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hollyhomburg · 2 months

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Before I leave you (Pt.67)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

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

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

W/c: 12.5k

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

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin you can’t; your stitches.”

“Fuck my stitches hyung.”

Numb fingers meet numb faces.

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

That’s my girl.

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

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

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

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

“Kookie-”

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

Who knew blood would incur Jungkook's grooming instincts?

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

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

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

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

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

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

There isn’t much to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think we can wait that long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Endless meaningless Jibber jabber to distract all of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

Evidence is evidence. Washing off can’t wait.

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

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

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

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

Namjoon apologizes after every wince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Namjoon-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I've got them.”

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

"Guys"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't scruff me."

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook reaches over and turns off the water.

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you like your courting present pup?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even if I’m not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dial tone drones like a funeral drum.

~-~

(Hoseok, a few years prior)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much did he steal?”

“300k”

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

“A finger for every 100 then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is he underaged?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All packmates of a Don get put on the list;

no matter if they're active or past.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pack Omega 🌙 calling.

Pick up? Decline?

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

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

“Byulyi- Moonbyul please-”

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

Even when you know it could hurt you.

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

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

“No.”

“Moonbyul please-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok grins, “Are you buying hyung?”

~-~

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Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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rukkiya · 1 year

Text

take it back

(al haitham x reader, zhongli x reader (separate). they take off their wedding bands during an argument)

al haitham ｡･ﾟﾟ･

“Drop it, this doesn’t concern you.” He states flatly, not even glancing your way.

“Doesn’t concern me?! What’re you saying? All I’m asking is if you’ve gotten any rest! Since you’ve become Grand Sage I haven’t even seen you home for who knows how long!” You follow behind him as he walks away.

“Stop it.” He exhales, his lack of sleep and the stress was piling up, even for someone as tame and collected as Al Haitham this was getting to be a bit much for him.

“If you need a break take one! Not for anyone else but yourself Haitham come on! Please look at yourself, you're going to wear yourself out in no time!” You plead, voice slightly rising at his dismissive attitude. His legs come to a halt making you stop a few feet behind.

“Get off my case already, you’re being a bother.” His hands move faster than his brain registers, his fingers ghosting over his ring finger without another thought.

“I’m not the one that needs to look in the mirror, have you taken a good look at yourself?” He spits out turning hot on his heels, eyes narrowing at you.

You only gulp, feeling whiplash by his words and sudden outburst. You hadn’t expected him to act like this. You know how drained he really is and try to shove what he just said to the side but the look in his eyes made you think otherwise.

“This job was appointed to me specifically so it’s my duty to uphold it to the best of my ability. My job is of more importance than you’ll ever be anyways. With your lack of knowledge of course I don’t expect you to understand. I suggest you leave if you truly can’t handle it.” The ring he took off slipped from his fingertips as he threw it your direction making time freeze for you both as he did so.

He truly has no logical explanation as to why he did such a thing, can’t wrap his own mind around what he’s said or done until he sees your expression drop from angry to sad in seconds.

His ring finger now felt oddly cold without the silver band hugging it. The sound of the ring hitting the floor was way too loud in the now dead quiet house.

Your voice was no longer ringing in his ears, the only thing he heard now was his heart rapidly beating in his chest, what has he done?

You stand there letting it sink in. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt again but taking his ring off and throwing it at your face was something else entirely. Your angry expression was nowhere seen as you felt your heart drop along with the ring he carelessly tossed your way.

You couldn't bring yourself to move from where you stood, nor did he. Seeing how this was his reaction to you getting on his case about taking better care of himself it shows how truly annoyed he’s grown of you. How much of a bother you’ve become. Exactly what you were afraid of what would happen.

“Y/n I-“

The things he just said ring loud in your ears as you hesitantly step forward not hearing him call you just now.

You bring your hand to your ring finger, slipping off the matching one you wore. Now both rings were in your hand making Al Haitham’s eyes widen.

What has he done?

He moves forward. Long legs striding up to you in seconds. He couldn’t stand it. The sight of your ring finger bare or his own, he needed to say something! Anything!

“No, don't do that. Please.” He pleads, warm hands reaching for your smaller ones only to see yours retract from his making his breath hitch. What has he done?

The two delicate rings now in your palm, both of your hearts and vows in the palm of your hands. Seeing him take it off without a second thought made you rethink what he told you the day you got married. Was your caring really enough to drive him mad, to want to push you away this much?

Al Haitham was never one to act out on emotion, always calm and collected, cool headed, but seeing him react in such a way made you realize just how much of you he truly couldn’t take anymore. He wouldn’t have reacted that way if you weren’t so goddamn overbearing.

You hesitate but extend your arm out, hand hovering over his.

His own reach out in an instant but he regrets doing so the second you place both rings on his palm now. The weight of his actions dawned on him and the logical solutions he’s always so good at coming up with were nowhere useful at the moment.

His usually unamused face was now painted with worry as fear struck him in his gut.

“I understand, I’m sorry. It was out of line of me to say that.” You clear your throat. It’s all you can say, but what else were you supposed to say? You were embarrassed, ashamed. You annoyed him so much to the point he didn’t think twice about taking off his wedding band. Only having it thrown at your face was more than enough to signal that he's grown far from annoyed with your presence.

“Wait, no don't do this. Y/N it’s not-“

“You’re right, your job is of much more importance. I’ll take my leave.” You move away from him as he reaches out again. You wanted to get out of there, not wanting to stand in the same room as him for another second, it was too much right now. You both clearly needed to clear your minds. Though even after you both do, how will things be afterwards?

zhongli ･ﾟﾟ･｡

The once fearless god now residing in Liyue harbor, taking it a day at a time. He’s learned to take things a day at a time and enjoy what he has while he has it. In the past he was shown just how quickly things can be taken away if taken for granted.

He was skeptical of letting anyone get too close as he's seen far too many of his loved ones pass on before his eyes, knowing just how fragile and weak mortals truly are. You however were selfless, always putting others safety before our own and he couldn't stand it. Though he had already fallen for you long before and you both vowed to love each other till death do you part he promised himself that he'd take care of your reckless self for as long as he can to keep you with him for as long as celestia would allow.

Tough, when your expedition team came back with you on a stretcher the sad reality was thrown in his face again, but he bit his tongue knowing just how stubborn you can be about protecting others.

Your injuries were not major but enough to leave you bedridden for a few days. Deep cuts and bruising littler your skin from you carelessly throwing yourself in front of falling debris to protect one of your expedition buddies. Zhongli can't help but let his mind wander to darker places every time you get hurt. He can't help but think of the worst, always fearing he'd lose you for good everytime you leave.

“Come on, it really isn't so bad! I'm serious, I’m all better, see!” You give him your best smile, outstretching your arms to show him your now smaller bruises.

He looks away from your arms, jaw clenching as he remembers how badly it was when you first arrived. Your legs looked even worse yet you weren’t even complaining about the pain he knew you definitely felt.

“The doctor said you’re not to leave until another two weeks. You should still be bedridden so please stop talking about such things and get some proper rest.” His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he tells you this for the hundredth time. He understands your love for being out and helping others but he can’t understand why you’d want to risk getting more hurt than you already are.

“Enough resting for me, I've been here for too long already. I can be doing something right now instead of wasting my time sitting here doing nothing!” You try to reason. You were going mad as more days passed by. You felt good enough to go out again, sitting in bed all day wasn't going to ease your racing mind anyways. Going out always helps take your mind off yourself and focus on more important matters.Giving others a helping hand instead of letting your mind think too much. Having Zhongli stay home a few days helped but you felt like a bother for having him take care of you for so long already.

His pointer finger and thumb fidget with the wedding band on his ring finger to distract himself from losing his composure in front of you. It was the only thing he could do other than bite his tongue and going off on you, telling you your selfish and foolish to even bring it up ‘getting back out there’ this early but you weren’t letting up, you kept bringing it up over and over and flashes of your beaten body were flashing though his mind until he spiraled thinking the worst.

“Listen, from now on I'll be more careful.” you sigh, feeling bad seeing his eyebrows crease knowing it's stressing him out.

“But you have to understand, if I get hurt I'll be ok. I just can't let others get hurt in front of me. If I can prevent that then at any cost I will.” You explain, seeing his shoulders tense up.

A loud scraping sound cut you off as the chair he was sitting on was pushed back in an instant.

“How careless could you be? Can't you see that I was worried sick yet you say such things? Have you any idea how much this affects me too!? I can't stand seeing you beaten and bruised yet you are all the time!” his voice gets higher as he talks, you didn't dare speak, having never heard his voice go any higher than how he normally speaks.

“I'm not doing it on purpose. Love, I don't mean to cause you distress its just-”

The band on his finger snapped, two halves falling onto the floor as you tried to tell him once again how it wasn't a big deal. But he couldn't take it. “I've heard enough of your excuses, if you truly feel as if your life means nothing then i'll see it the same way from now on too.” He sighs and you feel your throat go dry.

“I'm not making excuses, I don't see it like that. Zhongli, I don't want you to leave me- its- it's just that I-” you stutter as he kneels down to the broken pieces on the floor. You've done it now, your carelessness always gets you into trouble one way or another. You didn't mean it like that, to say you didn't care about his feelings of concerns but you just didn't phrase it right.

Of course you care, you think of him everytime you leave and pray you'll be back to see him another day. Having him leave you scared you like no other, you didn't want to be alone. So hearing him say that right now set a familiar feeling in your chest, you were going to be left all alone once again.

“Zhongli, listen please. I want you to stay! I want to stay with you and have us grow old together. I don't want to get injured badly and put stress or worry on you nor do I wish for an early death upon myself. I just want to help others, and be with you! I know I'm reckless but you've known that since we've met. I'm sorry, I know I'm a headache to be around but I can't stand seeing others hurt. If I can prevent that I will. But I need you here, I need you by my side. I can't stand being alone.” You explain, throwing your heavy legs over the side of your bed as he placed the broken ring by your bedside table.

“Yes, I've known that since before I married you Y/n but you're right, I guess you've become too much even for me to handle now.” He places the ring beside you and you stand up on wobbly legs.

Almost falling over he gives you a hand and steadies you. Seeing you already on the brink of tears hurt him physically but he needed a breather, to clear his mind.

“Please no, dont leave me alone” You whisper, hands slightly tightening around his forearm to keep him from moving.

He has to hold himself back from wrapping his arms around you, saying he'd stay but he can't continue to watch you hurt yourself. Insead he offers you his comforting smile and nods his head. “In due time i'll be back, but until then you need to realize just how important your life is before anything else my love.” He whispers, placing a featherlite kiss on top of your head before turning around. You grip him a bit more but he slowly pulls back. You don't fight it though. If he truly couldn't stand this anymore you didn't blame him, so you let him go without uttering another word.

He doesn't let himself turn around because he knows he won't leave if he sees your crying. You don't stop him either, not wanting to hold him back and cause him more distress than you already have. He hears you crying by the time he closes the door behind him and he promises himself he'd come back. You may not want him by the time, you may resent him for doing this but he'd still love you and care no matter what because as much worry and pain you gave him from your selflessness he wouldnt replace you for anyone else nor take back the time hes spent with you.

______________

authors note: hello hehehe :3 MY LOVES THANK YOU ALL SM FOR 1,000-PLEASE!!!! (｡´ ‿｀♡) I had planned to post another oneshot but I ended up writing this one while writing the other one lol ( that one will be up soon!) but it’s my first time writing for zhongli! ive had this idea sitting in my mind for months GOSH FINALLY I WRITE IT!!but had a hard time deciding who to write it for lol so I chose these two handsome men! this is my second multi post again ( idk if I should even call it that it’s only two lol) it’s not edited so apologies for any errors but besides that, I do hope you all enjoy, remember to drink water and take care ok! ^~^<333

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #genshin angst #hurt no comfort #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact al haitham angst #al haitham x reader #oneshot #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines

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mono-moonchilds · 9 months

Text

For Glory │KNJ

⤑ pairing: underground boxer!namjoon x fem!reader

⤑ genre: angst!!, smut, some fluff ig but also not really but yes??

⤑ rating:explicit (18+)

⤑ word count: 3.2k

⤑ summary: A fight to the death. No rules, no refs, and nowhere to run.

⤑ warnings: descriptive depiction of boxing, illusions of death, mentions of a stabbing, ig just violence in general fr, arguments, anyways on to the smut part of these warnings, fingering, emotional sex, missionary, riding, namjoon has a buzz cut, feel free to let me know if I missed anything but I think that's all folks

⤑ A/N: I watched Bloodhounds a few weeks then just had to make a boxing fic because I loved that show so much. hot men + fighting = sign me up.

The room was full to capacity, nothing but sweaty drunks that were hollering over each other while letting out rowdy cheers filling the place. Despite it all, it felt like you could hear everything. Every punch, every kick- each blow that landed on his bruised skin rang a thousand times in your ears. The fight had only been going on for fifteen minutes —probably less— but it felt like much longer. Both of their bodies already so badly beaten —bright red blood spewing from their wounds and covering the once pristine mat.

This was your first fight and it showed. Your hands clenching the worn wooden benches, breath hitching at every movement. You usually didn’t come to these events, and you didn’t see how anyone could. They were barbaric and rough -no gloves, no rules, and definitely no safety measures. They couldn’t use weapons but that was about it. Everything else was free game and however the match ended was how it ended.

Whether it was in a K.O. or stone-cold murder was all up to the victor.

‘Fight To The Death’ was what they called it. A sixteen-by-sixteen ring, surrounded by wired, ceiling-high fences, and absolutely no referees. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and nowhere to escape. Neither party could call a time-out either. Once they were in the ring they were stuck there until the horn blew signaling the match was over.

“Fuck!” You jumped up from your seat. That was a mean one. The punch knocked Namjoon straight on his back allowing the other to climb on top. Luckily Namjoon was able to bring his arms up and get into a protective huddle, but it was still barely any help. Lee Do Yoon was evil, and his hits were ruthless. Even in the regular matches, he had a reputation for playing dirty.

This wasn’t even supposed to be his fight. For two years Namjoon had been out —he owned a gym and had a regular life that didn’t involve the underground fighting scene. For two beautiful years, you were able to see your boyfriend come home the way he left. No bruises, no busted lips. Just a clean face and a happy smile.

All of you had told Jungkook to lie low. That bragging and arguing with The Vipers was something he did not want to do. Despite your efforts to keep out this scene and the business that went along with it even you knew that Do Yoon and his little gang were nothing to mess with. Of course, Jungkook didn’t listen. When did he ever?

The night of your anniversary was when you got the call. You and Namjoon were on your way home from dinner when his phone rang.

Jungkook had been stabbed. They did him over three different times before leaving him for dead in the middle of an alley. Thankfully Jungkook had been relatively fine, but he was in absolutely no shape to fight. He could’ve pulled out but all of them had way too much vengeance to let the incident go unchecked, letting The Vipers have another by default victory. The other man had done this before and the only reason none of them ever got him back was they were all too consumed with their grief.

Hoseok had offered to fight in Jungkook’s place and so had Taehyung but either of them getting in that ring with Lee Do Yoon would’ve been like signing their death note. It’d been years since their last fight. And even though both of them were still in amazing shape they also had way too many injuries to even stand a chance of winning.

Of course, Namjoon never told you his plan though. He kept quiet, carefully dodging your suspicious questions until tonight.

“It’s okay- he’s okay. Namjoon’s got this,” Jungkook tried to comfort wrapping his arm around you, but you shook him off sending a mean glare.

You knew it was unfair to still be angry with him, but you couldn’t help. Sometimes you just wanted Jungkook to grow up —for him to mature and think with his head. Yeah, he knew how to step but he also needed to know when to fall the fuck back. He was twenty-five and everyone was still cleaning up his messes as if he were a kid.

“Joon!” You screamed out your hands banging against the gate. Instead of grabbing your boyfriend’s attention, you grabbed Do Yoon’s. A bloody grin filling his snake-like features as he turned towards you.

“Come on Joon—” he cooed mockingly, “you gone let your girl stand there and just watch you get put down like an animal? I thought you were supposed to be something. That’s what they told me.” Do Yoon got up from on top of him swinging his leg back hard before pushing it forward kicking Namjoon straight in the side. It sent all the air out of his body making Namjoon curl into a ball as he let out a loud cry. “Your nothing,” Do Yoon hacked a bloody lob right onto his face. “Just a washed-up piece of shit.”

Do Yoon yanked his head back. Namjoon had no time to react before the other man's hard fist clocked him dead in the face six times before dropping him back on the mat. Even though the match wasn’t over Do Yoon jumped around the ring as if he’d already won the crowd hyping him up like the depraved monster he was.

“Please,” You begged. Namjoon was still down. He kept trying to get up, but his body was wobbly and failing him.

Do Yoon crouched down in front of you. His tongue dragged against the nasty wire fence as he licked it. “Once I’m done imma have a nice time with you—” he reached down groping his flaccid dick in his shorts. “me and my boys. We’re going to-”

Before he can finish the sentence Do Yoon’s face is smashed against the fence before being dragged back. Namjoon is the one on top now. His punches unrelenting as he attacks every part of the man underneath his body. For once you understood how everyone else in the arena felt. A loud cheer came from the depths of your soul as you threw your arms up. Do Yoon was able to get a few good punches in, but it wasn’t enough, newfound energy filling Namjoon’s entire being.

It should have terrified you. The way Namjoon looked -his eyes cold and distant but it didn’t.

With one last heavy punch the match was over, Do Yoon’s arms falling flat to his side. For once the audience was quiet. Everyone was waiting with bated breath to see if he would get up. Strings of swearing erupted from his goons, their hands shaking the cage wall as they yelled at him. It was too late though.

The loud countdown over the speaker started.

Ten!

Nine!

Eight!

Seven!

Six!

Five!

Four!

Three!

Two!

One!

The horn blared.

“The winner of this year's Fight to The Death: Kiiim NaaamJOON!”

As soon as the gate rolled open you were gone. Jumping up you wrap your legs around Namjoon’s waist, his strong arms lifting you into the air. The crowd fickle as ever rang out in cheers, shouting and chanting Namjoon’s praises. Your boyfriend took it all in, a loud roar erupting from his throat as he bounced up and down.

It was over.

It was all finally over.

Namjoon walked out of the venue with a limp and somewhat clean face. Though he was still marred with bruises and cuts, Seokjin had managed to patch him up well. Before the two of you got into the car, he called over Jungkook handing him one of the leather briefcases. With a shake of his head, the younger immediately declined, pushing it away.

“Take it,” Namjoon pressed shoving it into his chest. “Pay your debts and stay out of trouble.”

“I’m sorry Hyung,” Jungkook broke down into tears. “I’m so sorry,” He repeated looking at you this time. “I will. I promise I will.”

“I know,” Namjoon said pulling Jungkook into a hug. “It’s over. don’t think about it too much.”

Throughout all his goodbyes Namjoon kept a stoic face. It was only when the two of you crawled into the backseat of Hoseok’s car that he let out a loud sob. Hoseok looked back at him through the rear-view mirror but didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. Reaching over you grabbed his hand and leaned over resting your head on his shoulder.

“I did it. I fucking did.” Namjoon whispered but you knew he wasn’t talking to you. He wasn’t talking to either of you. Instead, his focus was on the golden boxing glove chain that was around his neck.

Yoongi’s old necklace.

When the two of you entered your shared apartment the story of what had gone down just hours before was all over the place. The space is messy littered with broken objects that you’d thrown around in a fit. Before you could finish making your way over to the kitchen to grab the broom Namjoon grabbed your wrist stopping you.

“We’ll clean it up tomorrow. Come on,”

Sitting down on the bed Namjoon pulled you a top of him. Your legs spread on either side of his body. “Didn’t think you would come,”

“Called Jimin last minute. He rushed me over.”

“How come?”

You shrugged sucking in a sniffle. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of you being in that ring thinking all that shit I said was true. I didn’t mean it Joon. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Namjoon, as understanding as ever nodded his head. “Baby I know you didn’t. I know you were just angry and you had every right to be.” That made you cry. You never would understand what you’d done in life to be able to call someone like Namjoon yours.

Gingerly grabbing your brown cheeks between his palms, Namjoon pulled you in for a kiss. The remnants of dried metallic blood danced on your tongue. It reminded you of your first kiss. How the scars made his lips rough and how swollen they felt against yours. You should’ve been used to this but for some reason, it all felt so foreign. Haven got so used to your new normal you’d completely pushed down the old one.

The staying up to the wee hours of the morning wondering if he was going to be okay, sometimes having to patch him up or force him to go to the hospital when things looked too bad.

“Come on,” Namjoon hushed pulling you back in. “Stay with me,”

Flipping the two of you over he laid you down on your back. His hands instantly falling to the hem of your leggings as he pulled the tight fabric off of you. Namjoon’s lips found yours once again, a soft gasp-like breath leaving your mouth as you felt the outline of his hardening cock pressing against your lower belly. Freeing you from the confines of his hoodie Namjoon latched onto your neck, his mouth sucking hard at the exposed skin as his fingers slowly trailed down your stomach and to the place you needed him most.

It was crazy. How with just a mere touch from him you were soaked. Panties clinging desperately to your sodden pussy. Letting out a low chuckle Namjoon pulled his fingers from your panties showing you the slick digits. “Thought you said you hated me?”

Letting out a whine you rolled your eyes. “Please,” You quietly begged. You knew Namjoon was just trying to make light- show you in his own little way that he wasn’t mad at you, but you couldn’t do it tonight. You didn’t want to relive any of the shit you’d said to him.

Sliding from off of you Namjoon laid down on his side while pulling your thigh up onto his hip so that now the two of you were laying down on the bed facing each other. Pushing his hand back between your bodies his fingers made their way back into your panties- the calloused tips rubbing against your sensitive clit.

One by one he pushed his middle and ring finger into your needy hole. Forcing another low gasp from your mouth as you leaned forward burying your face into the crook of his neck. Namjoon kept a slow pace. Dragging his fingers in and out, ever so slightly curving the digits to rub them against that little spot that always made you lose it.

“You know I love you,” Namjoon breathed against your neck. You nodded. “I was always gonna come back to you. Nothing could keep me away from you.”

Your body writhes, your right hand flying up wanting to tangle into Namjoon’s dark locks but there was nothing there. Just like it was when you’d first met him his hair was once again completely buzzed leaving him with practically little to nothing. So instead, you settle for grasping at the back of his neck, practically fucking yourself onto the digits, your hips having a mind of their own as they rolled and jerked.

You wanted nothing more than to say something back, tell Namjoon how much you loved him too but you couldn’t. The pleasure over taking your body so much that the only thing you could do was let out low swears followed by the call of his name. It always embarrassed you how just with a few touches Namjoon could have you speechless and clinging to his body in desperation.

You could hear the wetness. Your slick undoubtedly leaving the bed sheets along with your inner thighs a mess. “Look at me,” Namjoon mumbled a faint smile filling his lips as you followed his command. “You know I like looking at you when you cum.”

Namjoon’s fingers sped up. The squelches from your pussy fill the quiet room. “Shit,” You swore. That familiar feeling rising up in your lower belly. You could feel your legs tightening up, the heel of your foot pressing into the back of Namjoon's calf.

“That’s right. Let go for me baby,” You don’t need to be told twice. Your vision crossing a little as your body shudders against his. “There we go. Always so pretty. My pretty baby,” Namjoon encourages his fingers not letting up even for a moment as he fucks you through your orgasm. It feels like forever before he finally pulls away, shoving the slick digits into his mouth.

Pulling away for just a moment Namjoon sits up and pulls his own hoodie off. Even though you know it's against your better interest you can’t help but look. His bare chest was exposed showing all of the bruises that littered his once clear skin. They were everywhere. There wasn’t a bare piece of skin that didn’t have Do Yoon’s dirty prints on it. “nuh uh—” Namjoon murmurs tilting your chin up. “Don’t look at that. Look at me. Just stay here with me,” Kissing your tears away Namjoon rolled the two of you over so that he was back on top of you. In one swift movement, he pulled down his gym shorts and boxers allowing his thick cock to spring free from its previous confinements.

Grabbing the length, Namjoon began to pump it, smearing the creamy white beads that’d spurted from the tip into the rest of the skin. “Joon,” You breathed needily, your cunt throbbing desperately in your panties. Even though your boyfriend just shushed you he didn’t tease much longer, the head of his cock pressing into your pussy slowly splitting you open.

Despite Namjoon’s thrusts being slow they were hard. Each push knocking the wind out of you as you begged for more. Dipping his head down Namjoon wrapped his full lips around your brown nipple suckling the pebble into his mouth.

“Right there,” You moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the overwhelming sensations that racked through your body. Letting go of your nipple Namjoon’s face falls onto your shoulder, low grunts and groans falling from his lips with every thrust.

“Fucking love you,” Namjoon whispers so low that you weren’t even sure he’d meant to say it out loud. Wrapping your legs around his lower back, you pull him deeper into you, making a low hiss fall from Namjoon’s mouth as you accidentally press into a bruise.

“’m sorry,” you slur out.

“S’okay,” He grumbles kissing your collar blade, his wet tongue dragging across the skin. Pulling away Namjoon looked down at you, a small smile filling his face as he stared. Even though he didn’t say anything you knew exactly what he was feeling because you felt the same. The happiness. The relief. Although Namjoon had given promises of winning before he left the two of you both knew very well the fight could’ve gone either way.

Gradually his eyes drifted downward, first falling on your bouncing breast but then inevitably ending on your belly causing tears to fill his eyes. This time you pull him out of it, your hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him down for a kiss. “Lemme ride you,” you say.

With a nod of his head, Namjoon changed positions causing you to let out a lower whimper. He always felt so fucking deep in this position, like his cock was right in your stomach. “Shit—” Namjoon’s eyes got wide. “do you think we’re gonna—”

“Joon—” You cut him off with a laugh already knowing what he was about to ask. “You’re big but you're not that damn big. Just give me a minute.” You finish a moan tumbling for your lips as you roll your hips just a bit to help get used to the stretch.

Instead of placing your hands on his chest you lean back grasping his thighs, eyes fluttering close as you rock back and forth. Namjoon’s hands found purchase on your waist helping you grind a little bit faster, his hips rising a little to match your movements. Lifting yourself up you drop back down, the loud sound of skin slapping together filling the room as you repeat the movements.

“Don’t think I gonna last—” Namjoon chokes out. “feel too fucking good.”

You nod your head in agreement, already feeling the sensation building. “Just a lil faster baby.” Namjoon whimpers. “I need a little more,”

As you follow his directions, Namjoon’s head falls back. His lips forming into a ‘o’ as his eyebrows furrow together. He was almost there and so were you. Reaching down you rub fast circles onto your clit, your body shaking as your orgasm hits you hard. It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to follow, a loud groan escaping him as his cum paints your inner walls white.

The two of you pant, barely allowing the other to catch a breath before you find your lips on each other once again. Carefully you slide off him and fall to the side. Wrapping his arms back around you Namjoon pulls you in once more. His hand finds rest on your belly rubbing at the barely there bump as his eyes flutter close.

“Don’t know what I would do without you,” You whisper.

“And I don’t want to find out.”

⤑ A/N: I really loved writing this couple and I kinda wanna write the prequel to how they met and also Jungkook and Yoongi's story. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

#bts smut #bts fic #namjoon smut #bts x black reader #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #namjoon x black reader #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n

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ahdraftingco · 1 year

Text

pairing: hard dom!joel miller x desperate!reader

ao3 crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44445643

rating: explicit (minors DNI)

word count: 7.8k+

summary: joel is your only hope, unfortunately. you and him aren't on the best of terms…not after you left him for dead during a smuggling run. but, he's the only one you can turn to when there's no one left in your life that gives a fuck, so you swallow your pride and ask for help from the man who hates your guts.

a/n: as always please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, **dubious consent**, hard dom!joel miller, enemies to lovers, heavy angst (be ready for feels!), age gap, jealousy, possessive behavior, size difference, breaking and entering, use of the words "sir"/"princess", dom/sub undertones, death threats, degradation, spit, praise kink, forced orgasms, squirting, spanking, bdsm, choking, knife play, unprotected piv, breeding kink, body worship, minor injuries/scars, hair-pulling, alcohol mention, drug abuse (sleeping pills), hurt/comfort, no use of y/n

enjoy this little one-shot I whipped up in the moment! it's been raining and I love the idea of being stuck in the rain with nowhere else to go except to your worst enemy's home ;) have a fun read!

｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ petrichor (n.): the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil ｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ

You're about to do something very stupid. Though, it's not like that's atypical for you. You're used to doing impulsive things, but this…this is just downright idiotic.

Breaking into Joel Miller's apartment in the middle of a hurricane may take the cake of shit you really should not do in your lifetime. You reason to yourself that you'll hide there until you dry off and then you'll find some other place to fuck off to. He should be asleep so you'll have at least a few hours if he took the pills. He loves those pills. They're the only thing that will get him to sleep.

You remember being on the road with him, out to pick up the very pills he was used to taking and smuggling them back. To think, he actually lived after you left him for dead. In your defense, you're younger and the moment those slavers caught up to him, you weren't going to stop running in hopes of saving him.

You both were only business partners, anyways. You were the liaison, he was the muscle. That's all you were. Nothing else.

Even the few times you both were bored out of your minds, waiting for a contact, the sex was to kill time. It wasn't bad, but there wasn't any feeling in it. Neither of you can feel much. You've lost enough and so has he. You both kept your distance from getting too close and that's why it worked, your little partnership.

That is, until you left him for dead.

Ever since he managed to get back, you haven't taken a single big smuggling job. You've completely cut yourself from the network because you don't want to deal with the wrath of Joel Miller. You settled for solo trips between cities to deliver smaller items, like letters between loved ones. The work didn't pay well and it was dangerous, but it was all you could do in the meantime.

You heard Joel was heading out of town for some job and he won't be back for a long while. That'll be when you can reintegrate yourself into the smuggling scene, without the fear of being murdered by him.

You've spent so much time avoiding him, and now you're about to throw all that away because you're fucking freezing your ass off in the pouring rain and you need a place to go that isn't flooded. All your usual spots are filled to the brink with water and you haven't had your own place in quite some time. Rent is too expensive and you don't need a space to call your own anyways.

Back to the matter at hand, this isn't the first time you've snuck into Joel's apartment.

You've done it three times.

The first time, it was to steal some of his booze. It was a long day with no pay at the end of it because your contact fucking cheaped out and got killed so you needed a drink and you weren't going to ask him for one. Steal first, beg for forgiveness later, though he never did find out.

The second time, you needed some pills. Sure, you could buy your own, or pocket a few on your runs, but you knew Joel kept the good shit for himself, so you snatched some and replaced them with counterfeits. They weren't going to kill him. Or, well, they didn't. You weren't actually sure if they were safe or not, but at that moment, you didn't really care.

People die all the time. What's one more death?

As for the last time you snuck into his apartment…it's the reason why you would never want to do it again. It didn't feel good. You can't explain it but you forgot why you were there in the first place the moment you saw Joel and Tess together. You watched from the fire escape outside the bedroom window as Joel held her more tenderly than he has ever held you. You wondered then if she meant something to him.

You wondered then if you ever meant something to him.

Maybe that's why you left him for dead. He didn't need you. He had Tess. You had no one but yourself to protect.

You hope—prayed—Tess wasn't there now. You don't know what you'd do if she was.

Could you still sneak in, or would seeing them together again break you once more?

You don't understand why it pains you as much as it does. Envy, you think, that must be it. You envy that Joel has someone he can hold like that, someone who can hold him like that, while you're all alone, cold and soaked in the rain.

You're sick and tired of this fucking rain, so you decide to say fuck it and sneak in.

If Tess is there, so be it. You'll live. Maybe.

With a quick spin of your lockpick, you easily get the bathroom window open, sliding quietly inside. The apartment is still and silent, so you're certain they're asleep if they are here. You take the moment to strip your clothes off, half because they're wet beyond salvageability, half because they'll be too loud for you to sneak into Joel's closet to take some spare clothes.

You dry yourself off with what you assume must be his towel because it smells musky with a hint of cigarettes and whiskey. You then make your way out of the bathroom, opening the door as slowly as you can so that it doesn't creak. It's fucking cold since you're completely naked, but you fight back the shivers as you tiptoe into the living room.

You hold in a sigh of relief when you see the bed is empty and Joel is asleep, alone, on the couch with an empty glass of whiskey on the table near him. He's knocked out. You should be fine for a few hours, like you predicted.

You still keep your guard up, being as stealthy as possible as you rummage through his closet for something to wear. You manage to find a shirt and some sweats that fit you decently and socks. You're very thankful for the socks.

Now, all you have to do is decide where you're going to hole up for the next few hours. You contemplate laying underneath the bed. You doubt Joel will check there for any reason and that way, you could maybe get some sleep since you'd be on your back. But, it's a bit too risky.

You could hang out in the closet, but he might need to look through it, so that's not the best option. Same goes for the bathroom. You'd have to be ready in case he needs to piss.

So, you throw the idea of sleep out the window. You just need a place to chill and not get caught.

Easier said than done, because the moment you decide to hide in the bathroom closet, arms wrap around your body and slam you to the hallway floor.

You spit out the word "fuck" as you try to get yourself back up, but then you feel a knife press against your neck, sobering you up from the pain real fast. Joel holds you down with his entire body, consuming you completely as he towers over you like a wild beast.

"Don't fucking move or I'll slit your throat, princess." Joel's southern accent has such a bite to it that you get more goosebumps than when you were cold.

"Alright." You stay completely still as you tell him, "I just need to stay until the rain stops, then I'll go. I won't bother you again, Joel. I promise."

"You've done enough bothering as it is." There's a tinge of anger in his tone and you know why it's there. "Why are you even here? Ain't you got somewhere else to be?"

You slowly shake your head then admit, "I had nowhere else to go. Everywhere's flooded."

"What happened to your place?" He knew you back when you had one. Probably assumed you still had it.

"Couldn't afford to keep living there. Haven't had a place of my own in a while." You don't know why you're being honest to him, but you're hoping it'll build some rapport so that he'll get off of you. "Will you please put the knife away?"

"You aren't in a position to make demands." He presses the knife further into your neck with those words, the blade cutting into you just enough for you to really feel it. "You've got some fucking nerve, breaking into my place and stealing my clothes."

"I'm sorry, Joel." You're starting to feel the air sting the cut on your neck and you bite back a wince as you plead, "I really didn't have anywhere else to go. I just wanted to get out of the rain. You weren't even supposed to know I was here."

"You think I didn't know?" It sounds like you've ticked him off more with that. "I've let you steal from me enough times, but this time, you aren't getting away with it, princess."

This is news to you. "You…knew?"

"You don't think I keep track of my whiskey and my pills?" He scoffs, irritated that you thought he wasn't going to notice.

Then what about…you don't ask. You can't bring yourself to.

If he knew you were there when he was with Tess, then Joel did it on purpose. He wanted you to see them together. He wanted you to suffer and yearn for a moment you could never have. Fucking asshole.

"You had plenty and you know it's hard for me to get shit." You retort, not allowing him to act so high and mighty. "They don't give a fuck about selling you alcohol or drugs because you're just a dying old man."

Right when you finish your sentence, Joel tosses the knife aside and before you can stop him, both of his hands wrap around your throat and press down hard. You gasp for air as he starts strangling you. You reach up with your hands, clawing at his arms, trying to get him the fuck off you, but he's so much stronger than you. He always has been.

"Is that all I ever was to you? A dying old man?" He spits in your face out of pure anger, making you flinch. "Is that why you left me there? Because you figured I'd be dead soon anyways, so why fucking bother? Do you know what those slavers did to me?"

You blink back tears, not from the pain of being choked out, but because you knew. You heard what happened to Joel. How they used him as their punching bag. How they forced him to kill people for them in the most sadistic ways. How they stripped away the last shred of humanity left in him before he found the strength to slaughter them all.

"I'm sorry." You breathe out meekly. "I'm so sorry…"

"No, you ain't." Joel releases you from his grip then, allowing you to breathe.

You swallow as much air as you can through your bruised neck. Every breath hurts but you're too desperate for air to care. Then, you start to sob because it's all too much.

"I shouldn't have left you, Joel." You confess everything to him in a moment of weakness. "I should've stayed and fought them, but I was scared of getting caught by them. I know what they do to women like me…and I just…I couldn't…I'm sorry. I fucked up. I should've—"

"Get your ass up." Joel snaps his fingers and you listen to him all too reflexively, standing up beside him. "Now go over to the bed and bend over."

Your throat goes completely dry and you want to protest but…

"Listening to me right now is what you should do." He makes it clear that he won't repeat himself.

So, you quickly run over to his bed and do as you're told, bending over so that your stomach is on the bed but your feet are planted in the ground. It's humiliating, having your ass up like this and not being able to see Joel staring at you.

That's the point, you figure, since he goes, "now kick off your pants and spread your legs again just like that."

You freeze because…you really don't want to do that since you aren't wearing anything underneath. He doesn't like your hesitation at all.

Suddenly, you feel him yank you up by your hair and he yells straight in your face, "do as I say or I'll hurt you worse than those slavers would have."

Joel finishes his threat by spitting in your face and you whimper in fear, nodding your head to show him you understand before you strip off your pants. He lets go of your hair and your face drops back onto the bed as your legs spread with your ass up, completely naked from the waist down.

"Now, present to me." He demands fiercely. "Use your hand and show me your pussy."

You squirm, mainly out of embarrassment. You've never done anything like this before. It's degrading, dipping your dominant hand between your legs so you can hold open your folds so he can see all of you. You can't even tell where he's looking because he's directly behind you.

Then, you let out a shocked gasp when you feel him spit right on your clit. It's wet and warm and you should feel uncomfortable but it tingles in the weirdest way. You shouldn't want any of this, but your pussy is starting to ache uncontrollably.

"Poor little princess." Joel mocks you as his fingers trail along your bare ass. "It looks like it's been a while since someone's used this hole of yours."

He isn't wrong, as humiliating as it is to admit. You've been on a dry spell since you left him for dead. You just couldn't bring yourself to have a fling, not with all the guilt. It's hard to get turned on when your thoughts won't stop haunting you.

It makes you wonder why you're feeling the heat rise in your body despite it all. You're almost certain you're getting wet. It's more than just his spit between your legs and that haunts you in a totally different way.

"Tell me the truth." He addresses himself like he used to when the two of you would fuck. "Has no one touched you recently?"

You take in a deep breath before you answer, "no one, not even myself."

"Why?" He asks, his fingers slowly making their way down the line of your ass, brushing along all of your sensitive skin with his rough fingertips.

"I-I couldn't." You feel ashamed saying this but you do anyways, "I didn't want to feel good."

"Is that why you've been taking those shitty courier jobs?" His words surprise you.

Has Joel…been keeping tabs on you?

"Someone has to do them."

"Enough people have died doing them." He tells you as you feel a finger teasing your entrance. You quiver at his touch, stunned at how it contrasts with his words, "do you want to die, my princess?"

You press your lips together and then, when you can't seem to hold it in anymore, you whisper, "yes, sir."

His finger slips inside of you right then and your toes curl. It feels foreign because it's been a while but so familiar because it's Joel. Your body leans into the feeling as he grinds his finger against your g-spot.

"Now, why would the girl who left this old man to die want to die now?" He asks as he bends over on top of you, engulfing you in his body. His hot breath lingers on your ear when he whispers, "are you scared to be alive in a world where I'm not dead?"

Joel digs another thick finger inside of you, spreading you wide open. You bite the comforter, trying to ease the sudden mix of pain and pleasure that's coursing through your body.

"Answer me." He commands, grabbing you by the hair once again so he can yank you up, pulling you away from the hold you had on the blanket with your teeth.

You don't know what to say. It's hard to think when he's stirring your insides like this while he taunts you for your past actions. You're a mixture of guilty and aroused right now.

Your mind is so foggy which is why you start mumbling out your thoughts without a filter, "I'm not afraid of you, Joel. I don't mind if you hurt me for what I've done to you. I deserve it. I deserve…all of it, even death. It should've been me. I don't have anyone to live for. At least you had Tess so—"

Maybe mentioning her name is what got him mad, but Joel cuts you off from speaking by roughly fingering you faster. Your legs start to wobble as your orgasm builds, your body threatening to collapse in on itself. You can't say another word because every breath is occupied by a moan or a gasp for air.

"Cum." Joel is stern and his fingers are unyielding. "Cum your fucking brains out, princess."

Your orgasm spills out like a broken dam the moment he thrusts side to side, forcing your body to convulse inwards. He catches you before you collapse entirely, guiding you onto his lap. There, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as you navigate every wave of sheer intensity surging through you.

You lean on him with your head buried in the crook of his neck, and Joel gently rubs your back, helping you calm down. Maybe that's why you feel secure enough to cry. You latch onto him and you just sob everything out, needing to release all the feelings built up inside of you since the moment you found out he'd never be yours.

"I didn't want to leave you." You breathe out softly in between your tears. "I didn't want to admit that I was jealous of you and Tess. I didn't want to deal with it, with the fact that I was really all alone and you weren't. It's selfish but…I liked that you had no one else because it meant you were like me. When that wasn't the case anymore, I just…I panicked and ran and I left you for dead. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Your heart aches so terribly now that the pleasure has washed out of your system. It felt good to be touched by him again, even if it was under these circumstances. But, that fear creeps back in, the fear that he'll never touch you again, and you hold onto him tighter because of it, not wanting to let go.

"Come here." He whispers, nudging you until you're straddling his lap. Then, he taps on his shoulder and instructs, "bite."

You nod, listening to his orders, wondering if he even heard anything you just said. You pool the fabric of his shirt in your mouth, holding it with your teeth. You keep your head buried in his neck, unable to look at him after everything you confessed.

That's okay, though. He doesn't need to see your face. Not for what's about to happen.

You fully understand the moment you feel his cold hand grip your ass. He's keeping you steady for a reason.

"No screaming." He warns and you nod, bracing yourself by biting down a bit harder.

The first spank is a test. It's not hard, but it's not light either. You squirm after he smacks your ass and unconsciously, your body grinds up against him. You realize then that he's hard underneath you, his cock bulging right through his sweats.

Now, you're biting back a moan.

"Good girl." He praises you for keeping quiet but then switches to a more sinister tone. "Now, I won't stop until you've been thoroughly punished. Do you understand, princess? Let me hear it."

You let go of his shirt from your mouth, shocked that it's already soaked in your drool, so you can answer, "yes, sir."

Before you can get the fabric stuffed back in your mouth, Joel slaps you hard on the ass and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. You hold in your whines and he rewards you by gently kneading your sensitive skin, easing you through the pain.

"I treat you well, don't I?" He asks and you nod in response, which is why he allows you the time to bundle his shirt back into your mouth. Then, he whispers, almost too quietly for you to catch, "then why did you run from me?"

Another smack connects with your ass and you quiver all over from the suddenness. You can feel how wet you've gotten because you've soaked his sweats, his cock pressing wet fabric up against your bare pussy. You want him inside of you. You can't resist it when you're right up against him like this.

But, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve him, not after what you did. So, you grip onto his back tightly with your hands, preparing yourself to endure whatever he wants to do to you.

"Lift your hips." He pushes you upwards until you're no longer fully sat on his lap. "Now strip."

You don't protest, pulling away from him once more so you can tug your shirt off, tossing it on the floor. You don't even remember being cold, not when your entire body is on fire right now.

You watch as Joel scans every inch of your skin with his eyes, swallowing you up in his intense gaze. Then, when he has had his fill of looking at you, he demands, "show me that pussy of yours."

As much as it kills you to do so, because the sheer thought sends heat through every inch of your skin, you lean back and use your hand to spread your folds to give him what he wants. It's hard to hold this position, but that's the point. He wants you to suffer both physically and mentally. It's what you deserve so you submit to it.

"Look at your clit." His rough fingers brush against that bundle of nerves, rippling shockwaves through you. "It's begging to be touched with how swollen it is."

You swore, you could feel more of your slick drip out onto your fingers when he said that. There's something in the way he draws you in with his words that forces your body to respond. It aches for him, truly.

"Tell me what you want, princess." He teases your inner thighs, drawing circles there as he waits for your reply.

You shouldn't say a word. You shouldn't want anything because you can't have it.

But, you can't resist telling him, "I miss the way your mouth feels."

That's the first time you see Joel smile all night. It's a light smirk, but a grin nonetheless.

"Did you like the way I'd eat your pussy when we needed to kill time?" His words spark so much desire in you as the memories flood your mind.

It was lazy, the way Joel would rest with his head between your legs, spending hours exploring you with his tongue out of sheer boredom. Half the time, it was less for pleasure and more for comfort. It helped you sleep. It helped him sleep. Why? Neither of you knew, but if it worked, you both kept it up.

"I liked it more than I should have." You whisper quietly into the night, hoping your words will be washed away from the heavy rain pouring outside.

Suddenly, Joel tosses you onto your back on the bed and then buries his face between your legs. You gasp, not expecting to feel his warm tongue on your clit so soon, but he's impatient. You grab onto his hair as he swirls his tongue just the way you used to like it, making your mind all fuzzy from delight.

"If you keep doing that…I'm going to…" You clamp your hand over your mouth, silencing yourself because you know it won't do you any good. He's not listening, anyways.

You stifle your moans in your palm as Joel keeps ravaging your pussy. You can feel your orgasm building and it's a big one. You're going to explode and it scares you.

You want to tell Joel to stop because you won't be able to handle it. You can't live with the thought of how good it feels to have him touch you like this. It's too much. Maybe that's why the tears pool up in your eyes.

"I can't." You try to push him away, begging him, "please, Joel, we can't do this…"

You can feel how close you are and it's taking every bit of your strength to edge yourself. You need to hold it in. You can't cum. You can't…because he isn't yours.

This all ends tonight and you can't bear more memories of this. You avoided him for a reason…and now it's hitting you at full force.

You feel something for Joel. You wouldn't call it love, but it's something. It's meaningful enough that it scares the living fuck out of you.

"Please, stop." You shove at him, needing him to listen but he won't so you have to say what you must, even if it breaks your heart, "what about Tess? What would she do if she found out–"

"Shut up." He's quick with his retort, silencing you. "She has nothing to do with this, with us."

There is no us. You want to tell him that but it hurts too much to admit.

So, instead, you confess something else, "I saw you, before our run. You made love to Tess. You held her more tenderly than you've ever held me. You can't…you can't throw that away. Please, Joel. Don't ruin a good thing."

"Fucking hypocrite." He curses at you, his southern accent peaking as he growls back at you, "you're the one who ruined a good thing. You're the one who slept with my fucking brother and now you're lecturing me about fucking someone else?"

You blink, stunned that Joel knows about that. It was a while ago. A long while ago. Maybe the third time you met Tommy. You both got drunk and slept together. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't anything special. It was just a drunken one night stand that never happened again but you told Tommy that you both needed to keep it from Joel. It would just be better if he didn't know and Tommy agreed…

So, what changed? Did Tommy have a change of heart and tell Joel?

Joel confirms it. "Tommy told me everything. Said he needed to confess his sins after he married his wife. And here I thought…"

There's an expression on Joel's face that you can't quite parse. It's not anger. It's not resentment. It's just…pain.

Heartbreak.

You and Joel went to Tommy's wedding, since it was a stop on the way to one of the hubs you both had a job at. He made you dress up, which you never do but you did because it was a wedding and you'd never been to one before. You spent that night with Joel, shared a dance, talked about life before the outbreak. You were young when it happened, so you practically grew up in this world, knowing very little of the world before.

The night came and went in a flash. You and Joel had stayed up, just mindlessly chatting together. You remember calling him handsome because you'd never seen him in a suit before.

You had shoved the memory of him kissing you gently on the cheek before telling you to go rest for the day, since you both had to head out soon. It was a soft peck but it…it was unlike anything he'd done before. It was almost romantic and you couldn't fall asleep with that on your mind.

Joel mentioned nothing of it when you both left Tommy's place. He didn't really talk much for the rest of that job. He did, however, fuck you roughly every now and then on the road.

Boredom, he claimed. He liked toying with his submissive little princess.

When you both got back, he got close with Tess and then you caught them sleeping together and the rest was history…right?

Wrong.

"I knew you were there." Joel climbs on top of you then so that he can look down on you, seeing how much smaller you are than him. He wants to be powerful because his words make him feel weak. "I knew you were watching me and Tess so I fucked with you. I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted to get back at you for fucking my brother behind my back. I wanted…I wanted you to feel something for me, but you didn't. You just left me there to die. You didn't give a fuck about me and I should've realized that sooner before I gave a fuck about you."

"What…" You're in total disbelief.

Did Joel really fuck Tess like that because of some kind of jealous vendetta? He wanted you to yearn for his love and that was the only way he could show it because he was scared you didn't want it.

"Joel, I–"

He cuts you off to ask, "did I really mean nothing to you? I let you steal my booze. I let you steal my pills. I let you steal my fucking heart and you left me to die."

You choke on your own inhale then, the guilt consuming you. You know you shouldn't have left him. You know you should've fought and tried to save him. You know…but you were afraid and selfish and running from more than just your feelings for him.

"You meant too much to me." You speak the truth into the night because you need him to know it. "And that scared me. I never felt that way about anyone before and…and I thought I was all alone in it. I was angry because I thought you could be happy without me. I was sad because I didn't want you to be with Tess. I left you…because I didn't know how I'd live if I had to come back and watch you live a life with someone else that wasn't me. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so fucking sorry…"

You feel tears streaming down your face, but they aren't yours. They're hitting your nose, dripping down your cheeks and onto your lips. They're hot and salty. Nothing like the cold, crisp rain outside.

And, they're coming from Joel of all people.

This hardened, soulless smuggler is crying in front of you because of you.

These tears are for you, right?

"I told myself if I made it out of there alive that I'd kill you." His words send chills down your spine even if his eyes are spilling tears. "I told myself that the only reason I needed to live was to get back at you for leaving me in the dust. But then, I came back and…you were doing worse than me. I didn't even think that was possible, but I watched you. You tried your hardest to avoid me, but I still found ways to keep an eye on you and…you would've let yourself wither away over this. My beautiful princess would've let the light die inside of her because of me. Am I right?"

You close your eyes, pinching them shut because seeing him sad is too much for you. It's hardly believable that he's sad over you.

Has he really been watching you waste away? Would he have…wanted to help?

Is that why he hasn't kicked you out of his place? Is that why he wanted to make you feel good?

"I didn't think I deserved to be happy after what I did to you."

You open your eyes then but immediately close them when you feel Joel's lips on yours. Out of necessity, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your hands in his hair, pulling him close to you. You and Joel rarely kissed, and it never felt like this.

There's such a desperation in it, where both of you just have to be connected, sharing breaths and space in each other's mouths.

"I haven't been happy without you." Joel breathes out onto your lips when he pulls away. "I wanted to be with you. That's why Tommy told me. It's because I told him how much I wanted you and he couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

"He was worried I didn't feel the same." You gather that to be the case and he nods in agreement.

"And I thought he was right, until now." Joel cups your face in his hands, carefully wiping away the tears from your cheeks as he explains, "I was so angry with you, but it hurt more not having you by my side. I thought I lost you forever. The only reason I had the strength to come back was for you."

"Joel…" You can't help but pull him in for a hug, sobbing into his shoulder, "don't let me go. I don't want to be alone anymore. Please let me stay here."

"Until the hurricane ends?" He asks, the nerves apparent in his tone.

You shake your head against his chest and then promise, "until you want to kill me for what I've done."

He chuckles lightly at that and nods. "Deal."

You smile at him then and you realize that's the first time you've smiled all night. It warms your heart and you lean up, giving Joel a kiss on the cheek like he had done at Tommy's wedding.

"Let's get you under the covers." He must notice that you're getting cold so he helps you get warm, bundling the comforter over the two of you. "Have you been cold without me?"

You feel embarrassed that he'd ask something like that, mainly because you know he's prompting you to say, "it's always warmer snuggling up with you, sir."

"Good girl, still knowing who she belongs to." Joel must be very happy about that because he slowly sinks his way under the covers until he's back between your legs. "Now, is my precious princess going to cum for me this time?"

"Yes." You assure him that you won't hold back.

"Ask politely." He's demanding and it shoots such a thrill through you to see him like this again.

"Will you please make me cum, sir?" You chew on your lip right after you say that, trying to hold in your shyness.

"Only if you don't hold in your voice. I rarely get to hear you be vocal, so I want you to be now."

You hadn't realized how used to being quiet you were in bed. Holding in your moans was a necessity since you and Joel normally fucked out in the open and rarely behind closed doors. This wouldn't be the first time you've gotten to be loud, but it would be the first time you can really let yourself drown in the pleasure.

"Please hurry, then." You grip onto his messy hair, urging him to continue. He smiles at your impatience and doesn't keep you waiting much longer.

Your eyes roll back when Joel's lips wrap around your clit, giving it a light suck. It's like all the air has escaped your lungs because you can't breathe anymore. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and it makes you want to grind on him more. You just want to remember this feeling.

You want him to etch himself into your mind and body completely.

"I love it when you ride my face like that, darlin'." The term of endearment rolls off his tongue before he dips lower, teasing your aching pussy with the tip.

"Please." You hate that he's stalling. You're wriggling at his soft touch, at the way he dips his tongue so casually inside of you. He knows it's not enough to get you off.

Joel relishes in the control he has over you. He might be smothered between your thighs but he's in charge of the pace. He gets to choose if he wants to give you what you need and you love every second of it.

That's why when he finally eats you out the way you've been craving, you gush out uncontrollably when you're taken over the edge. Your breaths are all raspy and your mind is trying to catch up with the pleasure that's searing every inch of your body.

Joel licks his lips with a grin, proud that he made you squirt with just his mouth. You cover your face at the sight of him, timid because you haven't cum that hard in quite some time.

"Can you handle more or will you give out on me too early?" He asks as he pulls off his shirt, showing off the body you've been missing.

Though, you can't seem to answer his question when you see the new scars on his chest. There are…so many…and it's obvious they were left to fester because the scars are like spiderwebs of pink and red. Your hand unconsciously reaches up and Joel takes your hand, pulling it towards him so you can lay your palm on the scar closest to his heart.

"I-I did this." You stammer your words, your nerves heightening at the thought of what pain Joel went through. "You got hurt because of me. I-"

"It's in the past." He holds your hand securely, as if to ground you back into reality. "Don't think about that anymore."

"Can I touch you then?" You press your hand into him more, wanting him to switch places with you. "Please, Joel. Let me so I can forgive myself."

You can sense he's afraid in his own way. It's obvious neither of you have sought comfort for what had happened between you two, so opening up to that now is difficult. But, Joel nods slowly and then pulls you onto him, having you straddle him once again.

For the next hour, you kiss every inch of his body. Your hands trail along every scar, old and new, and you whisper quiet affirmations to him, telling him that you appreciate him and his resilience. You apologize here and there, even though he tells you not to, but it isn't for him. You need it more than he does and he understands that soon enough.

"You're so…beautiful." Joel tells you when you come up to him for a kiss. "It makes me wary that you want to be here with a man like me."

"I think you forgot that I'm the one who broke into your house." You say with a smirk and he lets out a hearty laugh.

"What would you have done if I didn't find you?" He wonders aloud, so you think for a moment.

A part of you thinks you chose Joel's place because you wanted to get caught. It would be the only way you could get yourself to talk to him again, after all.

With a chuckle, you tell him, "I think I would have woken you up. You've never been a heavy sleeper. Plus, I know you stopped taking the pills."

"How do you know that?" He's curious.

"You always ween off them before a trip and I know you've got a big one coming up." You don't shy away from the fact that you've been keeping tabs on him too. "I…heard you're taking Tess."

"It was either her or go alone, since I didn't have you anymore." He says as his hand comes up to caress your face. "Would it be wrong of me to ask you to go with me instead?"

"What's the job?" You ask, leaning into his touch.

Joel adjusts until you're both facing one another side by side so that his hands can idly run along your skin while he explains, "Marlene has some kind of cargo she needs transported."

"You're working with the Fireflies?" You're surprised to hear that.

"I ain't, I just need what they're willing to give me so I can get to Tommy." That makes a lot more sense.

"I heard you've been looking for him." You bribed the radio man for that information a few days ago, actually.

"Mhm." Joel nods, his hand slipping between your legs then, getting distracted.

You part your legs so that he has better access and he smiles at you when you do. His hand dips deeper, his fingertips teasing your entrance as his palm rests on your clit. He won't go any further than this. Not right now.

Not unless you give him a reason to. "Make me cum again and I'll go with you. Tess can tag along if you think we need the extra body."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't be too shy to fuck in front of Tess?" He dips two of his fingers into you when he says that and you have to hold back your gasp. "You'd be too horny not to. Isn't that right, my greedy princess?"

"Yes, sir." You roll your hips against his hand, needing him to knead your clit with his palm. "I wouldn't care. I'd let you do anything you wanted to me, wherever, whenever."

"Tess won't be tagging along." Joel tells you as he grabs your face with his free hand, lifting your chin to meet his fearsome gaze. "No one gets to see you look like this but me. Understood?"

"I understand." You say with a nod so he drags his thumb across your lip before pushing it into your mouth. You swirl your tongue along his calloused finger and then let it rest there with your lips wrapped around it.

"My princess. All mine. Every hole of yours is mine to fill." He curls his fingers inside of your pussy, rubbing up against your g-spot once again. "Do you like being mine?"

You don't even respond. Instead, your hand sneaks down and pulls his hard cock out from his sweats, needing to feel him. You gently stroke him up and down as he starts to thrust his fingers inside of you, making you wish it was his cock instead.

"You drive me crazy." He lets out a low growl before he topples you over, smacking your hand away from him. He pulls his fingers out of you then and rubs all of your slick onto his cock, the wet sounds filling the air.

It's erotic and hot, watching how his cock throbs for you.

That's why you slip your hand down and spread yourself wide open like he has made you do all of tonight and tell him, "take what's yours, Joel."

He doesn't wait a second longer. You're ill-prepared for him to slam every inch of his cock inside of you, but the moment he hilts, you swear you could've cum right there.

The way he fills you up is perfect. Thick, hot and hard, curving inside of you at the perfect angle to rub every inch of your pussy the way it needs to be.

You're already swimming in ecstasy just having him sit inside of you like this, but then he starts to move and it's all over. You cum hard, clenching around his cock. Sparks tingle on your skin and you can't help but want so much more.

"Fuck, you feel so good, princess." He grunts, gripping onto your hips to steady himself. "I shouldn't fuck you raw like this, though."

"I don't care." You should, but you've always been a bit reckless so you wager, "I won't forgive you if you pull out right now."

"Someone wants me to bury my seed deep inside of her." He leans down then, his eyes locking on yours as he goes, "if you want me to fuck you until you're pregnant, all you have to do is beg."

You do so without hesitation, "please fill me up with your cum, sir."

He's glad to hear it, which is why he responds, "I'm going to drown your pussy until it's leaking out over my cock and then I'll do it again, and again, as many times as it takes, my little princess."

Joel drags his hand across your stomach and rolls his hips, like he wants to feel the way his cock is stirring you up inside. You're tightening up so much because it's been so long since you've been filled like this. It aches in the best kind of way, that pleasure of being split in two by him.

When he starts to go faster, rougher, it's hard for you to edge yourself. You can't count the number of times you must have cum before he finally did. It drips out of you like a flood as he slowly pulls out.

Though, right when you think he's going to slip away entirely, Joel shoves his cock back inside of you, making your toes curl uncontrollably. You crave more already and he's well aware.

That's why when he does finally pull his cock out of you, his fingers replace it. You don't stop him from forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you until he's hard enough to fuck you once more.

How could you say no to a man like Joel Miller?

Somewhere along the way, you and Joel take naps together and eat small meals before fucking again. You can't get enough of him. You don't ever want to let him go again.

You want to stay by his side forever.

"The hurricane will be over soon." Joel notes the lighter rainfall outside. "We'll have to leave soon for the job."

"Does that mean we should sleep or…" You chuckle at your own joke and Joel presses a kiss on the top of your head before laughing lightly with you.

"Just promise you won't leave me for dead again." He tells you and you know he's never going to let you live that down.

"I'll think about it." You say with a cheeky grin and Joel retaliates by pinning you down onto the bed, glaring at you.

He's going to devour you for that and you're thoroughly ready to be swallowed whole.

Oh, how you love such a dangerous man…

a/n: this was really fun to write! I'm sure you noticed, but this oneshot kind of acts like a possible prologue to a canon-divergent series where you replace Tess on Joel's trip with Ellie. will I actually write a whole series? who knows! but I think a little prequel like this would be a nice dabble into the idea! should I write it? hehe

if you enjoyed this read, maybe you'll enjoy my other joel oneshot: trouble! thanks again for reading ~

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader #the last of us #joel miller

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inkelea · 8 months

Text

han jisung as spider-man! ✭

pairing: spiderman!han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis: how it would be if han jisung was spider-man and had a crush on you.

genre: fluff, angst if you squint, friends to lovers (kinda), headcanons.

warnings: talk about bruises (duh han is spidey), nothing else i think.

word count: 0.9k

a/n: sooo, i wrote this on a hot night when I couldn’t sleep so yep! still i really like it and will die saying han jisung is one of all the spiderman that there are in the multiverse.

so, you cannot tell me that han wouldn’t be spider-man. he’s so peter parker coded. LIKE EVEN THE LOOKS, HE JUST GIVES PETER PARKER VIBES????

anyway, we all know han, he’s an awkward boy.

but as every other version of peter parker, when he steps in the suit, his confidence level SKYROCKETS. he fr becomes chat noir.

he wishes he could have that confidence when he talks to you:(

you’re the cute top student and he’s the friendly neighborhood spider-man. he knows you would make a good couple. HE'S JUST TOO SHY.

but don’t worry the guy in the chair aka lee know is here to the rescue.

he loves to play cupid AND HES A GOD AT IT.

han owes him everything<3

one casual day, on lunch break, lino appears in your table and starts eating with you. no explanations, no hello’s, he just eats with you.

han is DEAD, GONE, HE DOESN'T LIVE IN EARTH ANYMORE

and you might think “oh, but they were just eating together, no conversation was even made”

WELL, it starts with eating together and then every time han goes to talk to lino in class you’re already there.

HE’S SO GONNA KILL LINO

until he presents you both and you smile and put out your hand for him to shake it.

friendship with lino HAS NOT BEEN CANCELED!

and thank god because not even two and a half weeks later he gets so tossed around in a fight. and that’s with lino’s help.

he’s sure he would’ve died if he was alone on that one.

thankfully, all he has is a black eye and some bruises around his face and torso.

you however are not thankful that he ‘only’ has those bruises. THEY’RE NOT NORMAL BRUISES WHAT IS HAN JISUNG ON?

you’re about to cry and han can’t take it and he hugs you and and and hides his face against your neck.

HE FELL FIRST YOU FELL HARDER

no bc you need to fight yourself to not sigh and hug him harder right there and there

he wouldn’t have minded though

now, you aren’t dumb. and yes, your mind was a little fogged when that hug happened but you still didn’t forget the bruises

especially when he goes to your house at 5 am to wake you up just so you would help him cover it up. you give him some glasses and a tap on the shoulder

apparently him and lino saw a youtube video after and bought makeup products to hide them????

they’re still mostly visible lmao

BUT ANYWAY

you’re suspicious because, what was han even doing outside out of school that’d get him a black eye???

(when I say black I mean BLACK)

and as time passes you start to realize how he leaves situations in the weirdest ways possible

and how he constantly limps every other day a week

i mean, you aren’t the top of the class for nothing

after realizing you start to get more interested in the news bc they talk often about spider-man. just bc deep down you know the boy behind the mask is your cute classmate han jisung

lino knows you know almost instantly. he is lee know after all!!!

he winks at you every time han disappears out of nowhere. it’s your own little inside joke now:D

you’re the top of the class but also a reckless teenager falling in love. so one day you follow han when he starts running to the danger

oops

ofc you get hurt bc duh you haven’t been bitten by a spider before.

han wants to kill the criminal and then kill you bc what were you even thinking?

he’d revive you after obviously BUT STILL

when he takes you home (as spider-man) after the fight, you pull him in with you

for someone who just got their ass handed to them you’re stronger than he would have thought

plot armor💪

he knows you, AND, is blinded by anger so he just starts taking care of your bleeding knee

he doesn’t even stop to think that his super smart friend who’s super aware of the danger that comes with strangers wouldn’t let one enter their house, not even a superhero

he only stops to think about it when you keep looking at him like you can see through his mask

(you can:))

he knows

you know

and so, he takes his mask off and sighs

HUGS LOTS OF HUGS

and oh! muffled whispers than you can barely understand bc han has his face buried in your chest

AND HE SAYS “why did you follow me? you could’ve gotten so deeply hurt. i wouldn’t have been able to forget myself if that happened” AND YOU SAY “you’re one to talk mr. spiderman, i go to sleep every day scared i won’t get to see you the next morning at school”

you obviously have feelings for each other and you just, start dating some days after??? don’t get me wrong but this is not riverdale shdhhdh

after what you’ve been through together, your conexion goes deeper than a romantic relationship and even tho you agree than you are in one, it’s not the center of your general relationship and interactions.

and so

you know and he knows that you know and it’s a mutual acknowledgment but you don’t really talk about it

you kiss his head when he comes back to you hurt (YES THATS EVERY DAY)

and he tries to be more careful in his adventures (he doesn’t get black BLACK eyes anymore)

after all, you do make a good couple:D<3

@mochamvgz

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids blurbs #skz blurbs #inkelea

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misojunnie · 8 months

Note

i find the vampire and werewolf rivalry dynamic really funny for whatever reason, so may i request some &team hcs with a friend/partner who’s a vampire while they’re… yknow, werewolves?

oh the shenanigans they would get up to

☆ &team as your werewolf bf! w/ a vampire partner ;)

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

byun eui joo - ej

wasn't really objected to you being a vampire tbh. if anything, he was kinda interested

the quiet, kind-hearted typa guy to be like "it doesn't matter if we're different species, love is love, right?"

crazy clingy, and loves your fangs. he has fangs himself, but they're nowhere near as sharp and long as yours are. he loves admiring them when you smile and when he kisses you

loves that you're a vampire. it took zero time to get used to it

by now he knows all your needs by heart <3

murata fuma - fuma

shocked to discover you were a vampire, but not necessarily unhappy about it

when other werewolves are around you, his protective instincts kick in immediately and he's ready to die to protect you

you tried to hide your relationship for a while, but he gave up quick

he couldn't help it, he always wanted to show you off <3

rolls his eyes when you hiss at his werewolf friends (who aren't exactly fond of you)

koga yudai- k

considering how passionately khan hates vampires, I think k would probably share that trait tbh

was heartbroken when he realized you were one of his mortal enemies. it took him months to recover

but once he got adjusted to it, he could give a fuck what other people think

he proudly shows you off, even around the other werewolves. he doesn't care what they say, and if they threaten you? he won't hesitate to rough them up

drags a dead deer home every week or so, so you can feed <3

wang yixiang- nicholas

was shocked when he found out the cutie in his chem class was actually a vampire, AKA his worst enemy

he was disgusted. he's a prideful guy, so it took him a long time to accept that he was in love with a literal vampire (he couldn't stay away and ended up apologizing with a cute date <3)

secretly loves it when you bite him (teehee)

when you fight, expect fangs out and full blown screaming matches fueled by millennia of ancestral beef. lmao

"you think i'm high maintenance? try dating someone who literally lives off sucking life force!"

nakakita yuma - yuma

scandalized by the fact that you're a vampire. you told him after you started dating, and he had to break up with you for 2 weeks as a grieving period

the adjustment period was long, but now he knows just about everything there is to know about vampires

always ready to debate vampire/werewolf history with you

"uh, no. the battle of 1824 was obviously the vampires' fault. you broke the peace treaty, not us."

always puts on dracula because he thinks it's your favorite movie. it totally isn't, but he means well, so you don't tell him otherwise

asakura jo - jo

figured out you were a vampire like three weeks before you broke the news. he decided to stay with you anyway bc he doesn't really care what the other werewolves think

brings you coffee when you crave blood bc he thinks it'll help

you're the extroverted drama queen and he's the stoic, introvert bf

is very in tune to your needs, and won't hesitate to kill a literal human being to satisfy you (you tell him not to, though)

"I know you're a vampire, but you need to get your blood lust in control. I'm your boyfriend, not a piece of meat."

shigeta harua - harua

when you told him you were a vampire, he listened to his pack and dumped you, but followed his heart since and won you back <3

like ej, very in tune to your needs and wants

comes back from "hanging with the boys" carrying a huge dead deer/cow/etc, covered in blood with a huge smile on his face

"I brought dinner! do you like it?" "it's definitely bloody..."

all in all, he just wants to make sure you're feeling comfortable and happy <3

ta-ki

didn't really care that you were a vampire. k initially gave him flack, but he ignored it until his friends gave up

sunshine x sunshine protecter irl. he's just happy to be there, and you're ready to kill for him, need be

but watch out; insulting you is a one way ticket to seeing his dark side (even if you're his friend/one of his kind)

loves double dates, and even introduced some of his werewolf friends to your vampire friends. you two singlehandedly repair the relationship of the species in your city <3

hirota riki - maki

did not gaf that you're a vampire. loves you too damn much to care what species you are

loves bear hugs, but constantly underestimates his inhuman strength. will try to hug you and accidentally tackle you

gets crazy sassy with you when you argue, eg; "don't bare your fangs at me while i'm speaking."

loves running away with you at night to hunt, wander the streets, and generally fuck around. midnight walks are his favorite, and luckily he never has to worry about being cautious during the night, considering you're both the strongest beings on the planet

locks himself in his room during full moons bc he gets embarrassed about transforming in front of you lol

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

a/n: omg this was so cute... I usually struggle with the werewolf stuff bc it annoys me so bad but this was actually rlly fun... maybe i'm warming up to the werewolf concept 🤔😇

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randomsufff · 1 month

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ALRIGHT since at least 6 of yall wanted it here it is- my Adachi Channel concept 🎉 (ft. a quick comic of how their intro dialogue would go)

Boy where to start- there’s quite a lot under here so beware

Ok so- my first thought was “ if Adachi had a channel, what would his dark secret be” and I thought it would be that he secretly loves the Dojima family and wants so bad to be officially part of that (the adajima shipper in me saying he would love to get with Dojima and sort of become an official dad figure to Nanako) and so scared of them leaving him

I think in game, it’s shown Adachi actually cared for Nanako a lot, as he was always looking out for her and felt remorseful that she got hurt because of his actions and he even says in his letter at the end that he valued his times with the Dojimas

But it’s also largely based off of the Persona 4 Golden anime, where there’s a little section that expands upon Adachis background and his relationships with the Dojima’s. Specifically, that one part where Dojima, Nanako and Adachi are all holding hands before Nanako runs off to greet Yu and then it cuts to those three walking while Adachi stands dejected behind.

Anyways- within this background it’s shown that Adachi has pushed away every opportunity to connect with his peers in any way, no matter how much he wanted to, because he wanted to focus on his studies. And it ended up being all for not anyways because he never won any awards or got any serious recognition for his efforts and was instead relocated to Inaba (middle of nowhere town as someone says).

So here Adachi is- no serious friendships or relationships, who just moved to a town where there isn’t much to do anyways, who meets Dojima and his daughter who end up being his first genuine friends/companionship in YEARS.

Despite Adachis whole thing about thinking relationships are stupid and restricting, I think he finds himself caring about these two, and having them care for him, in a way he’s never experienced before. OF COURSE he going to latch onto that, and is going to be terrified to lose it when Yu- someone who’s ACTUALLY blood related to the family and not some sad coworker who tags along cause he got no friends- swoops in out of nowhere and starts taking their attention and affections.

So how does that relate to 1950s American housewives- well, again, if Adachi whole thing is wanting to stay together and wanting to keep their affections- and Yu who’s a part of the family is taking priority over him- best course of action would be to place himself into the family. Becoming a wife type to Dojima and a mother to Nanako.

Now not sure if Japan had a similar era, but I know the 50’s were alllllll about appearances and LOOKING like a perfect family; the woman stayed at home and were perfect wives and mothers who did all the cooking and cleaning while the men did all the work. I think that’s also why the “killer housewife” trope came around, cause they snap under being so much pressure. This not only fits into Adachi mask of being a dumb detective when he’s actually a villain but also how he views his relationship with each of them.

Adachi is an assistant for Dojima, and we see in game how mistreated he is: getting coffee and beaten around. Unfortunately, I feel like that’s very similar to how woman in the 50s were often treated by their spouses- as assistants rather then wives. Obviously, as I’ve said, he’s taken on a motherly role towards Nanako- being concerned over Dojimas lack of parenting towards her and trying to look after her himself.

And since Palaces often take these sentiments to the extreme- I thought Shadow!Adachi would think himself as a replacement of the dead mother, (I forgot her name 💀) saying he can take her place and give them everything they need.

OK SO HOW WOULD THIS FIT STORY WISE IN THE GAME? So people show up on tv if they’ve caught the eyes of the public right? And Nanako got on cause of an interview so I would think Adachis rise of interest in the public would be the similar. At the very least, when the tv covers the two murders, Adachi would do some stupid thing that would accidentally be caught on camera and everyone would wonder who that bumbling idiot was. In my eyes, I think this happens after everyone had joined (so after Naoto) but before any of the endgame stuff with the red herring and Nanako and stuff. So perhaps the news does a follow-up on the lead detectives on the Telephone Pole murders since there’s not been anything new happening and they want to know if it’s passed or if they still have to keep working, and eventually Adachi comes along and like- idk spills coffee on the reporter or something, and since it’s live- the everyone figures out Adachis name after Dojima barks it at him to get his act together.

Boom he’s on the tv, boom the guy chloroforms him and throws him in the tv, boom Adachis like aw fuck.

I don’t understand how Adachi got his persona in the first place? I looked it up and it said it was cause he was so fucking lonely and because he had no relationships he developed a persona. Ok???? Didn’t know that was an option??? But in this universe- Adachi doesn’t have his persona and instead awakens it after confronting his truth like every other person, because thems the rules, instead of just developing one because you’re chronically lonely. (If we REALLLY wanted to it could be like a Akechi situation where he has two- but eh )

(Oh also- I’d imaging his channel introduction scene thing would be like, sitcom esc? Like a- ha ha come see how quirky my family is or something? Like I Love Lucy or any of those old American sitcoms)

So anyways he’d be like “fuck, welp this can’t be too hard to survive, I just have to keep being in heavy denial like I always have-“ and tries to keep up the stupid act, especially when the Team rolls in, but then the Shadow gets to him by implying he has a meaningful relationship with the Dojimas (aka he NEEDS them cause he prolly would have offed himself months ago from boredom and/or lack of friends ) which pisses him off and triggers the fight.

(This could be some slight foreshadowing the Adachi is not what he seems as his masks slips and as his Shadow occasionally spits out some of his ideology and stuff)

Boom, fight ends when Adachi confronts that yes, maybe he does have a meaningfully relationship with the Dojimas. He’ll then be like, well obviously I can’t join your team, I’m part of the actual detective team, but maybe I can share insider info with you guys- while he secretly gets the first hand scoop of the Teams plans.

Obviously this does not undo what has been done, and with everything rolling to its natural conclusion there’s nothing Adachi can do to stop what has been started. He’ll keep doing what he’s doing tho, It’ll be even more tragic when he realizes he’s put both Nanako and Dojima in serious danger and make him spiral more into denial towards the end. Saying how those relationships don’t actually help him with anything, that they cause him more pain more suffering then when he had no one to care for but himself, that’s he’s still in a shitty place in the world etc etc.

Bam- after he’s defeated and the God is defeated it’ll smooth his transition into slowly accepting that friendships do help, and his connection with Dojima and Nanako stay strong after everything is proof of that

Ok I’m kind of just writing shit now- it is very late and I wrote a lot so if it doesn’t make sense, oof, but I how you get what I mean cause this concept fits like perfectly in all aspects into Adachis character 👍

#persona 4 #tohru adachi #nanako dojima #ryotaro dojima #yu narukami #yosuke hanamura #technically the whole Team is there but I was too lazy to draw them #hope yall like #this has been cooking for a while #adajima #kinda #I think eventually it’ll lead into it #I just think it’s funny that his shadow self is like yeah I’m his wife I love him and want to be a parental figure to his daughter #and adachis there on the side going guys no I’m so straight bro I swear it’s not like that

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foxilayde · 7 months

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Collisions in Entropy [Peter Roiter x Fem!Reader]

Summary: You were drawn to him like gravity. Like the only two bodies of mass on a lattice field, dipping in the center like marbles, stretching the fabric of time with the weight of yourselves and converging at the center into a singular point.

Length: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Romantic smut. Oral: f receiving. PiV.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter making it to Rome and then confining himself to wait out his remaining days like an invisible stranger, careful not to disturb this timeline. I like to think his curiosity couldn’t keep him away from a special event he never got to see firsthand. Enjoy!

The wedding of Callum Roiter to Rebecca Bradley took place at Creeksea Place in the Essex countryside on Saturday September 30th 2023. Is taking place, rather. Currently taking place. Peter Roiter arrives in a rented grey suit and gate crashes his own parent’s wedding, 13 months before his birth.

They’re taking the photographs now, the photographs that will adorn the walls of his childhood home. The same photograph he will accidentally shatter In 2032 while playing cricket in the house. He recognizes the angle of the pink jaunty bouquets up in the air, the collection of color in a joyous line on the red brick footbridge beside the white gazebo, a bridal party draped in lavender taffeta posed in what looks like “a silly one” where they lovingly encircle the blushing bride—Rebecca Roiter née Bradley.

The camera flashes weakly against the midday light and at the same instant a bridesmaid looks in Peter’s direction and smiles.

He’d cut his palm on that picture frame—the shattered one—the bridal party laid in fragments in that parallel future time. He looks down at his hand and the thick scar is still there. He wonders if the Peter Roiter who will be born 13 months from tomorrow will get the same cut. If he will hit the cricket ball in the same exact angle, turning his head to the same exact call of his mother’s voice from the other room. “Peter!” Crash. A vortex.

That’s what had ruined the photo in the end. Not the shattered glass, but the blood. Will this timeline’s Peter Roiter grow up and do what he’s done? Do it exactly the same? Blood and shattered glass in the parlor. Blood and shattered glass in the terminal 4 bathroom.

He’s never been to a wedding like this before. Never even heard of one with so many people, unrestrained smiles, photographs, laughter, dancing… nowhere outside of a movie, that is. His own wedding to Helen was private, as most weddings in 2050 were. Out of necessity. Sweet and civil. She held peonies and they danced to Marvin Berry in the backyard, underneath the stars and the patio lights. He has an insane urge to make a toast to the people of 2023 and tell them, “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

They’re so unaware. Unbothered. It’s beautiful to see. Like the carefree cheers-ing that must’ve been happening on the Titanic cruiseliner 10 minutes before they collided with an iceberg.

He doesn’t feel sorry for them. He is jealous. They’re feting in the last roaring moments of civilization, right before the interminable lockdowns will begin. He conservatively guesses that half of them will be dead within the next ten years.

He stays as invisible as he can, observing his parent’s tender happy moments from afar. They’re so young. He’s nearly old enough to be their father.

During the ceremony he sees both sets of grandparents for the first time in his life in person. Maybe that should be his alibi instead of “cousin of the bride”, he’s much more believable as “colleague of the father of the groom”. If only he could remember what Grandfather Roiter did for a living… insurance, maybe?

He won’t stick around long enough for anyone to ask just how he knows the lovely couple anyway. He’ll stay invisible for now, just another speck in this world that doesn’t belong to him.

This timeline might be defunct anyway, he may very well be cautiously tip-toeing around what he only assumes is a sleeping beast, but may in fact be nothing more than a carcass. Peter errs on the side of caution anyway and sips champagne from the further-most table.

Callum Roiter, looking everything like the father of his childhood, stands from the center of the high table and clinks his crystal glass. His cheeks look hurt and shiny from smiling, he holds his new wife’s hand and makes his toast, he thanks the guests for coming and makes a joke about how more guests might’ve showed up had they hosted the ceremony on the Boleyn Ground. He’s so young. So untroubled. The trip to Essex was worth every potential risk to the balance to see the joy in his parent’s eyes in real time. He feels supremely lucky to be a product of such an astounding love.

And then Callum raises his glass higher, winks to Rebecca and announces, “and lastly, a great big thank you to American psychologist Doctor Eliza Knight,” There is a knowing laugh amongst the wedding party who are privy to the story of the bizarre phone call from a Dr. Knight. “Without whom, I would have never met my beautiful bride. Wherever you are, love, cheers.”

“Cheers” the crowd responds. Peter downs the rest of his glass, “to Beatrix,” he mutters.

“You know what that’s about, don’t you?”

It’s the first time anyone has addressed him all day. He hadn’t seen her approach. The young woman from the bridal party. The one who smiled at him as the flashbulb went off. Pink roses, purple gown, shards of glass, blood, and a cricket ball.

“What’s about?” His voice slips into the Essex dialect like it’s nothing. He wonders how much of that is the chip and how much of it is his real voice— the one his mother and father taught him to use. He looks down at his lap when the woman sits beside him.

“The American doctor story.”

Oh he knows. He’s heard the tale his whole life, moreover he’s overturned timelines and sold out the souls of billions for the American doctor in question. “No,” he says to the pretty bridesmaid. “Would you let me in on it?”

*******

“Can’t believe you haven’t heard it before,” you smile, “would have thought Cal and Bex told damn near everyone in England by now.”

“Must be a good one.” He says with almost no defensiveness. Almost.

He’s cute. Older than you. A little scruffy, but in a very pleasing way—slightly overgrown at the nape of his neck and shadowed in the roughness of his sharp jaw. His eyes are kind though. So hopeful, sweet, and terribly familiar.

“Come outside with me and I’ll tell you, it’s getting warm in here.”

He glances to the high table, there’s a line forming of folks offering their congratulations along with envelopes of money to the young couple. He nods to you, leaving his grey rented coat on the back of the chair. He offers you his arm and you take it with a “thank you”, leading him to the French doors and stepping out onto the grounds.

The air is late summer. Warm and green. A million twinkle lights glow along the pathway to the pond, the place where you’d first laid eyes on him this afternoon.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trodding slowly towards the gazebo, your arm still in his. His forearm is warm under the white cotton dress shirt.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm.” You smile.

“What?” Defensive.

“Could have sworn it was something else.” You goad.

You can feel his pulse pick up from your fingertips on the crook of his elbow.

“What’s your name?” He counters.

You ignore him. “I didn’t bring you out here to tell you my name, I brought you out here to tell you a story, remember? Do you want to hear it or not?”

Peter breathes deep as if he’s winding up to tell you something but all he does with the breath is exhale and nod, “Please.”

“Last year, November the 23rd, 2022, to be exact, both Callum and Rebecca got a mysterious phone call from a Doctor Eliza Knight, a psychoanalyst from America, telling them that she knew their son. That he was a 39 year old time traveler sent from the year 2062 named Peter Roiter and he claimed to be on a mission to save the world. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

His grin is tight, dismissive, “sounds like a nut job.”

“The odd thing is, Callum and Rebecca had never met each other before. Doctor Knight gave each the other’s information and told them it was crucial that they meet and fall in love and have this child. Peter.”

Peter says nothing.

“So they do get together. Because of the absurdity. They go out for a drink, out of curiosity, to laugh about the madwoman who told them they were going to raise the messiah of the twenty first century.”

Peter leans against the railing of the gazebo and glances back to the house where the party is winding down. “And the rest is history.” He nods toward the red bricked abode.

“That’s not all,” you smile conspiratorially.

“No?”

“No. See, I looked into it, just to check to see if there was a Doctor Eliza Knight, and there is… or there was.”

He remains silent and surreptitiously fingers the raised scar on the inside of his hand while you talk. Nervous habit.

“See, the very next day after she made the phone calls, Doctor Knight walked into an airport bathroom in New York City and disappeared… disappeared! They checked all the security footage. She walks into the restroom and never walked out. They did find her clothes, and a shattered syringe full of blood that wasn’t her own, a tape recorder in a trash can. But her? Nowhere to be found. Can you believe it? The very next day after calling Bex and Cal. That’s insane, right?”

He nods, lost in thought across the lake.

“It’s funny, most people get a real kick out of that anecdote. I was excited to tell you. Brought you out to the dim ambiance and everything.”

“It’s a great story. Really. I’m just tired is all.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks at you with a believable amount of sleepiness.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That would be one explanation for your boredom— you know the story by heart… How do you know the bride and groom, Oliver?” You nearly whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Who are you?” He backs away a step, bumping into the rim of the gazebo and catching himself on a polished beam.

“Peter, you’re about to upset a very fragile ecosystem that we’ve been curating. I had to get you out of that party, I hope you understand.”

“We?”

“Peter, if you care about the future, you need to kiss me right now, in the next five seconds, it’s our only chance.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. With a look of solid determination he takes two steps towards you, cradles your head in his hands and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with reserved lips that didn’t match the committed blaze in his eyes. You break the kiss in near disbelief and regret.

“That was mean, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face scrunches and he takes half a step back, letting you fall out of his grasp.

“What? Wait, tell me who you are, what’s going on? Did the W.H.O send you? Do you have a message for me? Did the project work? Any word on Beatrix?”

You press your fingertips to your lips and your eyes widen.

“Are you fucking with me?” You accuse.

His face drops from hopeful to incredulous and the two of you stare at each other with mutual suspicion for a beat.

He licks his bottom lip. “Why did I need to kiss you? Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. I… hang on, are you— is your name really Peter? I just called you that because… because of what the doctor told Bex…” you can hear your heart hammering in your ears.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “you were teasing me?”

“Holy shit. The… the doctor? The story? Peter Roiter?”

Peter remains stock still, his back rigid, gritting his teeth.

You clap your hand over your mouth and laugh. “Oh my god! Bex is going to murder me if she finds out I snogged her son. This is so weird.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t! I mean, god, no one actually believes that story about the doctor, do they? it’s insane! something straight out of a movie! I figured they met each other on tinder and wanted a cuter “how’d you meet?” Story and made this one up for clout or something, but… then we were taking photos today and you were lurking in the back of the setting up, lurking the back of the ceremony, sitting all by yourself in the back of the reception— not talking to anybody… which is exactly what someone who isn’t trying to alter a timeline might do. What am I saying? And god you do really look like half Bex and half Cal… it’s uncanny.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”

“Tell anyone? No one would believe me if I did! I don’t even know if I believe me! Besides, I’m not joking about the whole ‘Bex would kill me’ thing, I’m kind of skeeving myself out right now. I mean they’re both fit and well obviously,” You gesture to Peter up and down before slapping your forehead, “oh my god, I need—I need to shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just calm down. Okay. I need to—look, if this isn’t a dead timeline, I can’t have you treating Cal and Bex’s son any differently than you would had you not learned that.. that I’m him. So—“

“Hang on, dead timeline? What the hell does that mean?”

“Is the name not obvious enough for you?” Peter begins to pace around the pergola, the valley between his brows growing deeper by the minute.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “well excuse me for not understanding your sci-fi speak, Mr. Coherence.”

“Dead timeline. It means the statistical likelihood of salvaging the future of this particular timeline is… astronomically low. If this is a dead timeline, then there is a near 100 chance humanity will be destroyed within the next 40 years.”

“Oh god.”

“It might not be. There’s no way of knowing right now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It could be a loop timeline, in which case, it’s important for you to—“

“Not treat the forthcoming baby Peter Roiter any differently.”

“Exactly.” He breathes with relief.

“Even though he will apparently grow up to be a man who potentially puts me and everything and everyone I know and love into a dead future or whatever you called it.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s fine, Peter, the less I know the better, right?” You shift in your heels and lean against the polished railing. “Might make it difficult to take him out for ice cream knowing that I snogged him at his mum’s wedding. Bleeding Christ, I really am sorry about that.”

“You’re surprisingly easy to convince. And you’re taking this extremely well. I’m not used to that— people believing me. And it’s fine, its my fault for being here, for following you outside. I promised I wouldn’t interact with anyone and now we’re getting… inextricable.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. I mean I know it’s crazy, it’s the least likely explanation for all of this, but I just feel like, I have to believe you. I just… have to. Now that sounds crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I really thought I was being stealthy coming here today. It was probably a mistake.”

“Well, if we are in a loop timeline, as you called it, I don’t think there can be any mistakes. And if we are in a dead end, then the mistakes don’t matter, right?”

“Who are you?”

You tell him your name. He shakes his head with that same worried valley between his brows.

“I don’t remember you at all from my childhood. Or hearing about you from my mother. I’m not even sure you were in the photo that I broke.”

“The photo that you broke? What photo?”

There’s a sudden cacophony from the French doors where you exited the reception with Peter. A group of groomsmen stagger out, each with a champagne bottle in their hand, singing what you can only assume is a fight song from Cal’s alma mater.

Peter runs his thumb and forefinger over the stubble surrounding his lips. Those lips that you made him kiss you with. God, what is happening?

“C’mon,” he mutters placing a hand at your lower back and guides you to the path by the pond, further away from the celebration. “Just being cautious.”

There’s a bench aglow with twinkle lights near the pond, out of view of the estate house. It feels good to sit and take some pressure off the silk heels you bought special for this evening. You slip them off and let your feet rest on the cool grass.

“What photo were you talking about?” You ask.

“The bridesmaid photos with the bouquets on the bridge. I grew up with that photo in my house. But one day I was playing football— no, it was… it was cricket. I was playing cricket in the house and the photo shattered. I cut my hand trying to hide it from my mum, look.”

You take his hand, inspecting his palm and turning it over. He continues. “But I don’t recognize you. From the photo. I don’t think you were there. You weren’t looking at the camera. You were looking at me.”

“I don’t see a scar.”

“What?”

Peter pulls back his hand.

“It is kind of dark out, so that could be why.”

“Wha…” Peter holds his hands up to the twinkle lights in the willow branches above the bench. He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Deja vu.” You whisper.

Peter’s hands fall from inspection, he rubs his fingers together at his sides. “What did you say? Did you say Deja vu?”

“Yeah. I’ve— I’ve been here before. This has happened before. With you. What’s happening?”

Peter sits back down next to you on the bench, grabbing your upper arms with insistence. “Are you messing with me again? Are you screwing with my head?” He’s breathing fast. He looks scared.

“No! No, I swear Peter. This just… feels so familiar. Do you feel it? The smell in the air, the champagne bottles popping, you checking your hands in the light, the kiss in the gazebo… what’s happening? What does it mean that I’ve felt this before?”

Peter lets go of your arms and runs his thumbs across the smooth insides of his knuckles. “It means… it means it’s elastic. This timeline is still alive. I’m not in a loop, I’m not in a dead end. Something is happening… or something will happen. Either way, we’re all still breathing…” Peter laughs quietly for a few moments before silencing himself with his own hand. “Somewhere, somehow, in the past 20 minutes or so, a vortex was formed— a shift in the timeline.”

“What does that mean? Is that good or bad?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We—us in the future—don’t even fully understand it. It’s a technology we discovered from elsewhere in the universe. I’ve been thinking lately that we don’t have the receptive capacity to understand the dimensionality. Like trying to conceptualize a tesseract.”

“What are you doing here? Still trying to save the world?”

“No. That window closed. Or at least, I thought it had.”

“So your window is closed. You didn’t succeed?”

He stares into your eyes for several beats. He thinks about December 31st in Rome. How he waited on platform 23 at the piazza di Spagna until the last train came it at near midnight. And how he walked around the Villa Borghese alone when security shooed him away from the station, he walked back to the red tiled hotel alone. A doomed mission. He must’ve passed at least a dozen kissing couples that night ringing in the new year.

“No. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” His apology feels personal.

“It’s okay.” You say with a small voice, placing a hand on his knee. “So, now what? Do you go back, to your original time, the future?”

“Can’t go back. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I could, there’s no one to retrieve me.”

“So you just live out the rest of your days here in 2023 onward?”

Peter bites his lip and looks out over the pond. “Yeah.”

“What happens when baby Peter Roiter is born?”

“You’re too quick, you know that?” Peter snorts and shakes his head.

“I watch a lot of sci-fi movies,” you smile, shouldering off your lavender shawl and pointing out your tattoo. “See. It’s a—“

“DeLorean.” He traces his finger over the small line drawing tattoo.

“A 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 to be exact.” You grin proudly.

Peter swallows and traces his finger down your bare arm, making your hairs raise.

“You got it the day of your 18th birthday. You had a fight with your father and you got it on a whim. You were so angry at your father that you cried when you got it and when the tattoo artist asked if you needed a break from the pain you said—“

“How do you know this, Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“You said, I’ve had worse.”

“Peter—“

“I know you. We’ve been here before. This bench. The lights, the way they glow on your skin.” He swipes the side of your face lightly with the back of his unblemished hand.” He gulps. “I kiss you on the gazebo by the pond, I kiss you under a willow tree far away from the house, I—“ he shifts closer, his forehead nearly touching your own. “I carry you like a bride up the stairs and I kiss you in a room with golden leaves on the ceiling.”

You shift closer to him, your noses touching.

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “No matter where I go. There you are. Entanglement.”

“I remember.” You nod. “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what happens when you’re born.”

Peter cradles your face in both of his hands and pulls back a fraction of an inch, eyes flickering between your own before he sighs and shuts them in a near grimace.

“I die.” He kisses you. And its so different from the kiss on the gazebo. Your little lie, your little trick in back there that got him to kiss you the first time. A lie— or so you thought at the time. Something made you say it to him you’re sure of that now. The deception was compulsory. It wasn’t why you led him out at the time. But now it its.

As sure as he knows the date of his own birth, he knows he will die. In almost exactly 13 months. Or sometime before; but never after. They didn’t teach him every facet at The Project, mainly due to their own ignorance; and he wouldn’t have to face his demise if he had only taken himself to the extraction point… but that had been out of the question. And what is he doing now? With you on this bench? 100 yards from his newlywed parents. This is a new dream he is fulfilling, the erasure of his scar, these new-old memories, the fulfillment of a loop.

Your silk shoes abandoned in the grass, he scoops up your knees onto his lap, he holds your face so tenderly and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you beneath the willow tree.

He carries you like a bride to your bedroom at the top of the stairs. If any party stragglers notice you, you aren’t aware. You cling to Peter with your face buried in his neck, holding to his broad shoulders, your bare toes make brushing contact with the walls of the stairwell as you ascend. You don’t need to tell him which room is yours, he’s been here before hasn’t he? You certainly have. In a dream. In another life.

He lays you gently on the bed, kissing up your ankles, sliding the satin of your sheath dress up your legs as he goes, crawling up and up and up you, his lips trailing over the rise of your knees with abject devotion. His strong hands splay and scoop under your dress, under your hips, to grab your lace panties. He looks into your eyes from where he kisses the crest of your thigh when he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor.

“How could I have forgotten you?” He whispers with a longing against your skin, pushing your dress up until it pools in a satin puddle at your middle. He kisses the tip of your hipbone before he settles between your thighs, his stubble scratches pleasantly at the sensitive flesh when he runs his nose along the junction of your hip and thigh.

Cradling your hips in his palms, he shrugs your legs over his shoulders. He’s still fully dressed, the only disrobing he did of himself was the grey jacket abandoned on the the back of the far-table chair in the reception hall downstairs, and the blue tie he loosened and discarded somewhere near your panties. His disguise.

He crawls up further onto the bed to fully press his face into your sex. He latches onto your puffy cunt with his kiss-swollen lips and licks you open with messy, savoring swirls of his tongue. His mouth hot and slick, chin and nose pressing into you with a rocking hungry motion. You don’t intend to cry out at the sensation but he’s making love to you with his mouth like it isn’t the first time and you have no choice but to strangle your own keen of pleasure and fully and gracelessly recline on the bed, the prop of your elbows unable to hold you up through the slick furnace of pleasure that is Peter Roiter’s mouth.

You scrunch your eyes closed and bite your bottom lip when his tongue focuses in on your clit, hot mouth still sealed around your pussy, he lathes you with stern and steady lashings to your point of pleasure. Your hands fist in the pool, of silk at your belly. He sighs hotly into you and works his own fingers through yours, loosening your grasping hands from your dress. He laces all his fingers flush with yours, soothing the sides of your palms with his thumbs.

He never stops the hot assault of your spread sex with his tongue. Your grass stained heels rest lightly on the taut warm linen of his dress shirt. You can feel the way the muscles back there flex, your feet sliding every so slightly when his hips buck gently into the mattress. You don’t open your eyes until you’re desperately close to cumming in his mouth and when you look up all you can see are flashes of gold.

Your hips lift off the mattress with the arch of your back and the contraction of your thighs. You let out a long low keen and his face tilts up to follow your clit, sucking you lovingly, his hands gripping more tightly to your own than ever before.

“Peter,” your lips tremble, you slowly open your clamped shut eyes.

There it is. The gold leaf ceiling glinting in warm yellow light. Just as he said. Just as your remember. You stare dazedly at it and you know in less than a moment Peter will crawl up your shaking sweating body and place a kiss on your lips. He does. You grab him by his thick curls and push and pull and twist him in a debauched kiss till he’s flat on his back and you’re on top. His mouth is hot and sticky and so, so giving.

He runs his hands lightly over the open back of your dress. You only unbuckle him enough, and shimmy his trousers midway down his thighs, to get him inside of you. When you sink down on him he holds your forehead against his and gasps in disbelief.

“I—“ He chokes, catching his breath and fighting his eyes rolling back so he can get a good look at you when you take him all the way down.

“What?” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I— I’ve missed you. Ahh.” He grabs you hard then, sitting up slightly and clawing your dress strap down so he can bite and suck the softest parts of your chest.

You cradle his head there, grinding into his lap slowly, gasping softly at the feel of him inside you.

“You won’t disappear, will you?” You whisper in a daze of pleasure.

No, he chants against your breast.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose you.” He holds you tight to him like he means it.

Peter has pulled the top of your dress down to your waist now and his hands roam freely over your back, plotting the elevated terrain of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the maps of rivers at your wrists.

He lays fully back down and takes you with him. You smile against his kiss.

“Getting tired, old man?”

“Mmm, I’m younger than you—technically— negative one years old next month.” He bites your ear. You laugh. He thrusts up into you. You moan and clutch him by his clothed shoulders.

Peter cups your cheek in his hand. The one with the missing scar. You turn your face to kiss his unblemished palm. You rock on him slowly, his mouth parts in bliss.

“Does this mean anything can change at any time?” You ask, glancing at the inside of his hand.

“Yes but that’s always been a given.” Cheeky.

“No, I don’t mean just anything. I’m not talking about normal changes, I concerned about—“

“Dissolving out of a photograph? Ceasing to exist?” He teases, flicking your tattoo.

“Or Chuck Berry never writing Johnny B. Goode?”

“Who?” Peter delivers in convincing deadpan curiosity before breaking out into a beautiful grin.

You pinch his side. “Rat.” You can feel the intensity of his jerking response to the pinch where he’s buried warmly inside you.

Peter nods, “I don’t know. I hate saying that I don’t know and I hate that worried little look on your face, but I promise that it doesn’t change anything. We are here and like it or not the only thing certain is change.”

“The mortal agreement.”

“There is one thing I do know. No matter what I change, no matter where I go. I find you. Even when I send you away, you bounce back. Right back into my arms. A less scientifically minded man might think that love has it’s own special inter-dimensional set of physics. We just… keep extracting entropy from a closed system. No matter how hard I break the billiards they fly right back to the center of the table in formation. Not always in the same order, but… still… accounted for. I thought it was fragile, like butterfly wings, you know? But I’m learning it’s durable. It’s elastic, alive. And you always bounce back.”

“Sounds less like time travel and more like pattern reconfiguration.”

Peter tucks your hair behind your ear and drinks in your face, nodding thoughtfully. “Everything you say. Everything you’ve said. It’s all like something that’s on the tip of my tongue.”

You grin, bending over him, taking his pretty face in your hands, you kiss him and suck his tongue into your mouth, bobbing your mouth on the tip of it suggestively, “is it?” You smile. He’s still hard in you. You hope he never stops. This is how you should have every conversation about everything from here on out. Joined together, the beast with two backs as Shakespeare would say.

“I don’t want to cum.” He groans into your mouth, “when I cum I’ll have to stop being inside you, and I don’t want that, I want to live inside you.”

Call it the contrarian in you, but the admission only makes you want to force it out of him against his will. To make him fall apart precisely because he said he was trying his best to keep it together.

You clench, ride him, and moan into his ear until he’s nearly tapping out from ecstasy and when he comes he calls your name.

“Oh no.” You gasp, looking around worriedly.

“What? What is it?” Peter halfway sits up, adrenaline opening his eyes fully.

“Do you think your parents heard us?” You grin teasingly.

Peter sighs with relief and shakes his head, kissing your cheek and crushing you against his chest in a hug.

You don’t worry about tonight, the shoes you left outside, the rented jacket in the reception hall, or what will transpire in the next 13 months. Everything will bounce back in the end.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Tagging everyone who interacted with the post asking who was interested in this Peter Roiter fic:

@ozarkthedog @toracainz @mundivagantsoul @ominoose @astroboots @orestesimp @spacecowboyhotch @steven-grants-world @convrsation16 @onefinnedwonder-fm @grumpyeagleandfriends @miguellohara @winchestershiresauce @user215sstuff @greg-drunk @poeedameronn @piptoost @danilovesyarn @toracainz @red-hydra @motleyfolk @ladywillowgrey @munasolid @karoblaer @theaterm @howellatme @mistaknight @dailyreverie @guruan @lunar-ghoulie

Usernames that have been crossed out, I was unable to tag, check your tumblr settings to receive tag alerts.

#Case 63 #Peter Roiter x you #Peter Roiter x Reader #Oscar Isaac #fanfiction #fan fiction #reader insert #self insert

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bleedingoptimism · 9 months

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Hello!!! I get writers block lol. I'm not sure if I can help but......

I always scroll through fan art and usually something pops out. Like seeing Eddie turn into a bat is always fun to play around with. Or Steve just carrying Eddie around as if he's not a grown man.

Anyways I wish you well!!! And hope you find something to get you back in the swing of things <3<3<3

--ok so i got this ask, and i accidentally deleted it and lost who send it, im sooo sorry, it was so lovely too, i feel like an idiot! I hope you get to see this one, whoever you are.

Eddie, literally coming back from the dead had been a very pleasant surprise for everyone, especially for Dustin. Eddie coming back on the wrong side of the fight not so much, especially for Dustin.

It's only a few days later after they found out, they've seen Eddie a couple of times, standing behind Vecna, paler, bloodier, sharper.

He hadn't talked to them, no matter how much Dustin had screamed his name and he had actually swiped one of his clawed hands at Steve when he tried getting nearer.

There's been a lull in the fight, everyone going home to regroup, clean up, and rest for a bit, Steve just got home after leaving a very distressed Dustin with his mom. He didn't want to leave him, but he really needed to clean up and sleep, it had been days.

After a hot shower, he puts on some boxers and an old shirt and falls on his bed, only to spring back up because there's something under his sheets.

He quickly scrambles and grabs the sheets lifting them up and finding a... bat? There's a bat sleeping on his bed. It's not huge, but it's not one of the small ones he's used to seeing either. It's got a round snout and it's kind of fluffy looking, cute even.

Whispering a very heartfelt 'What the fuck' Steve grabs the towel he was drying his hair with and wraps the bat carefully in it. He should've thought about it beforehand though because he ends up holding a towel-wrap burrito of a bat in his arms like a baby and has no idea what to do with it.

He should've opened the window or grabbed a box or something, he's looking around the room for something to help him when the bat stirs and Steve looks at it and the bat's eyes, the very big, chocolate brown bat's eyes, open huge and he 'meeps' cutely before a cloud of black and red smoke explodes out of nowhere and suddenly the weight in Steve's arms becomes much heavier and bigger and when the cloud dissipates he sees he's not holding a cute bat anymore, oh no, he's holding an Eddie, a very naked Eddie in his arm bridal style.

And Eddie's big brown eyes look at him and fill with tears, "Steve!" he says and he wraps his arms around Steve's neck and holds him close, "I'm so sorry I swapped at you! I had to pretend! I couldn't let him suspect! Oh god! Dustin! The look on his face!"

Steve doesn't even hesitate to hold him closer, lets Eddie bury his face in his neck, and sushes him as Eddie breathes him in, slowly calming down,

"Shh, it's okay, you are here now. I got you, we'll figure it out, I got you..."

#stranger things #steddie #teehee #thats all i got for now with this one but im kindaaaaa of obsessed with it ngl #i draft something #asks #i wrote something

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gooeyslime · 1 year

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I will die on this hill but William Afton being a good dad would have worked so much better at making him feel realistic instead of becoming a cartoonishly evil man and honestly the juxtaposition of like, witnessing him kill a kid, dropping his cheerful Springbonnie act as he locks them in a room, just a cold glare as he kills them, making the player go "what a heartless monster... I feel so bad for his kids, having to deal with such a piece of shit" as we see him get out of the suit, cleaning up the blood and head home, as he opens the door once again we see his attitude change as he tells his kids "Dad's back home!" And we see them run up to him, Michael playing it cool bc he's an angsty teen but you see him smile as he points out he's late, you can tell they all care for him and got worried, after all there's a murderer on the loose and while they seem to target kids who knows? They could kill adults too... William smiles at them, genuinely, not like the smile he gave his victim whith his Springbonnie act, they all eat dinner together and if you hadn't just seen him kill a kid in cold blood you'd think this was a normal family, just a single dad eating and chatting with his kids... As he makes sure they are all sound asleep you see him walk into his bedroom, looking at a picture, it's a picture of all of them, smiling together, next to William is a woman and it dawns on you that she's nowhere to be seen and that she might be dead and he's trying to figure out how to bring her back by killing a bunch of random kids bc nothing can stand between William Afton and the only people he cares about, not even death itself... that stuff would make me way more scared of him than any "oh I am so smart I planned for you to try and set me on fire again so now if anyone scans my parts into a computer I can brainwash a random person and get them to rebuild myself ooooh I always come back!"

Like even showing him before he completely loses it would be terrifying, how he's just a normal guy who has his own troubles sure, but still isn't going around killing kids to study weird ghost stuff... Not yet anyway... And the the last straw happens and he falls to the deep end and you wonder, if you were in his shoes... If you lost the love of your life... And everyone just tells you life goes on and you just gotta get over it... What would you do? Would you also break? Would you go as far as killing someone in the hopes to bring her back? To put your family back together? And as you do that how would you handle your family breaking apart even further? Your daughter killed by YOUR machine, the machine you built to kill kids, the machine you desperately tried to keep her away from? Your older son acting out, angry because he couldn't handle his own sorrow at losing his sister shortly after his mom, he's falling apart just like you and in a moment of anger he ends up killing his younger brother, your other son killed because you couldn't see that your older son couldn't handle his own grief too? What would do then?

Stuff like that is utterly terrifying to think about... At least for me... Shame they made him so evil he's basically a Saturday morning cartoon villain now, he could have been so terrifying in so many ways but instead they made him an annoyance... Like even him coming back post Pizza Sim could have been terrifying if he wasn't such a joke by then, like we thought we finally defeated him but he's back, because he still hasn't done what he set out to do, put his family back together, and absolutely nothing can stop him from doing just that... Instead we get him showing up in 1 (one) ending and he's just... Walking around... Then he stares at a monitor and eventually he hacks Freddy by... Holding out his hand like he's using the force?? He doesn't even have a jumpscare either... I really hope the DLC at least gives him that bc him being threatening again is almost impossible after all the peepaw jokes people made...

Anyway I'm sure you can tell I have very strong feelings about this and so many thoughts for plot points that could be added to the lore if this was canon but I'll shut up for now before I write a whole essay lol

#ramblings #fnaf #william afton #elizabeth afton #michael afton #fnaf 4 cc #mrs. afton #burntrap #glamrock freddy #fnaf sb

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myenterpriseisparked · 10 months

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Rank the Star Trek captains based on whether or not they're expert road trippers

Archer - He tries. So hard. He burns a CD mixtape to listen to and rents a huge RV that only kind of works. He plans out a bunch of stops but "leaves room in the schedule for unplanned adventures :)" and then proceeds to not follow the plan at all and everything goes wrong. Actually, now that I think about it, Archer on a roadtrip would probably just mostly be the plot of the movie "RV."

Pike - He lets Una plan the stops and he METICULOUSLY plans the food. He and Una take a survey about what all their crew wants to see along the way and try so hard to integrate them all into the trip. He plays LOTS of car games, like Eye Spy or that one game where you count animals on your side of the vehicle until you see a graveyard and have to start over or that other game where you describe a movie plot badly and everyone has to guess what it is. He lets Uhura control the music and Spock read the map and Ortegas drive. The plan for the trip goes off the rails, of course, but everyone ends up having a blast anyway. Overall a SOLID roadtrip.

Kirk - Kirk takes everyone to see every single tourist trap they can find and, you know what? It's fun. Is the World's Largest Truckstop really all that special? No, but the memories they make there are. I also imagine his roadtrip largely takes place in Iowa and other parts of the Midwest so a lot of the trip is rolling cornfields. Overall not a terrible trip, if a little slow and nutty.

Picard - Due to being European, Picard's idea of a roadtrip is a little... different. The crew is a little confused as to why they are only doing about 3 hours of driving a day, but they do appreciate that it's through Wine Country, where the rolling hills are lovely. I imagine Picard plans a "themed trip" (wine tasting and touring) and Riker is the one to throw in the fun tourist traps they do end up visiting. Q is somehow at every single place they stop. Lwaxana is at a few of them too.

Sisko - Sisko takes everyone on a tour of the MLB baseball fields. He meticulously plans places to eat (mostly cajun places that he critiques as 'not as good as his dad's, but acceptable.') and fields to visit. In the meantime, Jadzia picks some more... colorful places to visit in the evenings. Different groups of people get lost but they always find each other. Everyone is a little wary of visiting baseball fields, but once they find out that it was Jake's idea to cheer his dad up, everyone acts like each field is the most fascinating thing they have ever seen. In the end, the trip is a little tedious, but they have all bonded over the solidarity of making Sisko feel better.

Janeway - Janeway drives through the middle of nowhere. Absolutely no cell signal ever. Google Maps will not work. They stop every hour or so to look at the sights. At several points, their van gets robbed and they have to craft new supplies as they go. They make some "road enemies" (other roadtrippers that get competitive about parking spots and camping areas and stuff) and get in several fights (that they win). They camp alongside the road instead of staying in hotels and it's kinda miserable but it builds a lot of relationships and character. Their van breaks down a lot but they always fix it themselves. B'Elanna ends up souping up the engine about 4 different times. In the end, they all get home pretty much dead on their feet, but the whole crew is planning the next road trip anyway.

Freeman - She has a schedule that no one follows and she yells about it a lot. The road trip keeps getting completely derailed. They absolutely do not hit any planned stops and they have to replace each of the van's tires 3 times. Good news, however, is that they got a GREAT sale on all the trinkets and stuff that they bought along the way so everyone is still having an okay time.

Dal - Barely has a plan. He basically piled everyone in a vehicle one day and started driving. They stop whenever they feel like it and do odd jobs to earn enough money to keep going. The end goal is to reach San Francisco by the end, but Dal has to keep them backtracking for various reasons and they're having a heck of a time understanding exactly how this brand-new Chevy Silverado with a fancy computer system that they accidentally stole works. Everyone has fun anyway, even though they are also kinda lowkey running from the cops.

Burnham - I don't honestly know enough about Burnham as a captain to say for sure but I think she and Saru would plan a pretty chaotic lil road trip that kinda jumps all over the country in a strange order. Lots of zigzags and backtracking and stuff. I think they have fun though?

FINAL RANKING:

1st Place - Pike

2nd Place - Kirk

3rd Place - Janeway

4th Place - Sisko

5th Place - Archer

6th Place - Burnham

7th Place - Picard

8th Place - Dal

9th Place - Freeman

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bookwormlover10 · 2 months

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So au idea Jason doesn't get adopted by Bruce Wayne but he does get adopted by A Batman....a tomorrow knight.....

So my idea is that somehow Terry mcginnis finds himself in the past of Gotham ( yes I'm going by Dcau continuity so it after after batman the animated series but before the new batman adventures is the time I'm thinking of this time misplaced.) So anyway Terry somehow find himself in crime Ally were he stumbled upon a young Jason Todd is trouble ( can't think if he's getting beat up or chase. You decide of the conflict) Terry being the hero that he is, no matter what time he's in, saves the little punk.

" you ok little guy?" Terry asked after the rescue. Young Jason is obviously ( and reasonably) scared out of his mind. Sure he has heard of the batman on the streets, even seen some photos of him in the newspapers. But batman looked like he was a demon from hell. Young Jason mind was quick change when the not batman gaved him his first real meal is week when he notices Jason stomach growled. ( How did Terry get the food might you ask ? Cause he's batman duh.)

With miraculously avoiding the young batman of the time, Terry does find a way back to his time, But a little someone tags along " come back with a souvenir, I see." The elderly Bruce Wayne says. This confused Terry so he says " what souvenir?" Then the elder Batman point his cane to Terrys leg so were young Jason Todd is hanging off of.

( it a good thing to mention that this is a little after return of the joker so old Timmy todd is here.) everyone is obviously freaking out. A literal child from 40 ish in the past is in their present. Tim recognized Jason Todd as they grew up together in crime Ally and the fact both their dad's worked for two face back in the day. Tim remembers Jason disappearing two weeks after Jasons dad got arrested and a year before he became Robin.

This is bad that means that Jason was ment to be here and if they send him back it could cause a time paradox. The question was now was what to do with the little punk. Tim thinks that Jason should go with him given their history. He's pretty sure that his wife wouldn't mind having an other kid around the house. Barbara even volunteers giving that her and Sam never had kids of their own. But Jason has already got attached to Terry and with won't let go of him, no matter how the other have try. He has already has chosen him emotional support batman. So Terry makes a decision....

Later Dana gets a call from Terry to meet up her at some place. When Dana gets there Terry says " I should of told you this a while ago but I'm batman." And before Dana has time to process this Terry then says " and I've recently become an teen father." Then he pulls out Jason from nowhere. " This is Jason my adoption son." ( "Dana meet our adopted son Jason." Terry probably.) Dana then also adopted Jason seeing that the little guy is so cute. It was also weird when Terry went home to explain to his mom and brother that they were now a grandma and uncle. ( Even when the child was around Matt's age.) max was also surprised with she Heard the story

Bruce legally has custody of Jason,until Terry turn 18 in a couple of months. Bruce is now Jason grandpa in this au and with tim and Barbara are his aunt's and uncles. ( I haven't decided if Jason becomes Terry Robin or not. It's your decision really. But hay at least the joker is already dead if he does)

-----------------------------

*bonus*

Tim: I always thought that Terry brother was going be his first robin. Not I owe dick 50 creds.

Barbara: you make a bet with your brother. Wait dick has never met Terry how does he know that he has a brother.

Tim: he's Nightwing duh

Barbara: of course he is ( facepalm)

Bruce:( is dialing someone)

Barbara: and who are you calling ?

Bruce : Wally West cause now I owe him 100 creds cause me and him make a bet if Terry was ever getting a Robin.

Barbara: ugh ( facepalm again.)

#i just thought it would be funny it Jason got adopted by Terry instead of the other way around #terry mcginnis #the new batman adventures #batman beyond #batman beyond return of the joker #batman the animated series #jason todd #timmy todd #tnba tim drake #tim drake #batman #batfamily #batfam #batfamily au #dcau #batman and robin #tnba robin #robin #dc robin

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yanderefictinallove · 2 months

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I̸ M̸a̸d̸e̸ A̸ D̸e̸a̸l̸, B̸u̸t̸ N̸o̸t̸ W̸i̸t̸h̸ T̸h̸e̸ D̸e̸v̸i̸l̸

Alastor x Reader

She wanted to be a star,she said that years ago. She loved to imagine it, to think it. But no one told her it would be a hassle to be an entertainer. She was lucky.

Luckey, enough to get this gig at a bar. It was pretty old and was said to be around for centuries, but money was money, and not everyone has the funds to just pay to be famous.

As she was in the backstage room, she was getting herself pretty for the stage, as she looked in the mirror to admire her [h/l] and [h/t] hair, her gorgeous eyes and soft skin, she was perfect and she knew that.

"10 minutes till spotlight," said the manager of the bar. She was a nice old woman, with long beautiful hair. It flowed, she was pretty young looking for her age and she was the sweetest thing ever.

"Thank you, ma'am." I responded, and she smiled and left the room, I opened my purse to see my picture of my gorgeous dog, Daisy. She was a beautiful white pitbull, she was my best friend, and even though she was a dog, she was my best friend. I love her, and I want her to be proud of me.

"Hey babe." Said a familiar voice that broke ne from my thoughts. "Hey, babe." I resopned, it was my best friend since diapers, Travis. "I just came to wish you luck, and you look sadder than a miserable husband. What's wrong?" Damn it. He was able to read me. What else did I expect, though? travis always has his shit together, I'm the train wreak. Well, I'm a cute train wreak anyway...

Before I could answer, it was time for me to get on stage. I stood up, and Travis went to go sit down. As I made my way to the stage, fear and excitement rushed through me as I walked on stage. I heard applause, as the band started I started to sing, but there was a problem.

The corners of the room are looking at me. The gaze hurts, and it burns. It's so blank that it scares me. it's smileing at me, its getting very close in here....

....

...

"5 minutes till spotlight"....what? I looked around I was still backstage, holding my purse, I looked up and the manager was there, she looked concerned and left me to be alone without a word. I got up, put ny purse back, and started to go backstage, as I was walking I got a random drive of determination just pop up out of nowhere, I'm gonna use it.

As I walked on stage and I heard applause, I started singing and while u was singing my heart out I noticed something...no, Actually...someone. In the corner. A gentleman, he was fair skinned and what caught my eye is what he was wearing, he was dressed buissness casual. And he wore a smile on his face...ok....fucking creep.

He keeps stareing, and not like in amazement like everyone else in here....it has an intent behind it. I feel uneasy. As I finish my songs I see applause, it feels great, fucking euphoric...but I need to leave, mr. "Lemme stare bitches right into their souls" is fixated on me, we keep making eye contact.

I quickly gather my stuff, tell the owner goodbye, and leave. As I walked to my car, I hurried to unlock it. Once I got in, I felt a little safer. I can breathe. As I started my drive home, I kept seeing a deer, I turned the radio on, it was nothing but buzzing and I had to tune it, some old county song was playing till it abruptly stopped.

"So what was it you seen?" A man said

"(Crying) it was a monster. It had horns , sharp teeth, deer head, oh lord, help me (cries harder). " A woman replies. What happened to the music?

"That ma'am was a wendigo." When the man said that my skin felt weird, out of place. I tried to tune it off but nothing worked.

"Wendigos are hellishly tall."[Tune]

"They crave human flesh."[Tune]

"If you see them, run, or you will crave human flesh."[Tune]

I finally turned it off, I was home anyway. As I pulled up to the apartments, I started to smell something. It was foul, gross, and smelled bloody and metallic. Problibly a dead animal. I parked my car and hopped out. As I was walking toward the lobby, I could still smell the stink. It was 10:15pm, and the reception for the lobby was closed. Now, only residents can get in. I go in the elevator and see the beautiful glowing button, I click the 2nd floor, and I go up. As I was waiting, it felt as if it was going forever. The light can barely stay on.

It's shaking, holy shit, it's shaking. I'm gonna die. This is it. As the elevator was trying not to fail too much. I was crying...I atleast wanna tell Daisy bye..*ding* What..

I opened my eyes to see the elevator, it was still.. and looked brand new and up to date... no flickering light or nothing...

I walked to my apartment and unlocked the door again. As I opened it, I was greeted by my little angle. She wagged her tail and smiled.. This is my reason for living. I locked the door and started to undress for my shower. As I got in, i ravished in the amazingly perfect warm water. It usually needed constant adjustment before it was perfect. As I washed myself, Daisy started to bark. She probably is just hungry, I finished up and stepped out. Ok, she is still barking.

As I ran to her, she stopped barking and started to wag her tail.

"What-What a show, I was quite impressed." I snapped my body around. It was the man from the bar, the one that was in the corner, smiling.

I ran to grab my phone off the counter.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you~" he said

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!"

"I'm the person who can give you everything you ask for. Now fix this silliness or you will miss it."

"Miss, what?"

"Your once in a lifetime opportunity!!"

He smiled even harder than before. He looked at me and held his hand out for me to shake. I need to remain calm. I pushed his hand away and started to ask him questions, such as like 'how did you get in my house' or ' what do you want from me?' He skipped the first one.

"I'm here because i've scented your need for the big lights, and I wanted to help your little predicament, with, of course, a price to pay."

"So you came here for money?"

"Heavens no, I came here to watch your rise, and in return, I want a favor. I have the solution right here. You just have to take it, my dear!"

He pulled a paper out of his pocket, and at the top, it talked about personal management and was signed by AL.

Right below, it was blank space for a signature. I looked at it, and there was no intention to sign it. Why is my arm moving? It's moving toward the pen attached to the paper, and the man had a sadistic smile on his face... and Daisy is quiet.

I looked, and she was shaking in her spot... My baby, her eyes were asking, "What are you doing?"...I don't know, I'm sorry Daisy.

As my arm signed the form for me, that man smiled more. He snapped his fingers, and it disappeared.

"Alastor, quite a pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. You will be entertaining me for a long, long time."

I woke up in a cold sweat....

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

It's been years and I still simp for this man

Oh well...

Request: Open

#hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel

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margowritesthings · 1 year

Text

ROMEO AND JULIET: I

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲…

series masterpost

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 4253 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), blood play, knife play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers authors note: here it is! the first chapter of my most requested, most talked about series. I'm so excited for this one, y'all. I really pushed myself out of my comfort zone and wrote some absolute filth. I hope you enjoy the first official instalment of Romeo and Juliet! update - this is a reupload after the orignal didnt show up in tags! taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes

It’s always astounded you, the way those warm orbs of light hang over the streets, glowing bright no matter the time of night. Saint Denis is a city that never seems to truly sleep. There’s always some lady of the night stalking her prey, some street urchins playing in the street no matter how high the moon, or, in the case of tonight, a shadowed outlaw sneaking through the hidden alleys and veins of the town. Arthur Morgan, enforcer and right hand man of the infamous Van der Linde gang.

It’s not the first time you’ve been assigned a job like this, following Morgan around gathering scraps of whatever intel he’s collecting at the time to get a head start on any jobs around. You’re by far the stealthiest of the O’Driscolls and Colm knows that, hence why you get sent out every time. This time, you’re pretty sure it’s a home robbery in one of the apartments atop a store in the city. Arthur has been scoping the same building out for the last 10 minutes, making circles with the turns in the streets and alleys he takes.

You’re always 10 steps behind him, so used to the skill of following someone through their shadows that it comes naturally to you. You’re so light on your feet that your boots hardly make a sound against the cobblestone streets. Currently, your fingers clutch at the corner of a brick wall as you peer around a bend, watching Arthur make that face you’ve learnt over time means he’s got something. Despite the fact the two of you have never actually spoken a positive word towards one another, you know far too much about each and every little mannerism Arthur has for your liking, but when his lip twitches at the corners, you know he’s pleased with himself. You hate that you know it, but you just goddamn do.

Thinking about it, you hate a hell of a lot about the Van Der Linde. You hate that he’s there at every turn, with his cocky smirk and that drawl. You hate the way that every time you get one up on him, the next time he’s right there giving it back. You hate his stupid fucking smirk and the way he outsmarts your idiot family every damn time. Most of all, you hate that every time you cross paths, he lingers in your mind, hidden in the darkest shadows until it’s the dead of night and it’s just you, all by yourself in your tent.

…anyway.

Fuck Arthur Fucking Morgan. And his stupid goddamn shit-eating grin.

Following his eyeline, you can see what he’s grinning at: it’s a back entrance, with a rusty old ladder just barely clinging to the bricks of the building. It would be all too easy to follow Arthur in and attempt to get to the loot before him, but why expend the effort when you can let him do all the work and pickpocket him on his way out? It’s the perfect plan, or it would be if Arthur hadn’t disappeared in the few seconds you spent looking over the ladder. Where you were watching is now completely deserted, the street lamps casting orange-hued light and striking shadows over the backs of the stores and apartments. Arthur is nowhere to be seen and your brows pull together with the strongest confusion. The ladder remains untouched, home un-looted and yet Morgan is gone?

Your voice is barely audible as you whisper to yourself, “What in the-”

You’re cut off as metal cooled by the night air is pressed firmly against the tendons in your throat, to the point where swallowing might just break the skin. Your breath hitches in your chest when you feel a hard, large body press against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you firmly in place. The sharpness of the weapon is so evident, you daren’t breathe.

“Now now, just what do we have here? A little stray who lost her way…” Arthur’s voice rumbles in his chest, low and throaty as his breath dances right on your ear. He’s so close, pressing the knife into your windpipe so that the only relief you can get comes from pushing your back further into him. It’s near impossible to think as you feel the outline of his cock against your ass, but you have to, because there’s literally a knife to your throat. And it’s Arthur Morgan and his cock should not matter.

“Get the fuck off me, Morgan.” You hiss, voice restrained by not wanting to move your neck too much.

“Not a chance, O’Driscoll. Just what do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me like this? Can’t get your own leads?” He’s speaking through gritted teeth, the whiskey on his breath intoxicating your senses.

“I ain’t- argh!” A sharp pain shoots up your neck as the very tip of the knife knicks your skin.

“Don’t lie. Or it’ll get worse. What’s your plan, little stray? Gonna jump me? Stab me from behind, kill me in the shadows like the rest of your backward coward cousins?”

Your eyes roll with the low blow. You’re so much better than your idiot cousins in every way and Arthur damn well knows that. He knows you’re the only one to match him, the only one he ends up head to head in heated, spitting arguments because you’re the one who can keep up. He also knows how much it makes you seethe to be compared to the bastards.

Your movements are quick, as to not have your neck slashed open, but somehow you manage to whack Arthur in the stomach with your elbow. The second plays out like an hour when you spin out from under his vice-like grip and manage to grasp your own hunting knife. It’s jabbed into Arthur’s side, but not before he can push his arm into your chest and pin you to the wall, his knife back on your neck.

Now, your chest is heaving against Arthur’s, the cold brick of the wall cooling your flushed back. It seems to have taken both of you considerable effort to dance around each other and end up like this, as you’re both fighting for breath. A defiant fire burns in your eyes as you look up at him, refusing to be the first to move or break this stalemate. Your knife presses firmer to Arthur’s side as the blade on your neck actually starts to steam.

“You know full well I don’t need to get you from behind, Morgan.” You spit, trying not to let Arthur’s distinct scent, that one that haunts you when you’re all alone, distract you. Instead you focus on the sensation of the sharp tip of Arthur’s hunting knife threatening to rip your skin again. This time, you barely flinch, not even breaking eye contact with the knife’s owner as it nicks you again. The cockiest smirk tugs on Arthur’s stubbled lip as his free hand reaches up to caress the origin of the sting.

“Oh, sure, you’re doin’ just great right now, princess…” A shiver rushes through your veins and runs down your spine when Arthur’s calloused finger swipes across your neck, spreading bright red blood in a line across the tendons. He brings the finger to his mouth, sucking the crimson clean off in one smooth movement. He actually moans, low and deep and you swear you can feel it in your cunt. The tiny cuts burn, but not as much as the scorched, invisible gash Arthur has left on you with his mere touch.

You can’t buckle, can’t for even a second rely on anybody else to keep you upright, especially not the enforcer of the gang your entire family practically devote themselves to the ruining of. So you put all your focus into not thinking about the heat pooling between your legs again, and you try to keep the strength in your limbs. It’s near impossible when he leans right into you, his lips a hair away from the lobe of your ear.

“Twice now I could’ve killed ya’. Slit that pretty little throat and watched the life drain from those big doe eyes… You’re losin’ your touch, little stray…” His breath on your skin is too much and you feel your instincts turning your head, but you can’t tell if it’s to get away from him or to further expose yourself. God, you hope it's the former. You’re terrified it’s the latter.

The cool metal is pulled away from your flushed skin, instead replaced by Arthur’s huge palm wrapping around your neck, his fingers winding upwards to cup your jaw and force your glare back to him. Arthur dips his head to the tiny patch of skin between your ear and jaw not covered by his grasp and, god help you, he sniffs. You can hear the growl catch in his throat as you do so and it takes everything you have to keep the gasp in your mouth. So much so that the grip around your knife falters, even if just for a second, letting the blade go slack against Arthur’s jet black shirt.

He chuckles, forcing you to realise your mistake and rectify it with an even stronger hold, “See? I bet I could have that knife clanging on these cobblestones before anybody would ever know we’re here…”

…oh?

Your pulse is pounding against Arthur’s palm and you’re sure he can feel it’s quickening as you realise exactly where this is going. It screams your true thoughts, those carnal, forbidden desires out to Arthur despite the demeanour of resistance you’re so desperately managing to cling onto. Your pulse is pounding in other places, too, and it’s making it ridiculously difficult to stay focused.

Your jaw opens and closes helplessly, mind racing to find a smug enough quip to rival Arthur’s annoyingly quick wit. You’re coming up empty, having to put all your energy into not collapsing into his weight and letting him have his way with you. Arthur’s thumb creeps up your jaw to caress your cheek, kneading the reddening flesh with a tenderness that juxtaposes everything about this moment. The fury burning in your stare, the hatred engrained in years of butting heads and foiled jobs and venomous words spat at each other. For as long as you’ve known of Arthur Morgan, he has kept this fire burning in you. It’s the anger, it’s the fury and the hatred and the venom and the tension… and…

And fuck if you’re not about to shatter at the hands of this man.

You’re squirming under Arthur’s grip, your legs starting to feel like jelly as his intense stare burns at your skin like glass on an ant. You don’t know when it becomes inevitable, maybe it’s when your lips part for his thumb to run over the bottom one, or maybe it’s when your tongue darts out to lick his pad, or maybe it’s when he smirks at you, dipping right next to your lobe and taking it between your teeth. It doesn’t matter when it becomes inevitable, only that it does. And oh, god, does it.

You’re both wordless, the sounds of the people of Saint Denis existing around you and two hot, panting breaths the only disruption from an otherwise silent air.

The knife returns to poke your cheek, leaving the faintest trace of your own blood on your skin as Arthur pulls the blade down your neck, chest and stomach. It’s featherlight, almost tickling until it reaches the crotch of your jeans and another gasp gets caught in your throat.

A single seam rips open.

With it, the smallest sound of the knife slicing the cotton becomes the loudest noise you’ve ever heard in your life. Arthur’s brow raises, and you hate that he gives you this second to back out. Even more so, you detest that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it.

Arthur’s hand clamped on your throat, his knife physically warming at the heat he’s creating right between your legs, you mirror his expression, knowing speaking these three little words will be your undoing.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

There are two things you know about Arthur Morgan with absolute certainty: he never backs down from a challenge and he’s the out-and-out last person you should trust.

…so why does your composure never once falter as Arthur cuts the crotch of your jeans clean open in one swift, expert movement?

Each individual stitch tears effortlessly against the edge of the metal and you finally allow that gasp to escape you. The cold night air seeps through and clings to the wetness starting to soak the cotton of your underwear and you can feel the most furious blush alighting your skin. You’ve never felt so exposed, emotionally, as Arthur feels just how wet you are for him with a drag of his index finger up your covered slit, and physically, as he hooks said finger into the band of your panties, ripping them open effortlessly. At this, your cunt clenches around nothing and you have to stop yourself from crying out. You can’t lose your composure, won’t let him win even if you’re all but dripping down your own leg.

“Tsk tsk… All this for me, hm? I don’t think Uncle Colm would be all too happy to see what a mess you are for mean old Arthur Morgan…” He’s sneering, his teasing too much to bear, especially when considering both the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders telling you to get the fuck out of here and definitely not-

“Are you gonna shut the fuck up and-”

You’re rendered unable to finish your demand, struggled out through Arthur’s grip, when two long, thick fingers plunge into your cunt and curl up inside you. You cry out, a strangled, pathetic sound before Arthur lets go of your throat and clamps a hand over your mouth instead. The rush of blood returning to your head sends you dizzy, mixing with the intensity of Arthur’s fingers oh so deep inside you to the point where it’s difficult to form coherent thoughts.

Good. Coherent thoughts are not what you need right now, for they would tell you that this is the worst decision you could possibly make right now and/or ever and you really don’t think you could make yourself stop right now.

You coil tighter and tighter each time Arthur pumps into you, trying in vain to stop the whines that vibrate the outlaw’s palm against your lips. You’ve never climaxed without some sort of clit stimulation, but you’ve also never been handled so… expertly. Arthur somehow knows you, inside and out as he pulls you right to the edge, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go and tickling your walls with a come hither motion. In that moment, you’re sure you’d follow him to the ends of the earth… even if you’d shoot him there afterwards.

Your own weapon is still tightly fisted in your grip, still pressing against Arthur’s side because you cannot lose this bet, despite the fact that you’re seconds away from cumming all over one of his hands and have your jaw clamped into the flesh of the other. You’re watching him, seeing the ever so slight concentration tugging his brows together a little before his blue-green eyes, darkened by the shadows to the point of near-blackness, meet yours. It’s the most intense eye contact you’ve ever experienced and it washes over you like ice water.

Your jaw hurts from the force Arthur is applying to it and you feel so full even from just his fingers and when you’re sure you can’t take any more stimulation else you might break into pieces, you feel another inch slide into you and that cold metal press against the hood of your clit.

Because of course he hasn’t put the knife down.

Fucking Arthur fucking Morgan.

The pressure and the sensation of the cold on your clit hangs you over the edge like a damned man awaiting the gallows, and there's an excruciating moment that drags out a lifetime before your whole body is wracked with white hot pleasure and red hot pain pulling you apart at both ends. The very tip of the knife pokes at your inner thigh exposed by the large rip in the denim of your pants, but you can’t stop your legs shaking and pushing together. Your skin breaks just as you reach your pinnacle and you feel both sensations everywhere. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, opposing forces at war in your very being, leaving splattered crimson on your leg and tear tracks on your cheeks.

You don’t even realise you’ve dropped the damn knife, the clatter echoing around the alleyway over your mewls and the downright obscene sounds of Arthur working your soaked cunt through your high, fingers pumping in and out of you.

It’s over with the force of a wave cresting and crashing. Blood rushing in your ears, you whimper when he slides his fingers out of you and follow his gaze downwards when he begins to chuckle again. He’s looking down at your knife, long discarded on the floor, and he’s smirking that smirk that makes you want to smack it right off his face.

Arthur’s eyes drag from your weapon back to you, raking them over your whole body as he releases his clamp on your mouth. Air rushes to fill your lungs and you stretch out your jaw to ease the ache. He looks so fucking smug, especially when he lifts his hand to his mouth, inserting the two fingers he just had inside you past his lips. When he removes them with a tiny pop, he holds his knife up to catch the nearby street lamp. The tip is scarlet, shimmering through sticky blood, but the blade itself is covered in your slick.

“Looks like I win…”

Fuck.

The regret is creeping around the corner, ready to set in and have you running down the street away from the man you hate most in the world, but just before it does, Arthur grasps your cheeks again, forcing your jaw open and squeezing until there’s no room in your mouth for your tongue and you have to stick it out. It trembles, suspended in the tiny space between you and Arthur until he lifts the blade and runs the smooth edge over the muscle. You taste the metallic tang of your own blood and the sweetness of your juices mixing together. It’s lewd and carnal and disgusting and so fucking hot you could just cum on the spot.

“Ah, see? You can be a good girl when you wanna be, can’t you? Cleanin’ up your mess…”

But you can’t. Not again, at least… You have to get out of here, away from this fucking devil in disguise who just made you cum quicker than you’ve ever cum in your life.

But you can’t think straight, can’t even hold yourself up, really, the rough brick of the wall behind you burning the back of your neck from the weight you’re putting into it when Arthur lets go of you completely. You hate that you feel the lack of his touch burning you worse than acid. You have to go. Now.

“I… I have to…”

But Arthur isn’t listening. He’s already unzipping his pants, the shadow of his cock branding down his thigh.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get my prize, don’t I?”

Oh god.

You have to craft an expression of distaste, cannot under any circumstance let on that you can’t think of anything you want more in this moment. The distaste shatters quickly, however, when Arthur sheathes his knife and pulls his hard, thick cock out of his jeans. It’s a fucking masterpiece, twitching and pulsing, his deep veins and rosy head practically entrancing you.

…until Arthur begins to palm his throbbing erection and his growl reminds you just who’s cock you’re all but drooling over.

“I ain’t a-“

But your protest is the next victim to die at the hands of the Van Der Linde as he grasps an ass cheek in each hand, effortlessly lifting you to your tiptoes so he can spear into you. He wastes no time or gentleness, invading you to the hilt first time. You’ve never felt so full. It’s almost too much, your sensitive nub still reeling from its first orgasm, but you take it like the most beautiful punishment you’ve ever experienced. You bite down onto your bottom lip to keep from screaming out, watching from the hidden shadows of the alley as a lawman walks past, completely unaware of the carnal sins of the flesh being committed just feet away from him.

That thought only winds you further and higher as Arthur’s hard, relentless thrusts pound deep into you. He’s hitting the same spot his fingers were curling up into only seconds ago every damn time, completely overwhelming you and stealing the breath from your lungs.

Arthur leans in close to the shell of your ear, “Oh, I bet you just fuckin’ love this, don’tcha princess? Little whore, comin’ undone like this just for me…”

“F-Fuck off-" you stutter out, barely managing to gasp for the air required to do so. You can’t finish your insult as calloused hands grip tighter onto your thighs and pick you up fully. It exposes you even more and allows a new angle for Arthur to fuck up into you and you see stars. You think your lip is bleeding from the way you’re biting on it, but you probably couldn’t count to ten right now. Who knows what’s going on around you when Arthur is so deep inside you.

You’re hurtling towards another orgasm even without the external stimulation, feeling everything. The lewd sensation of Arthur’s balls slapping against your ass, his fingernails digging hard into your fleshy thighs, the mixture of the both of you dripping down your leg and soaking your newly ripped jeans, the taste of your own blood filling your moaning, mewling mouth. All of it.

“Don’t fucking cum in me, Morgan, or I swear I’ll-”

“Shut up.” he demands, his grip on your legs moving to wrap them tight around his waist so that he can release one side and pin you to the wall by your throat. It shuts you up, alright, as you can barely manage the gasp ripped out of you when he uses his other hand to smack your ass hard. His thumb squeezes your neck in just the right place and your vision starts to blur, and just when you think you might black out, he thrusts up into you, gyrating his hips in a circular motion. The head of his cock feels like it’s massaging you, the pressure in your temples growing and the throbbing in your cunt intensifying to the point where it feels like the earth is shattering around you. Arthur is growling into your ear, your nails scratching deep marks into his neck, ripping open the skin every so often.

“Oh fuck, oh Arthur d-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I-I-” Your voice is croaked but somehow you manage your demand, and Arthur obliges, continuing to spear you. His pelvis is grinding down on your clit in perfect time to the pulsing waves you feel all over and at one point you swear those orbs of light hanging above seem to dance around your vision. Your complete release comes at the same time as Arthur’s release of your neck, the blood rushing back through your veins and making everything feel distant.

Arthur’s grunts and moans vibrating against your ear guide you back to Earth, your tight cunt feeling that much fuller after its second climax of the evening. You know you can’t take much more. You’re a drooling, mumbling mess in his arms. Arthur lifts your chin, taking the weight of your head in his hand to force your eyes onto him as he thrusts in and out a final, intense, invasive, wonderful time.

He slips out of you just in time, his hot seed spilling out in between the two of you and splattering over your shirt. If you had enough pieces of your own mind to gather a coherent thought, you would probably be furious, but your tired limbs ache from being suspended for so long, the skin of your neck burning from the rough brick you’ve been forced against.

It’s the most gentle he’s been all night when he places you onto the floor, supporting your weight until your legs have enough integrity to do it themselves. You can hear the teeth of Arthur’s zip, feel the cold air on your exposed jeans as everything starts to sink in.

“Here.” Arthur grumbles, as if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do is help you, but you just about manage to grab the jacket he throws at you. You’re speechless, that fire once fuelled by lust now holding pure fury and hatred. Hatred for Arthur and his stupid fucking smirk, fury for yourself for giving into him… and now here you are, tying Arthur Morgan’s jacket around your waist after fucking him in an alleyway, his spurs clicking against the cobblestone as he leaves you alone in the middle of Saint Denis.

…God fucking dammit.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic

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