectures and before grading. This late in the semester, it will be one of the last walks before the summer term. As he passes through the quiet neighborhood and climbs his front doors, he glances up, spies Orion's Belt in the heavens. He thinks about introducing the story next time he holds his Mythology and Myth-Making class. Did he include it this year? He can't remember. He'd been... distracted.

His phone pings with a text as he sets his messenger bag on the dining room table and undoes his cuff buttons, rolling them up. Too damn hot for this, damn dress code rules... He peers down at the message, and notes it's from an unknown number. His students know to text him if they have an emergency, so he opens it straight away.

Hi, Professor Garcia. I know that it's after office hours, but the fact is...I missed office hours altogether. Would it be an inconvenience to call you and explain? Otherwise I'm not sure how to get my final paper to you. Thanks, Daphne Antonelli (Mythology and Myth-Making)

Santiago lifts an eyebrow. He recognizes the name. Oh yes, he recognizes it. In fact, he's called it to mind more often than is probably appropriate, along with the image of a very beautiful graduate student with a focused stare and drop-dead gorgeous eyes. She was an attentive student, responsive, ready to answer questions but never one to hog the spotlight, making insightful, empathetic, and razor-sharp questions. It was unlike her to miss anything, never mind not visit office hours. They'd spent many such visits over the semester. Short. Professional. Of course.

So why does his heart rate increase, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thoughtfully taps the phone screen, spelling out a careful, professional text?

Hi Daphne. As this is your final paper, I would really like to have it ASAP as I am required to submit grades on Monday. Why don't you swing by my home to drop it off?

Feel free to call, he types, then deletes before sending. He wanted to hear her voice. He did need that paper. No reason why he couldn't do both in person. No reason at all.

He had had his graduate students over for a spring dinner after midterms so they know how and where to find him. The bonfire that night had lasted for ages, as tipsy grad students who were feeling feisty with a full meal in their bellies debated the cultural implications of different myth origins and the similarities of some creation myths that they had just been discussing in class. Daphne had been amongst the students that night, animatedly defending her points with unmatched ferocity that was impossible to ignore.

The text that comes through a few moments later takes a while for her to decide on, judging from the continuously undulating bubbles indicating how long she was typing compared to the brevity of the eventual message.

Thank you for understanding. I'll be over shortly so the rest of your night isn't interrupted.

Satisfaction. He tosses the phone down and leans over the table with a slow sigh, taking a look around the room. The same old familiar wall-to-wall bookshelves line the tidy bungalow. The same pendant lamps up, tacky, that he'd meant to change when he bought this place... four years ago. His degrees might be hung in his office upstairs, his clothes are here, he shaves here, but who does he have here, really? Nobody. Warm sheets for a night and then no one. Nothing. There was no reason to bother, really—

And then Daphne. Daphne with her slowly blossoming smile that melted from shy to beaming when he said hello to her on campus. Daphne with her neat notes in the margins, Daphne with the legs that had so often been tucked primly next to his as they leaned over a book or paper together, never touching but so close, close enough so that he could smell her perfume: cinnamon, orchid, incense.

"Fuck," he mutters to the table. There's no way of hiding from himself, not really. He pushes off the wood and stalks to the kitchen for a beer. He cracks it open efficiently and takes a long swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. He wants her. That much is clear. How could he not? She was intelligent, fierce, gorgeous. He could fool himself all he wanted, her coming here was a bad idea. It's been a long semester, keeping her close but not too close.

But, he realizes with a jolt, she's about to graduate. This is her final, his course is over. He is... well, technically by Monday, no longer her professor.

"Fuck," he mutters again, this time to a magnet of a catfish, his only catch from a weekend out fishing with the guys.

It's twenty minutes later precisely when his doorbell rings. There was no sound of a car outside on the street or dramatic slam of a door, but when he opens the door there is a bicycle leaning against his front gate and a frazzled looking student on his front step.

"Hi, Professor." Daphne stands on his step with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment on her face and she digs into her bag right away to pull out a manila folder with his class name and number written on it alongside her name. "I'm so sorry about this. I know it's technically late and that you'll have to dock points for that. It's completely my fault."

"Hey, hey, easy." He lifts a palm and lowers it soothingly, taking the manila folder gently. "There's no need to be sorry, accidents happen." Then, as he knew he would, he asked, "Would you like to come in? It's the end of semester, though. Maybe you have a party you'd rather get to?" He smiles fondly, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms to show off his tanned forearms, shirt sleeves straining slightly.

Yeah, he's still got moves. And he wants to show them off. To Daphne. Who is no longer his student. Who's staring up at him with the anguish slowly sliding from her face. He wants to remove it, stroke her stress away with his thumb, ease it out of her slowly—

Fuck, he's screwed.

"I'm not really – I mean, I haven't –" She doesn't get invited to parties, is what she's trying to say. Not that she doesn't enjoy parties, because she does. She absolutely does. The night they spent here at his house just sitting around the fire talking and sharing a meal was one of her favorite graduate school memories. But she isn't great at socializing with the other students in her program, she's found. There is something a little odd about Daphne, and it has reverberated through her life to keep her just a little on the outside of normal.

Maybe that's why she nods, accepting the invitation with swallowed thanks, and steps inside her professor's house. Her professor who has more than a decade on her in terms of age but has never held his years of experience or knowledge over her head. If they were colleagues, she might have even considered him a friend. As it is, being his student, she's stuck in a sort of limbo with a useless crush and fond memories. "I've had kind of a crazy day," she admits sheepishly. "Even if I had been invited to any of the parties on campus, I don't think I would be going."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Daph," he says, with real sympathy. "Is everything all right? I just opened a beer, would you like anything?"

"A pipe burst at my place and my landlord is claiming I'm liable, then my computer crashed in the middle of doing one last edit on your term paper and the tech office gave me grief, it's just...it's been a long day." She barely even nodded in agreement that a drink would be a huge relief, but he is immediately retreating to his refrigerator to grab her a beer. "Oh, and my summer plans fell through today." Her shoulders sag, the stress of the day dragging her down and determined to keep her there. "I'm just lucky I got up to take a shower first thing this morning or else the day would've been even worse."

"Oh, Daph, that's a rotten one," he says, placing the opened beer on the coffee table and settling his hands on her shoulders. "What happened to your summer? Surely you're going off to some incredible internship, you're more than qualified." And she is. He'd have recommended her to any program she wanted, and had, in fact, written her a letter of recommendation earlier in the year. "You know I'm not going to dock points, right?" he asks more quietly. "None of today was your fault, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. That shouldn't burrow into her chest and bloom into warmth like it does, and Daphne's eyes drop to the floor immediately to carefully focus on the toes of her boots instead of looking him in the face. That's your professor. Don't be creepy. "I had that internship lined up in London with the publishing company but they pulled the rug out from under me." She shrugs, feeling more vulnerable in the moment than she wants to admit. "Apparently the CFO's kid decided all of a sudden that he wants to be an author, so they rescinded my offer. He's going to get it instead."

His chest pangs. He hates that there is nothing he can do to fix this for her -- because she's right. That's the cherry on top of an extremely long day, and all he can do then is what feels most natural, which is to lift her chin up with the crook of his finger, his voice soft, gentle. "Hey."

When she meets his gaze, he watches them flicker slightly, scanning his face as he drinks in hers. Her eyes are so pretty. Like fresh honey dripped from a spoon.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says again, and means it. "You deserve that spot, but you'll find something better, okay? Hey, look at me." She had turned away slightly, embarrassed or perhaps made shy by his praise, but her eyes fix on him again, golden and fringed with thick lashes. "I promise, you will. There's lots of ways into this world, and you're too talented not to break in. Okay? You want to sit down, tell me about it?" His fingers clasp around her delicate elbow, ready to guide her to the couch.

"There's not a lot more to tell, to be honest." Two people with two beers steer almost mechanically toward the couch, and Daphne finds herself being seated on his plush leather sectional just before he sits down beside her. This spring has been chilly and he still has a throw blanket out, which he pulls close to them as if to have it at the ready. "No summer in London means I'm going to have to either go back home and figure out my next step there, or find a new place here and do the same. Because I'm sure as hell not staying in the place I'm in now. As if the landlord weren't bad enough, now the plumbing is going."

"Huh." He trails his arm over the back of the sofa, sipping his beer thoughtfully. "What kinda guy is this-" Asshole, he wants to say, but quells it, "Fellow? Any chance he'll back off? Perhaps once he... calms down, he can be reasoned with." He's approaching the boundary of reason himself. He can see it, taste it, the drip of something sweet down his throat. "Beautiful woman like you? You could convince a man of anything."

The pffft sound that comes out of her mouth goes with a wave of her hand, but she does accept a sip of the beer that he's brought her with a grateful sigh. "The apartment is a piece of shit anyway, if I'm honest. I hate it there. It's just that it's affordable." There's a moment's pause where Daphne's eyes widen in panic and she deflates again with a groan. "I already put in my notice at my job, oh my god."

"Hey, hey, Daphne." He puts his beer down and reaches for her, wrapping one arm around her waist, cupping her flushed cheek with the other hand. "C'mon, it's going to be okay, I promise, but for right now, I need you to relax, okay? Can you do that for me, bebita?" They're so close now, almost nose to nose. He's lost in her eyes again, but he can feel the burning heat of her little cheek in his palm.

She had been so sure she was going to start crying instantly with that realization, but two searing hot hands on her skin steady her. His touch is grounding, pulling her away from the edge of panic and drawing her into his aura so effortlessly that she didn't even realize how close he was until she felt his breath on her skin. "O—okay—" He can't know that the thing keeping her from having a complete panic attack on his couch right now is the fact that all the blood in her body has rushed to her aching clit, but damned if it isn't working. Daphne nods vaguely, trying to keep her head from swimming, but all she feels is his hands on her and the way his coffee brown eyes have turned to oceans in front of her. "Okay," she repeats softly.

"Okay?" Santiago nods, his breath coming a little fast. "I'll help you. I'll help you relax, sweetheart. You tell me to stop any time, okay?" He leans closer so slowly, their breaths mingling. He can almost count her eyelashes. Her nose is sweet and soft as it brushes his, but it's nothing compared to her plush lips. They seal against his and he feels the world fall out from under him. Something deep and ravenous unlocks and spills out all over his inside. He barely chokes down a groan.

There is no doubt that this is the most surreal moment of Daphne's life, and it isn't as though she hasn't been in some weird situations before. It's a miracle that she managed to get her beer bottle onto the nearby coffee table without spilling or knocking anything over, but she needs her hands for this. For a year and a half she's been working on a master's degree and avoiding too much contact with the one professor who makes her mind fog up and her daydreams wander, until finally she had landed in his classroom.

And now on his couch.

Kissing him.

If it were anything besides the most surreal moment of her life, she might have jumped backward or at the very least, pulled away. But Daphne has imagined kissing Santiago Garcia far too many times to do anything but sigh in response and open up for him like a summer rose.

"It's okay," he repeats soothingly between kisses: to himself, to her, to the waiting tension in the room. "I've got you, cariño. I've got you now, there you go, so sweet for me. So pretty. Beautiful, smart girl." He deepens the kiss, tasting her lips slowly, reverently, one hand sliding slowly down her soft sweater to rest on her waist and squeeze gently. He brushes his thumb over the soft material and then flicks it open, wanting closeness, to drag his palm up her thin blouse, wide and slow across her back.

The sound that bubbles out of her is a plaintive moan, unsure but wanting, and one of her hands grasps for steadiness on his arm even as the other instinctively sinks into his curls to keep him close. The battle is want versus wisdom, and it takes longer than she's proud of for Daphne to drag her lips from his and pant for a breath that still has no prayer of clearing her head.

"But." The fog in her mind has settled thick and heavy like the arousal in her core, and even as she's trying to straighten herself out she's still clinging to him with digging fingers and sharp nails. "You'll get fired," she manages to breathe out a few seconds later. Her only real protest being that she doesn't want him to get in trouble over a whim – which is surely all this is to him.

"Baby, no, no," he shakes his head, almost laughing with relief that that is her only concern. "No, you're graduating. I'm not your teacher any more. You handed in your paper. We can finally do what I – what I've been—" Shit. This is going to sound so bad. "What I've been thinking about since I met you," he admits.

Santi leans his forehead against hers, sighing. "I'm sorry. It's so inappropriate, but it's true. I've been waiting so long to kiss you, baby girl. Let me kiss you." He brushes his fingers over her knee, lifting her skirt just a little. "Let me make you feel so good, my little nymph. Do you even know how long you've been haunting me?" His mouth brushes her again, gently, over the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse, which smells delicious, deep and floral, her scent.

His cock aches against his zipper.

"Fuck." This time Daphne groans, sinking further into the couch, and feels herself giggle softly in disbelief more than she's actually aware of making the sound herself. "You've been haunted?" She challenges, eyes burning with courage now that she's heard his confession. Heard him beg. Did he really just beg for her? "Do you know how long I put off taking your class because I didn't know if I could even concentrate around you?"

Using the opportunity of her gently reclining body, Santiago leans in for the catch. "I never could," he murmurs into the hollow of her throat, his hands sweeping her skirt up, revealing her pretty legs, and god her thighs, so plush and luscious in his hands. He takes a moment to stroke there, brush the hem of her panties with his thumbs. "Never. You came in with Eros and made me Apollo." One thumb slips gently under the gusset of her panties. "Are you running, little nymph, hm?"

"Fuck—I—no, I—I don't even think my legs work now," she huffs, all at once tense as a bowstring with desire and measurably more relaxed as the reality of the man she's wanted forever finally touching her exactly where she wants him.

Well, not exactly. But it's not going to take long to get there at the rate they're going.

"What should I..." Daphne's head falls back on the sofa cushion as his thumb strokes her slit and she moans. "Santiago is a lot of syllables to moan."

"Santi. You can call me Santi from now on," he murmurs, removing his thumb from her panties only to twist the thin white cotton things, Jesus, so fucking wet, around his fingers and slide them down, down. He tosses them to the side and shucks off her high heeled boots while he's there, his eyes locked on where she glistens for him, needs him. "But you can call out any god you want to, bonita." He flicks his gaze to hers and smirks. "Show me how much you were paying attention, yeah?"

If she can even remember a single name from his class at this point she'll be shocked, and the cool air of his house on her overheated cunt is enough to have her squirming instinctively underneath him. Her brain has pretty much given up the ghost already, overstimulated in the very best way possible far before the rest of her body feels the same. Although she has a feeling that it will get there. "Santi..." Trying it out, there is a sweetness on her tongue and heaviness in her core that really is just a whine waiting to break free. Daphne's hands have found their way to his shirt front, fumbling to free the buttons even while she's nearly shaking with desire. "If you get to touch me, I want to touch you, too."

His lips find hers again, almost impatient to taste her again. "You can touch me, I want you to," he mutters against her lips, lifting her blouse hem from her skirt as she takes care of his buttons. Santiago doesn't pause, doesn't make it easy for her or for himself, drowning himself in the touch of her, the sweet little noises emanating from her throat, the ones taking a running leap on the way to begging for everything he's ready to give. He lifts her shirt over her head and begins tugging down her skirt an inch at a time, his fingers dragging slowly over her hips, her now bare legs.

Nothing is exactly torn away, not specifically, but the pile of clothing that collects beside his living room sofa accumulates quickly and haphazardly — shirts and sweaters and everything else discarded blindly as they drown in kissing each other and swallowing those moans that make their way to the surface over and over again. With that building freedom Daphne finds a buried courage — not that she is a timid lover by any means, but there is an eagerness below the surface here that she hasn’t felt in so long. When the only thing left between them is the flimsy pair of boxers that do nothing to disguise how achingly hard he is, Daph bites down on his bottom lip to pull a groan out of him and soothes it away by sucking on the same spot as her fingers slip under the waistband of his last remaining piece of clothing.

"Fuck," he hisses, hips jumping forward so that the weeping tip of his cock brushes against her hand and he groans. He sits up straighter, caught in a web, aching to touch her – at least take his boxers off, fuck – but loathe to move away from her curious little hand. He settles for sitting up on his knees, staring at the place she's touching him, watching her explore him as though in a trance.

Taking advantage of the momentary shift, Daphne sits up along with him and nudges Santi backward so that he is on his back now instead of her. His curls are mussed and his eyes are so black with lust that he looks positively debauched before she’s even had a chance to touch him very much. Once he’s on his back, though, Daphne hooks her thumbs in his boxers and peels them away, groaning at the sight of him. Harder than diamonds and leaking precum like an eager teenager, a sly smirk rides across her face knowing she did that to him. “I want to suck your cock,” she admits, gaze flickering between his length and his blackened eyes. “You have no idea how many hours I’ve spent imagining sucking your cock under that desk in your office.”

Santiago closes his eyes a moment. Is he fucking dreaming? Or is his most fucked fantasy coming true before his eyes?

"Probably almost as many as what I've spent imagining what that wet little pussy tastes like." His voice is a low rasp, but he pulls himself together enough to halt her hand on his throbbing dick. His fingers squeeze around hers, gliding over the rigid shaft slowly, with control. His breath fans over her forehead. "You want this, baby? Hm? Gonna have to give me something in return. Come here," he urges, a low purr, her very own siren. "Come here and give me a little taste, cariño."

“Even Kama had to worship a lover in order to find his release,” Daph breathes, having spent an entire semester doodling images of the Hindu love god’s sugarcane bow and bird companions in her notes while thinking of all the various ways her professor could be worshipped.

"Kama was burnt alive by Shiva, sweetheart, and I don't plan on doing any different to you. Come here, that's it." Santi helps Daphne turn in his lap, both of them facing the wall. He guides her hips over his face as he lies back on the couch. Thank fuck it was big enough, for this and more, and then her perfect pussy is hovering over his face, tantalizing him. At heart? Santiago likes torturing himself, loves the thrill of giving into pleasure. Perhaps that too, is why he waited so long to take this girl into his bed. Perhaps that's why he's slow and sure as he spreads her lips, flattens his tongue, and tastes her indulgently, from clit to hole.

Daphne's momentary flash of composure is gone again as soon as he tastes her. Her legs shake on either side of his head, thighs pressed to his ears so her moans are muffled but it isn't on purpose. It's just been so long since she had a man between her legs who knew what the fuck he was doing that just having her clit noticed is a vast improvement. Daphne's body sags momentarily before she is shifting all her weight to one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock to stroke his base with the pressure that he showed her – the pressure he likes – while she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth.

When he moans it's with a growl into her pussy she can feel vibrate all the way up through her lungs.

She's not fucking sitting, and he knows it's because she's still, however minutely now that her moans are ringing sweet and clear across his living room, in her head instead of fully in her perfect body the way he wants. Licking up her slick almost lazily, he drags his nails lightly up the outsides of her thighs before firmly catching her hips in hand and pressing her into his waiting mouth, his evening stubble scraping across her folds. Only then does he give her a real reason to moan, encouraging her to grind while his laps at her clit with his tongue, filling his hands with all the gorgeous skin he can reach.

"Sit," he grunts, "Fuck, baby, I wanna to go to the field of fucking reeds with this pussy on my face, come on, you can do it, give it to me."

Come on, carińo, I know you can come for me, such a good fucking girl, he thinks, his brain a hazy lightning storm at the sensation of her hot throat squeezing around him as she swallows. Fuck, he could let her do this all night, but he's hungry for her pleasure and he's so close, he can taste it. Santiago lifts her hips with a final loud suck and trails a finger around her slit, teasing, almost pressing, but only just, his thumb running circles around her clit. With a deep breath he lifts his mouth, slips his tongue and a single finger inside, fucking into her with slow, measured movements.

The overwhelming pleasure of having more than just the tip of his tongue inside her pussy has Daphne moaning so earnestly that she pulls off of him cock with a lurid pop. "Dammit—I—fuck, I'm going to cum—Santi, baby, oh my f—" The shaking of her legs and the coil in her core twist down on each other so her thighs tighten and he breathes into her like he's going to devour her whole as she falls apart at the seams.

Oh yes. He really likes hearing her moaning that, but not more than the way she gives in as her orgasm rocks through her, grinding her hips down, into his waiting, eager mouth, helping her ride him through it until the aftershocks ease. His voice is barely a scrape when he lifts her up, his aching cock swinging between his legs as he presses forward, eager for her mouth. "Did so good, baby, such a good girl for me. I need to fuck you. Need to fuck you, baby. How do you want it?"

"Any way." Daphne gasps, trying to wrap her head around any kind of how that's more artful than just sinking down on him right here and now. When she does wrap her head around it, though, she groans in a less ethereal tone. "Let me grab a condom." Like any sensible, sexually active college girl, she carries one in her regular purse. Emergency cock wrap, if you will. She just never thought she'd actually need it.

"Wait, I got it." He scoots up a moment, digging into the small table beside the couch. From the drawer Santi draws out the foil pouch and rips it open, quickly rolling it on before turning his attention back on Daphne, who's watching him with drowned eyes, eyes deep and longing and still so lovely.

"Lie back, sweetheart. You ready for me?" He slowly glides the head over her silky wet folds, smearing her slick across his tip.

Deciding she absolutely does not need to know how many other girls have been fucked on this couch -- possibly at the end of their own courses -- Daph pushed herself up on her elbows to kiss him fiercely. Tonight is not to be wasted. Tonight is to be a fantastic memory. "I'm ready." Her nails drag down the base of his scalp, having caught a near purr from him earlier when she did the same. "I want you to fuck me, Santi."

Almost before his name is out of her mouth, he's pushing inside her with a low rumble, his head falling back slightly into her hands. Her nails scrape sensation over his scalp and down his spine, and her cunt is licking flames over him, so warm and perfect he almost comes right fucking there, but halts, breathing damp against her lips, his teeth nipping her lip possessively.

They hold like that, frozen together in the heat of the moment as he regains his composure and she adjusts to the stretch and fill and thickness of his cock inside her. The only movement, in this long moment of coming together, is the languid slide and tangle of their tongues together as they drown in the intimacy of feverish kisses.

Gradually, Santi comes down enough to get restless, eager again. He nips and bites down over her jaw and descends on her throat, sucking a mark low on her collarbone as his hands pay some long overdue attention to her pretty, heaving tits. Mine.

When the mark on her neck is soothed with his tongue, he sits up slowly, his eyes a glittering black, his lips parted. He looks like he's about to devour her. He takes one of her calves in his hand, eyes never leaving hers, tipping her knee up towards her head and then out, spread wide for him. He grips her ankle in a warm hand. Then, with a grunt, he's pulling back and pitching forward hard enough for their skin to clap obscenely, fast enough to make them both soon begin to tremble.

The position that he's in has him almost entirely out of her reach, just close even to graze her nails over his chest as he thrusts into her at a pace frantic enough to make them both pant and heave. Her back arches off the couch with a keen and her hands grapple with the couch cushions for purchase to hold on tight as Santi fucks her so deeply and insistently that she can practically feel him all the way up in her throat.

"Gripping me so fuckin' tight, baby, Jesus," he says through his teeth, his jaw tight, streaks of pleasure raking down his chest with her sharp, clinging nails. Keeping his relentless pace, he bends forward, pushing her thigh up, testing her limit. When he's low enough he seizes her mouth with his, grinding deep.

"One more for me, pretty girl, one more," he whispers huskily, his other hand skimming down her body to rub at her clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, so good baby, oh my fucking god—" Something in Daphne's mind short circuits, and the rambling begins in earnest the higher and higher she climbs toward a second orgasm. Tripping over her own tongue and throwing her hands up over her head as he slams into her so hard that either they are moving up the length of the sofa or the entire sofa is moving, Daph is completely lost in her pleasure. That volcano of pleasure building in her core is damn near ready to explode and the only thing she wants more than to erupt is to take him with her.

The second her expression breaks and she cries out for him, he's gone. He thinks he's done even before she clamps down on his cock like a goddamned vice, ripping his orgasm from him in a half dozen hard but increasingly languid strokes.

His upper body grows heavy, and with a groan he grinds in deeply just once more – never mind why – and leans his forehead on her soft breast, pulling out of her with a sigh. His entire body is basking, floating. If she puts her hands in his hair again he might even fall asleep.

There's a moment of quiet as he ties off and disposes of the condom, and for a split-second Santi disappears around a corner but he comes back with a warm, damp kitchen cloth to clean them both up with before curling back around her on the couch. "Goddamn," she huffs, giggling softly to herself as his arms come around her.

"Tell me about it," he says sleepily, flipping the throw blanket over the two of them as they settle, kiss, explore lazily what before had been greedily consumed. "Still not sure I'm not dreaming," he says, only half-joking, tracing her lips with a smile. "Did I really get so lucky?"

"I'm not sure how you're the starstruck one out of the two of us," Daphne teases, even though it's through a thin veil of honesty.

"Bonita, I've been increasingly starstruck all semester," he chuckles. "You have so much to look forward to. Shit, you're definitely going farther places than I am. I'm just happy to be here," he presses a kiss to her left tit, "To enjoy-" to her right nipple- "The satisfaction of being right." He kisses her forehead and studies her, his lids heavy. "Do you need anything before you fall asleep, baby girl? You wanna sleep here or in bed? I can't let you bike home this late, querida, so don't even try. Besides, you can shower here, my plumbing is fine." He smirks here, as if anticipating the swat he's earned himself.

"It's not that late." Daphne wrinkles her nose at herself. The protest was just good manners. She doesn't actually want to leave. She wants to wrap up in him and breathe in this comfort for as long as humanly possible. When he levels her with a disapproving look, Daph just ends up grinning. "Let's go to bed," she suggests, catching his lips as he drags them along her jaw. "And when I wake you up in the morning with my lips wrapped around your cock again, you'll be glad your back isn't sore."

The laugh bursts out of his chest with delight, easy and real. "All right, baby, all right, and what makes you think I won't beat you to it?" Santi pulls her to her feet, wrapping the soft blanket securely around her shoulders before guiding her upstairs with a hand at the small of her back.

No matter which one of them beats the other two it, they both know they aren't done. Whether it's a weekend, a week, a month, or even more. This night is just the beginning.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

#Oscar Isaac #Oscar Isaac character fanfiction #Oscar Isaac fanfic #Santiago Garcia #Santiago 'Pope' Garcia #Santiago Garcia x OC #Santiago Garcia x female!OC #Triple Frontier #college professor au #professor!Santiago Garcia #pwp #really there is barely any plot here #and we're not sorry

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springfallendeer · 1 year

Text

The Bells - 7 (Final)

The conclusion of the fic featuring @xitsensunmoon's boys! Gets explicit. Gets messy. Nearly 6k in length, so be warned.

7: Completely Tamed

||In the months that have followed, the vampires had continued to visit. They had continued to indulge in the taste of her body. Ayala became just as acquainted with the feel of their tongues as she was the sting of their teeth. They would drink her blood, and they would drink the nectar from between her legs.||

||They learned the many ways to bring her pleasure. Any spot that could be caressed to elicit a moan was taken note of. From her lips. To her neck. To her breasts. Anywhere that they could think to touch, they touched. And if she responded to it positively, then they would touch her there again.||

||And again.||

||Until they had gotten to the point that they could satisfy her without even needing to look at her. They could keep their eyes closed and rely upon nothing but their sense of touch and sound, and they would know exactly what to do in order to make her moan.||

||And they so loved to make her moan.||

||Ayala, in turn, became more acquainted with their bodies. With their help, at least. They trained her. As a result, she was taught where they liked to be touched.||

||Their faces proved to be quite sensitive. They enjoyed the feel of her hands. She could touch around their mouths. Near their eyes. Under their chins. Sun, in particular, would display his level of contentment by allowing his solar rays to spin. Both would purr, but Moon purred the loudest.||

||But of course, her training did not stop with the innocent, pleasant touches.||

||She was taught how to handle their tongues and their cocks. Her hands and her mouth were both thoroughly trained to be able to work with them.||

||When she was kissed, she was kissed deeply and with intent. Their tongues would be thrust well into her throat. She would be denied air until she was put on the brink of fainting. Then they would suck their tongues back into their mouths to let her catch a breath. All the while they would keep their faces right next to hers to feel her heated breath.||

||When it came to their cocks, they were just as persistent.||

||At first, they focused on training her to take them. One or the other would hold her by the head and rut into her mouth. They started out gentle, but became rougher as the encounters went on. She would be made to drink their seed. Or she would have to wear it on her face.||

||The bells on their clothes would chime all the while. At this point, the ring of a bell had started to arouse her on some level. She came to associate the sound of a bell with the pleasure of their touch. And that made it so, so much easier for them to entice her. They had learned that they could ring their bells, and she would respond to the sound like an animal being called forth for a meal.||

||For as embarrassing as it should have been, she never hated it.||

||There had even been times where they’d managed to bring her to orgasm simply by fucking her throat. Whichever of them it was that pulled it off would always leave with an inflated ego when all was said and done.||

||It was certainly an impressive skill to be able to get someone off just by rutting into their throat.||

||When she could fully endure them rutting into her mouth, she was trained to please them on her own. They would still hump her face when the desire took them, but she was largely allowed to learn how to handle them at her own pace.||

||They quite liked the feel of her hands and lips. And she liked being able to take what little control they would give her.||

||And they did give her that control from time to time. They like to be spoiled, and they don’t mind being teased.||

||She would get one of them to sit still and let her tease them at her own pace. Hands, tongue, and lips. She would gently stroke and squeeze them. She would drag her lips along the wriggling tentacle, and she would enjoy how the vampires would shudder from anticipation in response. She would lick. She would kiss.||

||Eventually, she would take them into her mouth, and she would suck. She would bob her head. Slow, then fast, then slow again. She would hum. She would take them into her throat and swallow thickly to squeeze them.||

||Whether or not they came on her face or in her mouth would be up to her. Because when she was in charge, they kept their word. There would be no taking her by the head to fuck her throat if she was teasing them more than they liked.||

||They trained her in these intimate, sexual acts. They made her familiar with their presence.||

||And yet they had not fully taken her. Not yet.||

||Regardless of how slick and inviting her body was made, her cunt was left empty. They only ever used their tongues and fingers to stimulate her there.||

||It was as embarrassing as it was maddening.||

||As of late, when they left her alone, they had unwittingly left her yearning.||

||She could imagine the pleasure that she might feel if they took her completely. The pleasure she felt when they rutted into her throat must have been similar to what she might feel if they pinned her down and fucked her like the needy bitch she was.||

||The needy bitch that they had made her into.||

||She really was like a bitch in heat. Thanks to them.||

||Her body wanted them. She wanted them. She wanted them so fucking bad.||

||She couldn’t remember exactly when she began to try and scratch this itch herself. She couldn’t remember when she’d gone out to buy the toy.||

||But try as she might, a toy couldn’t satisfy her. And she did try. She tried so often that she didn’t even need the lube anymore.||

||All she needed to do was ring a bell. She would trick her body into believing that they were on their way to visit.||

||Sometimes she would scratch her neck. Or her thigh. Wherever they had most recently bitten her. The faint sting riled her up further, making it easier for her to engage in this private, shameful game.||

||Just her. And a bell. And a tentacle shaped dildo.||

||She made herself comfortable upon her bed. Lots of pillows. Fresh, clean blankets. A towel under her pelvis to keep the bed nice and dry.||

||When she was ready, she plunged the toy into her needy vulva in a feeble attempt at satisfying her lust.||

||Then she would pull it out, until only the silicone tip remained. And she would plunge it back in. Moaning one of the vampires names as she violated her sopping cunt.||

||Again.||

||And again.||

||All the while oblivious to anything else that might transpire in her home.||

||So lost in the fantasy that she remained completely unaware of the fact that they could return at any time to find her like this. With her hot, trembling body on full display as she played with herself.||

||Until she heard the bells again. And she realized that she wasn’t the one to ring the bell this time.||

||And suddenly her wide, flustered eyes hone in on their still bodies. Her cheeks flush anew as she stares at them; as they stare back at her.||

||She freezes. Her body goes completely still from a mixture of shock and anticipation.||

||Still, she trembles as she studies their smiles. Their teeth on full display as they grin at her.||

||Moon’s tongue darts past his lips to lick the corner of his mouth. Sun mirrors the behavior a few seconds after. The two of them gaze at her with intense, predatory eyes.||

||Her heart rate spikes as they approach her.||

||The bells on their clothes ring with their every step; further exciting her and adding to her embarrassment as her cunt clenches around the toy still buried inside of her. Each involuntary clench sending faint pleasure shooting up her spine.||

||A faint, flustered whine escapes her as they settle upon the bed on either side of her.||

||She can’t bring herself to look at them. She can’t. She can’t even make herself move, she’s so flustered and ashamed.||

||“Having fun without us~?” Sun trills, reaching out to put his hand on the woman’s thigh. He chuckles as she whimpers. She flinches, and he sweetly shushes her as he slowly trails his hand up her thigh. He kisses the shell of her ear as he moves his hand to put it overtop of hers. Right between her legs.||

||“Sun!” She blurts his name out abruptly as he encourages her to pull the toy out completely. She’s so embarrassed that she wishes she could just disappear.||

||But she obviously can’t.||

||All that she can do is pant his name as he pushes down on her hand, forcing her to plunge the silicone tentacle back into her waiting cunt.||

||He shows no mercy. He shows no restraint. The solar vampire simply trills sweet words into her ear as he makes her fuck herself with the toy while he and Moon watch.||

||He only stops when she orgasms. When she orgasms, he lightly bites down on the shell of her ear as he pulls her hand back completely.||

||He makes her drop the toy.||

||Moon sneaks his hand between her legs to feel her. His fingers invade the freshly defiled orifice, and they immediately get to work on stroking that special place inside of her.||

||She’s left gasping for air as the shame mixes with the pleasure.||

||They seem so eager to play with her now.||

||“What do you want us to do~?” Moon inquires, slowly curling his fingers to better stroke that spot inside of the woman’s body.||

||When she doesn’t offer a response after a few seconds, he makes a show of pulling his fingers away. He makes sure that she can see the slick that clings to his fingers. He goes so far as to spread them to show off how sticky she’s made them.||

||“We can use our hands~” Moon chuckles.||

||Ayala doesn’t respond.||

||“Or we can use our mouths~?” Sun adds, attempting to coax the woman into telling them what she wants.||

||Ayala shudders, squirming slightly between them. She soon finds herself haphazardly fondling Sun through his pants.||

||He growls quietly, and she shudders.||

||The vampires are just as aroused as she is. They all want the same thing. But they refuse to give in and take what they want until she’s expressly told them that she wants them to do so.||

||“Tell us what you want~” Moon growls, moving his hand back between the woman’s legs so that he can resume caressing her.||

||She’s only grown more slick now that they’re here. The toy never really satisfied her, no matter how she tried. It could never do what they had managed to do with their fingers and tongues. And despite being shaped the same as their cocks, it was too stiff and rigid to be anywhere close to what she wanted.||

||She takes a deep, shaky breath.||

||Sun licks the shell of her ear, attempting to further entice her. All the while he’s clearly trying to ignore her hand as it fondles him through his clothes.||

||“P-please...” Ayala pants, spreading her legs further as Moon works his fingers back into her needy vulva.|| ||“I-I need you! Please!” She begs.||

||She wants them so bad. She wants them to take her and fuck her completely.||

||But they aren’t yet satisfied with her plea.||

||“Say it properly.” Sun commands, allowing his low, lusty voice to tease the woman’s ear.||

||“Use your words. Tell us what you want. And we’ll give you what you ask for~” Moon adds, slowly rubbing her with his fingers. He can tell how bad she wants them. He wants her just as badly. So does Sun. But they both need to hear her say it.||

||This needs to be her choice. So there won’t be any room for hurt feelings after the fact.||

||Ayala unexpectedly pulls her hand off of Sun’s crotch.||

||For a moment, the vampires assume that she really isn’t ready to move on to the next step. So they both mentally prepare to have to either leave or satisfy everyone's lust through other means.||

||But instead, Ayala reaches for Moon’s face. She turns to face him. She wraps her hands around his face, and she pulls him into a demanding kiss. The most demanding kiss that she’s ever given him.||

||Her hand sneaks into his mouth. He was genuinely so startled by her sudden show of dominance that he was left slack jawed. Not that he’s about to complain. It’s certainly nice to be pursued for a change.||

||“Fuck me.” Ayala mutters against his lips, submitting to her own carnal desires as she gives the vampire a very clearly worded command.||

||That’s all that they needed to hear.||

||Moon drags her on top of him before she can take her next breath.||

||He falls back atop the bed, tangling his fingers in her hair as he pulls her into a demanding kiss of his own.||

||His messy hand gropes her bare ass as she fumbles with his pants.||

||There’s no real need for foreplay at this point. They just walked in on her fucking herself with a silicone replica of their dicks. Sun encouraged her to finish before they egged her into telling them what she wanted.||

||She wanted them in her.||

||Based upon how wildly Moon’s tentacle wriggled in her hand, he wanted to be in her just as bad.||

||But in their haste, they were forgetting about Sun.||

||Not that it mattered. He would be reminding them of his presence soon enough.||

||He takes the time to completely get out of his clothes. All of them. Because he wants to feel Ayala’s skin against him directly. So he slips off his shoes. He takes off his pants. Off comes his cape and his shirt. All while the two are busy sucking face on the bed.||

||Once his metal body has been rendered bare, he scooches closer to them. He kneels besides Moon.||

||Then he steals Ayala off of him before they can have all the fun without him.||

||The lunar vampire lets out a little growl, rightly annoyed with the loss of Ayala’s warmth. But his annoyance is quickly replaced with desire as he watches the two.||

||Sun has stolen Ayala’s lips in a demanding kiss of his own. She takes his tongue with ease, after having been so thoroughly trained by them.||

||He’s holding her up by her chest and leg. His arm is wrapped around her torso, keeping her pressed securely against him. He’s holding her leg up with his other hand, putting her slickness on full display in the process. His erection is also on clear display.||

||But Sun is being polite and waiting for the lunar vampire to break the distance.||

||They’re going to fuck her. And they’re going to fuck her together.||

||Moon locks eyes with the woman as he proceeds to get himself out of his clothes. He can’t let Sun upstage him, after all. So he makes a show of it. He strips. He doesn’t really take his time, as he’s eager to take her and he doesn’t want to risk Sun getting impatient. But he makes sure that she enjoys his little display.||

||Once he’s equally as naked as the other two, he takes position in front of her.||

||Only now does she seem to realize their intentions. There’s a flicker of nervousness in her eyes.||

||“Deep breath~” Moon chuckles, getting himself lined up.||

||Sun follows suit, eager to invade her trembling body.||

||Ayala takes a deep breath.||

||She’s lowered down onto them. Nice and slow.||

||They don’t kiss her. They don’t bite her. They don’t do anything that might otherwise distract her from the way it feels to be invaded by them in unison.||

||They make sure that her focus is entirely on the feel of them inside of her.||

||Her body stretches to accommodate them. She lets out a soft, breathless whine in response.||

||It doesn't hurt. But it’s overwhelming. Overwhelming to the point that she seemingly forgets to breathe.||

||Sun brings his face around to rest it on her shoulder, purring contently in response to her warmth.||

||When he notices the stray tear rolling down her cheek, he turns so that he can sweetly lick it away. He can tell she’s not distressed. Just a little overwhelmed.||

||She does currently have two dicks tucked away inside the same hole. Frankly, he’s surprised that she’s handling it so well.||

||“Breathe~” Sun gently reminds her, having easily noticed that her chest has stopped moving.||

||She takes a sharp breath. Suddenly she’s trembling. The mix of pleasure and all sorts of intense emotions hitting her all at once now that the initial shock has worn off.||

||Moon leans forward to drag his tongue along her neck.||

||He isn’t going to bite her. Not right now. Right now, the focus is on the pleasure. But he and Sun are trying to keep still so that she can take a moment to adjust to them. She’s such a tight fit with the two of them inside of her.||

||“Tell us when you’re ready~” Moon purrs, lightly scraping his teeth against her skin.||

||For the most part, the vampires remain still. Ayala is the one to squirm. She wraps her arms around Moon’s shoulders to cling to him. She presses herself flush against him and buries her face in the crook of his neck.||

||He doesn’t mind that one bit. Her skin is nice and warm. And it’s nice to have her leaning against him for a change. Usually she leans on and clings to Sun. So this is a pleasant change of pace.||

||Sun kisses the back of her neck. He keeps himself occupied by allowing his hands to roam her bare body. Her skin feels so pleasant that he just can’t help himself.||

||“O-okay” Ayala eventually murmurs, slightly shifting so that she can rest her cheek on Moon’s shoulder “I-I’m okay.”||

||That’s good enough for them to decide to continue. Sun moves his hands lower down so that he can hold her waist.||

||The bed winds up being quite useful. Rather than just thrust, they can lightly bounce together and let gravity do most of the work.||

||The bed creaks faintly as they rut.||

||Every minor movement feels so much more intense to Ayala than it does to them. She’s the one being stretched to the limit by two dicks snug inside her cunt.||

||But her moans establish how much she’s enjoying herself. Every thrust; every bounce sends jolts of pleasure rushing through her.||

||The more into it she gets, the more into it they get.||

||Sun nibbles on the back of her neck for a while. Then he bites. Not because he’s trying to drink, but because he loves to hear the noises that she makes in response. So he sinks his teeth in, allows the blood to bead at the surface of the marks, and then he gently laps everything up. He cleans and closes the wound. Before biting her again. Because he can tell how much she likes it.||

||Moon enjoys himself through other means.||

||He has easy access to her face. Easy access to her lips. He licks away her tears as they roll down her cheeks. He teases her lips with his tongue. When he hears her take a particularly strong breath, he slips his tongue into her mouth. Then into her throat. He catches her in a deep, demanding kiss. The sort that allows him to greedily devour every noise that might escape her.||

||Upon breaking the kiss, he keeps his face nuzzled up to hers so that he can listen as she gasps for breath. He purrs all the while, relishing in the sounds that she’s making in response to how good they’re making her feel.||

||Finally.||

||Finally they’ve taken her completely. Her body is theirs to enjoy. Theirs to spoil. Theirs to sweetly, passionately ruin.||

||And while they fully intend on ruining her, it will have to wait.||

||With all three of them rutting in unison, there’s not a chance in Heaven that any of them would be able to last long.||

||Ayala’s endurance is particularly low. With the two of them buried deep inside of her, it was only natural that she would orgasm quickly.||

||And often.||

||Every few bouncing thrusts, the vampire’s felt it. Her orgasms. Her body would clench and spasm. Her inner walls would squeeze and massage them in an attempt at milking them of their seed.||

||Inevitably her body got what it wanted. She was soft. She was warm. She was tight. The near constant massage of her inner walls pushed the vampires over the edge quickly, and when it did, they made an absolute mess of her.||

||The vampires went still to let the pleasure wash over them in waves, and to keep from overstimulating themselves.||

||Sun and Moon found Ayala’s throat and they sank their teeth into it to feed as they pumped her full of their seed. Her blood spilled from the fresh wounds onto their waiting tongues, and they greedily drank. She moans and panted all the while, her mind thoroughly fogged by the near constant barrage of pleasure.||

||Their mixed sexual fluids dripped out of her overstuffed vulva. The combined aftermath of their orgasms poured down over their still erect tentacles, before running down their legs, where it pooled into the bedding.||

||So much for keeping the bed clean. They didn’t bother to get on top of the towel before getting this started. Not that any of them can be bothered to care.||

||The focus now is on the pleasure.||

||Sun and Moon enjoy their drink. They consume their fill of her blood, before reluctantly prying their teeth out of her flesh. Then they take the time to soothe the wounds with their tongues. With each slow, passionate swipe of their tongues, the injuries gradually close.||

||Ayala pants, moans, and whimpers all the while. She struggles to do so much as catch her breath thanks to them. The feel of their tongues against her skin and the lingering ache of her loins makes it so, so hard for her to calm herself down.||

||She doesn’t have a chance of coming down from her high with them both buried in her. The lingering presence of their mostly still cocks keeping her body stretched was incredibly distracting. As was the feel of their seed spilling out from inside of her.||

||A drawn out, pathetic whine escapes her when they finally change position and slide out of her.||

||Sun withdraws first.||

||Slowly. Almost painfully slowly.||

||Her body reflexively clenches in an attempt to keep hold of him, and she trembles.||

||Not just from the spike in pleasure, but from the sound. She can feel and hear her body trying to suck him back in.||

||When Sun finally slips out completely, there’s an audible pop. Following it, there’s an embarrassing rush of fluid as the remaining contents of her vulva spill out of her.||

||Then Moon slips out of her. Nice and easy. He lays her back on the bed, carefully resting her head atop the pillows.||

||For a split second, she relaxes. The exhaustion reaches out to try and take her.||

||Then Moon slips back into her.||

||He kneels between her legs. He lifts her legs to have her wrap them around his hips. And he thrusts back into her slick, thoroughly violated vulva.||

||Ayala tries to say his name. But it escapes her as a breathless, drawn out moan as he penetrates her completely. Her body offers next to no resistance, having been thoroughly stretched out only a few minutes prior.||

||She’s only allowed a few seconds to wrap her mind around the situation.||

||The vampires have shared her. Now they each want their turn with her. And all that she can do is lay back and enjoy the ride.||

||The long, bumpy ride.||

||Moon takes his time with her. But he’s rough. Every roll of his pelvis creates an audible slap as his body comes down onto hers. He withdraws almost completely with every backwards motion. Then he throws himself forward.||

||If not for the pillows under her head, Ayala might have been bumped against the wall with every thrust.||

||And that’s not even the most intense aspect of his domination.||

||He maintains eye contact with her all the while.||

||Moon keeps his face close to hers. So close that their lips brush against each other with every roll of his hips. Every now and again he closes what little gap there is to kiss her as he humps her into the mattress. All the while he stares into her eyes so that he can take in the beauty of her pleasure.||

||“Moo-oon~”|| ||Ayala whimpers his name as she feels her orgasm rapidly approaching. Her body clenches ever so slightly with every withdrawal of his tentacle.||

||He captures her lips again. His hand sneaks under her head so that he can tangle his fingers into her hair as his tongue snakes into her throat. He swallows up her moans, keeping his eyes locked with hers all the while.||

||He thrusts faster. Harder. Inching his way closer to his own orgasm as he pushes Ayala towards hers.||

||She bites down slightly on his tongue as she climaxes, drawing a possessive growl out of him. It doesn’t hurt him, but it certainly riles him up further. He doesn’t have many weak points. But his tongue is certainly sensitive enough to the stimulation.||

||As her body squeezes down around him, he climaxes shortly after.||

||The movements of his hips slow to a near stop, but he continues to rock against her. Her body eagerly milks him of his seed with his every lazy thrust.||

||He sucks his tongue out of her throat only when he slips out of her ruined body. The evidence of their rut spills out onto the bedding as a result. Not that either of them can be bothered to care.||

||Moon doesn’t pull away immediately. He spends a few minutes just basking in the afterglow of the passion. Smiling and purring, he nuzzles her face. All the while he lazily grinds his tentacle against her clitoris, just to enjoy the slick feel of her heated skin against his fading arousal.||

||Once he’s come down from his high, he gives her one last affectionate kiss on the cheek. Then he rolls off to the side to lay beside her. He’s content for the time being, and ready to enjoy the show.||

||Sun sets out to claim her next.||

||He takes a different approach upon climbing on top of her. He litters her face with soft, affectionate kisses as he purrs.||

||“Did he make you feel good~?” Sun trills, his voice leaving him as an eager mewl as he kisses and nuzzles her face. Ayala nods tiredly in response, coaxing a faint laugh out of him.|| ||“Good~ Good~” He hums, allowing his tongue to dart out of his mouth so that he can lick her check. He then trails his tongue down to her neck in one long, drawn out motion.|| ||“Now it’s my turn~” He muses.||

||He wraps his lips around her breast upon moving his face low enough to reach. Gently, he sucks. He coaxes soft, pathetic moans from her lips as he sweetly stimulates her body.||

||His hands wrap under her thighs to caress her skin. His fingers move in slow, soft circles.||

||This is foreplay. There’s little need for it now, but that won’t prevent him from taking the moment to indulge. With her body surrendered to him completely, he fully intends to enjoy it. Every inch of skin is his to explore. Every nook and cranny is just another potential means of coaxing moans past her lips.||

||He works her up with soft touches and gentle sucks. He leaves her teats stiff from the stimulation of his mouth. He litters her chest and neck with little marks. Not bites, but bruises. Faint, pink bruises from him having sucked persistently on her skin. Hickeys. He’s littered her with at least a dozen of them.||

||When she starts to squirm beneath him, he knows that it’s time to move things along. He’s made her body lust for him anew, and he’s all too willing to satisfy that lust.||

||He wraps her legs around his hips as he kisses his way back up to her face. With one final locking of their lips, he gets himself lined up.||

||He slips his way inside her waiting body. She’s so nice and slick for him. She practically sucks him in on her own accord, she’s so eager to engulf him.||

||“S-Suuu-ah~”|| ||His name leaves her lips as a breathless, drawn out moan. He growls faintly, and trembles in response to the sound.||

||Oh.||

||Oh yes.||

||She’s as delightful as he hoped she would be.||

||“Good girl~” Sun purrs, sweetly licking her lips as he allows her a moment to adjust to his intrusion.||

||Or rather, he needs a moment to steady himself before he loses control.||

||Once he’s composed himself enough, he starts to move.||

||Where Moon was fast and rough, Sun is slow and smooth. Ayala’s body is hardly jostled beneath him as he thrusts. He wraps his arms under her to assure as much.||

||The solar vampire cradles her against him as he sweetly ruins her. His arms form a secure cage to keep her supported. His hand cradles her head, keeping her nice and comfortable in his embrace.||

||His hold on her head also keeps her where he needs her whenever he decides to capture her lips.||

||Just like Moon, Sun maintains eye contact with Ayala as he claims her body. But the maintained eye contact feels so much more intimate with him, thanks to the slow, passionate way that he takes her.||

||Slowly, sweetly, he works her to her orgasm.||

||Then to another.||

||He assures that her pleasure slowly builds over time, and when he senses that she’s right on her peak, he presses flush against her to grind against her engorged clitoris.||

||All the while he keeps himself from spilling over the edge. He denies himself the pleasure that he needs to usher forth his own orgasm, because he’s intent on drawing out this final round of passion for as long as he can.||

||He overstimulates her. Intentionally so. Making her every orgasm feel more intense than the last.||

||He kisses away the tears that inevitably roll down her cheeks. He gently shushes her as she struggles to utter his name in an attempt to beg him to stop.||

||Not that she actually wants him to stop. She’s just so overwhelmed by the pleasure that she’s started to gradually mistake it for pain. And he continues with his loving, but merciless assault, until she breaks.||

||When her moans transform into pathetic, desperate sobs-||

||he ruins her.||

||Sun steals Ayala’s lips in an intense, demanding kiss. He swallows her moans and he swallows her cries as he abruptly picks up speed.||

||He thrusts into her quickly and violently, forcing her closer and closer to one final, intense orgasm.||

||She sprays him with her orgasm as he succumbs to his own pleasure, and he fills her with his seed.||

||His hips gradually slow to a stop as he rides out his climax, allowing her body to milk him of every drop of his essence.||

||Once he’s done, he slips out of her. He rolls off of her to lay opposite of Moon, who chuckles. The lunar vampire has quietly watched the entire display. And he’s quite amused with what he’s seen.||

||When Moon attempts to coax Ayala closer to him, Sun shows off his greedy side. He tugs her exhausted, trembling body against him in order to prevent the other vampire from stealing her away. He sweetly kisses her tear stained cheeks as cuddles with her. He does his best to keep her warm and safe as she comes down from her high.||

||Unwilling to be left out, Moon cuddles up to the two. He sandwiches Ayala between their bodies in the process. He affectionately nuzzles the top of her head, purring all the while. Though he secretly casts Sun an almost hostile look.||

||There may come possessive conflicts later. But they’ll be minor, and they can wait until the woman is no longer caught between them.||

||They allow her exhausted body to rest. While they continue to bombard her with affectionate kisses and touches, nothing that they do is meant to stimulate her further. Sun rubs her back to soothe her. Moon lightly rubs her hip to calm her. They lightly kiss her neck, her forehead, and her lips. Just generally being cuddly while low-key demanding her attention.||

||When it becomes obvious that her trembling is no longer the result of her overstimulation, but the result of her having gotten cold, they get her sorted.||

||She’s given a warm bath. Her body is cleaned and her hair is dried. She’s wrapped in a towel to be kept warm.||

||The soiled blankets are stripped from the bed. They wrap her in their discarded capes to keep her comfortable while she rests.||

||In the morning, they’ll leave. Maybe. There’s certainly no rush to leave their sweet, exhausted pet all alone.||

||Until then, there’s room enough in her bed for all of them. So long as they’re all content to snuggle close together, at least. Ayala certainly doesn’t offer any protests as they press her between their bodies.||

||In fact, she takes comfort in the contact. So much so that she quickly and easily falls asleep.||

||The vampires remain. Content to cuddle with her. Content to watch over her weak, exhausted body as night slowly transitions into day. Then they allow her to rest further, having easily concluded that she’s earned a long rest.||

||They won’t leave until she wakes up.||

||No.||

||They won’t leave until she’s woken up and had a proper meal. Just to be safe. They have to make sure that she’ll be alright on her own once they leave. It would be cruel to abandon her without making sure that she’s recovered enough to look after herself.||

||Until they’re convinced that she’ll be able to hold her own, they’ll stick around. Even if it means sticking around for a couple of days.||

||Certainly none of them would be able to complain about that.||

#Ayala #vampire!sun #vampire!moon #xitsen's boys

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simple-seranade · 1 year

Text

Achilles Come Down

Jimmy walks into the Double Life series expecting and hoping it will be his last.

Of course, the universe has never let him get what he wants, so why should this time be different?

(Though maybe, just maybe, he can forgive the universe just this once, now that he has another day to do so.)

OK SO LOTS OF TRIGGERS HERE

TW: suicidal thoughts, near suicide attempt, self harm, MAJOR self-hate and self deprecation, dissociation, death. this is a heavy one, guys

DISCLAIMER: this is about the characters, not the CCs. I am fully aware that all the jokes are in good fun and that Jimmy is fine with it. I just wanted to make c!Jimmy sad and then give him comfort.

that being said, enjoy 6k words of ranchers hurt/comfort!

———*———

Jimmy knows the feeling of death.

The temporary jolt of the infinite respawn, the burning phantom pain of losing a life, the cold grasp of the Void permeating down to the bone and leeching every living spark in your body as you die for the final time- he’s felt it all, more than once, more than most ever have or will or should. He’d say he regards death as a good friend, if it weren’t for the fact that he was fighting it with every fiber of his being in that space below life, where there was nothing but pure nothingness in every direction, surrounding him, choking the air out of his lungs while his heart didn’t beat in his chest and his blood didn’t course through his veins-

Not the point. That’s not the point.

The point is, Jimmy is familiar with death. He’s spent more time dead than some of the new players have spent alive.

The point is, each time he’s yanked back to the realm of the living from the endless darkness, he’s met with teasing ridicule towards his downfall, mocking laughs directed at his hopes that things would be different.

The point is, Jimmy doesn’t think he can do this anymore.

A circlet burning upon a sacrificial altar, offering up his soul to one that didn’t exist, didn’t care, didn’t bless. An arrow through the chest, leaving the person he cared about alone. A fireball hitting him and setting every inch of him aflame, because his life wasn’t hell enough, he had to actually die in it. Shattered bones from the cold, unforgiving dirt as his brother hit him off of a building.

Those were just the permanent deaths. That doesn’t count for the countless burning pains and scars that are only there as a tapestry to his failure. That doesn’t count for all the times he’s picked a fight he couldn’t win and died more from the embarrassment than the actual pain. That doesn’t count the agony that was stopping the void from disintegrating him piece by piece as he waited for the others to die in the games, all alone and isolated, because right then Death only had one focus and one alone, one meal to dine upon. That doesn’t count for the thousand little deaths he feels he’s died each day as they joke about poor Tim, worthless Tim, cursed Tim, always Timmy, never Jimmy-

He’s tired. He’s sick and he’s tired and he’s done.

He’s been done for a while, actually. A few too many careless deaths that may have not been so careless, no matter how many times he respawned. A few hearts gone not by fall or mob, but by human sword, his own or others. A few times where all he can do is sob and yank on his hair as a million words and thoughts run through his head, all the laughter just too loud, please, anyone, make it stop-

He sort of blames the others, even though he tries not to. After all, what right does he have to be mad at them when he’s the one screwing up?

A much larger part of him wonders what right they have to laugh at him, to kick him while he’s down, because they’re his best friends, his brother, they should be able to tell but they’re too busy in their own stupid heads.

He doesn’t tell them, no matter how many times they mock him. It’s in good fun, he knows. They don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t realize they’re big contributors to the growing ache in his chest.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make him love them any less either.

So, when he gets a letter from his brother, he reads it as he always does. Grian’s invited him to another life series, one with a surprise twist Jimmy barely thinks to ponder on as he reads the rest of the information.

It still has the life system, still will be treated as a hardcore world. It will still have the permadeath mechanic, at least while the game continues.

The night he receives the invitation is the night he makes the plan. He barely realizes he’s doing it until all the steps are laid nearly out in front of him in a way he can’t refuse. It’s simple, foolproof.

Step one: Die.

Find some mobs too early on and try to fight them, purposefully plant a trap that will blow up in his face, accidentally miss his MLG water save, antagonize the red lives assuming he doesn’t reach that status first, fall in lava, let a warden’s scream shatter him- there’s no shortage of ways to accomplish it. Whatever it takes to run through all three lives (or whatever number Grian gives them this time around).

Step Two: Let the void take him.

Players aren’t really meant to permadie. The void eats them slowly, relishing in every dissipated particle and line of code. There’s plenty of time to grasp at the strands of life available, and respawns rarely take more than a few seconds, let alone enough time for a player to be fully consumed. Single player hardcore worlds will send the player back to the Hub after only half a minute, barely any void attached, and multiplayer hardcore servers usually do the same, or at least grant the mercy of spectator mode to allow those fallen to observe their friends.

The Life series were… different.

When he had died for the final time in Third Life, he expected to be in the void for only a few moments before the Spectate button would appear and he would watch the world continue as a ghost of his former self. He sat in the void for five seconds.

Then ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

A minute.

An hour.

A day.

A week.

All with the void attempting to destroy the very essence of his being, all while using every bit of strength to stop the deterioration before someone else joined him. Then it lessened, and by the time the majority of the players joined him, it was barely noticeable.

Grian apologized profusely after the game. He said he didn’t know what happened- at least, he told everyone else that. To Jimmy and Martyn, he confided the real reason the void was the way it was, why the first to fall came so close to actually dying.

If Jimmy ever sees a Watcher, he’s going to punch them in the face.

His brother thought he had fixed it the second game. The others were told of the dangers, all accepting that it could happen. Jimmy trusted his older brother. Then Jimmy fell back into the void, at least this time prepared to fight tooth and nail against the pull of nothingness.

It only stood to reason that it would happen again. That the Watchers would make it so Jimmy would have to use any energy he had left to survive, all for their amusement.

Unfortunately for them, Jimmy doesn’t plan on fighting it.

Then he will get rest.

Then he will be free from all the laughs and jokes at his expense.

No more Timmy.

No more Jimmy.

As he stands in the circle with the others, waiting on the edge of their podiums for Grian to explain the world, a sense of calm he’s rarely felt during these washes over him. After all, he knows how this will end for him. There’s no question as to if he’ll be the first to go, because he will.

And he will relish in it, before finally being no more.

Grian claps his hands, pulling Jimmy out of the fathoms of his thoughts. “Alright, guys, thank you for joining us in a third go around of the Life Series! Welcome to Double Life, as you all saw on your invites. Now, as you also saw, there’s a surprise mechanic this time around!”

“Is it called ‘Scar keeps his shirt on’? We haven’t seen that one yet!” Ren calls out, causing laughter to spread amongst the group. Jimmy joins them, though the sound seems odd in his ears. Heavy.

“Unfortunately, Ren, I haven’t figured out how to code that, otherwise I would in a heartbeat.” Grian replies, fighting to keep a smile off of his face. Scar simply sticks his tongue out at the shorter man. “No, the surprise mechanic is…. imaginary drumroll… soulmates!”

Jimmy’s world crashes out from under him, the supports holding him up weathering under the force of a thousand invisible unchangeable years of pain.

Questions he can barely understand swell in the air, Grian barely managing to bring them to a quiet lull to answer them. “Soulmates will be randomly assigned here in a few minutes. You both will share a health bar- when one of you takes damage, so will the other, and when one of you dies, so will your soulmate. We have a few rules to stop anything from going wrong with the code-“

The rest of the words are a blur in Jimmy’s mind. The people scatter, awaiting the timer to tick down and attach their heart to another. Jimmy does too, with footsteps not his own, in a direction he doesn’t choose, all while a heart beats that soon won’t be only his.

This- this couldn’t be happening. He was going to be done. He was going to get to be free from the hell that had become his life.

He bites back a scream and kicks a nearby tree, feeling a shot of pain race up his foot. It throbs for a moment, but it’s a welcome distraction from the anger in his head at Grian, at the world, at everyone, because why can’t he just-

Your Soulmate Is…

???

Jimmy blinks the green letters out of his vision, only to be hit by a strong sense of vertigo for a split second. His vision swims, and his heart beats almost painfully in his chest.

He’s been linked.

It’s too late now.

Any sense of peace from earlier is gone, replaced by a rising sensation of dread. He can’t do this again. He can’t do this again.

Because now he’ll be dooming someone else when he dies. Now the void won’t try to feast upon him alone, and he won’t get the sweet release of his code being torn from the universe because everyone on this server likes to play the fucking hero and won’t let him.

It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine. He- he’ll figure it out. Maybe this will be a good thing, maybe his soulmate will have some sort of astounding luck to counteract whatever the hell the universe is doing to him.

The excuse doesn’t sound genuine, even to his own thoughts.

Ok. He can do this. Just- gather materials. Play the game. He’s done it before, he’s good at it, no matter what everyone else says.

So he does. He gathers wood, explores the world, even stumbles upon a cave. There’s a startling lack of iron inside, but at least he’s getting some stone.

He’s smelting a few of the scraps of iron he’s found when a flash of green catches his eye in the distance, only illuminated by the torches he’s already placed down. The green turns into a shape, the shape turns into a figure, the figure turns into someone he still doesn’t know whether to regard as foe or friend.

“Oi! Jimmy!” Joel calls out, and thankfully the part of Jimmy that wants to slam his head into the stone in front of him gives way to the part that gives a practiced grin. He can see the glinting of iron armor the man dons, even in the low light, as well as the food in the man’s hand.

“Joel! Any chance you can spare some salmon?”

The man immediately shakes his head. “Uh, no. I need it, I’m low on food.”

“Fair- I was wondering who was taking all the iron, guess that’s solved now!”

Joel has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, mate. Don’t want my soulmate hating me right out the gate, yknow?”

“Yeah, that checks out.” Jimmy turns back to his furnace for a second to check on the iron he’s smelting, only to feel a jolt of pain in his shoulder. “Ouch! What-“

Joel punches him in the shoulder again, laughing. “Shush, Tim, I’m gonna make your soulmate annoyed at you!”

Frustration flares somewhere deep in Jimmy as he dodges the next swing. “How did you know it wasn’t me and you? It coulda been me and you!”

The other man just shrugs, landing on more punch on Jimmy’s now sore shoulder. “Dunno, just had a feeling.”

Don’t get mad, Jimmy, don’t get mad. He’s just… being Joel. “Well, we passed the test, so it seems like we aren’t together this go-around.”

The flames of the furnace cast a warm glow on Joel’s face as he puts some food in it. “Yeah… I prayed that it wasn’t, so…”

Jimmy wishes he could say it didn’t hurt. That after all this time he’d become desensitized to the comments, that he was able to shrug it off like any other person would be able to.

Then again, the universe doesn’t seem to be in the business of granting Jimmy’s wishes.

He should just stay quiet. He should laugh it off, move on, do what he always does, because Joel doesn’t mean any harm. He knows he doesn’t.

But a small part of him questions. It asks, just this once, if it really is a joke. If Joel really has meant it all this time, if the effect his words have had on Jimmy are justified. The larger part of him that knows it’s a joke longs for… something. Just some kind of confirmation that Jimmy is just overreacting, for Joel to look him in the eyes and say he was only kidding.

The words escape his lips before he can even think about them.

“You… prayed you wouldn’t be paired with me…?”

Look at me, Joel. Look at me. Look at me look at me loOK AT ME-

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t even tear his gaze away from the furnace.

Everything is clouded in a haze of raging emotions as he listens to Joel talk about the mineshaft, following blindly behind.

The question was stupid. It was utterly, undeniably idiotic, just like Jimmy himself, because now he only longs more for the thing he can’t have. He’s angry at so many of things- Joel, Grian, the universe, himself, void he’s mad at himself-

Even the rush of finding the amethyst cave isn’t enough to clear his head, all the voices around him seeming muddy and loud enough to make him want to slam his hands over his ears. The singing of the crystals, the laughs of his friends as they remembered the last game (remembered the group they kicked him from, the times they turned him away because he’s just useless Tim), all enough to make him grateful for the peaceful quiet of the surface world as he lugs himself out of the cave, iron armor weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Well, it’s not totally quiet- this is a server with his friends. Quiet doesn’t exist with them, especially with the musical calls of the goat horns ringing across the server, the faint laughs of his friends not far behind.

(He still calls them that. He calls them his friends and he hates it because they shouldn’t be, not when they make him hurt like this, but even now he can’t say he hates them. He should, but he can’t, and it makes it all the more infuriating.)

He needs to focus on something. He can’t just sit around wallowing in his own self pity, not when his soulmate is out there. They’re going to find each other eventually, and all he can hope for is someone who will at least be happy with him if he’s useful, which means he needs more materials.

… those goat horns do sound pretty cool, though.

It takes some coaxing, getting the goat to start charging him atop the mountain. Of course the only one reluctant to try to attack him is the one he needs to. That’s just how his luck is going.

He’s not prepared for the sensation of phantom teeth sinking into his arm, nor the feeling of an arrow glancing across his cheek. He gasps as the pain races through his nerves, wondering what the hell his soulmate is doing, then there’s burning pain being torn apart fire smoke-

Tango blew up

SolidarityGaming died

The respawn only takes second, leaving Jimmy breathing heavily, hand clutching his chest as he sits in the branches of a tree. The pain is fading rapidly, and that sick, horrible part of Jimmy’s brain misses it, the same part that tells him to fall off his builds and overall be a fucking pitiful excuse of a human being.

He groans, pushing himself up and narrowly managing to avoid falling out of the tree completely as he lowers himself to the ground. He can hear frantic apologies from somewhere above him, and it takes a moment for him to spot the source of the voice- his soulmate.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry- that explodification came out of nowhere-“ Tango rakes his nails through his hair, small tendrils of smoke rising out of it as he does. His red eyes look sheepishly at the leaves in front of him as he sits in a tree, just like Jimmy was moments prior. “The first death too, oh gosh-“

Jimmy’s heart plummets into the earth below as he realizes that, yes, he did just die first, even if it wasn’t a permadeath. Granted, it was Tango that dragged him down, but they were practically one in the same now. He might have just doomed him from the second the universe linked them.

Void, he really is cursed, isn’t he?

Ice cold shards of hate and dread shoot through his veins, but he shoves them down into all the splintering cracks and crevices his constitution has acquired throughout all of this. He takes a deep breath, carefully schooling all the scorn out of his voice as he addresses the blaze born. “Ok, Tango, walk me through it- walk me through what happened.”

He watches as Tango talks, absorbing the words without fully taking time to understand them. The other man’s hands are constantly moving, fidgeting, and even now he refuses to meet Jimmy’s gaze, clearly embarrassed. His ruby red gaze instead flits between the leaves, the ground, the sky, anything except for Jimmy’s face.

Void, why does no one ever look at him?

He barely holds back a wince at the thought, pushing the thought down and instead reaching out a careful hand towards the fretting blaze hybrid. The other man startles out of his explanation at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, his gaze turning to Jimmy’s almost involuntarily as words accompany the touch. “Hey, it’s all good. It happens.”

And he means it. Even beneath all the hate and annoyance and pure everything churning beneath the surface, there’s no part of him that blames Tango.

After all, why blame him for Jimmy’s curse?

There’s nothing anyone could do to be settled with this luck, to be stuck with someone who can’t build, can’t do redstone, can only blow himself up with TNT and die. There’s no reason someone would deserve to be stuck with a person who only serves to isolate and drag others down with him, because if he’s ridiculed, everyone he associates with will be too. Then they’ll hate him, leaving him alone, and it’s just a never ending loop, really, a snake eating its own tail because there’s no one around for it to eat or to even eat it.

“Jimmy? You ok?”

Tango’s words send him careening back to earth, back to reality, back to the here and now. His eyes snap to his soulmate, and he’s looking at him now. Tango’s glowing eyes are trained on him, soley on him, and Jimmy fights back the question of when the last time someone did that was. It doesn’t matter, even if Tango’s undivided attention warms his soul similarly to how the blaze born is warming the air around him just by existing.

Stop trying to care. It will be easier if you don’t.

A smile slips back onto his face the way it always does, the way he’s made it, the way it has to. “Yeah, I’m all good!”

He wishes with all his heart that he could mean it.

It’s a struggle to stay tethered to the dirt beneath his feet as he explores, attempting to find his stuff to make up for what they lost. Of course, it’s long gone by the time he finds where he died, and all he has to show for his efforts is wounded pride as everyone’s laughter rings in his ears.

Void, he’s tired.

He’s not useful. He doesn’t know how to build, not like Tango does, as much as his soulmate tries to deny it. He doesn’t blame himself for that. He doesn’t.

He does. He really does.

Still, he can do some things. He focuses on the loud mooing of cows as they follow him, big brown eyes fixed on the wheat in his hand as he approaches the ranch, knocking clumsily against the door to alert the one inside.

“Jimmy? What are you- oh my god!”

Tango’s eyes shine as they land on the cows, and he immediately leans down and pets them, running a hand through their short fur. “There are so many! Jimmy, you’re amazing!”

The canary’s brain stutters.

… what?

He barely has time to process the words, ones he doesn’t remember the last time he heard, before he’s fully encompassed and his feet are off the ground and he’s surrounded by warm. Tango spins him around clumsily, laughing and squeezing tight, before pulling both of them onto the ground. Jimmy can feel both his own dull spike of pain as well as Tango’s as his heart thuds away in his chest.

Hands are on his back. Someone is laughing, but not at him. He’s not laughing at him. He’s not laughing at him.

For the first time in a long time, Jimmy’s heart feels warm.

For the first time in a long time, Jimmy laughs. Heartfeltly, genuinely laughs.

The rest of the day is spent in a flurry of activity, building a pen for the cows and feeding the chickens and a lovely almost domestic dance that Jimmy can barely wrap his head around, even as a pair of arms wraps around him more times than any ever have. His thoughts are still racing in bed that night.

It’s too good to be true.

Everyone has let him just be the butt of a joke for so long, so why on earth is Tango being like this? It’s horrible. It’s horrible and he loves it and he never wants to go without this feeling again even though he’s barely had it for long. He hates it.

He still doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it, just like how Tango doesn’t deserve all the trouble that’s going to come with being bound to him.

Haunting laughter echoes in his head, overpowering the warm sound of Tango’s from earlier. They’re a cruel, necessary reminder. He can’t let himself forget.

He’s Jimmy. And Jimmy can only fall.

He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s stupid, he’s stupid, an idiot, because why on earth is he up on the roof of the ranch? It’s not like he’s going to do anything, not when it would take Tango down with him, not this early on in the games. Still, as he looks down at the ground, he wonders what he would have to do for it to be enough to kill. If he towers up and takes off what pathetic excuse for armor he has, he should splat pretty nicely. Then he’ll be red, then he can fall again and never have to worry about anything again.

His boots are next to him now. He doesn’t remember taking them off. A chill races up his spine in the cold night air, and he finds himself longing for warmth.

Tango is warm. He should go back to Tango.

He keeps sitting, clenching wooden planks in his hands and fighting the irrepressible urge to place one, then another, then another, then another…

He blinks. He’s higher up now. He doesn’t remember building up.

He should be more concerned, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The ground is far down, far enough to be dangerous, to be lethal. To be exactly what he wants. To take Tango down with him.

He should go back inside.

He sits on the planks, looking down.

It just isn’t fair. He just wants to- he-

He absentmindedly reaches up, digging his nails hard into his arms in a futile attempt to ground himself. It stings, sending spikes of pain racing through his nerves. Even when he’s almost certain there will be crescents in his arms for ages to come after he lets go, he keeps his hands in place, because maybe if he hurts enough here it will take away all the horrible tumultuous emotions that make him hurt more than this ever could.

I should fall. I should go inside, back to bed. I should stay. I don’t need to stay. I don’t want to stay. I can’t stay. I can’t-

“Jimmy?”

He doesn’t move, even as he feels his heart plummet.

Tango.

He’s so close. He should fall now. He screws his eyes shut, leaning forward. He needs to just do it a little more and-

Arms wrap around his shoulders and yank him back onto the block, holding him close.

There’s silence across the roof as the two men breathe raggedly, one’s heart racing with adrenaline and the other’s beating fast like it was almost one step closer to never doing again. It hurts. He was so close, but now he’s not, and it hurts. Sharp spikes of pain lace through his arms as his nails dig in yet again, harder than ever.

Tango lets out a hiss, and dully Jimmy remembers that Tango can feel that now. He’s hurting Tango. Void, he’s hurting Tango and he’s so damn angry at himself for it but that just makes him want to dig his nails into his arms even harder until-

Warm hands wrap around his wrists, gently pulling his hands from his arms. “Hey, hey, don’t hurt yourself. Please, just- talk to me, rancher.”

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that Tango is talking so softly to him despite them never having hung out before. It’s not fair that he doesn’t get this from those he’s known for years. It’s not fair that he has to keep hurting like this.

A drop of water lands on his arm, and he realizes with a start that he’s crying. A thumb gently swipes under his eye, wiping away the tears. “Let’s- let’s get down from here, ok?”

Jimmy barely manages a nod before an arm is wrapped around his waist. Slowly, Tango lowers them back down to the roof. Distantly, he realizes that Tango built up to him, wasting materials on him. He shouldn’t. Jimmy isn’t worth wasting materials on.

He’s not even worth the air he breathes.

“Don’t say that.”

Of course he said that out loud. Of course Tango heard him. It doesn’t sound like Tango’s voice responding. It’s shaky, scared. “Jimmy, please, you don’t mean that.”

He should say he doesn’t.

He shrugs.

The wind blows. He’s so cold.

Until, suddenly, he isn’t.

Warm hands reach up, cradling his face, and it takes everything in him not to lean into the touch. He looks at Tango for the first time this all started, and Tango looks at him, really looks at him in a way no one has in a long time. “Please,” he whispers, hair flickering in the dark. “Please, talk to me.”

Jimmy pushes the words out, stubborn and unwilling though they are, screwing his eyes shut. “… I can’t do this, Tango. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, that’s- that’s ok. That’s ok, we can talk to Grian, see if he can-“

“No.”

Tango’s tone somehow becomes even more earnest. “Jimmy, if you don’t want to play this time, you don’t have to- not if this is how it makes you feel.”

“That won’t change anything, Tango.” Silence. “I’d feel this way whether I was playing or not.”

Tango stills completely beside him, and a sick part of Jimmy cheers, because he’s finally disturbed the one good thing this run has had going for him. He’s finally going to be alone again, like he’s supposed to be, like the universe will forever dictate. Tears continue to fall from his eyes, rolling off his cheeks and onto the hands holding him so gently.

“How long?”

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? How long has he wanted to throw himself off buildings, wanted to drown himself knowing the others would just laugh it off as him being “classic Tim”?

How long has he wanted to die?

“I don’t know.” He replies, because that’s all he can say. It’s the closest thing to an answer he has, because even though he knows he wasn’t always like this he can’t clearly remember the before. Only the bitter, numb, hopeless now.

“What-“ The words abruptly cut off, and he feels the temperature in the air slowly creep higher. “It’s the others, isn’t it?”

All the air leaves Jimmy’s lungs as he opens his eyes, meeting Tango’s again as he hits the nail on the head, the final one in his coffin. He does it before he can think of what it means, that it’s confirming that he’s too sensitive to take jokes, to the point where he’d rather die than let others have some fun. He realizes a split second too late as Tango’s eyes widen, the flames on his head sparking with renewed fervor. He waits for the words that will undoubtedly accompany the sparks, the anger and disgust that will come with wasting Tango’s time with his stupid, stupid emotions.

“I’m going to kill them.”

… no.

No, that can’t be right.

That can’t be what Tango is saying, all while holding him and talking to him and wiping his tears. That can’t be right.

Because-

“No, don’t. It’s not their fault. I’m just-“

“-Jimmy, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“But it’s true!” It comes out louder than he means it to, adding ‘yelling at Tango’ to the ever growing list of things he can hate himself for as he yanks himself out of Tango’s hands. The cold stings his skin. “They’re just jokes! They don’t mean them to hurt. So if I am getting hurt, then I just can’t take it, because I’m weak and pathetic and I should just die!”

The words seem to ring out across the rooftop, the unspoken root of it all finally out in the open. All the things he swore he’d never let get heard are there, painful and raw and so, so messy, laid at Tango’s feet like the world’s most heretical offering, the kind that would get one cremated by holy fire for daring to even exist.

But-

The warmth that surrounds him isn’t burning. It’s careful, firm, pressure around his waist and chest. It’s fiery and strong but not harmful, like he’s sitting in a blazing furnace who’s flames are guarding him from every spare speck of cold that could approach him.

Tango is hugging him.

He can’t remember the last time a hug felt this safe.

“Jimmy, listen to me.” The murmured words pierce through his crumbled defenses and strike him right in his hurting, dying, bound soul. “You are not weak. You are not over-sensitive, you are not pathetic. You are kind, you are caring, and you would rather suffer to the point of death than let others know you’re hurting, but you are not any of those awful things you believe.”

He tries to talk, he does, but his brain is so overwhelmed by warmth, sadness, confusion, comfort, all the things he’s tried to keep at arm's reach, that all he can do is make a strangled whine of emotion.

“Shh, shh, I know, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts more than jokifying does, because a joke is only a joke if everyone is having fun. Jimmy, at that point they weren’t joking, even though that’s how they meant it. They were just being cruel.”

The stupid words won’t leave his lips, the questions and protests stuck on his tongue as he looks up at Tango. Somehow the man seems to know exactly what he can’t say as the blazeborn whispers his next words.

“You deserve to be upset, you deserve to be hurt by their comments. Jimmy, you deserve to live.”

The carefully crafted defenses break.

Jimmy collapses fully into Tango’s arms, gasping and heaving with great sobs as years upon years upon years of hurt and pain and anger spill out onto the blazeborn’s shoulder. He cries things, words he doesn’t even process besides his apologies and ranting and pleas, and Tango just rubs his back, sharp nails tracing gentle circles on his back in a way that only makes him cry harder.

The sun is rising by the time the sobs quiet down, leaving two soulmates holding each other in the dawn’s light. Tango’s fingers are running through Jimmy’s hair, and tears are no longer running down Jimmy’s face. The peaceful quiet isn’t shattered when Tango speaks up, instead gently crescendoed into a conversation.

“You should talk to Grian and Joel about this.”

The canary immediately tenses up beneath his soulmate. “No, I can’t-“ He winces as his voice comes out strained, his throat raw from hours of crying.

“Jimmy, I know Grian and Joel. If they knew they were making you hurt like this-“

“They’d blame themselves, Tango. I don’t want them to do that.”

“- I meant, they would stop making the jokes. They want you to be happy, rancher, but you have to tell them that it’s hurting you.”

“I can’t.”

Tango gently takes his face in his hands, guiding his gaze up to his own ruby eyes. “I’ll go with you if you need me to, but they need to know, otherwise the problem isn’t going to get any better.” He pauses. “Then again, if I explodificate them then they can’t make those jokes anymore…”

“No, no, no exploding my brother.”

“So I can explode Joel?”

“No!” Jimmy sighs, leaning his face into Tango’s hands. “… could you be there? Please?”

“Of course.” Tango smiles, brighter than the rising sun and kinder than he’s been looked at in ages. He’s warmer than the sun, too, filling Jimmy with a comfort and making him feel safe. He had forgotten what it felt like to be safe.

He almost never got to remember.

There are still hard conversations he has to have. Telling Grian is certainly going to be full of tears from both parties, and Jimmy is not delusional- he knows it’s not always going to be like this, that he’s going to have to fight everything he’s come to believe about himself if he decides to trust that Tango is right.

Still, as his eyes drift shut, he finally lets himself believe that there’s hope for him after all.

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euphoricfilter · 2 years

Text

Devil That I Know (Part 8) : Teaser

~ What Year Is It?

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! Reader

Genre: (Inaccurate) Historical AU || Strangers to lovers AU || Supernatural AU || Smut || Fluff || Angst

Summary: Jin brings a little more clarity into your life, only to step out of line when he finally brings up your situation with the demon that plagues the palace.

Final Chapter Word count: 6k

Tags/ warnings: mild angst, manipulation, unhealthy depiction of a relationship (jungkook is obsessed and it’s getting out of hand), a lot of lies but whats new, mentions of death, mentions of blood (brief), briefly mentioned arousal but nothing happens, the m/c is finally getting somewhere, mention of weapon/ implied use of said weapon.

Devil That I Know Masterlist

+ + +

Jungkook liked to give more than he liked to take.

He liked to sit and listen to you tattle on for hours about the little worries you had in life, insignificant doubts morphing into you baring yourself practically naked before him, as you spill each and every insecurity you’ve ever had. But he never liked to sit down and talk about his own worries. Nor did he seem to find any sort of joy in being taken care of like he does for you.

Jungkook liked to tuck you into bed of an evening, sitting beside you to ward off any bad dreams that may slither into the room and plague your mind. But he never let you do the same for him. Maybe that was a bad example, because Jungkook didn’t need to sleep but you feel as though your point still stands.

Jungkook liked to feed you from his own spoon. Liked to pull you over his lap as he eases your lips open with a thumb, easily slipping a mouthful of food into your mouth on those mornings you feel a little too hazy to eat on your own.

Jungkook liked to hold you between his thighs after a shower, delicate wooden comb held between soft fingers as he combs through your hair with practiced ease; careful not to tug too hard. (And when he accidently would tug on a knot, you can only pray he wasn’t aware of the sticky arousal that coats the insides of your thighs).

Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A little like an onion with too many layers to peel away before your eyes begin to sting and you have to sit back, deciding that maybe your meal would be just as good without the root vegetable. Because no matter how badly you wanted to add that onion into the meal, the pain just doesn’t seem all that worth it, so it feels as though you have no other choice than to just take a backseat while master chef Jungkook does all the hard parts, slowly, painfully revealing each layer he has in his own time.

Where each movement is calculated, planned before you can even think to ask him what you’re curious about. Jungkook was always trudging before you, a little too far away on a foggy day that you can’t quite see where he was heading, but you still blindly follow: because Jungkook looks like he knows what he’s doing.

You suppose it’s stupid, to sit around, oblivious. A little silly of you to just nod your head whenever he opens his mouth. Even on days like today when everything feels a little… off, you stay. Because what more do you have? Not much apart from the clothes on your back, that Jungkook had bought for you. And the room you’re stay in, Jungkook shared with you, or the food in your belly, that Jungkook always pays for. It seems a little silly to try and bite the hand that feeds you. A little selfish on your part, but anything to survive you suppose.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

All your mind could seem to fully comprehend was Jeon Jungkook. Perfect Jungkook who could never seem to do anything wrong in your eyes.

RELEASE DATE: Wednesday 19th October @ 10pm BST

please read here

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fettl3 · 2 years

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would love to hear abt art school camp if you’d wanna share

Ummmmm yah. This will be long.

I have a LOT of thoughts & feelings that I’m still processing. And a lot of it feels unsafe to share tbh. Like I’m confined to not go against this system that I’m participating in… this is my “community” (aka access to success as an artist) so I do feel restricted in what I can share honestly about this particular school…. But also whatever lol this is tumblr after all

I can say that I spent 2 weeks at an art summer camp as a TA for a ceramics class. The class was 9am to 5pm every day (no days off). And my position was unpaid. So there’s a lot there. I did it mostly because I love my friend very much (she was the teacher of the class) and she really needed my help. Also because I wouldn’t ever have access to this school by route of paying for a class bc they’re like $6k. But still, an 8 hour work day for 14 consecutive days unpaid is… fucking insane.

Additionally, I have long term friends that were on staff, so my stay was complicated by insight into the inner workings of this organization. To say the least it’s a shit show. Completely dysfunctional at the level of handling conflict. Pay disparity was also a big issue. It’s definitely not an org I would ever consider working for in a serious way, regardless of the access & resources it offers…

These are all things I knew going into it. The camp itself is kind of constructed to be an “experience” for students. A “site of experimental behavior,” as my friend put it. I can see why people fall in love with it. It’s really cool and unique to be isolated with a group of invested artists, to be submerged into craft and also to be “free” within the parameters of the land. There are healthy meals served 3 times a day. No locks on doors, no need. There was programming every night: artist talks, performances, karaoke & 2 huge dance parties. There is lots of sites for conversation & so many good convos to have. Each specialized studio has unique & impressive facilities in addition to hang out zones (fire pits patios etc). The land is beautiful, left rustic, and located on a lagoon you can kayak out in. Some of my students called it utopia. I think that’s what we (staff) were attempting to facilitate for them. & honestly I do feel good that it seemed most of my students had this experience. Makes me feel like I did my job well :)

However, my experience does not reflect the experience of the students… AT ALL. I found being there to be like… like being eaten alive maybe.

The work felt like it was 24/7. Living in community with my students is something I would never like to do again. Also I learned that I hate teaching this demographic. My students ranged from 20-36 years old. The ones in their early 20s latched on to me so fucking intensely. I understand why of course: they were trying to peak into their future, into what the world might hold for them, how to make it as an artist etc. But also the fucking relentless flirting, the attention, the lack of privacy or alone time, it seriously felt like I was being ripped apart to be eaten. On the nights where we all got wasted dancing I found myself as a caretaker for these kids (who are only a couple years younger than me) and just honestly like I couldn’t fully relax ever. They were coming to me for answers, they wanted me to tell them who they are supposed to be. It was A Lot.

It was also pretty triggering for me to be immersed again in community that was heavily affiliated with the university I use to go to. I was forced to drop out and although I have moved past this & moved on & up in my life… I’m still hurt. It was hard to be working (for free!!) for people who ultimately are more privileged than me. It was hard to contend again with the fact that privileged people are still whole people, that whiteness & wealth is just as harmful & confusing to them as it is to us. These last few years I’ve really been intentional about who I keep around me, who I work for, what I’m doing in the world. I align myself with very specific communities. I live firmly & uncompromisingly by my principals. Participating again in this type of community felt for me like a major spiritual step backwards, while also being a major step up in a career & artistic way. It was just fucking intense dude!!!! It was complicated as fuck!!!!

I won’t get too into it rn but there are like deeper connecting thoughts I have that I’m still sifting through. Very present on my mind while I was there were concepts I learned in The Delectable Negro by Vincent Woodard. I couldn’t stop thinking about Nat Turner, about his head being passed down like an heirloom. I had bad dreams & panic attacks every night, with visions of this abstract bone/clam like shape. Every day there somebody new connected with me, we showed each other our soul & then moved on to do it with another person. I thought about what it means to be in a community where there is no police, but where certain behaviors mean immediate banishment. What it means to have a community that refuses to acknowledge basic forms of human interaction, like violence. What it means to set strict, rigid expectations of how each person aught to act, or believe in, then profess diversity & free thought. What it means to omit the true, sometimes ugly, diversity of reality.

Paired with a well researched & lived-in understanding of class/race struggle… idk. Being there felt ummmm horrible lol. Absolutely relentlessly horrible. & I held the weight of that feeling for so many people: for each of my students, for my friends on staff. But nobody was able to hold me. My support network back in the city couldn’t see beyond the privilege & fun of me being there. Or they were just dealing with their own shit. When I came back into the city I felt empty totally empty & i had 2 massive breakdowns. It was very much like past experiences right after a trauma. The response I’m experiencing in my body does not logically match the conditions of being at that school, so it feels like I can’t ask anybody for support. But. Idk that’s just the truth of it. Thanks for reading.

#PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG OR SCREENSHOT #this is a real truth if you have any respect for somebody being deeply spiritually honest with you #then you would please not abuse my vulnerability

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croissantbae · 1 year

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March 30,2023

1. We ate every meal at home today which feels very rare for us on the weekends. Breakfast was bread cheese avocado egg. Scrumptious. Lunch was bibim gooksoo (and the kids always eat the opposite things in the meal. For the kids we did a soy bibim gooksoo and naya ate noodles only and Dani ate the cucumbers and egg only). Then for dinner we had steak, Brussels sprouts, carrots, bap and man the steak was so so good.

Jason grated some moo and we ate the steak w moo and wasabi. We went on and on about how this meal at a restaurant would have been $300 and thus 6x what we actually paid for the ingredients lol.

2. Latelt it feels like there are so many extra expenses to pay for.

- we got our air ducts cleaned and Jason said the guy who cleaned them said we have rats or squirrels in our attic and thst they’ve chewed up a bunch of stuff. So we’re getting an exterminator to come on Tuesday. And then we have to fix some of the vent issues. It’s $1800 just for the air duct cleaning. So there will be added costs for some of this other stuff.

Then the girls have a two week break last week of July and first week of august so I’m signing them up for imaginology bc we just can’t watch them during the work week. That’s going to be like $1300.

Then we still need to buy Korea tickets and for four people that’ll be …$5-6k? Plus the airbnbs and hotels themselves.

Every time we go to Costco it’s $500. Every time we go to the market (even if it’s like just to get soup or random odd stuff during the week) it comes out to $100-150 plus.

3. We got a kids book from the library and it’s about these 4 animals that need to share 3 cookies and the girls are OBSESSED with it. It’s quite a good book. It talks about math concepts while being super entertaining for them. I wann find more books like that.

4. I feel bad bc I think my patience meter keeps hitting the max really fast. The other day I was showering the girls and after someone said or did something I just left and told Jason can you do it. I just can’t. And the next morning even Jason was like omg. They’re so a-n-n-o-y-I-n-g. And they truly can be. Naya talks so much about nothing or repeats what when we’re not talking to her but makes us repeat what we’re saying anyway. And then Dani is just a menace hitting or scratching naya or trying to sit on my lap while I’m trying to do the dishes or like get something done.

I know they’re also so cute and I’ll miss them at this age but I can’t wait until Dani’s 4 and we hit the promise land people talk abt. I will want to freeze them at 4 forever once they get there but I’m looking forward to actually getting there.

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harryronfest · 3 years

Text

what you know about love (i got what you need)

Author/Artist: @playitaagain Prompt: ‘Because of growing up with the Dursleys, Harry doesn’t really know what a healthy relationship is. Ron shows him, however many times Harry needs him to.’ Rating: Mature Word count: 6k+ Triggers: time jumps, mentions of canon character deaths, panic attacks, dissociation, vomiting, mention of child abuse, and nightmares Summary/additional information: Ron shows Harry that it’s okay to seek comfort, to have someone hold you. He allows Harry the space to cry while showing him how much love can be found in another person’s nonjudgmental support.

Five time Ron initiates comforting Harry and one time Harry seeks out comfort.

Harry watches as the room flutters with excitement and apprehension. The other boys in his room are chatting about their summer plans, packing away their trunks. Harry is doing no such thing, sitting on the edge of his bed, knees pulled to his chest as he thinks about what his own summer will be like.

It definitely isn’t anything like the other boys. Dean is chatting about a family vacation and football camp he begged his parents to sign him up for - as he didn’t get to play any football here. Seamus is going camping this summer with his parents. Neville plans on working on his little garden at home - he’s really enjoying herbology. Ron is chatting about his days at the burrow, flying around the orchard and staying as far away from Fred and George’s pranks as possible.

It all sounds so lovely.

Harry wishes his summer didn’t consist of lonely nights in his room and barely enough food to get by even though he’s the one who made it or Dudley’s constant taunting that normally turns into Harry being his punching bag. He’s dreading it. He’d much rather just stay here for the summer and he got attacked by Voldemort in this very school.

“Hey, mate,” Ron calls, instantly snapping Harry out of his ravine. He flinches at the words, noting that Ron is a lot closer than he expected. It looks like he’s ready to reach out too, shake Harry back to the present, but his hand stops in mid-air when Harry turns his green gaze toward him. With a furrowed brow, he sits on the bed beside Harry instead and Harry wonders what he saw in his eyes because he looks worried.

“Are ya worried about exams?” Ron asks, curious and Harry can imagine that Ron has no idea what Harry is going back to. Ron’s big family sounds amazing and loving and exactly what a family should be like. Harry’s home life was nothing of the sort and Harry only wished he never had to go back.

“Yeah, I’m nervous about getting our marks,” Harry lies, because he isn’t nervous at all. It isn’t like the Dursleys will care if he fails or not. Actually, they might care as it means they won’t be able to get rid of him if he fails out of school. He’s sure he’s fine though, at least enough to come back next year. Ron won’t understand though but that doesn’t stop him from adding, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Maybe ya can come visit,” Ron sounds hopeful, promising. Harry doesn’t think the Dursleys will allow it because even the thought of Harry having a bit of fun is too much for them. They’d hate that Harry has freak friends and would fear it would turn Harry into even more of a freak than he is.

“Maybe,” Harry mumbles, chin resting against his kneecap. He can see the other boys bustling around, Seamus throwing clothes hazardously into his trunk while Dean gathers all of his art supplies. They don’t pay the two of them any mind and for that Harry is thankful.

“School will start before we even know it.” It won’t start soon enough though. “I could go without the classes though. Just want to hang around with you and play quidditch.” And doesn’t that sound nice. That’s probably what Ron gets to do all summer too. Oh, Harry wishes.

“Do you think your mum would let me visit?” Harry asks, allows himself to think about quidditch in the apple orchard and meals around a bustling family table. He thinks about someone cooking for him and taking care of him and cleaning his clothes. It’s silly, but he knows he will be taking care of himself for the summer. It’s nice to have others taking care of him at Hogwarts for a change. It would be nice to have a mother take care of him.

“Of course, mate. I’m sure she’ll want to see that sweater, make sure she’s made it to fit.” The sweater fits better than any of the clothes he’ll wear this summer and he wonders if he’ll be able to curl himself up in it without the Dursleys finding out and pretend he’s spending the summer with Ron at the Burrow. He doesn’t know what it looks like but he’s learned to have a good imagination.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry whispers. Ron looks at him for a moment, like he’s searching for something. It seems he finds it because he shuffles forward a bit on the bed and wraps his arms around Harry, pulls him close.

Harry stiffens for a moment, eyes wide because he isn’t used to this, even after a year of Ron’s casual touches, he still isn’t prepared for gentle hands. It takes him a moment, but he sinks into Ron’s embrace, allowing his legs to kick off the side of the bed and turning his body to properly wrap his arms around Ron.

It’s a long moment that he stays in the embrace and he’s thankful Ron doesn’t seem to find a need to pull away. He simply holds Harry tighter, allowing Harry to burrow his nose in Ron’s neck, to hold him as tightly as he needs without saying anything.

“Promise you’ll write,” Harry mutters into his shirt, willing himself not to cry. He’s eleven. He can’t cry over something as silly as leaving school. The Dursleys taught him at a young age that crying was never appropriate and wouldn’t get him anything in life.

“Yeah, mate. Of course,” Ron insists. He’s worried now. Harry can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his arms tighten just a bit more around Harry’s waist. He didn’t mean to worry Ron, but he’s going to miss him so bloody much.

“Thank you, Ron,” Harry repeats, but it’s for so much more this time. It’s for their friendship. It’s for this comfort. It’s for the love that Harry can feel for the first time in his life in his best mates arms. It’s the unwavering support and kindness Ron has shown him.

Ron pulls away from Harry then, holding him at arm’s length so he can make eye contact. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. Promise.” And Harry knows he means it. Yes, they have to separate in only a day’s time, but Ron isn’t going to leave him, and isn’t going to forget about him this summer while they’re away from each other.

The moment is ruined when Seamus drops a particularly thick textbook on the ground, startling the two away from each other. Ron clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly as he avoids eye contact.

“Here, I’ll help you pack.”

The moment is gone, but Harry will it treasure all summer, thinking of Ron’s arms around him, holding him close, holding him gently with the promise to never leave him.

Harry’s shaking when he ends up back in his dorm, heart pounding in his chest. He’s been close to death before but he’s not sure anything can beat being chased around by a dragon on Hogwarts property. It doesn’t help that he’s still reeling from his reunion with Ron, something he’s been craving for ages now.

He just needs a moment alone, a moment away from the hustle and bustle of the common room, where they’re all celebrating his victory. He can still hear the high pitched squeal of the egg, taunting him as he waits for the next task. The noise from downstairs is still setting him on edge and he tugs off all his clothes in a hurry, slipping into his night pants and a warm sweater from Mrs. Weasley before he tucks himself into bed and closes all the curtains.

Even with the covers pulled all the way over his head, he can still hear the music from downstairs. With a flick of his wand, he silences the noise, letting out a sigh of relief when silence falls over the room. It’s the first bit of silence he’s had in a while and the first breath he feels like he’s taken all day. He isn’t sure how he even got into this stupid conpetition and he wishes beyond belief that he could just drop out.

It’s all just been too much. He wishes he could have Sirius here to provide support, someone to tell him that he was going to be fine, that he is going to be fine. He wants someone to hold him. It’s not something he’s used to admitting to himself, but it’s what he wants. It’s what he craves.

“Harry?”

Harry sighs, poking his head out of the covers. It would seem Ron’s broken his spell, head hanging between the curtains of his bed. His shaggy red hair is falling into his face, cheeks a bit blushed from his excitement of the day. He looks a bit nervous though, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“Are you alright, mate?”

The problem is that Harry isn’t sure how to vocalise it. He’s never been allowed to seek comfort and love. He hasn’t been able to simply have someone hold him, but he can imagine Ron’s arms around him and he wants the comfort more than anything. The words don’t come to him, but the tears start to stream down his cheeks without his permission and he tenses as he waits to be yelled at for seeking attention and his pathetic tears.

It only takes Ron a moment to kick his shoes aside and slip into the bed next to Harry. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry about everything.” This only makes Harry cry even harder because he knows Ron is blaming himself for this, thinks Harry is still holding their fight over his head even though he’s been long forgiven.

Ron is tentative when he settles next to Harry, reaching a hand out slowly, like he doesn’t know if it will be welcome. It only has the tears streaming down a bit harder as Harry chokes on his sobs. It’s enough for Ron to place a hand on Harry’s arm, fingers gentle as he brushes them across Harry’s shoulder. In response, Harry pushes himself to sit up, teary eyes searching as he watches Ron. He can see the second Ron makes the decision, suddenly finding himself in Ron’s arms.

Harry freezes for a moment, until he melts into Ron’s open arms, allowing Ron to hold him a bit closer as he shifts until his arms are around Ron’s neck. Ron pulls him close and suddenly there is a nose in Harry’s hair, a hand moving up and down his back slowly, gently.

“It’s not you,” Harry mutters, not bothering to pull away. He simply pulls him a bit closer, legs somehow ending up across Ron’s lap. He just wants someone to hold him and Ron is gentle, breath steady. The rise and fall of Ron’s chest has Harry’s own breath slowing down, the tears slowing down along with it. “I missed you.”

“It’s okay. I missed you too,” Ron mutters, breath tickling Harry’s hair with his words. Harry’s thankful Ron doesn’t pull away, simply continues to brush his hand softly up and down Harry’s spin. It’s everything he was craving in this moment, the embrace tender and non judgemental in a way he’s never experienced before.

The fact that Ron simply allows him to cry, allows Harry to stay in his arms is everything more that Harry could never ask for. It allows his heart rate to slow, his hands to stop shaking as he starts to come down from the anxiety of the day, adrenaline of the competition long out of his system.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Harry admits after a while, when the tears have slowed down. He doesn’t pull himself away from Ron, allows his cheek to rest on Ron’s collarbone because he doesn’t want to look into Ron’s eyes. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Ron promises, hands suddenly soothing over Harry’s hair. “We’ll get through it though. I’m not leaving you again, mate. I’m not making that mistake.” The fierce loyalty Harry can hear in his voice has the tears streaming down his cheeks again. He appreciated Ron so much and he knows that Ron means it.

Shit. Harry really loves his best mate.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles. It’s a thank you for giving him permission to cry, for being scared, for being anxious. It’s a thank you for holding him when he needs it most, for not pushing him away, for allowing him this space. It’s a thank you for their friendship and support even if the last few weeks have been rocky at best.

If Harry falls asleep in Ron’s arms that day, it is no one else’s business because Ron is warm and comfortable and gentle. He’s everything that Harry has never been allowed and it’s the first moment of peace that he’s felt in months as he drifts off with Ron’s arms around him.

It happens every time he closes his eyes. He can see Sirius slip away from him. He can see Ron, unconscious in the hospital bed, accompanied by Hermione on his other side. He can see the panic and fear in his friend’s faces as they stand by him. They always stand by him. They always get hurt. He doesn’t want them to get hurt.

They’re all there though. They’re hiding as Harry watches from the sidelines, chest aching as the order members throw curses across the battlefield. It’s mixed up then, Cedric’s lifeless face sitting in the middle, so often the center of his dreams until he watched Sirius fall through the veil, watched his friends get hurt. It’s a blend now, Cedric on the ground and Sirius moving closer and closer to the veil.

Harry wants to yell out, stop him from moving, but no matter how hard he tries, Sirius can’t hear him. It’s like he watches in slow motion, feels his heart ripped from his chest again. Over and over and over again. Cedric is lying on the ground, green lights flashing over his lifeless face and Sirius is gone.

That doesn’t even include the fact that Ron is writhing in pain next to him and Harry can’t touch him, can’t comfort him. Instead, Hermione’s there, tears tracking her own cheeks as she yells at Harry, tells him it’s all his fault because she’s hurt too.

Harry doesn’t mean to but he wakes up screaming, breath heavy and tears streaming down his cheeks.

He braces himself for the inevitable complaining. The night before had been the final step in sleepless nights and he hadn’t even been able to place a silencing charm before falling into bed. It’s unusual for him to forget now, especially after the events of the year before, of visions placed in his head and his mates all waking up to his screaming.

It isn’t that they’re mean about it. Harry knows they won’t take the micky out of him during the day. He knows they’ll insist it’s fine, that they could never imagine what he’s going through. That doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t feel guilty. The guilt is so much so that it makes bile rise in his throat and anxiety spike because he knows all his friends will check in.

They don’t though. Harry can hear their breathing or snores, but it would seem they can’t hear his heavy breath, couldn’t hear his scream. He’s thankful for a moment, allowing the sob stuck in his throat slip past his lips.

The hand on his shoulder startles him and he shoots across the bed. The edge is much closer than expected though and Ron catches his elbow, frown tugging down his lips when Harry makes eye contact. It makes sense now that he sees Ron why their roommates haven’t heard Harry’s screaming or panic. Ron’s taken to putting up a silencing spell around both of them when he notices Harry forgot.

Harry always feels guilty, especially because Ron will often alter Harry’s spell so he falls under the silence, so he can help Harry through a nightmare. It’s much too often for Ron to be up, but he always seems to be able to alter the spell no matter what Harry does or how powerful Harry may be. Harry may not sleep most nights to avoid the nightmares, but he can admit it’s also so he doesn’t wake up Ron either.

“Mate,” Ron whispers. It’s his sad voice, understanding. Harry doesn’t like it, doesn’t like when Ron looks at him with those sad blue eyes either. It makes them look more gray when he does that, like a storm is brewing, but Harry wants the blue of the sky on a sunny day, warming him up from the inside out.

He hates that he’s hurting someone he loves.

“Go away,” he chokes, because he hates that all he wants is Ron to hold him in his arms again, let him cry until everything is numb, let him curl up against him and fall asleep in that comfort even though he knows he’ll still have nightmares. He only wishes it would chase the nightmares away.

“Oh, Harry,” Ron sighs and Harry goes willingly in his arms as they settle against the headboard, curtains drawn closed. Harry’s crying before he can even press his face against Ron’s chest, hide in the curve of his neck, red hair tickling his forehead.

Ron’s arms are warm and covered, but Harry can see the scar along his wrist, where the sleeve has caught along his forearm. It simply makes Harry cry harder, fingers shaky as he reaches out slowly.

It’s unusual for Ron to allow this, to allow the contact. The scars are still sensitive months later and Harry hates that it’s only made Ron more self-conscious. There are moments he flinches away, especially when someone touches him suddenly. This is different today though, this touch is gentle as Harry barely glides his fingers over raised skin.

The act has Harry simply crying harder, curling up so his knees are to his chest, leaning into Ron’s warm chest. Ron doesn’t move, simply wraps his free arm around Harry’s back, secures him so Harry knows he isn’t going anywhere, that he’s never letting go.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry chokes, earning himself a coughing fit around the lump in his throat. It makes his chest ache and bile rise in his throat. He fights it down as he settles back against Ron, tears still salty on his lips. “I hate that this happened. I hate that people are getting hurt because of me.”

The next moment has Harry blinking in confusion, shifted a bit violently until he’s facing Ron, until Ron can look at him properly. He brushes his finger across Harry’s cheeks, catches the tears and presses their forehead together.

“This is not your fault. This was never your fault. I don’t blame you,” Ron stresses, never breaking eye contact, “Not a single one of us blames you. This is Voldemort. Please don’t think it’s on you.” Ron’s crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t allow Harry to look away. “I need you to understand that this is not your fault.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to respond because his chest hurts, gratitude filling his vians and coursing through his system. Fuck. He loves this boy in front of him with everything he has.

And that’s definitely a new revelation because he’s always loved Ron, but he’s never realized that love was different. He never realized that he was in love.

Ron must take his silence as acceptance because Harry finds himself back in those inviting arms, back in the hold that he craves so much. He finds himself curled under the covers again with his best mate, tears dry on his cheek and warmth in his chest and love in his heart.

It isn’t a dreamless night, but it’s easier to manage when he wakes up to a face full of messy red hair and warmth reminding him that Ron didn’t leave.

It’s over.

Harry feels nauseous as the crowd descends, cheers of happiness and tears of joy surrounding him. The problem is that Harry is going to throw up. He can’t be in the middle. He can’t have people touching him, thanking him. He can’t do this and with all the effort he can muster, he shoves his way through the crowd, elbowing with unnecessary force.

The dread is like lead in his stomach, like he can’t believe this is over, like he’s waiting for the next step to happen. It doesn’t make sense that the battle he’s been fighting for the last seven years - actually, the last seventeen years - is suddenly over. It only took one last battle, one last moment with Voldemort.

He throws up when he finally manages to get to a hallway by himself, heaving over the fallen deprise. There isn’t much to throw up in his stomach, more bile than anything and it burns his throat, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He chokes as he heaves again, coughing violently as he tries to catch his breath.

The noise from the great hall is distracting, much too close for Harry’s liking. He manages to swallow down the burn in his throat, whipping the bile from his lips and chin with his dirty shirt sleeve before he pushes away from the wall. He’s unsteady as he assesses where he is.

It takes him a long moment to figure out where he is. It isn’t just the fact the castle is destroyed, but he can’t seem to focus enough to sort out all the input around him. The thought of the battle, a consistent reminder with the noise, is still making him feel nauseous and he stumbles down the hall and up forgotten stairs.

The portrait is long lost, the fat lady probably cowering somewhere away from the battle. It’s left the door swung open, which is fine by Harry as he stumbles into the common room.

It’s surprisingly untouched, the battle focused more in the main hall of the building and outside on the grounds. The reminder of his school years spent in this very room has his heart heavy. There’s even a fire in the fireplace, memories of nights spent curled up with Ron and Hermione studying. It only makes the sadness settle, reminds him that not only is the one thing he’s been fighting for for seventeen years over, but so is his school life. He’s losing everything, losing his purposes to the celebration downstairs and he hates himself for even thinking that.

He’s not breathing, chest aching as he stumbles up the stairs. The tears are dirty against his cheeks as he falls toward the couch, bile souring his mouth once again and he vomits on the rugs that hold such fond memories.

He doesn’t let it throw him off as he stumbles toward the stairs. He has to use the wall to hold himself up, stumbling on the stairs until he’s reached what would be his dormitory this year. It’s nearly bare now, only two beds occupied, but not recently enough to actually hold any semblance of the joy and excitement that make the place feel like home for so many years.

Harry groans as his stomach churns. He catches himself before he can vomit again, rubbing at his mouth angrily until he falls into what would have been his bed this past year. It’s warm and inviting and everything he had craved when he first went on the run. He can remember nights staying up with his dorm mates, playing games and drinking the fire whiskey they still don’t know how Seamus stole. He remembers curling up in his bed with Ron, holding him close and feeling safe.

He should have never left Ron downstairs. He should never have stumbled away from the one person who knows exactly how to ground him. It’s especially apparent when he dry heaves over the side of his bed, whole body aching with the movement because there’s nothing left to throw up. It merely leads to him coughing again and crying as he curls up around his pillow.

It hurts as he allows himself to come undone, to fall apart.

That is until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He’s still raw from the fight, shooting up in bed, wand at the ready. It takes him way too long to realize he has his wand pressed against the same neck he wants to press his nose into. The second the realization that it’s Ron hits, he drops the wand, left to get lost in the covers as he falls back into the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Fuck, Ron,” he breaths, because even his pressence is reassuring.

They aren’t in battle anymore. He doesn’t have to watch his back every fucking second of every fucking day. He can live now. The problem is that he isn’t sure he knows how to do that.

“Harry,” Ron breaths, digs a knee into the soft fabric as he reaches forward to hold Harry. He pauses though, assessing before he continues, “Can I hold you?”

Does Harry look so bad that Ron thinks he needs an invitation? He knows he’s banged up, but he wants Ron’s arms around him more than anything. He needs Ron’s help because he can’t get his heart rate to calm down and Ron’s always known how to help.

“Please,” Harry cries, that single word mumbled by the tears streaming down his cheeks. Ron is quick to find his usual spot against the headboard, pulling Harry to his chest. This allows Harry to press an ear against his heart - thank Merlin Ron is alive, thank Merlin he’s able to hear this beautiful heart beat - and listen closely. The rise and fall of Ron’s chest is steady and warm and everything Harry wants for the rest of his life.

“It’s going to be okay, Harry,” Ron whispers, pressing a nose into his dark hair even though he must be disgusting. He’s sure he still has vomit on his face, probably mixed in with all the blood and dirt on his shirt. “We’ll figure this out.”

Harry doesn’t know how Ron always seems to know what to say. He doesn’t understand how Ron always knows how to help. It only has Harry crying harder, holding on tighter because he could have lost him and he’s so thankful that he didn’t, that he can hold Ron without worrying about losing him.

Harry normally doesn’t mind training. It’s the most he’s learned in a long time in terms of defense against the dark arts - which is what being an auror basically is - and it’s refreshing because he’s good at it. He doesn’t have to worry about all the classes he’s shit at and can just focus on this.

The problem is that they’re starting legilimency and occlumency.

It reminds Harry of one of the worst years of his life. It reminds him of Snape rooting around in his head, Voldemort implanting visions, pain flaring across his scare. The worst of it is that it reminds him of losing Sirius, nightmares that started to fade years ago - replaced with bigger and scarier nightmares as he fell more into war - when he opened up to Ron and started allowing himself to feel without feeling guilty.

The biggest problem is that the memories are preventing him from properly defending himself and memories flooding out of his brain, memories he doesn’t need his coworkers to ever see. The dark ones far outweigh the light ones to the point where other trainees aren’t allowed to train with Harry, who is somehow stuck with their superior fucking reading his mind.

Harry is also trying to prevent his coworkers from finding out about his bloody feelings for his best friend. It’s easier to cover it up with the pain, because the happy memories these days all center around spending time with Ron. It doesn’t even matter if the memories include other people because Ron always seems to be the center. He let one slip, a fond memory of Ron laughing at something Charlie was saying, and he was never doing that again. Those memories were too close to his heart.

The problem is that today the dark memories that he pulls aren’t his usual. He tries to keep it light, tries to keep memories of the cold nights on the run or the heat of the battle, but today he watch Sirius die, feels Voldemort get into his head, aches at the loss of parents, the pain he felt when he saw the Weasley’s lose a son. It hurts today and he’s tired from days of bad memories keeping him up and he suddenly can’t hold them out.

The second his superior releases him he crumbles to the ground, panic gripping his heart. The nausea stirs his stomach and he can see Sirius on the ground under his hands, can feel the anger seeping into his veins because he’s so fucking weak. He fought voldemort. He defeated Voldemort. He stopped Voldemort from getting into his head even with their connection, but suddenly he’s crumpled on the ground by his superior and having a panic attack.

He’s so fucking weak.

Ron is there though, hand pressed to his shoulder. Harry is sure Ron would wrap him up in his arms if there wasn’t an audience, every single person in their training suddenly preoccupied with staring at Harry, staring at the fucking weak screw up that can’t even fight off a bit of legilimency.

“I’m taking him home,” Ron informs, because Harry is shaking now. It’s like every single one of his bad memories is flashing before his eyes and he hates how many there are, hates that he can see the war, the battles, the pain, but also the loss, the abuse, the loneliness. He can’t even focus on the conversation, only catching little snippets from Ron’s end, because Harry’s always listening to Ron. “You have no idea what he’s been through - bloody legilimency - like he hasn’t been through enough - bloody fucking pricks - it doesn’t fucking matter - we’re leaving.”

Harry doesn’t fight the hand Ron wraps around his elbow, helping him off the ground. Harry keeps his head hung low, thankful when Ron’s arm wraps around his waist and pulls him away from the show - the one he was at the fucking center of - and helps him to the little office for trainees.

Harry is much too out of it to gather anything, aching at the sudden loss of Ron’s hand on his elbow, grounding him, keeping him up. It’s so bad he ends up crumbling to the ground again, caught only before his knees can connect with the hard ground.

“Come on, Harry. Let’s go home.”

Harry doesn’t really know how they get home. He simply lets Ron lead him through the miserty with his head hung and finds himself in the floo in their living room, Ron stepping in behind him before Harry can even question where he is. It’s easy to trust Ron, to allow himself to wallow and ache. He knows Ron will always have his back, has learned that Ron will always be there for him, giving him his space to grieve while supporting him in any way he needs. It’s one of the many reasons he loves Ron.

Ron leads him to his bedroom with a hand on his back, tugging off his sweater and helping him out of his shoes. Harry doesn’t register most of it, simply allows Ron to arrange him into his own bed, reaching out to grab his wrist when he goes to slip away. “I’m going to put on some soup and I’ll be right back, mate.”

Harry doesn’t want him to go, but he doesn’t want to be too needy either so he allows his own hand to drop onto the bed.

He isn’t sure how long Ron is gone, lost in his own memories until Ron’s head of red hair appears in his vision again. He reaches forward to touch Harry’s cheek, but stops before he can, a frown tugging down his lips. “Can I hold you?” Because he always checks in when Harry is like this, knows when Harry needs to be asked as compared to when Ron can simply just hold Harry.

Harry’s voice doesn’t work though so he simply nods, a sigh of relief leaving his lips when Ron’s arms circle his shoulders, pulling him close so Harry can curl up to his chest just like this. It’s his usual place, Harry’s favorite place. It provides him comfort, grounding when he’s lost in his own head for far too long.

“It’s going to be okay, Harry,” Ron mumbles, because he knows exactly what Harry needs to hear. “It’s been a hard few days. Legilimency is fucking hard and I know you haven’t been sleeping. It’s okay to need comfort sometimes. It doesn’t make you weak. None of this makes you weak.”

Harry appreciates the words, knows they’re true. The problem is that they’re only true to a point. He’ll never be able to become an auror if he can’t master legilimency and occlumency, if it makes him crumble to his emotions every time - even if it’s taken days of constant legilimency for this to happen.

He doesn’t say anything as he finally allows himself to work through some of his technique’s, the mind healer’s words working to help him calm down. It’s easy to focus on it when he has Ron’s security wrapped around him. It’s enough to allow him to focus on the present, blink away the nightmares and realize just how tired he truly is.

“Please don’t go,” Harry whispers as his eyes drift closed. He focuses on good memories like he learned, burrowing into Ron. “I love you,” he breathes when he finally lets himself sleep for the first time in days, having been too scared to allow the memories to invade his dreams, but knowing now that Ron will help fight those memories because Ron is in all of his happy ones.

They separate them. It’s this whole thing in the office that becomes a fight. Ron and Harry work well together. Anyone who’s seen them in the field can vouch for them. There are actually people in the office that do just that. It isn’t enough thought and somehow Harry finds himself with a fresh faced newbie that he has to babysit and nights alone for the first time in months. He hates it.

He especially hates it when Ron is sent on a long term mission. The pair have been together nearly a year when the separation happened and Harry finds himself in a cold bed more often than he likes. This mission in particular is probably the worst. It’s the longest separation the pair has ever experienced, a month rolling around with panic keeping Harry on edge constantly.

It leads to a lot of sleepless nights.

It doesn’t help that Harry isn’t allowed information. There is this whole confidentiality thing, the less people who know the better. It’s a top tear mission - Harry is actually quite proud of Ron for getting such an amazing opportunity - and it’s only a need to know basis. That leaves Harry with a lot of brush offs and unanswered questions.

That is until he hears the murmurs in his office.

He thinks he may be hallucinating at first. It’s been a long few weeks without Ron. If it isn’t the worry keeping him up at night, it’s the nightmares his brain is supplying, much more creative than Harry would ever claim to be. There was actually a point a week ago that he was taken off field mission, only allowed on patrol. Harry hadn’t even argued, simply said it would be good training for the newbie and went off to wallow in his office for a while.

It wouldn’t be the first time he thought he heard some news about Ron, but this is apparently the only time that he’s not making it all up in his own head.

“Did you hear? Weasley’s case was successful,” someone murmurs, gossiping around the office. How the hell do they even know that? Harry should be the first one notified if Ron’s back. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t heard anything.

“Aurur Potter,” Robards calls, eyes narrowed. Harry’s head is sticking out of his office, eyes focused on the two gossiping about his Ron. The head of the department easily takes his attention away, green eyes snapping up to meet Robards. “In your office.”

“Um-yes, sir,” Harry mumbles, because now he can feel the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. It makes him a bit nauseous, but he easily pushes that aside in order to appear professional in front of his boss.

“Potter, this stays between us,” Robards narrows his eyes sternly and Harry nods in agreement, “Auror Weasley is back. He’s at St. Mungo’s. From what I understand, it’s just a few scrapes, but it’s protocol that he goes. He’s in the auror ward but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Harry’s shock only lasts a moment before he’s stumbling toward the door, calling out, “Thanks, sir,” over his shoulder. He tries to tone it down in the halls, but he’s practically running through them at top speed until he’s at the nearest floo.

The green frames don’t deter him as he steps out on the other side, ignoring the calls for him to slow down as he reaches the auror ward. It’s a quick spell to get into the ward and only a quick smile at the receptionist before he’s shoving the door open to Ron’s room.

He pauses in the doorway to get a good look. He doesn’t appear to be on his deathbed, but that doesn’t mean anything in their profession. Harry can only clock a few cuts and bruises on his bare torso, the healer tending to them. There’s a few stray cuts across his face, like he was hit with some debris and a bruise around his right eye. Harry never thought he would be so relieved to see Ron with only a few cuts and bruises because his mind had supplied far worse for him in these last few weeks.

It takes a moment for Ron to notice, frowning down at the cut the healer is tending too, but it’s like he’s drawn to Harry, blue eyes blinking in surprise when he turns to look at the new person in the room. The smile is like slow motion pulling up his light, lighting up his eyes and it’s the most brilliant thing Harry has ever seen in his life.

Fuck. He loves this man so much.

“Thank, fuck,” Harry sighs, rushing forward. The healer barely had time to pull back before Harry’s in Ron’s arms. It nearly knocks the breath out of Ron, a wince leaving his lips. Harry is about to pull away when Ron’s arms wrap around his back, a soft laugh leaving the lips pressed into Harry’s messy head of hair.

“It’s good to see you too, love,” Ron smiles and it settles every bit of anxiety Harry’s had the last few weeks as he holds the love of his life in his arms again. He burrows right into his neck, allows himself a breath even if Ron does need a shower desperately, and starts to cry.

Harry barely registers the tell tale sign of the door closing, the healer stepping out of the room to give the two of them privacy. Harry is bloody thankful for that as the tears stream down his cheeks, pulling away just so he can look at Ron again, make sure he’s real.

“Oh, Harry, I’m fine,” Ron smiles, hands moving to cup Harry’s face, thumb brushing the tears away gently. “What do you need, love?”

“Just hold me a bit, please,” Harry mumbles, breath catching in his throat at Ron’s brilliant smile.

“Always,” Ron breaths, helping Harry shuffle around so he is situated between Ron’s legs hanging off the edge of the hospital bed, arms around his neck as Harry holds him as close as possible.

“I love you,” Harry whispers into his neck, pressing his cheek against the warm skin. This is home, right here in Ron’s arms. This is all the comfort he will ever need.

“I love you, too,” he whispers into Harry’s hair, holding him tight. Harry allows himself a deep breath as he takes all the comfort he can from Ron, all the comfort Ron’s told him time and time again he deserves, all the comfort that has allowed Harry to know what love is all about.

Also read on AO3

#2021harryronfest #harryronfest #playitaagain #ron weasley #harry potter #rarry #ronarry #hp #rarry fanfic #rarry fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry and ron #ron and harry #ron x harry #harry x ron #day 6 prompt

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 3 years

Text

butterfly effect: one

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Word Count: 6k+

Includes: mob!h, mentions of blood, scary dudes late at night, and the set up for my favourite story I’ve ever written!

A/N: guys I am so excited about this story! I swear writing this is the only thing holding me together (so don’t let it flop lmao). It is 2AM pray for me.

My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about this series! I love to gab, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I want this to be as good as possible!!

butterfly effect masterlist // my masterlist

now

It is not until it is already too late that I realise I should have just ordered an uber.

Alex was very insistent that I order one home from my late shift at the pub. He had even offered to split the cost, knowing without needing to ask this was the cause of my hesitation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Strictly speaking, I could. I was just keenly aware of the amount of material I could buy with the amount a late night uber in London would cost me. I would never take him up on his offer. He needed the money just as much as I did.

“It’s okay, I’m good for it,” I gave him a little smile. He was sitting in front of his mirror in his room, midway through getting ready for work. I had simply come to say goodbye before I left for my shift when he had grabbed me by the hand and demanded I ordered an uber home.

“Babe, you have to promise me.”

“I promise!” I stared exaggeratedly into his eyes as I spoke, emphasising my honesty.

In that moment, I made peace with the money I would be losing from my fabric budget. I calculated this budget, of course, by subtracting living expenses from my weekly income. My best friend wanted to make sure I got home safe, wanted the peace of mind while he was working that I would be fine. Who was I to say no to that?

“Make sure you text me when you get into the uber and once you make it up to the apartment.” My chest flooded with warmth at the love and care in his voice. It was moments like these I really sat back and thanked my lucky stars that Alex was in my life.

So, of course I was just going to bite the bullet and order the uber. Of course.

Except, well.

I couldn’t help but think how quickly I got from our place to work. We had picked the apartment just one short month ago, heavily considering the advantage of its walking distance to my work. The King’s Arms was just one block up and down the road. It was barely a fifteen-minute walk. Shorter than that if I took the shortcut down the alleyway back to our block, saving me from walking further down the road and looping back around. It would probably take me longer to get home via uber, once you account for the time spent waiting for it to arrive.

A ten-minute walk home wouldn’t kill me, surely.

The contemplation was pushed from my mind for the duration of my busy Saturday night shift. It was my least favourite shift of the week, as I spent each week chasing after middle aged men getting rowdy in the excitement of watching whatever sport was on TV. The King’s Arm was small, but it was a local favourite known for its homey pub meals, reasonably priced pints and good atmosphere. Much to my contempt they didn’t keep a large staff pool, preferring a smaller, well-trained, reliable bunch. Which was great in theory until it left me to run around like my hair is on fire on a night as busy as tonight.

I was capable of serving everyone well and in a timely manner, but it wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. More like a seven-hour long sprint, with a half hour break in the middle.

As the final game for the night ended, the crowd slowly but surely thinned until just a couple of small groups remained.

“Hey y/n, are you okay to lock up by yourself if I head home in five?” my manager, Rachel asked me half an hour before close. “I have some time I need to take back,” she added in explanation.

“Of course, you go get out of here.” I knew she wasn’t lying when she said she had some time to take back, putting in all sorts of extra hours to keep the place in tip top shape. I liked Nicola, and I had certainly been working there long enough to handle a couple of customers and lock up by myself. Even if I didn’t like Rachel and thought she was slacking off, I couldn’t exactly argue. She was both my boss and the owner’s daughter, probably not far off becoming the owner herself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyeing the few men still seated, probably triple checking she didn’t think they were any kind of threat.

“Yes,” I laughed, “now scram, before I change my mind.”

“Alright if you insist,” she said, already making her way towards her bag.

“Ring me if you need anything! Good night!” She called over her shoulder as she exited through the kitchen door. The cook had gone home ten minutes earlier, the pub serving only drinks the hour before close at midnight.

“Night!” I called back.

I made quick work of what little cleaning there was left to do, and gently reminded the remaining patrons we closed in half an hour. To my surprise they were agreeable and friendly, one of them instantly assuring me, “Don’t worry love we’ll be out of your hair soon, won’t make you stay back late.”

Usually the kind of people that were in the pub this late had no care for closing time, believing that pertained simply to whenever they decided they wanted to leave.

True to his word, everyone was out with ten minutes to spare and I was able to clean their dishes and tables with the remaining time they had granted me. I locked the door to The King’s Arms at 12 o’clock on the dot and riding the high of such an easy close, took not a moment in deciding I was in fact going to walk home.

To Alex: Just ordered an uber!

I felt guilty lying, but I would rather lie than have Alex worrying over nothing. I would be home in a flash, keys secured firmly in between my knuckles the whole way. I felt far safer on the move than waiting out the front of work for an uber anyway.

I kept a fast pace, left only to debate whether I took my shortcut or stuck to the street. I checked over my shoulder, and seeing absolutely no one around, made a quick right turn into the alleyway between two buildings.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as I heard the ding of a text notification. I glance down at my screen, reading as I walk.

From Alex: Amazing! I should be home in a couple hours, text me when you get home safe. Love you x

I don’t register the hushed growling tones as I continue making my way down the alley, still looking down at my phone as I type a simple ‘love you’ in reply. It isn’t uncommon to hear the conversations of tenants on the lower levels of these apartment buildings as you walk down the street. Walls are thin and many windows generally left open. It is easy to consign this particular conversation among the other non-threatening city sounds until I eventually look back up from my phone.

I am immediately faced with a most unfavourable scene, under the single light that illuminates this alley, are the two men who I now recognise to be the source of the argument I had barely registered. The first man is tall, dressed in all black, thick muscles protruding through his t-shirt. He towered over the second man who contrasted him starkly in his bright red adidas tracksuit. The tall man’s presence would be dominating the space, even if he didn’t have his dark forearm pressed firmly against the smaller man’s throat.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stopping myself from yelping stupidly and drawing attention to myself. They haven’t noticed my presence. A witness to whatever it was that was occurring here.

“See all I’m hearing is excuses, bruv,” the tall man’s accent is distinctly that of someone from South London. His tone is aggressive, but even. He knows he has the upper hand and it is clearly not his first rodeo threatening people. This is exactly the kind of person I could’ve avoided encountering by simply ordering an uber.

I snap out of my shocked daze and start to turn to make a swift and stealthy departure. I’m no fool. I know there is a definitive gang presence around here. I also know, if you leave them alone, they too shall (hopefully)leave you. All hopes of making such an exit are of course foiled as soon as my foot connects with an empty beer bottle on my first step.

The two men’s heads snap towards me instantly. I expect the shorter man to ask for help, to say something, but his mouth remains clamped shut. Gang business. He is in a bigger mess than someone like me can ever save him from. The taller man’s eyes narrow. After the briefest moments of standing there frozen, caught, I spin on my heel and run as fast as my feet can carry me.

I run back to the route I should have taken, cursing myself all the way for being naïve enough to believe that nothing bad could happen to me on something as simple as a walk home from work. That women who were raped, kidnapped and murdered from off the street were somehow removed from me. That was something only on the news in my world. Not something that was possibly about to occur.

My heart hammers in my chest as I make the split-second decision, I am safer running all the way home than running as far as I can from the scene of the crime. I’m going to run all the way up the stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, and I am going to lock the door behind me. I turn the corner back up to my block, not slowing down for a second.

I am so quick in fact, that as I come flying around the next corner towards my apartment, I nearly barrel straight into someone. He was clearly walking with some pace too, because he narrowly prevents us crashing into each other head on, but he is a second too slow in his reaction time because I trip straight over his feet. I hardly even see him, even as I am falling straight over him. All I see is brown hair and a dark suit before I’m staring straight at the pavement flying towards my face. I barely manage to throw my forearms out to break my fall as I hit the pavement at speed.

“Jesus,” the man mutters, but the only thing I can hear is my heavy breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

I’m on the ground now, I register for a second before my flight response kicks back in.

I don’t even feel the sting of the scrapes with the adrenaline coursing through me, already attempting to scramble up and get as far away as possible from this stranger. “I’m so sorry!” I manage to call as I pick myself and my keys up, gearing up to get moving once more.

“Honey?”

No. It absolutely could not possibly be. There was only one person on this planet who had ever called me by that name.

I stop dead in my tracks. That voice. It’s deeper than I remember but undoubtedly familiar. Familiar seems too simple a word. That voice had echoed around the halls of my brain for years. Even now, six years later, it was not gone but buried, waiting for a simple trigger to spark my memory and bring that beautiful sound back to the forefront my mind. Some days I swear I remembered it like I had just heard it moments ago.

Except now, I really had heard him.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Before he can verbalise any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, I grab his hand in my own, and yank him forward as I continue running home.

Realistically, I know that we now outnumber whoever it was that may be coming after me and I know even six years since I’ve last seen him, I am always safe with Harry. He proved that in many ways, and more than once, while I knew him. I was not, however, willing to risk the tall man pulling a knife on Harry. I didn’t even want to put him in a situation where it was a battle of fists. Though I did know from experience he could more than hold his own.

“What’s going on?” he yells as we run down the street, rapidly approaching the exit of the alleyway I had fled.

I gradually reduce our pace until we are speed-walking past the alleyway. Tempted as I am to see if they are still there, I keep my eyes trained forward, praying they aren’t there watching us as we pass by.

As soon as we have cleared it, I’m straight back to my running pace, forcing Harry to accelerate speed once more.

“I’ll explain inside,” I call over my shoulder in answer to his earlier question.

Now that I felt a degree safer with Harry’s presence, I had the capacity to feel thankful I had opted for a boiler suit and converse for tonight to accommodate for the Saturday night rush. This run would have been hell if I had worn a skirt and a heeled boot instead.

“Inside where?” He’s laughing as he speaks and as the fear loosens its grip on me, the déjà vu begins to battle for dominance. That laugh had brightened my every day for long enough to leave a mark on my soul. Fleeting as it was, that single sound reignited the shine it had once left.

His question was answered when we came to a screeching halt in front of my apartment. It took me two tries to input my security code correctly, my brain and hands both moving quickly, but not quite matching up. Eventually, the door clicked, and I was able to swing it open, tugging Harry in after me.

I didn’t stop dragging him along behind me until we had taken all five flights of stairs up to my apartment two at a time.

“y/n…” he attempted to grab my attention when we first entered the building, but I was not to be deterred until we had reached the absolute safety of my apartment. I shushed him, not wanting to receive a noise complaint from my new neighbours. I supposed having such a thought was a good sign, my consciousness beginning to register it was not in any imminent danger.

I huffed and puffed as we landed at the doorstep of apartment 5B, the place I loved to call home. Harry, I noticed, was barely short of breath. He had always been a runner when we were in high school. I wondered if he kept up the habit even now.

My hands shook as I located the correct key on my chain, body still shaking from the excitement of the events of the past five minutes. I struggled to align the key with the lock with my left hand, unthinking of the fact my right was still firmly in Harry’s hold.

“Let me,” he murmured, already moving his right hand to take the key. I said nothing, simply surrendering it over to him.

His hands were steady as anything as he turned the key, granting us entrance into my home. I released a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. I finally stopped just past the door, my back to Harry as he shut it behind him. I took a few deep breaths, trying so desperately to ground myself.

Was any of this even real? The sketchy characters I could believe in a heartbeat, Harry Styles’ presence, however, was harder to grasp.

But there his hand was, in my own, even if I couldn’t see him.

Harry stood back and let me take this moment to myself, keenly aware of how much I needed it. He knew I needed to take pause and re-centre myself otherwise I would only shut down. He was also aware of my injured state though, even if I wasn’t.

“y/n, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” my head snapped back to look at my arm. In the rush to get home, the blood from the scrapes on my arm had run down my arm and dripped into our connected hands. I quickly released my grasp on him. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“A little bit of blood never hurt anyone,” he quickly dismissed. “Unless you’re the one that’s bleeding, in which case you better get cleaned up as soon as possible.

“Luckily you have me here to play nurse. Just lead the way to the nearest bathroom,” he gave me a little cheeky grin, clearly trying to lift your spirits. The subtle playfulness is not as natural as it once was, but it is certainly reminiscent of our old dynamic. The surrealism of this whole thing goes straight to my head, clouding my ability to form full, coherent thoughts.

Somehow, I manage to come out with, “I think you mean our only bathroom,” in response.

He grunts a laugh, but he hasn’t missed the use of the word our.

I walk like a zombie, leading him through the hallway past the living room and the kitchen to the bathroom. I hold my forearms up in an attempt to redirect the flow of the blood and prevent it from dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. As I slowly came out of survival mode, my awareness of the stinging of my forearms became increasingly prominent. I was sure my hip and knees were going to be bruised pretty badly too. I really hadn’t managed to slow down at all before all my momentum came crashing into the cement.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He asks upon our arrival to the bathroom.

“Under the sink.”

My eyes trail over the mess Alex and I had left in our rush to get ready.

I tend to procrastinate getting ready for as long as possible, busying myself with just about anything else. Generally, it will be tidying up the mess I’ve made during the day, only for me to create a whole new one in my hurry to get ready for my shift on time. Alex on the other hand, always leaves plenty of time to perfect his look before leaving for the night. Despite having the time to do so, he never cleans as he goes. Leaving his many products and deliberated outfits spread far and wide. Luckily most of his mess was confined to his bedroom, the only trace of him in the bathroom skincare and hair products (though there wasn’t a limited amount of those, either).

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I speak quietly watching Harry get his bearings, standing helplessly as I bled, hands still raised.

“Nonsense,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks, jumping into action.

Harry turns the faucet on in the sink before opening the cupboard door and grabbing the first aid kid out. It was actually sort of a miracle Alex and I had one. It had been on a list of “Things You Need for a New Apartment” I had googled, scared we were missing important things. At the time, I had deliberated longer than necessary over whether to get one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had required anything more than a band aid for any given ailment. The deciding factor had been the memory of Alex getting into a couple of scrapes while out over the years. It had never been anything major, the worst injury he ever sustained being a bruised jaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry, I decided.

Turns out, that decision was for the best.

He gently touches his fingertips to my right arm, which had copped the brunt of it. With the softest touch, he delicately guided my arm under the stream of water. As I stepped forward to lean over the sink and wash away the dirt of the footpath, he stepped backwards, giving me my space.

I winced at the initial contact of the water as it ran red. I risked a glance at my reflection. Sweaty brow, the light lazy work makeup I had applied half off my face. I quickly diverted my gaze back to my injured arm. This was not exactly how I pictured our reunion. I had hardly ever even pictured it, I was so sure that I would never see Harry again.

I wondered if this silence was as heavy as I thought it was. Everything about him felt so familiar, yet so different. Up until this moment it felt like being in the presence of a friend, but now I realised, he was closer to a stranger.

I knew the person he once was, a sweet but fucked up kid who had been forced to become a man too early. Someone who had his walls a mile high around almost everyone. Almost. The boy who painted his nails on lunch breaks and was friends with everyone but somehow also no one. Until he was friends with me. Then he was the boy who always sat to my left from the first bell of the school day to the last. Back then, I knew him from the inside out, just as he knew me.

He was my greatest joy of those years. Then he was my greatest heartbreak. Now, he was just some guy I used to know who I had plucked straight up off the street, looking very out of place in what was clearly a designer suit in my tiny apartment.

He looked through the first aid kit as I ensured the entirety of the scrape was rinsed. It extended most of the way from my elbow to my wrist, but more pressingly in my mind, it now stung like a bitch. Once the water rain clear as it ran off my arm, I moved onto the much smaller and shallower scrape on my left elbow, working quickly to get it clean.

Most of the bleeding had stopped, only a few spots on my right arm still dotting with blood. I leaned over the sink to prevent the water from dripping onto the floor.

I cleared my throat, nervous to break the silence.

“Can you please grab me that towel?” I nodded my head towards the black hand towel hung behind Harry.

His eyes snapped upwards from the first aid kit he had been busying himself with. I was sure he had been surveying it more thoroughly than strictly necessary, trying to detract from the awkward energy which had crept up on us. We made brief eye contact through the mirror. My breath caught in my throat. The moment was over as soon as it began as he turned wordlessly to grab the towel.

He holds it in his hand, hesitating before handing it over, “Did you want me to…?” he trails off, growing awkward in his offer. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She barely knows you, back off, he tells himself.

“No that’s okay,” I speak gently, and he quickly passes the towel to me. I get to work patting my arms down delicately.

“Thank you though,” I add, hating the unsure look on his face. I meet his eye, giving him a smile I hope is reassuring.

“Okay, let’s get you sitting down so I can fix you up,” he returns your smile with a slight upturn of the right side of his mouth.

I relocate to the little dining table Alex and I had bought at Ikea just a week prior. Harry isn’t far behind, washing his hands before joining me to tend to my wounds. He lays out everything he is going to need from the first aid kit before holding his hand out. Like an idiot, I stare at his hand without moving for a beat too long before jerkily offering my right arm up.

He laughs silently as he turns my arm over, analysing it carefully.

“So, do you often go for runs at midnight?” He asks as he unscrews the lid on the Vaseline.

“Yeah all the time. I just don’t normally take people from the street with me.”

“Is that all I am? A person on the street?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I can tell he was hurt by my choice of words.

I expect to feel guilty, but a burst of anger I thought I had long gotten over flares in my chest. It isn’t as red hot and overwhelming as it had been years before – I’d definitely had my fair share of time to cool off – but I’m still surprised by the sting of it.

He was the one that made himself a stranger to me, and now he’s upset when I’m stating the fact that he made a reality.

Despite myself, I tried not to come across too harshly in my response. I was never one for confrontation.

“I mean, I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

He is very careful not to lift his eyes from my injuries as he carefully applies the petroleum jelly. I stare down at him, desperate to catch his eye.

There’s a pause as I wait for him to offer some kind of explanation. Some perfectly good reason why my best friend and first love left town without telling me why, or where he was going, and then never contacted me again.

When he doesn’t fill the silence, I sigh as quietly as I can manage. You don’t really know him, I remind myself. I practically kidnapped him, I can’t just go asking him to rehash history. It was so clear that he was what he had wanted me to be. History.

“I just mean, I don’t really know you anymore. I’m sorry I grabbed you like that, I just,” I hissed at the sting of his first aid, “I was walking home from work and I saw these really sketchy looking guys.”

“Sketchy looking?” He finally looked up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well I guess they didn’t really look sketchy in their appearance particularly, it was more the fact that one of them was practically choking the other. They were arguing over something. I think it was something to do with some of the gangs around here,” I attempted a nonchalant tone, not wanting to worry him. The less phased I seemed, the better. I had caused him enough trouble. The only thing that was probably stopping him from running for the hills and never looking back (again) was guilt.

I go on to explain how I’d kicked that stupid beer bottle and taken off running, “which is when I ran into you. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I’m so glad I didn’t take you down with me I think I would’ve died of a mix of guilt and embarrassment right then and there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ho-“he cut himself before his mouth could form that name he had so affectionately given you. “I’m the one who feels guilty, if not for my big, slow feet you wouldn’t have bit the dust.” I laugh at his turn of phrase.

His face suddenly grows serious. “Your head is okay, right?”

Instinctively, my left hand shoots up to the back of my head, ghosting over the slight bump hidden under my hair. The scar tissue was ever so minimally raised, only perceptible to a knowing touch. I retract my hand bashfully, slightly embarrassed by my knee jerk reaction.

“It’s fine,” I match his serious tone, before lightening it up, “as you can see, I managed to break most of my fall,” I gesture to my right arm he has paused work on.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, discerning whether he thinks I am downplaying anything. He picks up the dressing, moving onto the next phase of his treatment plan.

“And they don’t feel broken? You can move your wrists okay without too much pain?”

My heart swells at his concern. I stamp out the small joy as soon as it flared up. It’s guilt that’s fuelling him. Nothing else.

I shake my head no. He looks up once more, having missed the gesture in his concentration. “Sorry! No. All bumps and bruises. I’m fine honestly, I probably majorly overexaggerated the whole thing and freaked out for nothing. I’m really sorry about all this, its so late at night.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says firmly. “It’s not your fault and you did exactly the right thing by making a break fo’ it. You never know what could’ve happened. Ya’ know. Out late. By yourself. In the dark.”

My face burned red with shame, but also defiance. I knew what I did was stupid and extremely risky, but I also didn’t think I needed a lecture about it in this moment. The fear still coursing through me and my scraped-up arms were surely lesson enough.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I countered.

We both knew my argument didn’t hold up very well. He was a man out alone at night. There was obviously a risk there, but it wasn’t the same.

We also both knew, I wasn’t really trying to start a debate. Just signalling to him I didn’t want to get into it and wanted to move on.

“I was walking to the tube from a mate’s place,” he explained simply, letting me off the hook.

He had begun to tape the dressing down to my skin, securing it safely. He worked expertly. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have said this was one of many times he had done some at home first aid.

“In a designer suit?” I questioned. There were two things I was asking, but also not saying. Was this the kind of ‘mate’ you wine and dine before going home with them? And what happened to that poor kid from Holmes Chapel I once knew?

“I came straight from work.”

Jesus he wasn’t giving me a lot to work with in the way of details.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not wanting to pry. As much as I could tell myself (and him) that I didn’t really know him anymore and he was basically a stranger, it still hurt to be treated like one. We used to be so open with one another. The one thing I ever kept from him was how I truly felt about him.

“I work in finance,” he offers up after a beat of silence. “It uh- I’m pretty lucky to have the job I do,” he alludes to his financial standing, obviously wanting to acknowledge the contrast comparative to how I knew him. A boy not even of eighteen, fending for himself while trying to complete his high school education.

My face practically split in two with the size of the smile on my face at his words. “I’m so happy for you, Harry,” I say, hoping he can see how genuinely I mean it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy, H?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Internally, I kick myself. Externally, I try to keep my face neutral, yet interested. That’s a perfectly normal question to ask. Totally.

“Um,” he switches to my left elbow, making quicker work of the smaller wound. “I think so. In my experience you never realise how happy you are until you aren’t. But still, I think I am.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” He turns the questioning back on you. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know. The sad story of the girl chasing a dream,” I nodded my head towards the sewing machine stationed at the other end of the table.

“Don’t say that!” His tone jests, but he is serious as he speaks. “I think it would be far sadder if I discovered that your talent was going to waste. I’m really glad to hear that actually,” he half says the last sentence to himself, concentrating on fixing his dressing properly on the more difficult angle of my elbow.

“There you go,” he gleams as he admires his handy work. “Good as new.”

“Thank you so much, Harry. I’m so sorry for all this-“

“Not your fault,” he quickly dismisses.

“Even so, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll pay for an uber home for you or something,” I try to come up with something to offer him that can even begin to repay him for his help.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” His brow creases in concern.

“Oh, Alex should be-“ I smack a hand over my mouth, realising I never texted him to let him know I had gotten home okay.

“Oh fuck,” I remove my hand from my mouth. I gingerly fish my phone out of my back pocket, muscles beginning to protest, the impact of that fall settling in.

Four missed calls and a flurry of text messages. My phone had automatically turned onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode as scheduled at 12:30. I hadn’t been notified of any of it and he had definitely assumed the worst.

“Is everything okay?”

“I forgot to text him and let him know I made it home okay,” I don’t look up as I speak, opening our text chat.

From Alex: I’m coming home

Received ten minutes ago.

“Your boyfriend?” He questioned, keeping his face impassive. That had my head shooting up.

“Uh-“ I began, but cut myself off as the unmistakeable sound of heeled feet running up the stairs to our apartment ran out loud and clear.

Shit.

Before I could even think what to say next, Alex’s key was in the lock. The door swung open, smacking the wall with the force of it.

Both Harry and Alex’s brows hit their bloody hairline I swear. Or more accurately, Lexie’s.

There my best friend and roommate stood, in full drag, light catching the sequins of the pink mini-dress I had sewn myself. If I weren’t standing there with the guiltiest expression of my life, I would be thinking about how stunning she looked.

Harry looked between the two of you, as Lexie did the same. Both trying to catch their brains up to what they were seeing. I myself was at a loss for words. I probably should have started with, “Lex, I am so sorry,” but Harry broke the silence first.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he breathed, transfixed by the look Lexie had created. Drag was an art form, and she was quite the artist. He was not the first to become enchanted upon first look, and he certainly would not be the last.

Lexie narrowed her eyes at Harry, jaw falling slightly open at the audacity of the acknowledgement in this moment. She had little patience for besotted strangers in moments like this. Her narrowed eyes moved to mine, face filling with rage.

“Lex-“ I begin, but am cut off for what seems to be the millionth time tonight with the simple raise of her hand. The close of my mouth is instant. I was not about to make this any worse.

“Bitch, if you do not have a very good explanation for this,” she breathes deeply, trying to gain her composure, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

********

As soon as he is out of your apartment and onto the street, his phone is in his hand. Fingers not able to press to type the message fast enough for his liking.

From Harry: We need to talk. I saw her.

As soon as the message was delivered, he was returning the calls he had silenced in y/n’s presence. The moment she had turned her back and left him to wash his hands, he had turned his phone to airplane mode.

“Jesus Christ bruv, I thought you were dead,” Michael joked as soon as he picked up.

The two of them had parted ways for what should’ve been five or ten minutes. Harry hadn’t seen it happen, just heard the clatter of the beer bottle as it skated along the ground and the screeching halt in the argument. He had been waiting patiently for Michael to finish working in the shadowy doorway to the side. He hadn’t seen a thing, and he was sure from his concealed position, whoever had seen Mike hadn’t seen him. So, he obligingly offered to take a walk, ensure she hadn’t gone calling the police.

He had just been bored. Ready to go home and have a drink with Michael so he could have a bitch and a moan about work. It always left him feeling better when he returned on Monday. He was killing time, that was all. He hadn’t expected to stumble over the girl who had changed everything.

Harry didn’t take time to explain his extended absence, moving straight along to what he had called for. Just like Mike, he preferred to skip the pleasantries.

“I need you to subtly divert as much traffic from this block as possible,” he didn’t ask. He never asked. It was always an instruction with him. In this business, asking nicely didn’t exactly lend itself to going far.

“What’s this about?” Harry gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy having his authority questioned. The only reason Michael would get away with it was because of their pre-existing friendship. Even then. Harry was not exactly in a forgiving mood. Made all the worse when Mike added, “This isn’t about that girl from the alley is it?”

Michael had his answer when Harry said only, “Get it done or I’ll have your fookin’ head.”

chat with me about butterfly effect!

176 notes · View notes

babytaes · 3 years

Text

Don’t Leave Me

➳ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Over the past two years, the apocalypse has been raging, food has become scarce, and security has weakened. Will you survive as a small town girl living in a small apartment with your college best friend?

❥ 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: hoshi x female reader

❥ 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: zombie apocalypse au, suggestive/smut, angst, fluff,

❥ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 6k

❥ 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Trigger Warning- Death and use of Gun. There are some smut scenes so if you are not comfortable please do not engage. Other than that enjoy.- BT

➳ part of the song series

↳ I used to be so happy

But without here I feel so low

I watched you as you left but I can never seem to let you go.

If you had told me that the world will end in a few days, I would have told you that you were insane and that you should stop believing in government-created conspiracy theories.

The looming fact that her life was now ended and her dream was broken would have made old me giggle and shake her head. So much for my desire to be a doctor.

You didn't grow up believing in a zombie apocalypse or the end of the world, so you weren't prepared for this. You would have preferred to go out in a more pleasant manner.

It was wonderful to have some company to keep you sane during the end of the world as we know it, despite the fact that you and Soonyoung had been imprisoned up in this miserable flat for so long.

Today was the day, the one-year anniversary of the beginning of it all. The date is June 17, 2023. You recall the event as if it were yesterday. A day that began unlike any other.

Today was just another day, with loud music booming through the closed doors as you both changed for the day. It was routine: get up, go to work, eat a meal, and return home. There wasn't a lot of variation in either of your days.

There were days when things were entertaining, but life was monotonous in general, and you both wanted something to liven things up!

“Heyyy can you please turn your music down just a smidge, I’m trying to do my eyeliner and it's making my hand shaky.” You laughed at Soonyoung's response as he shouted out to you from the other room.

“Oh, so they're not supposed to look bad,” says Soonyoung. Your basic talent has nothing to do with the music.”

Fluffing out your hair and setting down your makeup brushes you trudge over to his room and rapped on his door, arms crossed and mentally preparing for his cheeky comments.

He leaned against the door frame after opening the door and staring at your stiff physique. You gulped as you examined his toned physique; there was something about his physique that drove you insane.

“Keep your eyes up here, princess.” As you smirked at his movement, he titled your chin. Your brushed past him and landed on his unmade bed, pushing him to the side. He laughed as he closed the door and resumed his preparations.

“So, Mr. Bodybuilder, what's on your plan today?” He spun around in his chair, palms on his thighs, cocking his head, chuckling at your inquiry.

“Well, I have some new dance students to coach until noon, but after that, I'm free.” Jihoon, on the other hand, had requested a meeting to work on various projects.”

As you flung a thumb up, you shook your head, taking in what he had to say and mentally organizing it in your thoughts. You let out a long yawn as you stretched your sluggish body, unwilling to face the day.

Soonyoung coughed and looked at you with an open mouth.

“Since it's just ten o'clock, I had a plan before we took on the world. “Do you think you're up for it?”

As the air in the room became tense, you sat up on the palms of your hands and crossed your legs, watching his behavior.

“You know I'm up for anything,” As you scoot back on his bed, you wink at him. As he lingered over you, Soonyoung stood up from his chair, chuckling.

He kissed your collarbone and ran his fingers over it, absorbing up all the energy you were releasing.

“After I'm done with you, you might have to fix your eyeliner.” You flung your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you because you both knew you were going to wind up in this situation sooner or later.

“This is going to be a lot of fun.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” You retorted

As you hungrily stripped each other's clothes, you both started kissing each other, not splitting lips. His hands flew to your body to assist you in getting naked as quickly as possible. You sat up on your elbow, whimpering under his touch, undoing his belt.

Soonyoung was the sort to take his time when he was praising you, but as he pressed lips lightly on your core, you grew impatient. Thankfully, the time limit was short, so he set right to work, not wanting to waste this opportunity.

As your body jumped, he began to press kisses on your inner thighs while grabbing your breasts and rolling them.

You grumbled, “Fuck Soonyong,” as you pressed up against him, begging for more. As you peered up at him, his tongue touched your core, and he laughed.

“You're already a mess for me; look how drenched you are.”

He checked the dampness within by sticking his finger inside. You nudge him in the stomach as you hit his head, no longer whining.

“So help me, if you don't fuck me already. You're lucky I'm horny; else, I'd have taken care of myself by now.”

“Is my baby needy…?” As he thrashed two fingers in your wet folds, you whimpered as your body reacted nicely. As he pressed his digits deeper into you, your stomach began to erupt as your high drew near.

“Please, a-ah, f-faster.

“Patience, honey, I want you to cum on my dick.” As you felt empty, he pulled his fingers out, and you opened your eyes to find him yanking his underwear off and discarding it to the side.

You cry as he tempts your core before gently pressing into you and allowing you to adjust before proceeding.

Soonyoung grins as he angles himself to drive himself into you.

“Mmmhmm-ah Soonyoung, t-there!” As he repeatedly hits your g-spot, your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, I can feel you tightening your grip on me. Darling, let me fill you up.”

“Yes, y-yes please.

As soon as he feels his climax coming on, Soonyoung fucks you faster. With a low sigh, he tightened his fingers around you. As he touched your area one time, he moaned out his name.

You gasped, desperately shouting out his name as your orgasm poured over you, forcing you to squirm as Soonyoung held you down and coated the insides of your body.

As you both fell back on the bed panting and relaxing your bodies, your name slipped from your lips. He kissed your forehead as you slowly turned over and let out a quiet groan once you had calmed yourself.

“Wow!”

“I know, speechless; it's one of my many skills.” Rolling off the bed and hurriedly picking up the stray clothing. Throwing his at him, you put on your underpants as you gathered the rest of your belongings and walked towards the door.

You turned back as you approached the door and winked at him before closing it.

He sighed, a broad grin creeping across his face.

“Oh the things I would do for her.”

---

Walking to work wasn't always so unpleasant, especially when you were accompanied by a talkative companion. It made the journey seem more annoying, enjoyable.

“Do you actually believe the government will do something like that? To their own citizens?’’

Hoshi scowled at you through his thick sunglasses as he went to take them off. He rolled his eyes and walked right up to you after opening the door in front of him.

“Unquestionably, the government is capable of anything. Nothing will be able to stop them from achieving their objective if they have one. All I'm saying is that we must exercise caution.”

“You and your irrational ideas. Stop watching Jerry Mason; he's simply fueling your fire.”

When you arrived at your location, you came to a halt, clocking in and retrieving some files that had been left over from the night before. You sat down and exhaled deeply as you entered your temporary office.

“Do you think this is even worth it?”

Soonyoung frowned and moved over to you, kneeling to get a better look at your troubled expression. He knew you'd be exhausted, and all he could do was be there for you.

It dawned on you when you were young that you wanted to be a pediatrician. It felt as if you were born to do this. You'd always adored children, seeing their faces light up when you offered them assistance or simply being there for them when they needed it. Despite the fact that you had just completed an eight-year school career, you still had three years left.

Regardless of what happened, you were going to make it.

“Hey, look at me.” As your eyes meet in the middle, he caresses your face.

“You got this; the long night of studying and grieving was for naught-" You smiled as you snickered at his remarks and allowed him to continue.

“This will be a breeze for you; the difficult portion has already been completed. All we have to do now is get through this summer together before moving on to the next level. Okay?”

As you rubbed his shoulders, he tenderly caressed your cheek and pulled you in for a forehead kiss.

“Thank you, Soo.”

As you jumped from your seat, you both heard a cough out of nowhere. As Soonyoung stood up and adjusted himself, you let out an uneasy laugh at your boss.

“I apologize if I interrupted anything, but we need to talk about the intern program with you.”

You coughed and tidied up as you walked to the door with him, shaking your head quickly. As you strolled down the corridor, trekking away to another room, you blew Soonyoung a kiss before leaving.

You noticed a man coughing on his approach towards you as you made your way to the rear room. He tripped towards you and grabbed your arm as he gathered his breath, his face showing symptoms of tiredness and worry.

“So-Sorry” He leapt to his feet and dashed out the rear entrance, out of the building and into his car.

You walked into the room, indifferent to his cries, and said, "No problem." While sitting next to the employers, you shook your head and took a long breath.

Many subjects were explored as the meeting progressed. One of the most crucial was when we would begin exercising our skills. Despite the fact that we still had schoolwork to complete, the boss had opted to get some exercise.

“It won't take long, but I want you to think about why you picked this profession. You understand why this is your calling and are free to write as much as you want about it. I'll be gracious and recommend that only one page be required. I'm excited for these papers, and it's a nice day today, so you may take the afternoon off.”

As everyone walked out of the room, loud whoops and hurrahs swept across the room, signaling that the weekend had arrived. As we were all leaving the room, you came to a halt and gazed out the building's window at a scene.

You saw a major shift in the man before you. As he smacked his head against the frame of his car, he twitched and screamed. You took a step forward, scrunching your brows and covering your mouth.

It all happened too quickly as the suddenly insane man leaped onto the nearest person and began biting them. You shuddered in terror as you hurried out of the room, falling back on your butt.

You yelled out to everyone, telling them about the man and his odd actions. Not only did you notice another woman twitching in the rear, but you also learned on the news that it was starting to happen all around.

*News* “Hello, this is NTC News, and we have just received word that unknown persons have been bitten and are biting others. Please don't stop for these people; we want everyone to get to safety as soon as possible. They are harmful to your health and can even kill you. We implore you once more to ge-”

As everyone gazed in horror, his voice was cut short. You yelled as you noticed a woman approaching the group after a man leapt on him and began biting him.”

“You guys heard him, runnnnn.”

You studied a puzzled Soonyoung as he waved to you, avoiding the crowd. You gently peered out the door, grabbing his hand and some items from your desk, and found it to be secure.

“What is going on, Y/N?”

“When we get home, I'll explain; we've been exposed here.”

As you ran down the corridor, panicked at the sight of the outside world, you took the emergency exit as you exited the back door. It was in shambles; they were swarming everywhere. Soonyoung kissed your hand and dashed through the horde, dodging stray onlookers.

It felt like you and he were in a movie, running and evading attacks and bleeding faces as they wiped out the people in front of you. You didn't know if you'd make it, but you clutched his hand as you rushed up the stairs to your apartment building.

As Soonyoung looked at you, you took your key and held it between your fingers.

“Are you ready for what we'll find when we get in here?”

Shaking your head, you hastily pecked his cheek before sprinting into the apartment complex and towards your room.

(Present Time, 2 years later )

Wasn't it supposed to be a typical day? In our town, nothing strange ever happens. Life had taken a different path and decided to run amok, and it didn't feel right to you or anybody else.

“Y/N, we have to leave; you're coming this time.”

“Yeah I’m coming” Soonyoung was strapping on his utility belt and grabbing his homemade weapon when you shot him a glare. “I know what you're thinking, and you're completely incorrect.”

He threw you the bat and also strapped you into your armor, shocked by your tone.

“We've been in this apartment for a long time, yet you still think I'm wrong. Hmm, it sounds amusing.”

Chuckling at his antics you quickly heard a voice on the other side as you both went silent. The sound of moaning and groaning never grew on you; hearing them reminded you of who they were before they transformed.

Where they are aspiring actors ready to take on the stage or innocent children on their way to school. It wasn't fair.

“This may be the most practical weapon, but it'll look pretty impressive if I can kill a zombie with it.” You giggle as you swing your bat in the air.

“I’m wondering how long I should leave you before I intervene and save your ass — again.” As he held the walkie up to his ear, Soonyoung heard a beep before tapping you.

“On the walkie, we got the all clear Y/N. It's time."

Shaking your head at him, you tightened your grip on the bat and went out the door gently, looking around to make sure no one was nearby. You and him did this on a regular basis when you were out scrounging around for anything. You know signs of life.

You and he discovered a group of survivors in your building as the outbreak was spreading for the past two years. It was a blessing to find individuals alive in this place attempting to survive; even though we only see them when we schedule weekly meetings, it's great to hear their voices every now and again.

“This is GoldenFox on level 6, and there are no zombies on this floor as far as we can detect. It is okay to proceed.”

After fully exiting the room, you placed a finger crossed kiss on the door frame. As you both made your way to the nearby stairwell, you turned around and observed his six.

To Survive a Zombie Apocalypse, Rule 21 is to Avoid Taking the Elevator. Stairs are your best friend.

Soonyoung crept over to the door, slightly cracked it open, and motioned you over after noticing no unusual activity. Shaking your head, you entered the stairwell straight behind him, pointing your bat in the direction of the vacant stairwell.

Slowly creeping up the stair the lights flickered on and off as you saw dried blood stains on the wall. You could never get over the fact that bodies were gruesomely taken as you approached the sixth floor entrance door.

When you walked out the door, you were greeted by a familiar sight.

“Hey guys, it's been a long time since we've seen one other.”

As he strolled alongside the girl, Soonyoung reached for your hand and gripped it tightly. She was escorting us to the survivors' debriefing meeting, or at least the ones who could make it.

“Hey Chae, how are you doing?” As a frightened expression washed across her face, you began to explain.

“Well, it hasn't been good; are supplies are rapidly depleting, and security is deteriorating. Tae-ho will elaborate, but things aren't looking good.”

You drew Soonyoung closer to you when you arrived at the correct door, pushed it open, and saw friendly faces.

“Ahh, here comes the couple; please take a seat; we have some business to discuss.”

You smiled and sat down next to Soonyoung, coughing softly before listening to Tae-ho's concerns.

“Because of a lack of hands and space, our inside and outside forces have been swiftly diminishing as the virus has become more prevalent in our area. We haven't been able to communicate with the military in a long time, and we're in serious trouble. Finally, I convened this meeting because we are in need of volunteers for a job tomorrow. We needed to connect our generator to the electricity grid, but it was out of juice.”

When you look around the troubled faces, you find that no one wants to look Tae-ho in the eyes, which is understandable. Isn't it normal not to endanger your life? Although, prior to all of this, you would have been ready to seize such an opportunity. Whatever it takes to help the community.

Soonyoung raises his hand after only a few seconds have passed. As he looks at you with his tiger-like gaze, you jerk to the right and broaden your eyes.

“What...no one else was willing to help.” Besides, instead of being locked up with you all day, it would be good to get out.”

As you rolled your eyes at him, you gave him a smack on the arm.

“Jerk,” you sneered, before slumping back in your chair and allowing Tae-ho to continue.

“Anyway, Soonyoung, Chan-woo, and Jong-ho have offered. Is there another volunteer who wants to join them?”

“Fine, I'll go,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes and pursing your lips.

Low shouts of cheer rushed in the room as the teams were set for the trip tomorrow.

“Okay great, meetings adjourned. We go after the sun rises since the walkers get up early in the morning. So by ten o'clock, I'd like you to be packed and ready to travel. Soonyoung is the trip's leader, so pay attention to him.”

“Did you actually just call zombies ‘walkers'? God, you're having much too much fun.”

As he stood up, Tae-ho burst out laughing and ordered everyone to scram. Everyone in the room agreed and began filing out of the room, returning to their lowly abodes. You grabbed Soonyoung's hand and squeezed it strongly.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“I don't know, I guess I just wanted to annoy you.” You rolled your eyes and smirked, your arms crossed in front of his face, pouting.

“Don't be like that, you know I was joking.”

Hiding his smirk he gazed at your eyes before kissing you all over.

“Stop,” you said, flailing your arms in an attempt to free yourself from his grasp. As he sighed, you completely surrendered and let him rest on you.

“Well, at the very least, we'll be going on a mission together tomorrow.” I was wondering whether you were planning on attending. But I'm glad you are.” He looked down at your lovely state.

You wrapped your arms over his neck and placed your hands on either side of his ears, narrowing the distance between you and him.

“Mmmh”

You were both shocked when Tae-ho coughed loudly, interrupting your conversation.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He laughed as he walked out the door, waving his hand in the air and said in a girlish tone.

“Oh, I love you, no, I love you,” You both laughed as you flipped him off, then grabbed your bags and walked down the stairs to your apartment floor.

Soonyoung arrived safely at your door, opened it, and swiftly shut it while he stripped you and him of your clumsy armor.

“Is this a make-up for the earlier remark or...?” Soonyoung kissed you and dragged you closer to the bedroom, soon shutting you up with a kiss.

Despite the horrible cries of walkers reminding you of what you were now living in, the night was young. When you glanced at Soonyoung, though, all of your worries and fears vanished because he made you feel safe no matter what was going on outside.

Soonyoung wrapped his arms around your waist and said quietly, “You're more lovely than anything else in this whole big universe.”

“Not more lovely than you, my baby,” you muttered as his handsome face drew you in closer.

Soonyoung chuckled and kissed your lips before resting his brow on yours and closed his eyes.

“I love you,” he said softly.

You grinned and pulled him in for a genuine kiss, saying, "I love you more than anything."

He nipped your bottom lip, eliciting a little whimper from you before sliding his tongue inside your mouth and kissing you hungrily, exploring every inch of you.

As a sticky pool formed between your legs, you could feel his hardening cock pressing against your thigh. You drew him upon you, already undressed, as he teasingly kissed your body.

You looked up at his toned figure, appreciating his abs as you ran your fingers on his solid stomach, your mouth watering because you knew this was just for your eyes. Soonyoung lifted your chin softly as you locked eyes.

“I'm not sure whether you're up for it, but I'm in the mood.”

“When are you ever not horny?” you asked, laughing. “I'm actually fairly hit, but I don't mind helping you feel good.”

The pupil of his eyes dilated. As you opened your eyes and looked up at him, he rapidly flipped you around.

“Oooh my favorite.”

Slowly, you slid onto his throbbing member and began to move; it was almost like muscle memory for your mouth as it went to work right away.

As tears began to collect at the corners of your eyes, you felt his palm on your hand, almost like clockwork, guiding you down.

“Yes, baby...right there,” As his movement became jerky, he mewled. As you looked up at his trembling form, you chuckled.

Your name falls from his lips as his dick twitches in your mouth one last time before filling you up with his warm seed.

He drew you closer to him and kissed you for the twentieth time tonight when he cooled down.

“Ahh, I'll never get bored of that,” As he tenderly caressed your cheek, he complimented you.

“It is my area of expertise.”

As your eyelids began to drop, you both chuckled. You mumbled into his warm chest as you nestled closer to him.

“Goodnight, my love,”

“Princess, good night.” He drew the blankets over your nude bodies, blew out the melting candles, and brought you closer to him, pressing one last kiss on your forehead. Allowing sleep to take control, the sound of his heartbeat and soft breath soothed you as you drifted off.

---

Thanks to the large windows, you were both awakened by the warm sun as it crept into the room, bringing the warmth and light needed for the day.

You snuggled closer to your love and crawled on top of him, sighing, as your tired eyes adjusted to the light.

“Hmm honey, we have to get up.” He began to get out of bed as you begged him not to leave you.

“5 more minutes,” you said as you drew his arm back and began kissing him on the arm and neck. He hauled you on his back, dropping you at the bathroom and making his way to the kitchen, smirking at your game.

“Get ready; I'm going to try to come up with something other than canned corn and rice.”

With a shake of your head, you took out the ladle and water bucket and began scooping up water for your shower. You quickly became accustomed to this way of life. You did miss your warm baths and your once-weekly takeout. At the very least, you had Soonyoung to help you get through it.

Stepping into the shower, you cleansed your body while singing a song; today would be a regular day. After a fast mission, the rest of the day would be laid-back, with nothing too serious on the agenda.

“LOVE GUESS WHAT I FOUND IN THE FREEZER, SOME FROZEN KIMCHI.” You giggled as you walked out of the bathroom in a towel, seeing how thrilled he was.

“I'm surprised it's still good; the freezer went out about two weeks ago.” He carefully set the chilly container down and pretended to choke while pinching his nose.

“At the very least, we got rice.”

“You can never go wrong with some fresh steamed rice.”

Before walking back to your shared room and locking the door to get dressed, you kissed Soonyoung on the cheek.

You pulled on some old sweatpants and a worn-out shirt and checked your appearance in the table stand's cracked mirror. You came to a halt as you looked around the once-bustling room, stunned at the extent to which an outbreak can devastate a space.

After giving it one last look, you stepped out the door, sat down at the table, and took a taste of the rice with a fork. Soon after, Soonyoung returned from the cabinet and sat down, smiling.

“I found some seaweed wraps stashed away. I mean, it's not that horrible; it should still taste fine after two years.”

Taking the package from his grip and swiftly opening it, you were greeted by the salty sea aroma as you both savored every last bite.

“Dig in!”

After devouring your meal you and he got prep and dress for your trek this morning. Making your rounds around the house one more time Soonyoung grabbed your hand and exited the apartment.

“Well, the generator site is 3 miles from camp, and if we get there quickly enough, it will only last around 45 minutes. But that's just if we find another generator; it could take an hour or so.” As you looked around, you noticed your team's expressions as they tried to understand what Tae-ho was saying.

“Finally, the path you're travelling is a back road, which, while riskier than the street, provides more area to hide if walkers are noticed. I believe you can all do it; everyone will have walkie-talkies, so don't hesitate to call if anything goes wrong.”

Soonyoung grinned and shook his head as he counted his teammates and exited through the rear door. Before he left the building, Tae-ho grabbed him and handed him a pistol in case things went wrong.

“I know what's going to be out there, and I just wanted to let you know that if things go south, I won't hesitate to save you,” you said, thanking Tae-ho and pulling Soonyoung to the side. I know you're thinking the same thing, but these folks rely on you and your abilities, and I don't want to be in the way if something goes wrong."

“Don't even say that Y/N we're going to make it back safely all in one piece everyone of us,” he said as he pulled you in for a hug and lifted your face to stare at him.

“If you say so but still-”

“Shh, let's just concentrate on our mission and be ready, okay?”

As you gathered the rest of the squad for a group huddle, you rested your hands on each other and said a quick prayer before shouting, "Let's go!" Tae-ho waved goodbye to you before closing the door behind you.

There was no going back now; it was now or never.

To ensure that everyone was safe, everyone had their backs covered just in case we were ambushed. You ran following Soonyoung, heavily gasping, as he dodged in and out of the automobiles and debris strewn everywhere. As we neared a small group of walkers, he came to a complete stop and raised his hand, motioning for us to move to the left.

These walkers were not your typical zombies; they had a poor sense of sight but a keen sense of smell and hearing, allowing them to track down humans even when they were not visible. Aside from that, they were normally fast, not lightning fast, but fast enough to put anyone who wasn't lightning fast to the test.

We were wary because we didn't know what kind of zombies we'd encounter. Tae-ho insisted on dousing us in a spray that penetrated their senses and messed with them for a while. Despite the fact that it smelled terrible, it kept us secure for the most part. All we had to do was spray it on ourselves every 30 minutes to keep the aroma from wearing off.

Soonyoung pulls the group around him, whispering, “We have about 2 miles to go until we reach the first checkpoint; we can stop at the old home on the right.” We shook our heads and waited for his next call, pointing to the house ahead of us.

“I want Y/N and Chan-woo to go first, to get to the building, and to keep an eye out for us when we arrive.”

As you carefully rushed to the building, you looked at Chan-woo and pulled him up, afraid of the walkers behind you. The next two were up as they quickly walked by the walkers, signaling that you had made it safely to the house.

“All right, get whatever supplies you can find and meet in the back in ten minutes.”

Soonyoung told the group to look around, and it was common knowledge that we should look for supplies. You left your companion and walked upstairs to get some fresh clothing; yeah, you still have to appear presentable.

When you got to the top, you went through random rooms until you arrived at a room that was clearly a teenager's room, despite the fact that it was blown out with dirt and litter. Not only did it break your heart to see all of their stuff crammed into the same space, but you also knew they were on their way to becoming a walker.

It was difficult, but you had to persevere. You stumbled throughout the room, thankfully discovering batteries, a few shirts, a first aid kit, duct tape, and some pads. Needed at all times.

Nodding, you threw your belongings into your bag and descended the stairs, only to discover everyone going for the back door. You looked around and swiftly moved to the back, where you saw them waiting for you in a defensive position.

“Hopefully, we all got some excellent things, and we'll be able to go through them more thoroughly when we go back. Now that the extra generator is only three houses away, we're into walkers territory, so stay vigilant."

As the group starts out toward the last house on the street, careful of walkers in the route, you tighten your hold on your bat and look about. You and the group make it to the last house, carefully moving across the wreckage and immediately entering the house.

“Okay, we've got a few minutes before they notice we're here, so let's finish packing.” Keeping in mind that these generators were compact, they were suitable for storing in tight locations. You take the tiniest ones and place them in Chan-woo's bag before returning your gaze to the larger ones.

“How about those? Aren't they going to be more effective than the smaller ones?” Soonyoung paused for a moment, staring at the generators while walking back and forth as he pondered.

“That is correct, but we don't have enough people to bring it with us; we can get it later when we have more people, but for now, let's just go with the four we have.”

As we got to the door, everyone glanced around and said, "OK." Jong-ho stepped out the door, completely oblivious to the fact that we were in the middle of the apocalypse. We were greeted by a group of walkers.

As we all rushed at him, one of the zombies grabbed his arms, and Chan-woo kicked him off of him and whacked him with his axe. Looking above, we could see a swarm of them approaching us, and we were all terrified.

“LETS GO.”

As the walkers soon approached us, we grabbed hold of Jong-ho and pulled him with us.

We were quickly losing them, so we paused for a while to gather our breath before continuing on to the automobile portion of our adventure; we were almost there, and nothing could possibly go wrong.

Well in fact everything was just about too. When you turned back, you were confronted by the most scary of walkers, the runners. You yelled out to the group that we had to go right now.

We sped past the automobiles, grabbing everyone's attention and daring them not to turn around. Soon after, Soonyoung retreated behind the group to ensure that everyone was safe. You were almost there; the door was visible. You observed a bunch of familiar faces as the door opened.

Tae-ho kept the door open while telling you to duck, spraying bullets through the air and catching some walkers in the back.

“We're almost there,” you exclaimed as you turned around. Soonyoung was fighting the runner, gnashing his bleeding teeth. You panicked, unsure of what to do, as fear surged through your body. As you yelled, you could see the zombie rip into his skin.

You witnessed the zombie fall to the ground after hearing a shot travel through the air and hit it. You had a worried expression on your face as you gazed at Soonyoung.

“We don't have time to discuss this, Y/N.” You must leave right now.”

As tears flowed down your swollen face, you screamed at him.

“I can't leave you behind...,”

As he strained to stand, he noticed them struggling and staggering toward us. He yelled again, worried for your safety, tears streaming down his bloodshot eyes.

“Please, Y/N, I'm sorry, but I can't let them take you. You have to go now before it's too late.”

You shook your head and raced towards him, barely hoisting him up, sobbing into your torn up sleeves.

“I’m sorry Soonyoung, but I can’t leave you.”

You watched a couple guys rush up to you and carry you and Soonyoung to the door, which they swiftly locked, not wanting to hear the walkers' cries.

When you saw the big bite mark on Soonyoung's arm on the floor, tears flowed down your face and your throat started to close up. You cried as you fell into his lap as he patted your back.

“You can’t leave me please.”

---

It was going to be a long night, not just for you, but for everyone else as well, and if someone got bit, there were two options. Make the pain less easy or to set them free outside, we couldn’t let the infection spread inside. That's how we survived, but you didn’t know if you could do it.

He was your entire world, and you and him would go to the ends of the earth, yes, even to the apocalypse. Why him? It wasn't right.

You awoke in a cold sweat, anxiously looking around.

“Was it all a nightmare?” As you entered the living room, calling out for Soonyoung, you heard a grunt.

It wasn't a dream in the least. Reality has smacked you in the face.

Slowly approaching the couch, you noticed his sweating face; the virus was growing quickly. As you saw him twitch and groan in anguish, it hurt your eyes. You wished you could just take the pain away for a moment.

You sat crouching at his side, clutching his hand in yours as you kissed it, thanking the guard. As he turned to face you, he felt your touch, and his red eyes met yours as you sobbed as you saw his devastated state.

“Hey..hey look at me.” He gently sat up, tears in his eyes, and embraced you, kissing your forehead.

“It was bound to happen, Y/N; all we have to do now is stick together and get through this.” For the sake of both of us, you must be strong.” You clutched him tighter as you became choked up, unsure whether this was the last time.

“I guess our family has to wait.” You wailed into his chest as tears welled up in his eyes. Fearful of what was to come, he brought you closer to him and kissed your head as he cried.

It happened so quickly that neither of you realized what was going on. What he had asked you to do was unthinkable; you couldn't do it. Was it the virus or him who was speaking?

“Babe I can’t.” As tears streamed from the corner of your and his eyes, the worn-out pistol in your fingers trembled.

“Love, you have to, it's growing worse and I can feel it taking over my body,” he began shivering as he attempted to regain consciousness. "Allow me to spend my final moments with you as Soonyoung.”

As you sat back, he grabbed you and held you in his arms as you flung your arms around his neck, holding back tears.

He gave you one more glance as he crawled up to you and kissed your lips as you drew him back to you, savoring every moment.

“I believe this is it, I love you so much Soonyoung, please never forget and I'm so sorry,” you chuckled as you looked down with a tear-streaked face. You gripped his hand as you silently cursed as you drew him closer. "

You brought the gun up in front of you and pressed the trigger while closing your eyes.

*BANG*

His body slid to the ground, the warmth of life snatched from him by death's icy grasp. Blood gushed from his gaping wounds, tainting the once-pristine earth with the wry wit of someone who had been gone far too soon. His chest lay motionless, with no signs of life or his customary purity in his bosom, indicating that he was dead.

Holding the rifle to your chin as you gently close your eyes, you take another look at his body. Everything was taken from you by the world: your happiness, your source of clarity, and your life. As the bullet flew through your head, you wiped the tears from your eyes and pulled the trigger.

As you fell to the ground, you felt your body's life drain away as you saw it fade from your eyes.

“I won’t ever leave you.” You kissed his hand one more time as your whole body went limp and drifted away into the light, holding his hand closer.

And then, out of nowhere, two lights dimmed, never to be seen again in this messed-up world.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

➳ Navigate to the Maze

#seventeen #svt #seventeen soonyoung #kwon soonyoung #seventeen hoshi #seventeen fics #seventeen writers #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen suggestive #seventeen fluff #seventeen series #seventeen x reader #zombie apocolypse au #hoshi #seventeen au #seventeen masterlist #babytaes works

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alreadyblondenow · 4 years

Text

Mark, this is how we broke up

idol!Mark Lee x reader // SMUT, FLUFF, ANGST (?) Summary: She taught him how to fuck but there’s so much more going on in their relationship. Word Count: 6k Warnings: Sex, Sex, Sex, actual sex and mentions of sex, filthy, mentions of rough sex, mentions of forced sex, emotionally unstable Mark, slightly addicted to sex, Mentions of other idols, mentions of birth control side effects, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex and protected sex, cursing, mature or at least trying to be Note: inspired by the recent breakup that I had. There’s no way that this ‘might’ be true. We all know Mark is a nice boy. If you’re not okay with any of the warning please click away.

“Ohh- Mark! Right there!”

“Right here? Hmm?” Mark puts more pressure on her clit and eventually pinches it to make her sensitive. Her legs closed and she received a juicy smack on her ass, “Why are you closing your legs? Don’t you like what I’m doing, huh?” his mouth is near her ear, every heavy breath, groan or moan from him goes directly to her ear and straight to her pussy.

With all the energy she still have, she praises Mark while he continues to fuck her senseless. Both of his hands are on the side of her head, having a full view of Mark’s ethereal visuals. Blonde sex hair flowing as he moves back and forth, his thin silver necklace dangling on his neck, his face completely contorted as he fucks her good.

Mark leans on her to suck on her boobs putting her completely on edge and is about to have a great orgasm. Mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, her hands raking Mark’s arms as she ask him to “please stop” but Mark will only stop when he wants to. Because of her high pitch moan and sharp exhales, Mark knew she had a great orgasm which feeds his pride more.

Gritting his teeth, he lifted his hips and gave her sharp quick thrusts while she’s still sensitive from her previous orgasms. “Hold on just a bit, I’m almost there” he whispers. He fucks the girl like he’s proving something, catching his own release and making the girl beneath him cry from over stimulation. He groaned a little too loud, but he doesn’t care. It’s his own damn apartment.

Removing his cock inside her throbbing hole, Mark rolls to the side and discarded the condom, throwing it to the trash near his bed. He watches the girl shiver beside him, closing her legs tight to ease the sensitivity. With one touch of Mark’s cold fingers on her shoulder, the girl let out a whine. “Relax, I’m just helping you calm down and cover your body” he said as he covers the girl with his thick blue sheets.

Head resting on the headboard with both of his hands pillowing his head, the room was cold and quiet as Mark lay beside her naked with a soft cock. “I’m a hooker but, you’re something- there’s something to the way you fuck” she started a conversation after calming down. “It’s getting late, I’ll call you a cab” he avoids the subject politely.

After the hooker left, Mark feels lonely again in his big apartment. Thinking about what the hooker told him earlier. It made him have flashbacks he didn’t want to have. He’s lonely enough right now, he can’t afford to think about you. But it’s too late. He’s now swimming to the happy memories he had with you, trying so hard not to think about how he ruined a once in a lifetime relationship and just focused on how your smile gives warmth to his heart.

“I miss you, y/n” he murmurs before he drifts into sleep, hoping to dream about you.

FOUR YEARS AGO

You’re starting your new life in Korea with a job at one of the country’s biggest company, SM Entertainment as part of NCT’s creative team specifically on fashion deparment. The job was stressful and tiring but theres nothing you could not handle, you love what you do. Working for NCT made you love the members like your own brother, all except for one member. Mark Lee.

It all started when you realised that Mark is not a boy anymore but a man who wants to gain experience with mature stuff. You and Mark eye each other during music video and vlog shoots and you both grew fondly, sneakily hold hands under the table during company dinners, texting and calling nonstop when you don’t see each other for weeks.

Mark has always been sweet to you and he’s not ashamed to show you how he feels. One time they used flowers as props for the shoot and Mark secretly put a flower near your stuff with a note, “You did well today.” He bought Starbucks drinks for all the staffs so he could give you your favorite drink freely and without hiding, “Noona, this is for you. Fighting for today.” Whenever other members are flirting with you, he will stop the members from bugging you and tell them, “Noona already has a boyfriend, don’t bother flirting” and it always makes you blush how Mark is so overprotective.

You and Mark became more than friends but less than lovers for almost half a year. And Mark’s constant want to make you feel love pushed him to ask you out officially. Taking you on private dates around Seoul, making time for you and letting the members and his manager know about your relationship.

Since you’re Mark’s first girlfriend, he’s not a perfect boyfriend. At least not yet. He always picks up a fight with you, decides recklessly when it comes to your relationship, and he’s moving so fast. “I’m just saying that if we start living together, we will fight less and we can have more time together” he said as he argues to you on the phone.

You don’t answer him because it’s useless, he will somehow get what he wants because he has the money, and you love him. Mark let out sharp exhale on the phone, “Okay I’m sorry. I’m being childish again. I’ll stop by at your apartment after dance practice. I love you”

He arrived at 11pm in your apartment with his manager. “Take care of him y/n, he has a headache. A bad one. Overworked I guess” his manager said before leaving you and Mark. Your boyfriend kiss you on the lips and greeted you, “Hi” weak and sleepy, Mark hugged you tight.

While watching him eat dinner he tells you everything about his day at work, how he’s preparing for three comebacks these past few months and he needs to finish writing four songs in two weeks. “Good thing I have you by the end of the day, right?” he said after finishing his meal. You hand him some painkillers for his headache, “Yes. Now, come to bed with me. No more working please, Mark. Even the best people in the world rest at night” realising that you’re right, he nods and let you take him to your bedroom.

“What will I do without you” he whispers to you before going to sleep with you.

The thing is, many people don’t know that Mark is actually vulnerable and emotionally unstable. Sometimes he’s not confident with his songs and he needs you to help him write because he only trusts what you say. If you say this phrase is good, or you honestly don’t like the words in this song he will take your word from it. That’s how much he depends on you. And sometimes, it puts you in a hard position because Mark is depending on you all the time is a heavy responsibility.

It’s like he really can’t get everything done without you or without your opinion. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the other members, it just so happens that your opinion matters above anything else.

Mark may be too sweet and gentle most of the time, but he’s horny for you. Really horny. Whenever you’re alone with him in your apartment he always initiates having sex and you always say no and he respects that. You’re definitely not a virgin anymore and you have way too much experience, but Mark doesn’t. It’s not a problem of course, but you just wan’t to take it slow. Wait for the perfect time to finally have sex.

Mark being the virgin in this relationship and the one who lacks experience, he tries so hard to ruin his innocence before the day you two finally have sex. Watching tons of porn and take notes to some stuff he can do with you, working out more so he can at least look good in bed.

Sure you’ve done other stuff together, from making out wherever and whenever to giving oral to each other in the morning or before you both go to sleep. Back when Mark saw you half naked in bed for the first time he didn’t know how to touch you, you used to teach him how to properly touch you in the way you like to be touched by your boyfriend. Now, he’s the one surprising you in bed whenever your legs are widely spread for him and his head is in between you eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow.

After dating for nine months, Mark convinced you to live together as your birthday gift to him. “Please, you know how much I want live with you” he pout in front of you while you take his body measurements for a new stage costume. He worked hard last year and he bought himself his first own apartment and he told you he wanted to share it with you. How can you refuse that kind of offer when he’s trying so hard to be a part of your life, forever.

You moved in with Mark and you filled his apartment with happy memories, never ending laughter and giggles because he’s a funny guy. The kitchen became a learning place for him because you teach him how to cook almost everyday and he’s doing great. Peaceful mornings are both your favorite, it makes him feel like a normal person who cooks breakfast for you and waking up with his girlfriend in his arms is something not normal for an idol.

“This place is our safe place, only for us. No fan service for me, no boss for you to please. Just Mark and Y/n.”

Lately work is not giving you a hard time and so does Mark. You two always go home together, spend more time together, and finally had the perfect time to be more intimate. It’s been like this for almost a week already, It’s a Friday night and after having dinner and taking a warm bath before bed, you and Mark found each other in the middle of bed cuddling. Hands intertwined and legs all tangled up.

“What if I tell you, we could finally have sex tonight?” you asked him. Ruffling his damped hair from his hot shower.

“I’d say, ‘tsk. don’t tease me’” he said with a small smile in his face. His breath touches your cheeks because you’re too close with each other.

“No, seriously we can”

He pull away from your embrace, just a little to look at your face if you’re serious. “Scratch that, I’d say ‘what’s gotten into you?’” he dives in for a slow kiss, cupping your face with one hand while the other is still intertwined with yours.

Seeing you unbutton your sleepwear made him realise that you’re serious. He kissed you more and removes his shirt and sweat pants leaving him with only his boxer briefs. You on the other hand is exposed wearing only your white panties.

Feeling excited and a bit nervous, Mark slowly crawled in between your legs and he looks handsome than ever. It’s not your first time but you feel like a virgin again, that untouched seventeen year old. Mark smiled at you before he removes your panties, watching his own hands slide your underwear down.

He came close to you just beside your ear giggling like a little boy, “I’m nervous” he said and proceeds to kiss your neck. It seems like he knew exactly what he was doing, but you can’t blame him for being honest. “I’ll be vocal as possible” he hums in approval and continues to kiss every inch of your body.

He managed to remove his boxer briefs while licking your wet pussy, your eyes are closed and your hands are tugging his soft hair. Moaning his name whenever his tongue hits a good spot, putting more pressure and intensity bringing you to your first orgasm. Mark became really good at giving you oral you thought.

“I think you’re ready” he whispered as he grabs the condom on the drawer beside the bed. While you watch him roll the condom on his cock, your heart skipped a beat when he faced you and hold your legs open. The next thing you know, he’s slamming his dick in your pussy making you shout and jolt your hips beneath him, “Ah! Easy- baby, Im not going anywhere!”

The whole time you were having sex, he was not minding about your pleasure. He was so focused on his own sweet release and he can see that you’re not liking it but you let him continue.

Given that it’s Mark’s first time, the first round didn’t go well. “Do you want me to takeover?” you feel bad about it, but to be honest you wan’t Mark to never forget this night the night he losses his virginity. He hugs you tight while he’s on top of you feeling really ashamed of what he just did.

“There’s no need to feel shy baby. We have all night and a lot of days to have great sex. Come on, I’ll ride you” he’s still not moving and still hugging you tight, caressing your hair and enjoying your warm body beneath him.

“Okay baby, I need to breath. You’re heavy ugh-“ you tricked him and he didn’t have a choice but to pull away. You laughed and switched positions, putting your legs on both sides of his hips wetting his cock with you wet pussy. He felt your pussy raw for the first time and he loves it, holding your hips and as you slowly grind on top of him. “I got you” you leaned forward to give him a peck on on the lips.

His right arm swings to his head, as if he can’t believe what’s happening. Moaning your name so deliciously, “Oh, it feels good” he said with an airy tone. His mouth is open the whole time you were grinding on his cock, stopping himself from cumming too early. You grabbed a new condom on the drawer, and rolled it on his hard cock.

“Now put inside me” you said oh so sexily. With shaking hands, he lines his cock to your cunt and he watched how your pussy swallow his thick cock and let out a soft ‘fuck’ when it fully disappeared. You smile on top of him as you wait for yourself to get used from the stretch before moving. Both of your hands are on his chest as you watch him moan and move his head from side to side while you clench and unclench your pussy.

“I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that” he voiced out, you only let out a small chuckle.

“Try to stop cumming so early and enjoy it, Mark” you finally move your hips, grinding slowly, fucking him like how he deserves to be fucked. Mark’s hands grips on your hips so tightly the whole time you were fucking him slowly, making sure he won’t forget this moment. He’s peeking from his lashes, trying to get a look at you while you fuck him for the first time in his life.

“I’m glad you’re my first fuck” he said, trying to smile at you with hooded eyes, head rolled back to the pillows on his head and looking so fucking hot as he enjoys the pleasure you’re giving right now.

When you’ve had enough of slow fucking him, you tighten you grip on his shoulder and doubled your pace. Making you both moan each other’s name, his cock is finally making you feel good. You feel Mark’s cock twitch inside you and leaned closer to him, kissing him passionately as you bring him to edge.

To your surprise he bit your lower lip when he finally reached his climax with mouth open, eyes closed and brows furrowed. You smiled beneath him as you watch him cum and shiver, his hands still gripping both of your ass cheeks.

As he slowly open his eyes, he gave you a sweet smile and his tight grip became soft touches around your back. You flop on top of him as he caress your hair again. “How’s that for our first time?” you asked him, still weak from his orgasm.

“I still feel bad because I can’t fuck you good though” he said, but he looks happy now. You switched positions again so he could have the honour of pulling out after having a mind blowing orgasm. Slowly pulling out his dick, Mark watched your pussy stretched while he pull out. Kissing it like it’s your lips and apologising for not making you cum using his dick, on your first night having sex.

“Thank you for this. I mean, I should be the one making it special for you. But I failed and like, I really feel bad about it but like, I don’t know. Somehow it went wrong” he pulls the thick sheets to cover your naked bodies and lay beside you. Keeping you close and admiring your beautiful face.

“It’s not like you didn’t tried making me feel good, baby. You made me feel good too, I wouldn’t be wet the entire time if-“ in the middle of your explanation he put a finger on your slit and checked if you’re telling the truth and if you’re still good to go for another round. “you startled me” you said, enjoying the way his fingers move slowly.

“Want to give me a second chance?”

Without hesitation, you nod your head and kissed Mark sloppily. Mark is a fast learner, you didn’t know but the whole time you were fucking him earlier he was observing how you want things. He found out that he should take things slow, entering your tight pussy and looking directly in your eyes this time, “Mark, how did you know I’m in love with your eyes? Ah! fuck!” his hips moves slow and it feels way better than the first and second time.

The third round made Mark a little confident on fucking you, he made you moan his name, grip his shoulder, close your eyes and open your mouth as you ask for more. He was asking you how can he make you feel better even though you’re already batshit losing your mind on how good he feels inside you.

‘How fast do you want me to go? Hmm?’ ‘Baby, can I bite your nipples?’ ‘Clench all you want baby, I won’t cum before you do I promise’ ‘Want me to kiss you here? Okay’

‘What? You want another round after this? Me too’

“I love you” he whispered while thrusting with a steady pace that you specifically asked. Kissing you while he wait for a response. He chuckled and felt proud when he saw you smile and out of words. Finally, he made you cum using his dick, with a little help of his fingers putting on your clit.

Feeling so accomplished before he finally sleep after using all five condoms that he have. He hugged you tight and whispered how in love he is with you but you’re already sleeping. Kissing you good night as you don’t know how happy Mark Lee is.

After that unforgettable night, you and Mark have sex almost everyday and just as you expected he became more confident in bed and even more sexier as each day passes. Sometimes he can be a little bit more filthier and rougher in bed, like that one time when he spits on your pussy, putting back your panties on and fucked you good wearing those ruined panties.

And that one time when he was so tired from practice, he fucked you really rough that night. Skipping foreplay and slamming his hard cock inside your dry pussy, “Mark! I’m not yet ready” you said as you try pushing his body away from you but he said, “I don’t care” in the most sexiest way ever and it turned you on. He apologised later after that night and he never did it again, because he knew it was wrong. But you said you liked it and it was pretty hot.

The members noticed Mark’s glow whenever you two had a great fuck from the night before and they always tease him for not being a baby anymore. His experience with sex made him write more songs about it. About you. Which the managers loved without a doubt and because of that Mark goes home to you every night with a big smile. Tired but happy.

You stopped using condoms when you finally took birth control shots. Having sex without a condom is new to Mark but this time, everything went well. You completely can’t get enough of each other, you passed out that night from too much fucking.

During his back to back to back comebacks and preparations with NCT 127 and SuperM, you both had busy schedules and stressful days because of work. And he comes home tired, sometimes frustrated and mad. You had sex more often because of stress and usually Mark is the one asking for it. Day and night, before you both leave for work and at night before you sleep.

If theres peace, chaos will somehow enter your lives. The side effects of the birth control shots was ten times harder than taking a normal birth control pill and it’s causing the fight in your relationship most of the time. Whenever Mark wants to have sex but you don’t because you don’t feel well due to the side effects, he sometimes make his way to you and convince you eventually. “You won’t move, I promise to do all the work” but the sex itself makes you sick even more.

You wanted to stop taking the birth control shot but Mark insist, telling you that it’s much safer than condoms. The thought of Mark getting you pregnant would brought chaos to the world, both of your careers would be ruined plus neither one of you is ready to be a parent. So you did it for Mark, you continued taking the birth control shot even though you really don’t want to.

He’s not always like this, he’s only an asshole whenever he’s really really stressed at work which happens thrice a week, and the fight will usually last a week long. This happened during the preparation for Kick It era and Punch era and SM were making you both work like crazy.

Sometimes Mark sleeps at the dorms after yelling at you and picking a fight with you, “I make time so we could spend quality time together but you always make me feel like shit by refusing to make love and spend time with me. I don’t get you anymore!”

And sometimes you force yourself to work overtime just so you could forget the fight and have a breather. “Stay mad all you want, I don’t care I have work to do”

Most of the time it’s always job over the relationship and you notice Mark’s slight addiction on having sex with you. Not that he became a sex addict, no. Maybe he’s just really stress and he depends to you a lot, that’s why.

Even though the red flags were all bright and waving, you just brush it off and still stay with Mark. But one time you tried telling it to him, and he didn’t take it well. Anger clouded his mind, “Just tell me to stop having sex with you and stop accusing me.” It hurts when Mark doesn’t listen to what you feel and seeing him leave for practice without even looking to you straight up makes your heart ache.

When you didn’t come home because of work one night and Mark stayed up late waiting for you, the thought of you not living with him anymore and you leaving him in general scared the shit out of him. He went back to SM building to apologise, only to find you sleeping soundly in a small couch, curled up to an uncomfortable position but you’re tired already.

“Baby” he woke you in the most quiet way possible not wanting your officemates to wake up and see him. Thankfully your sleep was not that deep and you heard Mark’s whispers, “Mark?” you whisper back.

“Come home, please?” you came home with him without hesitation, scared that the other employees might see him if he stayed longer in public with you.

Mark always find a way to talk it out and make amends. He will need you and you will always understand him and everything will be peaceful for a few days or if you get lucky, weeks. But life will always find a way to make you two fight and make up, and do it over and over again. Breaking up was never a solution, Mark knew that all too well. He can’t live without you.

Sex feels good again lately and you haven’t fought for over three weeks already. He’s been incredibly sweet and caring, taking you out on dates and helping you with work whenever he can. Honestly you’ve been pretty worried about him, he’s been having anxiety and worries about his songs lately. Even questioning his own profession, ‘What if being an idol is not for me? Like, what if I have a different calling that’s why I suck at what I do now?” Mark throwing you questions like this makes you love him harder. Pouring every support you can give to him and stretch your patience more for him. His mental health becomes more and more unstable and it went on like this for roughly half a year already.

The past few months were quiet as if peace has taken over your lives again. Mornings became more peaceful and Mark makes love with you instead of just having sex for the sake of stress release. Kick It and Punch were both successful, now you’re both enjoying your long awaited rest eating watermelons in bed. Even though you’re both aware about Mark’s unstable mental state, life can still be sweet and beautiful because of the love you share.

“I’d trade any moment for peaceful times like this with you” he said, “our second year anniversary is coming” he scrunched his nose in front of you while munching. “I have the best gift for you and you won’t guess it this time” he speaks proud and you smirk at him, feeling excited about it. “I don’t want anything in this world. Just never leave me” he added.

Rest days are always your favorite because you two can stay in bed the whole day, watch Netflix, sing in the shower together for almost two hours, dates around Seoul, shopping together, have lazy sex, have filthy sex. In other words, no calls from work or idol schedules for Mark.

“Are you trying to get me pregnant?” you giggle as you brush Mark’s hair away from his face. Feeling his soft skin against yours, touching his muscles while you come down from your high.

“Maybe” kiss, “what if I am?” kiss, “I miss having fun like this in bed with you” kiss. Mark is siting in bed with you on top of him, sitting on his lap. His head in resting on the head board, arms around your body. He has a full view of your boobs and your glowing face.

“You know I like seeing you cum on top of me” you hum in approval, “three more rounds? What do you say?” he waits for your answer, not forcing you this time. Making sure he won’t do what he did from the past that made you hate him and cry in bed. Mark almost lost you that night.

Of course you want three more rounds in bed with Mark. “That’s my girl” he licks the valley between your boobs, hugging you close as you use his cock inside you for your own sweet release. Arms around his neck, you push him closer to your chest as he bites your nipples and eventually sucking them. “Mark, that feels good” you moan to make sure he won’t stop doing what he’s doing.

“C-close, Mark I’m close”

He lowers your body as he takes over on thrusting in you on top of his lap. Gripping and tugging anything you could find in bed as he fucks you senseless making your boobs bounce in front of him, lust taking over him fully. “Fuuuck!” you screamed and quickly hugged him to stop, he got the message. Hands caressing your bare back as you shiver on top of Mark’s lap, legs weak as you flop back down to the mattress making Mark giggle and draw small circles on your nipple as he lays beside you. After two more rounds, you begged him for one more round and ride him good as a thank you for making you feel good the whole night.

“My stylist said I should go for a striking pink for SuperM comeback, I don’t know if that will suit me… Will it? Do you think I should go for it?” again with his dependancy to you.

Mark is at a hair salon with Taeyong getting their hair done and ready for SuperM comeback happening in less than a week. Hearing that he will have a striking pink hair made you stop what you’re doing and imagine what he would look like. “Are you sure this is not about loving watermelons?” He giggled through the phone, “No.”

When he came home with a striking pink hair, you laughed at him but deep inside he looks handsome. “Well, you look yummy” you kissed him and smelled his hair. He picked you up bridal style and ran to your shared bedroom and tickled you until you cry tears of joy.

Tomorrow is your second anniversary and you can’t spend it together because he’s busy with SuperM promotions. Mark is a simple man who likes simplicity and nothing too fancy in life so looking for a really good anniversary gift is challenge. But you can’t give up. You decided to buy him a new guitar, similar with the one has but somewhat better and different. Inside the guitar there’s a written simple message that he can read whenever he’s doubting again.

It’s already five in the morning and Mark will leave in fifteen minutes. When you open your eyes, you see a cute Mark Lee kissing you until you wake up. He smells clean, his fingertips are cold against your skin, “Happy anniversary. This is one out of two for my anniversary gift” he slips a silver ring on your left ring finger which perfectly fits.

“It’s a promise ring if you’re wondering. I promise to be a better boyfriend. And I saw your gift by the way. I love it. I can’t wait to use it and sing to you after promotions. Just hang in there okay? I love you”

You went got up and it’s surprisingly cold, still sleepy and tired from last night, you saw a bouquet of flowers on top of the coffee table and a paper that contains Girls Generation’s members signature. Complete and framed. It made you happy and laugh because he used his idol card again just to make you smile over the silliest things.

The SuperM promotions was longer than expected but Mark is having a great time with his Hyungs. While Mark is away you’re work keeps on piling up because the company transferred you from NCT to Red Velvet, which you enjoyed because now you’re making costumes for girls.

You and Mark focused on work and it didn’t made you feel angry in fact, you think that Mark being away can make you focus better at work. You realised that you’re better off away from each other. As days and weeks go by, you think about moving out of Mark’s apartment. But he wouldn’t let you do it so you think of another plan.

Mark has been calling you for days already and you only answer just for the sake of telling him that you’re fine. From there on Mark sensed something wrong and the feeling doesn’t sit well on him. Being far from you makes him overthink stuff and imagine things that has the worst case scenario. Like you, getting tired of him because he’s emotionally unstable.

It’s almost midnight and you were just finishing work when Mark came out of nowhere and surprised you. “Surprise! I’m home! Oh, I’ve missed you so much” he said and showered your cheeks with kisses his hug getting tighter and tighter.

You irritatedly pushed him away.

“Okay- that’s new” he let out a sigh, “What did I do now?”

You crossed your arms and lean on the wall, you don’t know how to say it but you’ve made up your mind. You’re going to leave him. “I’m breaking up with you” He stopped listening after you said it.

“It’s funny how I saw this coming but still I had faith with you! I had faith with you that you will not chose to leave me, but fuck-“ he punched the wall, completely hurting his hand you wanted to come to him so bad and made him stop hurting himself but you can’t. To be honest his ears rang, he was light headed and he feel like throwing up. Tiredness and breakup in the middle of the night is not a good mixture.

“Don’t get me wrong please, I don’t hate you. I want to fix this baby, I tried thinking about about solutions and guess what we already tried everything and were still a mess. It bothers me. Knowing that we all have these problems all along and ignoring it over and over again- it’s bothering me baby. We can’t fix it, we can’t fix us”

Admitting that fighting for the relationship made you tired, is a hard pill to swallow. And it hurts because choosing to love yourself this time will hurt him. His emotional dependancy, the sex, and now you don’t know if you want the same things in life anymore.

You wanted to choose yourself this time and do what’s best for you. Because in the past two years, you’ve doing everything what’s best for Mark and Mark only because that’s how you love him. And leaving him is how you can love yourself.

“A week” he blurted out while you were in the moment of pouring out all your concerns. “A week off baby, let’s give each other some space” he kissed your forehead and left you. After what happened he figured, for sure you don’t want to sleep on the same bed with him.

The space that Mark asked for just made him missed you, it made him realised how he’s been taking your patience for granted and how he’s using every part of your being for his own good. He wanted to fix that. He wanted to fix it so badly.

Looking back over the years, he remembered how you didn’t want to live together but he made you because it’s his birthday wish. ‘Mark how can you ask something like that?’ he told himself, hating himself more.

He remembered how you didn’t want to take birth control shots anymore because you’re having side effects already. And instead of being concerned he got mad at you. Mark told the story to Johnny and he just gave him a ’Tsk. I’m very disappointed’

While forcing himself to write lyrics with Taeyong on a Monday night, he kept on telling Taeyong that he needs your opinion first about the first words that he wrote already. Mark got an earful from Taeyong, ‘you shouldn’t depend on her always! You don’t how heavy it might be for her! Tsk. Do you think she knows anything about what we do here? She has her own profession! She studied years and years for it, how can you do this to her?’ of course Taeyong is always right.

On Wednesday night, you broke up officially with Mark.

“I think we should continue living separately from now on, Mark” you removed the promise ring that he gave you and put it in front of him. He was quiet the whole time, but he understands, blaming himself of course. He understands that now it’s all about you.

“They say if you love someone and they need you don’t leave them, and we hear those words in dramas. But Mark, this isn’t fantasy this is reality that’s really heavy for me. We ignored all the red flags and I think it’s time to let go now”

During your move out, he didn’t showed up and helped you. It’s okay, you thought. You hurt him and he needs time to heal. Clearing your stuff felt like freedom and you thought it was cruel. Cruel for Mark. You feel bad because breaking up really made you feel better.

Looking at the pictures around the apartment, made you feel sad, yes. But leaving it behind and putting them down one by one made you feel free. And again you think it’s cruel because Mark don’t feel the same way, he clearly wanted push through the relationship and you clearly don’t want that.

All the more reason to break up. You don’t want the same things anymore.

Because you did great with NCT and Red Velvet, another great opportunity knocked on your door. A job in Paris. You considered not taking it because of Mark, then you remember that you two have broken up.

He came to your apartment a week after the break up, begging you to come back in his life. “I heard you left SM, baby is it because of me?” you gave him a glass of water and sat beside him, it’s been a week but he already looked like shit. Dark under eyes and no happiness in his eyes.

“Listen to me,” you reached for his hand, “It’s not because of you. I’m finally choosing me. I’m doing what’s best for me and my career. It has nothing to do with you Mark”

He went on and on again about coming back to his life, telling you promises that you know he can keep, but you don’t want to be part of it anymore. “I Promise, I will someday be okay emotionally, I want you to be beside me when that happens. I think breaking up isn’t the solution baby, do you remember how great we are together? We can fix this, we can try and then if it doesn’t work i’ll leave. I’ll never bother you again”

“How can you say breaking up is not the right thing to do now? Mark I’ve honestly never been more peaceful these past few days”

Mark didn’t need to hear other things. What you said made him realised that he used up every chance he could make up with you. He left without saying a word, keeping the pain to himself the whole drive back to the dorms. “Dude, it’s going to be okay. Were here.” Johnny, Hyuck, Taeyong and Jaehyun all listened to him cry at the car not talking to anyone of them.

PRESENT DAY. FOUR YEARS AFTER

Mark still loves you.

................................................. Masterlist

inspired by the recent breakup that I had, please don’t steal my feelings huhu. Enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

#nct-writers #neowritingsnet #nct smut #mark lee smut #nct mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #nct mark lee fluff #nct fluff #mark lee angst #nct mark lee angst #nct angst #mark lee x reader #idol au #breakup au #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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harryspet · 4 years

Text

a long way down [1] b.barnes & s.rogers

[Warnings] dark bucky x reader, dark steve x reader, dominant/submissive, thoughts of suicide, lots of violence, death, heavy angst, zombies, the walking dead au, noncon/dubcon sex, light bondage (handcuffs), reader is a little (very) helpless, spanking, breeding kink (wear protection please)

A/N: This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s title prompt game!! As you can see, my title was “a long way down”. This gave me the opportunity to write the apocalypse au I’ve been putting off. It was supposed to be a drabble but I apparently can’t read because this turned into a long ass one-shot. TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD

In which the dead are walking, you belong to Bucky, and you stumble upon Steve’s settlement.

series masterlist

word count: 6k

The first time you met Bucky, he saved your life. He saved yours and then made you take another.

You had locked yourself in an abandoned gas station for the night. You had spent so many days running, walking further and further from your home. It was the first night in weeks that you let your guards down a little. The station had been ransacked completely but you managed to scrape a small meal of what people left behind as undesirables. It tasted heavenly.

You had actually fallen asleep knowing you weren’t going to die. You fell asleep knowing you could sleep the full eight hours.

When you awoke on the surprisingly comfortable tile floors, your worry returned abruptly. You could see through the windows that they had gathered in the parking lot. You slowly approached the windows, holding a kitchen knife tightly in your hands.

You were still wearing the blue sundress from the family barbecue you were attending before the world ended, a combat jacket you found tied around your waist. The knife belonged to the Robinson’s, a family of four, that you watched all die before your eyes.

They were the tip of the iceberg. You watched your own family die in the next few weeks and then all the members of the small group you were a part of. You should've known better than to stop running. Everyone you knew died because they got pinned somewhere and the walkers overtook them.

One of the walkers noticed your slight movement and focused on you. It limped towards the window of the front of the store and you took a cautious step back. You kept still for a moment, hoping not to attract anymore but the one walker seemed to signal the rest of his friends.

This entire town was deserted of walkers when you arrived yesterday and now it seemed to be overrun with them. You had a feeling that a herd might be passing through. You ducked behind one of the many food shelves and kneeled down. You were going to wait it out until they passed through town and realized there was no one here for them to eat.

That was the plan until more started to swarm the gas station, their moaning and groaning became even louder. Your hands were shaking as the sound of the pounding began to deafen you. You couldn’t help but consider what you would do if they broke through the glass. If you slit your own wrist and bled out then you wouldn’t feel them tearing you limb from limb.

The back door had been barricaded too heavily for you to get through. Besides, you’d most likely meet another crowd of walkers going that way.

You held the knife shakily, beads of sweat dripping down your forehead, as you tried to stop yourself from thinking that way.

Abruptly, your eyes shot open as gunshots rang in the air nearby. One pierced through the front window, sending glass shattering to the floor. You didn’t recognize them as gunshots at first, you thought walkers had finally broken through but, as you peaked around the shelf, you found yourself dead wrong.

Through the window, you saw a man moving like a shadow, firing his pistol and precisely hitting several of the walkers through their skulls. He was mesmerizing, a killing machine, and a force of energy that was foreign to you. He moved swiftly enough to dodge the blood-hungry demons that lunged for him and strong enough to knock them down and stab them through the skull before they could stand again.

He was killing them all.

You noticed the glint of a metal-like substance as your wide eyes admired his left arm. You were staring so intently that you hadn’t noticed a walker had crept its way inside and set its sights on you.

You scrambled backward, fumbling with the knife in your hand as you struggled to point it at the monster. You stood, still backing away, as he moved closer. She was an elderly woman, her body decayed, and carrying a horrible stench. The necklace around her neck was shaped like a heart. It looked like the kind that contained pictures of a loved one.

You couldn’t help but sympathize, couldn’t help but make up excuses for why you couldn’t do it. Why you couldn’t be brave. Before you could hesitate any longer, a sharp knife pierced through the woman’s skull and she collapsed before.

You stared at the shadow of the men, his towering figure, and, although his eyes were a blue crystal, they were dead.

“Are you blind or deaf?” He asked you, his voice as dark as his appearance.

You only shook your head, words not daring to leave your mouth. The man looked around the rest of the rest stop, probably noting there were barely any supplies before he sighed. He didn’t understand how you could let yourself get in such a sticky position and then not even be able to handle yourself against one of them.

“Do you have supplies?” He asked next.

You hesitantly raised a finger towards your backpack resting beside one of the shelves, “Not … not much. I just … I-I just wanted to sleep,” He noted your appearance, the insufficient and dirty clothing as well as the bags around your eyes. You were a suburban girl who was clearly out of her element, “Thank you,” You added quickly.

He didn’t acknowledge your gratitude, “I need medical supplies,” He stated firmly.

“I, uhm, I have some alcohol and bandages-”

“Grab your bag, let’s go,” Your eyes seemed to widen even more as the man turned away from you.

“W-What?” You stuttered over your words, “I don’t … I don’t know you. I’ll give you the-”

Bucky turned back, clearly annoyed, “You want to stay alone when you can’t even properly use a knife?”

You looked down at the knife in your hand. It was clean of any blood, “I was going to use it ... “

He scoffed, “What's your name, doll?”

“Y/N,” You answered, still trying to keep calm.

“Bucky,” He stated, making a move to leave once again, “You coming or not?”

You had to make a decision then. Risk life in the apocalypse alone or hope this man could protect you. What he wanted in return other than bandages, you weren’t sure yet. You huffed, deciding to grab your backpack and follow him outside.

You had to admit that you weren’t cut out for this life. You weren’t even sure how you had made it this far.

You stepped over the bodies of at least ten walkers as you stepped into the parking lot. Bucky walked toward an abandoned red truck sitting by one of the gas pumps. You watched him curiously as he discovered a walker strapped into the passenger seat. It couldn’t untangle himself from the seatbelt and was trying to throw itself out of the window.

It started to moan and growl as the two of you approached. You thought he was pulling out the pistol to put it out its misery but Bucky turned to you, holding the gun out to you, “Take it.”

“I don’t want-”

“Take it,” He stated more firmly, little patience in his eyes. You raised a shaky hand, taking it into your grip, “Hold it tight.”

To your surprise, the man came behind you, gently grabbing your arm as he showed you the proper way to hold it, “W-Why do you want me to do this?” You asked shakily. When you tried to lower it, you pushed your arms up.

“You’re going to kill it,” You turned your head, your eyes wide, “I’m not bringing you with me if you can’t even kill a walker.”

You looked at the walker again, noting the uniform he was wearing was that of a mechanic. He used to have a job, a life, probably a family, “I can’t,” You protested, “I can’t.”

“You can do it. You will do it. No one is in there, Y/N,” Bucky spoke calmly, his voice lower than you expected, “You’re doing him a favor. At least let the man’s body be free.”

Bucky let go of you after your hands were in the correct position. He noticed your shaky grip, the fact that your body was clearly going into panic mode. You hoped he didn’t notice the tears stinging in your eyes. You imagined the man’s wife and the man’s family. Would they care that you didn’t leave him be?

Bucky’s voice snapped you out of your trance, “Do it.”

You closed your eyes and fired. Silence echoed around you like the force of the gun knocked you back a step. When you slowly opened your eyes, the man’s brains were splattered on the back of his seat.

“We’ll have to work on keeping your eyes open when you fire. You got lucky,” Bucky grabbed the gun from you, holding it down by his side.

All you could do was stare at what you’d done. You shouldn’t be able to play God in this way. Monster or not, it all felt wrong, “ … I’m sorry,” You whispered to the man and to whatever family that was out there.

Bucky looked you over. He’d never met someone so afraid of killing. He was a killing machine before and after the dead rose from their graves. He saw your heartbreaking as reality was finally hitting you after all this time. You were realizing that you were nothing special, that this was your fate and everyone was eventually going to end up like the man in the truck.

“Oh, doll,” Bucky sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line, “I’m afraid it’s a long way down from here.”

Bucky’s latest homestead was a Motel 6 more than forty miles away from the gas station. Your mother had warned you about guys who rode motorcycles and you imagined she was rolling over in her grave now that you were on the back of Buckys. Luckily, you didn’t encounter any more packs of walkers but Bucky insisted you hurry because a pack was sure to follow after all the gunshots.

“The shower works,” Bucky spoke absentmindedly, setting a duffel bag on the single bed. He seemed to have collected a lot of supplies before he even ran into you, “Water’s cold but you can still use it.”

You nodded, clutching your backpack tightly, as you crossed the room. Bucky watched your backside as you slipped into the dirty bathroom.

What the hell were you doing? You were in a tiny motel room with a complete stranger. Now you were getting naked behind a door and you had no idea of his expectation especially since there was only a single bed.

You shook your head, setting your bag down on the sink. You pulled off your jacket and then lifted your dress above your head. You looked over your body, your sunken in features, and your shrinking figure. You reached to touch your face only to jump at the sound of a knock at the door.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” He asked you and you froze for a moment. You looked at your tattered blue dress. “A verbal answer, preferably.”

“Y-Yes, please,” You answered, cracking the door so he couldn’t see you in your underwear. Bucky handed you the pile of cloth and you gave a weak smile as you closed the door back. Looking back in the mirror, you let out a breath of air you didn’t know you were holding.

You set the clothes down before turning on the shower. You took the time to clean yourself and some of your items as well. You thought maybe you could get the blood and dirt out of your dress and it would remind you again of happy times. You set it out to dry on the towel rack.

The clothes he gave you consisted of a plain black t-shirt that fit way too big for you. As you searched for more, you realized that it was all he had given you. It fit like a dress but you couldn’t help but wonder if his mind was elsewhere. You grabbed your backpack and jacket before exiting the bathroom.

You found that he had made himself comfortable, the gray shirt he was wearing was tight enough to illuminate his muscles as well as the metal arm. He was cleaning his knife when he looked up to see you standing awkwardly.

“Come here,” Again, he spoke like you were a minuscule thought in his mind. You took a few steps closer. “Are you going to prance around me like a baby doe for the rest of this relationship?”

You scoffed this time, “I’m sorry … this is new.”

Bucky didn’t seem like he was willing to wait for you to catch up to him. Things were now or never with him, “Set your things down,” For a moment, you questioned why you were following this man blindly, and then another part of you remembered what he was capable of.

Even without a threat of violence, Bucky noted your submissiveness. Your innocence could be a burden but maybe a blessing in disguise as well.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you in between his legs and you looked down at him with frightened eyes. He stilled your shaking hand with his strong one, “Should we go over how things are going to work between you and me?”

It was rhetorical but you nodded slowly.

“It’s simple. You do as I say and I won’t leave you for dead,” You understood but it was much harsher when he put it in his own words. Looking at him, you couldn’t help but notice his handsome features. The killing had blinded you to it before but now you could see it with full exposure, “You use that gun when the time comes and it will come. I don’t want to have to put you out of your misery if you get bitten.”

“I don’t know how-”

“I’ll teach you, doll,” He declared. You yelped as he suddenly grabbed your waist, flipping you onto the bed and pinning you beneath him, “A helpless thing like you should know how to protect herself.”

Bucky searched your face, calculating before his head dipped into the crook of your neck. His beard scratched your skin as he placed kisses along the sensitive skin.

“Bucky!” You struggled beneath him but you felt the strong metal of his hand press you further into the mattress, “Bucky, please.”

You felt so weak beneath him and you hated that warm feeling he sent through your body. You gritted your teeth as he kissed your chin and then his lips grazed yours, “I saved your life, Y/N, it’s the least you could do.”

You shook your head as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was hard, desperate, and you felt all the pent up frustration in his body. You could finally breathe when he pulled away, only for him to take soft bites of the skin on your cheek and then your ear.

“Bucky,” Your voice came out in a whisper.

“I’ll be gentle,” He assured you, “It’ll feel better if you don’t struggle.”

He was right. As soon as you stopped trying to push him away, your tired body thanked you for it.

Your first night with Bucky, he made sure to lay down his claim. He saw no use in trying to get to know you. You were his and you’d learn to like it. He saved your life after all.

Bucky lifted your shirt, pulling off your panties. He stilled your shaking leg and a shiver went through you as the weapon he called a hand, wrapped around your thigh. He kissed down your body, over your stomach before his head dipped between your legs.

You didn’t expect to cry out in ecstasy that night. You didn’t expect to feel anything at all but, although Bucky didn’t give you a choice, you started to feel human for the first time in a while. This sort of intimacy and pleasure was a rare commodity and part of you wanted to welcome that comfort.

You gripped the motel sheets tightly as he brought you over that cliff. He seemed to savor your pleasure and you expected him to force himself inside you next but he simply told you, “Go to sleep, doll.”

The dark stranger held you tight the whole night.

The next few months passed quicker than you expected. Every day you were alive was a blessing but you couldn’t help but think that you didn’t deserve it.

You traveled the country with Bucky, finding homestead after homestead to stay in. Inevitably, a crowd of walkers would ruin your plans or you’d run into groups of scavengers, humans who killed just as much as walkers.

Bucky taught you how to properly use a gun as well as a knife. You practiced aiming in forest clearings and pretty soon you could handle your own. You considered leaving him but the stranger seemed to open up to you more as the weeks went on. You learned he was in the military and that was how he lost his arm. You figured he was some type of government agent before the dead rose. That was the only way you could explain the arm.

You let yourself grow attached to him and you assumed that he did too.

You told him about the small town you grew up in and your privileged life in suburbia. You had traded your sundress for jeans, a band t-shirt, one of Bucky’s combat jackets and black boots.

You enjoyed the wind in your hair as you rode together with Bucky across the state lines. You were meant to be his extra eye but you couldn’t help that your mind wandered sometimes. Dreams of a better world comforted you.

You were on a long road, traveling through an evergreen forest when Bucky’s motorcycle abruptly skidded to halt. You looked ahead and, fifty feet ahead, was a makeshift barricade of rusted cars, “What is it?” You asked in a whisper and Bucky shushed you.

He dismounted the bike and you did the same. You took a small glance around the eerily quiet forest as Bucky approached the group of cars, “All the cars are dead. We can’t go through here,” You sensed the frustration in his voice as you pulled the map from your jacket pocket. You found the pen mark you last left that marked the area you two were trying to reach.

“We can go back ten miles east and try a different road,” You spoke swiftly and Bucky nodded, turning back towards the vehicle.

The scavengers came out of nowhere, several four-wheelers emerged from the tree line with armed men riding in them. They pointed their guns at the two of you as A giant truck pulled into the road, causing you to be blocked on each side.

Bucky was quick to grab his rifle, stepping in front of you and you pointed your pistol at one of the many scavengers. You heard Bucky curse under his breath as your panic began to set in. You glanced down at your feet and realized there was dry blood decorating the cement. This group used the blockade to ambush survivors and inevitably kill them.

“Drop the weapons!” Shouted one of the burly men with his rifle pointed at us, “You’re outnumbered. Don’t make this hard!”

Bucky let the silence set in for a moment before letting his words cut through the thick tension like a knife, “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

Over yours too apparently.

“Suit yourself,” The man agreed, his mouth opening to order his men to fire.

He was interrupted by another voice though. One that clearly held more power than the man. He stepped out from the passenger side of the truck, jumping down with a revolver in hand. You noted his muscular stature and the fact that his long hair and beard reminded you of Jesus himself.

“Hold your fire, Sam. Hold your fire!”

You noticed then the clothing of the men was way more decent than you expected. You noted bright colors and a lack of wrinkles. Clearly where these men came from there were heavy supplies. The man who looked like Jesus, who was clearly their leader, stepped forward with his revolver at his side.

You noticed Bucky start to lower his rifle and something even more unexpected happened, the leader smiled at Bucky. His eyes wandered to you and the man’s smile widened even more, “Bucky,” The man spoke as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

“Steve,” You looked to Bucky with wide eyes.

They knew each other?

You still held your gun tightly, your eyes darting around at the group of scavengers who had now lowered their weapons.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You asked him.

“Lower your weapon, dollface,” The man named Steve said to you, “Your pal Bucky here is an old friend of mine.”

You looked to Bucky for permission and he slowly nodded. You lowered it at his command which Steve watched with a raised eyebrow, “This is your strategy, Rogers? Killing innocents and taking their supplies?”

“A lot has changed since we last saw each other. This is called adapting, my friend. Besides, we haven’t hurt you, have we?” You could tell there were years, perhaps decades, on their relationship. Steve looked at you and noted how you hid halfway behind Bucky, “Who’s this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky said quickly.

Steve only raised his hands in defense, chuckling, “Fine, fine. You two look like you need some help.”

“We’re fine, just let us pass.”

“How much gas do you have left?” Steve asked like he knew something that we didn’t, “I can tell you now that my group has collected every drop of it in the surrounding hundred-mile radius. I wouldn’t want you guys to get stranded somewhere.”

“We have enough,” Bucky stated firmly though you knew he was lying.

Steve sighed, “C’mon, Buck, I’m extending an olive branch. I control this area, traveling on it without my permission is just a guaranteed death sentence. We have a sanctuary nearby with lots of food, water, and shelter. Come with us.”

Bucky was silent for a long moment. You knew he was pretty much a lone wolf and disliked the idea of having to trust others with his safety.

“We won’t stay.”

Steve slowly nodded, “Fine, then give me time to catch up with my friend. We’ll need your weapons for the time being. I have to look out for the safety of my people.”

“Welcome to Liberty.”

Bucky refused to give up his weapons until they actually arrived at the settlement. You both noted the impressive nature of the area Steve controlled. The area consisted of a suburban neighborhood surrounded by a tall, metal wall. They called it Liberty.

You noticed the watched towers that held snipers who killed the walkers in the path of the trucks we were traveling in. The gate to the settlement and all of the cars filed in before the doors were shut. Bucky helped you out of the truck and you got a good look around.

It was a complete Utopia. They had large fields for farming, their own source of water and electricity. You didn’t even think something like this was possible.

You passed a few people and they looked at you like outsiders while they smiled and acknowledged Steve as their “Captain”.

Steve offered to show the two of you around but Bucky only wanted to see where the two of you would stay. If Bucky was impressed by everything, he didn’t say anything, “As a sign of good faith,” Steve said, “You two are staying in my own humble abode.”

Humble was the wrong one. Steve had the biggest house to himself at the center of the neighborhood. It was two stories, a calming blue, and looked like it had at least five bedrooms. Steve showed you around the nicely furnished house and introduced the two of you to a blonde woman named Sharon.

She offered the two of you sandwiches and Steven explained that Sharon worked in the infirmary. They didn’t seem to be affectionate but it was easy to assume that they were romantically involved. People took comfort wherever they could nowadays.

Steve showed you yours and Bucky’s room on the second floor and he left the two of you to settle in, “How do you know him?” Was the first question that left your lips.

“We were in the same unit overseas. Last time I heard of him, I was being discharged after losing my arm and he was being promoted.”

You felt he was leaving out details but he answered more than you expected anyway.

The two of you were able to clean up after two weeks of traveling and no showers. They even had hot water here which you hadn’t felt since life was normal. They also left you new clothes and you were surprised to find a dress for yourself.

You felt the fabric of the floral pattern and it reminded you of happier times. You liked it, you wanted to feel feminine after months of being covered in dirt and gunshot residue. As you slipped the dress on and finally drove a brush through your hair, you gazed at Bucky. He was buttoning a red flannel and you noticed how you could really see his face now that he had a chance to trim his beard.

He looked … clean. Maybe a little more innocent than before.

He slipped on his own jeans and boots before saying to you, “Stay here,” You grabbed his hand before he could walk out the door.

“Do you trust him?”

“Enough,” He answered simply, “I trust him enough.”

He kissed your forehead before leaving you alone.

“Have you fallen in love or something, Buck?”

Bucky paced the length of Steve’s office, his mind all over the place, “No,” Bucky answered, “Our relationship is just … mutually beneficial.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, his fingers running through his beard, “That’s how it is nowadays. I’m sure Sharon’s motivations include me being a better option than those savages who do my dirty work. And I’m not ugly, either.”

As Bucky didn’t respond to his humor, Steve continued, “What’s the nature of your relationship with Y/N? What’s in it for her?”

“I keep her alive.”

“And for you?” Bucky was silent because Steve already knew the answer, “Our relationship could also be mutually beneficial. As you can see, I have a lot to offer. I have a fucking empire, Buck. Weapons, land, you name it. If I don’t have it then surely one of my allies will.”

“And what can I offer you?”

Stever smirked evilly, “Her.”

“No.”

“I saw the way she looks at you. She’d do anything you said if you asked.

“Why?” Bucky asked, his muscles starting to tighten as the anger boiled inside of him, “You have women here, don’t you?”

Steve shook his head, “Not enough that are childbearing age,” Bucky understood. His friend was developing some sort of king complex, “I’ve been trying with Sharon for a while now and nothing. My allies refuse to trade theirs.”

“You want to bring a life into this world?”

“This is the safest place in the entire country. There has to be a point where we rebuild.”

“... Steve,” Bucky rubbed his temple.

“I’m not trying to steal her away from you, Buck. She just has something I need. Something I would pay you handsomely for.”

“You’re very pretty,” Sharon said to you as she served another serving of salad onto your plate. She sat in front of you at the square table and the four of you ate dinner together, “Bucky is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” You smiled back at her, “Your home … your home is very beautiful.”

Sharon smiled, sipping at her cold glass of water. She looked to Steve who said, “We’ve made it our own, haven’t we?” He asked Sharon rhetorically, “We’d love it if you stayed a while, Y/N.”

Steve watched as you immediately looked to Bucky. After spending the day here, you did think it would be nice to stay but you were loyal to Bucky, “Well … I don’t think Bucky likes to follow other people's rules very much.”

Bucky was silent as he cut his steak, not even bothering to look at you.

“That might be an understatement,” Steve chuckled, trying to break the tension, “You could always stay anyways … and we’d let Bucky come and go as he pleases.”

Your eyebrows raised in confusion. You had the feeling again that Steve more than you. What made it worse was now you suspected everyone at the table knew more than you.

You desperately wanted Bucky to say something. Anything, “I don’t know what use I’d be around here.”

“You could always help out in the infirmary,” Sharon said happily, “Our guys are always getting hurt out there.”

“I appreciate the offer but …”

“You’ll stay here,” You looked to Bucky with wide eyes, “You’ll be safe here.”

“And where will you go?” You asked quickly, your world starting to fall apart once again.

“I have business elsewhere,” Was all he said. You could deal with his secretiveness before but not now, “I’ll be back when I’m done.”

Silence fell over the table for a moment before Sharon attempted to comfort you, “We’ll take care of you here, honey. There’s no need to worry.”

You shook your head, “No, I’m going with you. I don’t want to stay.”

“Y/N-”

Bucky was interrupted by Steve, “You will stay. The decision has already been made.”

You stood up abruptly, shaking the table, “I don’t even know you people!” You yelled back, turning to Bucky, “Please take me with you.”

“What did I just fucking say, Y/N?”

It felt like you were being rejected. Like you were losing yet another person, “This is what you want, Bucky?” You crossed your arms, “You swear?”

“Yes, doll,” He reassured you, “This doesn’t change anything.”

You pushed your chair back, “This changes everything and you don’t even care,” You spoke, not bothering to look back, before storming out of the dining room.

Bucky wasn’t telling you the truth, that much you knew. You sat on the bed in your new room with a heavy weight on your shoulders. You untied your hair from its ponytail and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to relieve some stress in your body.

When the door opened again, you immediately said, “I’m sorry for yelling-” You stopped as you realized that it wasn’t Bucky who had followed you up. You stood up, noting how Steve’s body basically took up the entire door frame. If he was attempting to be less threatening, it wasn’t working, “What do you want?”

“I can tell Bucky loves you very much, you know. And I don’t think he’s loved a lot of things in his life.” You thought about it for a moment. You never thought what Bucky showed you was love. He was cold and unforgiving most of the time. Steve stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, “He cares for you but there are still some things he can’t give up yet. He’s a soldier. He’s always going to crave another mission and he knows he can’t bring the ones he loves into harm's way.”

You thought there was truth in his words. Perhaps you just didn’t want to lose your trust in Bucky.

“What do you want from me?”

Steve sighed, “Well, I suppose you can’t just use my resources and offer me nothing in return.”

“Sharon said I could help her-”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, closing the gap between the two of you, “You’ll help her and you’ll help me.”

“With what?” You asked, and before he could grab you, you kicked his shin. Hard.

Steve grunted in pain and as you tried to run past him, he grabbed your leg. You fell to your hands and knees abruptly, still trying to pull away from him, “Where are you going to run-” You kicked your leg out, nailing the Captain in his nose.

Now, you had really made him angry. Steve groaned, still not letting go of your leg, “He taught you a lot … but don’t be delusional, sweetheart.”

Steve pulled you into his body, grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back. You heard the jingle of metal before you heard it click around both your wrist. Steve pulled you up from the ground, bending your body over the bed. You tried to kick but he spread your legs with his feet.

He pulled your dress up and easily ripped off your underwear.

You screamed, calling for Bucky, “Bucky told me where you come from. Think about it, I’m offering you another chance at your old life. White picket fence, kids running around in the yard,” There was a sudden slap to your behind and a tear slipped down your cheek.

Steve thought you were gorgeous. A baby was not the only thing he wanted from you. He wouldn’t mind having a face like yours walking around the settlement.

The blood from his nose dripped down to your bottom as he undid his belt and unleash his member. It was already hard, the excitement of the situation having caused it.

He licked his hand, reaching down to fill between your legs, “Already wet. He didn’t tell me that you liked pain,” Steve landed another, harder slap to your bottom and you cried out.

“Steve, please,” You begged, “I’ll do anything.”

“You will. You’re going to give me a baby, gorgeous,” He hit you again and you felt his tip press against your entrance. He impaled himself inside you, holding onto your cuffed wrist as he moved in and out of you. Your eyes were wide, your mouth agape, as you felt him take you over.

As his pace quickened, you bit down on the comforter to keep the moans from escaping your lips. His hands move to your waist, pulling your body back against him, so you couldn’t escape his assault. The position you were in seemed to allow him to hit a very sensitive spot, one that had you gasping for air and crying out at the same time.

Steve could tell your body like it. You were squeezing his cock hard and your body was writing on the bed before him. He felt it when you tightened around him as you reached your climax, “What a needy. Little. Thing,” He grunted before flipping your body over. The handcuffs dug into your skin but all you could focus on was him.

His thrusts became even deeper as he leaned over your body. He kissed your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth before he made his final thrusts inside of you. The Captain moaned into your mouth as warmth filled you.

He breathed heavily, emptying himself inside you as he kissed your tears. You were still shaking when he pulled out of you. As he let go of you, you weakly tried to crawl away. Steve walked around the bed, watching you like a predator watches its prey.

He flipped you back over, grabbing your wrist as he pulled you further onto the bed. After that, he placed a pillow beneath your hips, elevating you.

He leaned down to where your face is, brushing your hair away so he could see you clearly, “You learned to like Bucky, you’ll do the same with me.”

You had no words left for him. Your fate was sealed from now.

In this new world, there was little room for compassion. This was what Bucky must’ve meant. This was the long way down.

I hope you enjoyed this, I know it was long!! Part two is out!!

2K notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 3 years

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Wow, this smutty week flew by! I remember thinking I wouldn’t be able to pull off 2 reclists per day but somehow it all worked out and I hope you guys had as much fun as I did while reading and rereading these amazing works. And what better way to close this week than reccing my personal faves from this year’s Sex Fair? It was the perfect excuse to finally catch up with this tasty fest and I had a blast with so many different tropes and takes! The fics I highlight below are all rated Explicit but I invite you to check the full collection here and leave these amazing creators some love and appreciation. Happy meals!

FIC

the best treasure is up Harry’s arse by @bafflinghaze (3k)

Harry and Draco probably had a tumultuous time getting together, filled with angst and denial and pining and brooding. However, this is not that story. Here, Draco makes Harry come (more than once).

The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance by @cibeewastaken (6k)

Draco is going to lose his virginity, so help him god, and he's going to lose it to one Harry Potter. Why? Because of his big cock, his status as The Top Five Quidditch Players in England, and Witch Weekly's Most-Eligible Bachelor for eight years straight. At least that's what he tells himself. Too bad first times rarely go as one plans, and now Harry is looking miserable and Draco doesn’t understand why.

i just want your extra time and your.... by @bonesliketambourines (9k)

Ron should know better than to speak Latin in a magical library. If he’d just left well enough alone, instead of trying to badger Malfoy for the details of his newest novel, Harry wouldn’t have to listen to all of this chatter about how bloody decent Malfoy is, and he wouldn’t be dealing with all of these...feelings. Really, it’s all Ron’s fault that Harry’s mind is stuck on Malfoy like this again.

It's So Hard by unadulteratedstorycollector (9k)

Draco has posed for some interesting photos, and it is currently making things very... hard for Harry.

Tonight’s the Night (Gonna Be Alright) by @pineau-noir (9k)

Sex is hard to come by when you're 40 and have kids. Or: Five times Harry and Draco tried and failed to have sex and one time they were successful.

All I Have to Do by @fluxweeed (9.5k)

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised. or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

Three Wishes by @nerdherderette (10k)

Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing.

Starkissed fic and art by @zigster-ao3 (32k)

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.

“No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.”

Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

ART

How hard can it be? by @caroll-in

Harry and Draco have to stay over at their friends' places for a few weeks, since the renovation of the Grimmauld Place hadn't been completed by the time they were back from their honeymoon. That creates a slight issue with being intimate but the newlyweds are nothing if not creative...

Revelio! by @creeeee

It's that time of year again for Witch Weekly's annual charity event! By popular demand, this year they have prepared a calendar featuring the sexiest studs in the Wizarding World. Gracing the cover in style, the Hogwarts staff is represented by none other than DADA Professor Harry Potter and Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. Grab one before they're gone! Reserve your copy by owl today!

#smutty week #drarry reclist #hd sex fair 2020 #sitp faves

184 notes · View notes

kinktae · 5 years

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flesh and blood || (M)

You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.

pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader

word count: 6k

genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut

warnings: guns, a semi spooky scene, crack plot written seriously, zombie jk falling for Y/N, part 2 will have smut

A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead. Happy Halloween!

01 | 02 | 03

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PART ONE

❝ Breaking News! A group of Walkers has been discovered hiding in the ruins of a Pre-Break Out industrial zone. A conference was held in City Hall where a representative of the DEAD Team said this in regards to the situation…❞

"Ugh, turn it down Junny," You grumbled, tugging your blanket over your head in hopes to null out the sound of the overly enthusiastic broadcaster on the television, "I'm trying to nap here."

"No way! Dad, did you hear? They found a family of zombies in our town!" Your younger brother enthused, wide eyes glued to the glass screen of the TV. He was sat beside your feet on the couch you laid on and you fought the urge to kick him off the furniture.

Your mother and father walked into the room shortly after, Junny's yells summoning their attention.

Rolling over, you sat up to see your dad standing behind the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he offered the screen his undivided attention.

Though the worst times of the Great Outbreak were now thought to be over – there hadn't been a reported zombie attack in years – the fear still lingered. You were just an infant when the zombie infestation was at its worst so perhaps that fear never had the chance to sink its filthy claws into you but you weren’t naive to the way the rest of the world still trembled.

Your father’s expression was solemn and impenetrable; if it weren’t for the way his eyes always gave away what he was truly feeling, you wouldn’t have a clue that he was upset. Glimmering behind his pupils were flashes of anger and consternation, along with memories of a story you had yet to hear.

Two decades ago, your father, along with many other young men and women, had volunteered to team up with the government to help contain the outbreak, hunting down and capturing zombies so they could be whisked off to a facility where they were killed in quarantine.

While the cause of the breakout seemed to be agreed upon, there was still much about the walking dead that remained a mystery to the general public.

Decades before the Great Outbreak, an experimental drug by the name of Immortuos had been growing in popularity. It was said to do anything from alleviating chronic pain to ridding the body of illness altogether. Ten years after its introduction, Immortuos had been administered to millions around the world. As time went on, however, the drug began to show signs of short term effectiveness; within a couple of years, symptoms of the illnesses it was meant to cure began to show up in individuals once again.

Immortuos was quickly discontinued and sent back into research, leaving scientists scratching their heads as they tried to figure out where they went wrong.

And so life went on; people, old and young, continued to live and die as they did before. However, years after the drug's discontinuation, a story broke out of a mortuary that came to life in the middle of the night in a rural town in Spain. And that was how the outbreak began, millions of corpses everywhere suddenly resurrecting. Published reports of zombie autopsies found that consciousness and motor functioning had returned despite the fact that the circulatory system had never revived, leaving the bodies without blood or oxygen. Not fully dead but not fully alive either. A sort of undead. And sure enough, a direct link to the use of the drug and resurrection was discovered.

Your father rarely spoke of that time; not that you ever had bothered to ask about it. It was unsettling to think he was ever one of the people hunting down zombies.

"Does this mean I don't have to go to school tomorrow?" Junny grinned boyishly, looking up at your mother.

"Nice try, Junseo. You're going." Your mother dismissed without a blink of an eye. You chuckled at the way your little brother scowled at her words.

On the screen was a recording of what you assumed must have been the conference held in City Hall. There was a man dressed in the DEAD Team uniform speaking into a microphone from behind a podium. You focused on the screen ahead, tuning out the chattering of your family as you listened to his words.

❝ Citizens of this town can rest assured that the Walkers in question were apprehended and sent off to our termination facility. We can't stress enough how crucial it is that you continue to send in reports of possible zombie sightings. Even if it's a false alarm, the risk isn't worth taking. Remember to not engage with the undead as they will attack unprovoked. These creatures don't care who you are or what you do, to them you are nothing more than their next meal.❞

A frown found your face at the officer's words. There hadn't been a zombie attack in years. It was hard to believe that zombies were truly insatiable, will stop at nothing, blood-lusting monsters.

"I thought we got rid of them all." Junny sighed.

"Most of them." Your father explained dully. "There are a few still lingering around."

"I still don't understand why we have to wait for the DEAD Team to take them out. If I run into one on my way to the market, I want to be able to protect myself right then and there." Your mother huffed suddenly, turning away from the TV.

She had always been a formidable woman– strong and independent. You had a feeling that if she hadn’t been tied down by a newborn child, she would've been there fighting alongside your father during the Great Outbreak.

Your father let out a sigh, "We don't want whatever is inside them possibly infecting normal civilians. That's why they have to be put down in quarantine."

“Whatever. I’m just glad we're almost completely rid of those bastards.” Your mother sighed, ruffling the hair on top of your brother's head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, unable to hide your distaste for any longer.

"And we say they are the monsters..." You muttered quietly.

Immediately, all eyes were on you.

"Excuse me? What was that?" Your mother cautioned.

You held her stare unabashedly, clearly having no intention to take back your words. Junseo's eyes flickered among the two of you, knowing the nature of the conversation that was soon to come. As much as you complained about how stubborn your mother was, he knew that you had inherited the very trait you resented.

"How can sit there and wish death on all those innocent people?"

"Y/N, this again?" Your mother let out an exasperated noise.

Your eyes grew wide with defiance, "Yes, this again. It doesn’t matter if they were once dead, they are still people! We have massacred millions and I don't understand how you all don’t so much as bat an eye at the thought of it."

At your words, your mother let out a bitter laugh, head shaking in disbelief.

"And what about the people those crimson heads have killed? What about the chaos and lives sacrificed to protect us from them?" Your mother retorted.

You scoffed, eyes rolling in unwavering disobedience.

“Did we even try to help them? To understand them?”

"You didn't live through the outbreak like your father and I did. You were just a baby. There are things you don't know, Y/N." She pressed angrily, doing nothing to sway your stance.

"What if it was me?" You challenged coldly. "What if I had died and came back to life? Would your first instinct be to put a bullet through my head? Those people had families!"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/N. They're not people, they’re rotting corpses that can walk and it’s about damn time you realized that.”

It was at this point that your father had decided to step in, placing a hand on your shoulder as he stopped you from arguing further.

"That's enough. The both of you. Arguing is a waste of time. We should be grateful for one another. We're a family and we're all together. Not everyone who survived the outbreak can say the same." His tone was matter-of-fact but not cold in the way your mother's had been.

Looking up at him, his cautious eyes met your ardent ones. They were laced in a plea for you to stop... to understand.

Pressing your lips together, you nodded begrudgingly. Your dad was right. Arguing with your mother was a waste of time. It wasn't as if anything you said would get through to her anyway.

Pushing the blanket off your body, you swung your legs back over to the floor, hand reaching out for your bag that was sitting against the coffee table.

"Where are you going?" Your father asked, eyeing you as you got up and hauled the bag over your shoulder.

"Home. Joon is probably waiting up for me." You told him disinterestedly, causing your mother to sigh.

Namjoon was your best friend and roommate, and while he was definitely still up, you highly doubted it was for your sake. If you knew your best friend, he was sprawled on the couch, his work spread out across the coffee table as one of those old, black and white shows about people living on a prairie played in the background. Your mother didn't need to know that, of course.

"Y/N, don't be ridiculous. It's already dark out, just spend the night." She pleaded.

"Night, Junny." You ignored her, turning towards your brother with a smile.

"Night!"

As you pushed past your parents and made your way out of the room, you could hear as they began to whisper to each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

You always hated it when they did that. As if you weren’t adult enough to join in on conversations that were obviously about you. It was if this whole world was constantly shouting a million and one rules at you – don’t do that, don’t question this, don’t go here – but the second you asked for an explanation as to why you should listen, all the yelling fell to a whisper, as if to let you know that words were being said but that you were purposely excluded from that knowledge.

That thought weighed heavily on your mind as you reached the deadbolted front door. The sound of you prying it’s five locks open hid the approaching footsteps of your father walking up behind you.

"Y/N."

The pop of the final lock accompanied your silent sigh, turning to face your awaiting parent.

"Yeah?"

"Your mother and I want you to take the bus home tonight. We know you usually take that shortcut by the factory plant because it's quicker but that area isn't safe. Especially not now with the recent sighting."

"Sure." You lied, simply because you knew it was what he would want to hear.

"And tie your hair up before you go out. It gives you a–"

"–maximum visual field, yeah I know. Teachers have been drilling that into us since elementary school, dad." You countered easily.

Your father nodded back at you.

"And Y/N," he continued, "she's harsh but... your mother is right when she says there is a lot of things you don't know."

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to reply. Suddenly, your father's hand found your cheek, cupping your face affectionately as he silently thought something over.

"There's something I want to give you before you go. Wait right here."

Your eyebrows arched in surprise as he left you suddenly, returning shortly with a small, folded blanket in his hands.

"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?" He spoke solemnly, starting to unwrap the bundle of fabric.

"Yeah, of course." You nodded, mildly confused.

Your face fell as the dull silver of a revolver revealed itself as the object hidden in between the blanket. You always knew your father kept a decent amount of self-defense weapons in the house, a consequence of his involvement during the Great Outbreak, but this was the first time he had ever shown you one. The only other time you had come into contact with one was an accident, stumbling upon a gun mounted under your father's desk during a juvenile game of hide-and-seek. Perhaps in another life, you would have been disturbed by the discovery, but all children of the apocalypse such as yourself were taught about guns and weapon safety by the time they had learned to count so you weren't particularly fazed.

“Just in case.” Your father pulled you from your memories, his lips pressed tight.

You eyed the deadly weapon for a moment, your stomach churning at the idea of ever having to fire such a device. Hesitantly, you grabbed it, hand wobbling slightly at the newfound weight. Wordlessly, you unzipped your backpack and hid the gun away, tucking the three bullets that laid beside it into your front pocket.

You forced the sides of your mouth to tilt up disingenuously, offering him a somber word of gratitude before slipping out of the house with a faint goodbye.

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Kicking at a piece of rubber, you watched as it skipped ahead, tumbling down the cracked cement of the road you traveled on. Your hair swayed behind you as you walked; you had thrown it up, not solely because of your father’s warning but simply because it felt strange not to. Like putting sneakers on without socks. In this world, stepping outside meant being vigilant and on high alert.

Naturally, you had disregarded your parents’ wish for you to take the bus home. Something that had emerged along the chaos and fear that probably wasn't initially considered was the sudden need for safe transportation. Transport industries quickly used this to their advantage, the costs of public and private transportation skyrocketing tenfold as a result. While most deemed it a necessary evil, you refused to pay for a twenty-dollar bus ride that would only take you ten minutes on foot.

And it wasn’t as if the area you were passing through was particularly unsafe. It was an industrial zone, empty and abandoned for as long as you could remember. During the peak of the apocalypse, factories and warehouses like the ones you were currently passing got raided for supplies. It wasn’t nearly as awful as it was made out to be, productivity had ceased anyway. Workers were too busy preparing themselves and their families against the army of undead to worry about showing up to work on time.

Crash!

Your stride came to a halt, one of your bag straps falling off your shoulder as you quickly whirled around to face where the loud sound had come from.

Brows furrowed, you peered through the holes in the wire fence that separated you and the property. You managed to make out a silhouette by the corner of a busted down door.

“Hello?” You called out warily.

The shadow quickly darted from view.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be there.”

Letting your gaze return back to the fence, you found a sizeable hole not too far off from where you stood. More telling than the hole, however, were the two torn up candy wrappers lying underneath it. All at once, you realized what exactly you were dealing with.

Runaway teens were an increasing problem in your city; many of them seemingly fed up with the strict rules and regulations that arose as a consequence of the Great Outbreak. As much as you sympathized with them, a dirty abandoned factory was no place for a child.

You slipped past the fence, mind made up to get whoever was inside out and back to safety. Trudging your way through the rubble and waste, you headed towards the building’s entrance, noting the trail of candy wrappers that lead to it.

Peering inside the building, you were met with a slow-moving cloud of dust that had yet to settle down– it appeared as if a part of the ceiling had collapsed which explained the loud noise you heard earlier.

“You can come out, okay? You’re not in any trouble, I promise.”

It was dark inside, the only light source coming from the street lamps that lined the road you once stood on, their cold luminescence pushing through the broken shards of the factory’s windows.

You pushed further into the ill-lit building. There were all sorts of machines and garbage inside; the tile floor was layered with dirt, clearly accumulated through the years of trespassers coming in and out.

Spotting another silver candy wrapper, you headed down a hallway, pushing past a heavy steel door.

You let yourself take a moment to take in the room ahead of you. It must have been the more corporate side of the company, you deducted, as rows of filing cabinets lined the room, papers and ransacked charts spread across the floor. There was an eeriness to the building, you quickly realized. It was somewhat unsettling feeling to see something that once must have been the pinnacle of structure and organization in such an utter state of chaos. The room was quiet enough that if you just focused hard enough, you could imagine what it once looked like, all clean and pristine as employees walked through and went about their day.

You pushed down your uneasiness, eyes straining to guide you through the windowless room.

A rustle of fabric caught your attention and you quickly rounded about a large shelf in order to reach the child.

“Are you hurt? I heard those ceiling tiles fall–”

You let your words fall flat.

A tall silhouette stood against the wall, nothing like the stature of a small adolescent like you had been anticipating. The hair on your body rose as the sound of ragged, strained breaths fell from the dark figure ahead of you.

It took a step forward, body swaying unnaturally.

Every hair on your body stood on end, jaw falling slack as reality dawned on you.

You could hear the voice of your elementary school teacher in your head suddenly, remembering the lecture she had given you and your rowdy class on what to do in case of a zombie attack. How little attention you had paid back then, giggling over something Namjoon had whispered in your ear. Yet as you stood there in front of the exact thing you had been taught to fear, you could recall every single word, playing over in your head like a mantra stuck on loop.

Don’t make any sudden noises.

It was as if every nerve ending in your body grew cold, your feet felt impossibly heavy as fear paralyzed you, watching with wide eyes as the dark figure crept closer and closer.

Look for the nearest exit.

A panicked exhale fell from you as it's dull eyes locked onto yours. The shadow covered creature let out a noise of its own: deep, guttural and utterly inhuman.

And run.

You nearly lost your footing as you launched yourself into a sprint, not even thinking to head back the way you came in, mind blinded with white-hot panic. The cracked walls of the building echoed your frenzied steps, like a cruel game of hide-and-seek where no matter where you hid, you would be found.

Shoving past a stack of empty cardboard boxes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar storage room. Scanning the room hurriedly, your eyes fell onto a door on the other side and you quickly made your way over to it.

"Dammit!" You seethed, yanking at the handle as you realized the door you had reached was locked.

Jaw clenched, you turned back around to exit the room when your father’s words unexpectedly crossed your mind.

"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?"

And so you reached over a shoulder for your bag, eyes flicking between it and the room ahead of you as you picked yourself back up into a jog.

Tugging the zipper aside, you cursed at the jumbled sight of your bag’s contents. You had placed the gun on top but it must have sunk to the bottom during your travels.

You stuck your hand in further, looking to feel the cool metal brush against your fingertips.

Then, everything went dark, a low ringing finding your ears as you stumbled back, completely thrown off balance. You let out a yelp of pain and clutched your head, vision blurry and doubled.

You hissed, disoriented and confused as you had run headfirst into a large filing cabinet, too occupied with finding the gun to pay attention to where you were running. You struggled to keep yourself on solid ground, too ailed to notice the way that very cabinet had lost its footing and now teetered dangerously, seconds from crashing down onto you.

Suddenly, something seized both your arms, yanking you back as the heavy hunk of metal came crashing onto the ground.

You winced at the sound, before realizing that you had been grabbed by someone. One panicked glance over your shoulder confirmed your fears and a scream ripped through you, thrashing in the zombie's grip. To your surprise, you were released immediately, falling to your knees momentarily as you scrambled forward and away from your captor. Your escape was halted by a wall, however, forced to stop and press your back to it, eyes wide as you kept them locked on the zombie boy across from you.

His skin was a pale-ish blue, unlike any color you had seen before, his hair coarse and unkempt, nearly shielding his eyes from view. But still, you saw them: peering through his dark strands and guarded by the bruises that stained the skin around them as if he hadn't slept in ages. Shallow breaths fell through his pale lips, tinted purple from the lack of blood running through him.

“You just... You just saved me.” You marveled.

The zombie stood in front of you wordlessly, shoulders slumped forwards as his head tilted.

You knew there was a high chance he had no clue what you were saying, but frankly, you were too stunned to care. Here you were, somewhere in an abandoned factory in the middle of the night accompanied by the very thing you were raised to fear... and he had pulled you away from a falling metal cabinet.

You held his eyes. They were glossy and unmoving– lifeless almost. You shook your head; your heart had settled back into its chest, your breathing finally evening out. What coursed through you was no longer dread but an insatiable need to understand.

What did he want?

Why would he save you?

How did he get here?

The zombie let out a grunt suddenly as if it was meant as a goodbye before he turned around, beginning to leave.

“Wait!” You called out after him, putting your existential crisis on pause.

To your surprise, he turned back around immediately, facing you with unmistakable attentiveness. Did he... understand you?

“You… Today on the news... That was your family, wasn’t it?" You guessed, purely on a whim.

The zombie said nothing but you thought you saw a wave of something akin to melancholy wash over his face. No words were exchanged but your gut told you that you were right nonetheless.

“They'll be looking for you. You’ll be caught if you stay here.” You continued, swallowing down your nerves. You still weren't sure if the zombie boy could even understand you after all.

Placing a hand against the paint chipped wall, you helped yourself back up, inhaling sharply as your head throbbed. You took a cautious step toward him, hands trembling but stance steadfast.

Extending your palm forward, you offered your hand towards him, newfound determination coursing through you as the zombie boy's eyes followed the gesture curiously.

“You saved my life." You acknowledged with a nod. "Now let me save yours.”

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"Shh! Quietly, come in." You whispered, gesturing for the hoodied zombie to follow you into your apartment.

This zombie, as you had come to find out, was particularly agreeable. While he didn't seem to actually understand your language per se, he did seem to respond particularly well to gestures and body language, which was how you had somehow managed to wrangle him into your apartment, his dirty red hoodie thrown over his head to cover his face in case you ran into another human.

The undead man's eyes grew wide, taking in the inside space of your apartment with wonder. You could only imagine it must have been an upgrade from the gloomy factory he had been hiding out in. Reaching the kitchen, you froze at the sound of the TV on and playing from your living room.

Shit. Namjoon.

"Y/N, is that you?" Your roommate called out from the couch, hearing the shuffle of your steps.

You cursed internally. On your way home, you hadn't given much thought to exactly how you were going to hide your new zombie friend from your living one. You weren't thinking much at all honestly, too concerned with getting home unseen to worry about anything else.

Turning towards the zombie boy, you extended your hand in front of you in a gesture that ordered him to stay put. He stared at it, eyebrows moving towards one another.

"Stay." You directed quietly, before turning the other way.

"Yeah." You called out, placing your bag on your kitchen counter before heading towards the living room.

"Thought you were spending the night at your family's place?" Namjoon pondered, turning over to look at you as you entered the space.

"Changed my mind." You shrugged, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant, despite the way your heart clamored against your chest. "Didn't think you'd be up this late."

Your bespeckled best friend let out a sigh, dropping whatever file he was studying back onto the coffee table.

"Yeah, I guess I lost track of the time." He mused, glancing at his wristwatch. You nodded nervously, opening your mouth to suggest that perhaps he should head to bed now when Namjoon cut you off suddenly.

“Holy fuck!” He shot up from his seat, eyes set behind you as a terrified expression fell over him. You whipped around, heart falling into your ass.

Oh shit.

"No! Bad zombie! I told you to stay!" You scolded him. He was now standing behind you, having had abandoned his post in the kitchen. He looked as unbothered as ever, his hands tucked into his hoodie as he casually looked the two humans over.

"What the fuck?!" Namjoon cried.

“I can explain.” You turned towards the panicking boy calmly.

Immediately, Namjoon jumped into action, scrambling to crouch behind the couch as if to put a physical barrier between him and the zombie.

"You– Y/N, tell me that's just a guy wearing zombie makeup. Tell me that is not a zombie standing in our living room. Say sike right fucking now!” Namjoon squawked, his voice pitched high.

You grimaced, looking over at the indifferent zombie before looking back at your roommate.

“Just hear me out for one second–”

“Are you insane?!" Namjoon shrieked, standing up in anger before realizing he had exposed himself and quickly ducking back down. "I’m not gonna listen to you! You brought a zombie into our house– oh god. He bit you, didn't he? You're probably turning as we speak!”

You rolled your eyes, realizing that Namjoon wasn't calming down anytime soon.

“My best friend is a zombie... this is like some horrible Disney Channel movie coming to life!” He rambled on nervously, running a hand through his hair in despair.

“For fuck’s sake Namjoon, I’m not a zombie! Besides, you know getting bit doesn't turn people– that was disproved ages ago.” You scoffed, glancing over at the zombie man who still seemed uninterested despite the scene your best friend was making.

“Well excuse me if I don’t have the logistics of zombie contagion down! It doesn't change the fact that you brought a flesh-eating monster into our home, you psychopath!”

You frowned at your best friend’s tone.

“If he was a flesh-eating monster, then wouldn’t we be dead by now?” You stated matter-of-factly, hand on your hip.

“Exactly— wait.” Namjoon blinked, poking his head out from behind the couch. He frowned, glancing over at the zombie. “Hold on a minute. Why is he just standing there?"

Hesitantly, your best friend stood up from the couch altogether, "I thought zombies jumped at the chance of eating people?”

“Yes, well, for whatever reason, this one doesn’t.” You told him with a shrug. You had thought the same thing when you first came across your new undead friend.

You watched as the familiar flame of curiosity spark behind Namjoon’s eyes. Slowly, he inched his way over to the two of you, hands in front of him as if to shield himself until he was just inches away from the resurrected man.

For a few moments, it was silent, your best friend and the zombie running their eyes over one another as they each decided what to make of each other.

To your surprise, Namjoon's hand reached over and positioned itself onto the zombie's neck, pointer and middle finger pulled together as he checked for a pulse.

“Fascinating…” Namjoon murmured inquisitively as he concluded that the stranger was indeed dead.

Your shoulders, which had been locked up tensely as the two men interacted, dropped immediately, realizing that Namjoon's initial panic had subsided and been replaced with interest. It was in his nature to be fascinated with the things that scared and repulsed most, of course. He was studying to become a biomedical scientist after all.

Despite his cowardliness, Namjoon was actually quite fearless when it came to his work; he was extremely intelligent and had a natural knack for research and investigative methods. You could only hope that the prospect of having a real-life zombie to study from would outweigh any moral duty he felt to report you to the police.

“You know how illegal this is right?” He said sternly, much calmer than he initially was.

"He saved my life, Joon." You explained. "I don't know why but... I couldn't just leave him behind. Especially not with the DEAD Team on high alert with the recent sightings. They'd kill him if they found him."

Namjoon turned away from the zombie, sighing as he met your eyes.

"Well... maybe they should."

You frowned, "Joon–"

"I mean think about what it stands for in the first place: Designated Eradication And Decimation. An entire team was put together solely to get rid of these guys. Surely, there’s a reason why. The government wouldn't put a group together like that if zombies didn't pose a threat to humankind, right?”

Your brows furrowed, finding a fair point in Namjoon's words. Yet, as you turned to look at the zombie and found him placidly watching the television, you couldn’t find it within yourself to agree.

Suddenly, you were in front of your best friend, taking his hands into yours as you put on a sorrowful expression.

"Please don't turn him in!" You begged, your bottom lip jutting out. "I know what I'm asking is a lot but I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important. There’s no one else in this world I could trust to help me with this.”

Namjoon's eyes went wide, yanking his hands from between yours. He twisted his head away from your pleading eyes, cheeks tinted pink.

"Ah, jeez, Y/N. Turning him would mean turning you in for housing him in the first place. Just because you don't give a shit about your wellbeing, doesn't mean I don't. God, you really are an idiot."

You let out a grateful squeal, wrapping your arms around your best friend, "Thank you, thank you! I knew I could always count on you."

The scientist froze in your embrace before letting out a sigh, patting your back begrudgingly as he muttered words of dismissal, neither you nor him noticing the way the zombie was now watching you two in interest, a curious expression on his face.

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"It's okay... It's just water. It won't hurt you." You promised, hand gesturing towards you as you urged the zombie man to come closer.

You were standing in the shower, clothes dampening as the running water hit your body. Namjoon was stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the bathroom's door frame. He had insisted on standing guard in case the walker suddenly decided that he was, in fact, hungry and went ahead and tried to have you for dinner.

The zombie watched dubiously as you beckoned him forward but if he had objections he didn't bother to voice them as he stepped into the shower after you.

"Good. Look, that feels nice, doesn't it?" You reasoned, leading his hand under the stream of water. The unnamed zombie watched as his hand grew blurry, the running water bouncing against it. The dirt that clung to his skin slowly dissipated, falling onto the ceramic tub and running down the drain.

Placing a hand against the shower wall, you maneuvered yourself around him so that he could stand under the showerhead. The zombie hardly noticed the swap in positions, however, too enthralled with the feeling of water against his hand.

"Here, now why don't you try standing under it–" You had placed your hands against his back, nudging him closer to the stream when he let out a noise of panic, whirling around to rush over to the opposite side of the shower, pressing you back into the shower wall in the process.

"Y/N!" Namjoon called out, moving forward.

"I'm okay!" You reassured immediately, pausing your best friend's motions. The dead man had both hands held against the wall, trapping you on either side.

Bringing your hands up, you placed them onto his chest, trying your hardest to ignore how empty it felt. Pushing him back, you let out a breath. Truth be told, his quick actions had startled you. As much as you wanted to believe that he was different, the truth was that you didn't know for certain if he wasn't everything the media told you he was.

He was looking down at you, uncertainly laced across his face.

It was the first time you had gotten a chance to truly look at him this close. From here, it was easy to see how he was once human. He had pretty features– unquestionably, he would have been an attractive man when he was alive.

Something you hadn’t noticed before were the faint, blue veins that crawled up his neck and cheeks; markers of the Immortous drug that once ran through his bloodstream. Taking note of the dried patch of blood on his cheek, you pulled your wet sleeve over your hand before reaching up to gently rub against his stained skin.

"I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to clean you up, okay?" You assured him with an encouraging nod.

To your surprise, the hand that had been stroking his cheek was suddenly stilled, his large palm loosely covering yours. He kept it there, not as to tell you to stop but as if to show his gratitude– or at least that was what you told yourself. It was a simple gesture, but it gave you pause before a soft smile fell over you.

Leading him back, the two of you eventually found the water that rained down from the large shower head. You watched as the zombie flinched, face scrunching up as the water began to fall down the back of his head.

"Come help me get his clothes off." You called to Namjoon, and so the undressing began.

The zombie stood silently as he was left in nothing but his jeans, not understanding what was being said around him, but knowing that he was not in danger here. The taller of his two new companions, the man, rubbed a strange substance into his uncombed hair as you rubbed as his arms, a frothy, pleasant smelling matter coating his skin.

Water dripped from his bangs and ran down his face, some of it seeping into his eyes. It stung them slightly, and the zombie wondered if whatever the tall man had put into his hair was to blame. He thought to close his eyes to put a stop to the irritation but for whatever reason, he opted to keep them open for a bit longer just so he could watch you. Your hair was weighed down with the water that was bouncing off of him and onto you, face set seriously as you focused on whatever it was you were doing.

Your hands were warm, much like the water raining down his back, but still different somehow. They were more firm, and somehow more soothing. You were washing at his chest when you finally took notice of your spectator, feeling the zombie's eyes on you. Peering up at him, you laughed nervously, flashing him a small grin.

No, he decided.

He didn’t want to close his eyes.

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