#who on some level understood why he was the way he was and would keep the lonliness (and the fog) away from him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ravengards-rogue · 1 month

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WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ;

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur.

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun.

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him.

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate.

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy.

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures.

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember.

Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him.

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain.

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down.

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something.

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while.

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately.

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you.

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish.

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting.

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit.

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs.

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,”

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,”

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,”

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.”

You giggle back at him

“What kinda trouble is that now?”

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice.

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.”

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly.

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn.

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted.

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it.

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily.

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show.

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp.

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms.

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine.

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that.

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.)

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did.

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it. It was just all too easy again, to be with you.

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family.

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see. Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street.

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy. John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you.

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you.

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision.

You might turn him into a literate man yet.

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life.

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself.

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck.

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?”

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you.

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,”

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat.

“John,”

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.”

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,”

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,”

“A foolish one,”

John laughs.

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving.

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get. He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently.

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.)

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters.

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living.

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is) loyal to Dutch. To the gang.

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after.

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long.

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time. He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about.

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around.

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen. If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing.

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.)

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit.

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would.

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d never find again.

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves.

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too.

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you.

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him.

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him. You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,”

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease. All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides. You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space.

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words.

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.”

Darling as you always are, you nod softly.

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ;

Wandering.

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on.

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly.

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains.

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few.

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it.

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list.

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are.

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him.

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some.

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you. And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything.

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not.

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss.

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars.

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze.

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks.

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,”

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?”

“Well, I’m not fine with it.”

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?”

“Please, what?”

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.”

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life. “Yeah, that’s good to hear.”

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto.

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head.

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,”

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires.

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you.

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed.

“Kiss?”

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella x reader #charles smith x reader #rdr2 x reader #rogues love letters #red dead redemption 2 x reader #THIS IS THE LAST TIME. THE LAST FUCKING TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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igotanidea · 1 month

Text

Shunning: Jason Todd x reader

request: Jason comforting reader cause her friends ostracised her.

A/N: hopefully this will put a smile on the face of everyone who felt back for being rejected in any form it may come.

***

They were madly in love, there was no denying that.

But not in a lovey-dovey kind of way that was reserved only for the time they were alone and felt safe enough with the other to let that side out. It was rather mercilessly-teasing-not-really-meaning-all-those-mean-words-coming-out-of-my-mouth-cause-only-I-can-do-that manner.

However, there are boundaries to every relationship.

Especially when one of the parts in couple is a infamous vigilante/antihero.

And ever since the beginning Jason made it very clear that Y/N was not supposed to visit his apartment when he was not there. It was his duty to keep her safe. At all costs. And since sometimes it happened that due to lack of strength after patrol he just crashed his regular flat instead of safe house, no one, no one, was allowed to connect Y/N Y/L/N to Red Hood.

No fucking one.

Even if it meant giving her the spare key as a sign of commitment (but only because Jason tended to lost his own too often), but also simultaneously pushing her away by making the hereinabove mentioned rule.

Yeah… it hurt.

But she understood.

She understood all the rules and boundaries and safety precautions coming from being with him and if that’s what it took to call him hers – so be it.

So normally she stuck to the principles.

But—

***

8 a.m.

It was one of the hardest patrol he had ever had, but some kind of crazy instincts made him push forward and patch himself up at the nearest lair. Which wasn’t even his in the first place, but that was something Grayson would never know. And also- besides the point.

The fact was, though, that he came back to his official address (official for someone who was still legally dead, of course), dressed in regular clothes and without blood stains with plasters all over his face.

Planning to maybe call his girlfriend so they can spend the nice day together.

Hoping to see her teasing smirk and eyes rolling, knowing she was the one to match his sarcasm, give him hard time making this relationship a challenge for him, which was exactly why she fell for her in the first place. Or maybe it was the fact that underneath all that rough-around-the-edges surface they were so similarly sensitive on the inside it made it easier to connect on so many levels.

Lost in his thoughts he opened the door and immediately knew something was wrong.

Energetic music coming from the kitchen.

Some crazy (DELICIOUS!) smell.

And the opened curtains that make the dim Gotham light permeate the room.

The hell?

Jason grabbed his pistol from the shoe (regular clothes or not, forewarned is forearmed) and busted into kitchen, grabbing the intruder by the arm, pointing the gun to their head.

“Auch! Fuck! Jay!”

“Y/N!” the gun landed on the floor and she immediately kicked it away, so it wouldn’t fire on her leg or foot.

‘Well morning to you to!”

“The hell you doing here?!”

“fucking breakfast!”

“What?!”

The scene was truly grotesque.

Boyfriend and girlfriend, who were, may I remind you, madly in love, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, one of them clearly in need of some loving and rest, the other offering exactly that and yet they settled on yelling their surprise out at one another.

“I’m gonna ask you again- what are you doing here?” Jason almost hissed, his own protective and possessive instincts kicking in in a Red Hood style.

“I told you-“ she became a little defensive, but sure as hell not submissive or humble.

“Y/N!”

“Stop yelling at me Jason!”

The way she accentuated the last word, his name, made him stop for a moment, groan in frustration and run hand over his face, almost poking his eyes out. Right. He was Jason now. Her Jason. And she didn’t deserve the aggression and violence (she had her fair share of that coming from men).

“Okay, fine. I won’t yell. But explain to me.”

“I needed you—” she finally whispered.

Any other guy would just melt at such sweet confession coming from the loved woman, but Jason? Nah. He was way more perceiving and knowledgeable about her quirks.

So he noticed.

Her sad eyes.

Her nervous energy.

Her feigned smile.

And the fact that she not only just made him his favorite breakfast but also was currently keeping an eye on the blueberry muffins in the oven.

“Y/N….” he said calmly to get her attention.

“Yeah, huh, what’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that question…”

“What you mean?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t trick me honey.” He warned with a grin and before she realized what was happening around her he grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the living room, ready to coax, force or hug the truth out of her. No holds barred.

“My muffins!” she yelled struggling against his grip.

“Yeah, whatever, as long as we don’t need firefighters here I don’t care.”

He threw her on the couch sitting beside her.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing really I –“

“you know I’d hate to be the therapist in this relation and steal the job you do for me, but for Christ’s sake Y/N, let it out.”

Okay, so he clearly did not think those words out.

And it was not his intention to make her cry.

Even if her snuggling into his chest made him feel like she actually needed him. Like she wasn’t always the tough, self-made, self-sufficient girl.

“Oh…” he gasped wrapping arms around her. “Shh… sh… it’s okay. I got you. I got you, you can tell me.” The mindless words were just coming out his mouth when he pulled her closer not caring about black mascara smudges on his favorite shirt. (which was old either way, so no shame in ruining it).

“Do you think I’m pathetic for being an introvert?”

“What?” he blinked a couple times, frowning and searching her face to make sure she was serious with that question “Since when you’re an introvert?”

“Jason…”

“Ok, princess listen to me. I have no idea from where that idea got into your pretty little head but-“

“My friends.” She stuttered wiping her eyes smudging makeup even more looking like a cute little panda and despite all the seriousness from her part Jason smiled for a moment considering the view adorable.

“come again? Your friends?”

“Yeah…” she sniffled “my friends. We were supposed to hang out last night, but when I reached out, cause I was feeling a tad lonely” she send him a look “they all respectively said that they are busy and tired and maybe another time.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded “I got a feeling I know where this is going-“

“Believe me, you have no idea.” She rolled her eyes, sadness slowly making way to annoyance and frustration “not only they went partying, which I found out via Instagram, hashtag somuchfun, hashtag hotgirlsparty, but also figured it was Allison’s bachelorette party!”

“That Alison?! The friendship bracelet Allison?!”

“yes! Can you imagine the audacity!? And she’s been engaged for months and everyone knew!”

“No way!” Jason gasped while they both acted at least like Hollywood wives gossiping about first world problems.

“Also, I have to say how much I appreciate you actually listening to all my silly girly ranting.”

“Of course baby” he kissed her forehead rubbing her back affectionately “but don’t tell it to anyone. Now seriously, all jokes aside, are you all right? I mean – not that I have much experience with friendship-“

“Roy.” She cuts him off with a firm voice.

“Ok, fine, fine! I’ll make peace with him!” he raised his hands in surrender “that’s not the point. You were straight forward casted out! Ostra-fucking-cised! And the fuck why??” now he was becoming a little angry.

“Cause clearly I’m a mood killer, no fun, tense, embarrassing, don’t know how to party-“

“WHAT?!”

“Jason?” she looked at him briefly “Jason! JASON! HELL! Put that gun down and get back here!” she yanked the back of his shirt pulling him back to the couch before he could something reckless and irreversible.

“Let go off me princess I have to-“

She started crying again.

“Oh god! Oh baby please don’t cry, I’m sorry-“ he cupped both her cheeks falling to his knees and wiping the tears away “Y/N, love, please I didn’t mean to –“

“There’s only one thing you have to do now.” She calmed down at once, revealing that her tears were just another trick.

“Bloodbath?”

“What?! NO! You stay here and pamper me! Comfort me!” she smacked him on the head, soft enough to not make any damage. “Jeez! How many times will I have to teach you!? A girl, your girl is crying. What do we do then?” her voice was reminiscent of that of a primary school teacher

“We hug. We say nice words. We don’t let go until she feels better. We let her do all she wants cause she’s sad.” He answered mechanically.

“Very good, Jason” Y/N teased “gold star for theory, now can you please make it into practice?”

Ten seconds later she was wrapped up in his strong arms, with one of his hand cradling her head and brushing the strands of her hair, the other on the small of her back.

“For the record, I think introverts are cool. Seriously, the hell is wrong with the world making a false impression that you need to crash everyone just to get somewhere in life? Like I don’t know, make a name for yourself by being loud and show-offish.

“Jason…” she laughed and it made his chest reverberate

“What--? Oh! Hey! That’s not what I meant! We were talking about you,, not me!”

“Well you made me laugh, so good job on that!”

“You know what on the other hand, introverts are assholes. They are always quiet and listen and remember everything you say only to use it against you later on. Like little rat searching for the hole in everything.”

“Hey!” she poked his ribs

“Oh no, princess, that’s out the line!” he laughed rolling on top of her, tickling her. “You’re the most amazing introvert I have ever met, you hear me? Life is a constant party with you and your beautiful mind, ok? So what if they didn’t tell you about the bachelorette? I mean, sure it sucks, but I bet her fiancé is an ugly ork.”

“And how is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Cause baby believe me, once you get thrown a bachelorette I’ll make sure that not only Instagram but also all the magazines will be racing to get photos of that party. How could they not? The prettiest, most amazing girl in Gotham not being available anymore! Damn, Kardashians will get jealous of you!"”

“Are you asking me something here Jason Peter Todd.”

“You and your admirable fantasy.” He smirked kissing her forehead “I’ll leave you hanging, but tell me one thing. Do you really need fake friends? You already have a zombie boyfriend, isn’t that enough for you? Starring in a “Walking Dead”, now you also want “Mean Girls?” he faked indignation “so greedy!”

“Your impossible you know that?” she smiled at him, the first genuine smile since she came to his apartment.

“Hell no, I’m way more handsome than Tom Cruise!”

“Jason!”

“What? You wanted to be comforted, you can only get it done my style.”

“Hey. Hey look at me” she cupped his cheek so their gazes could meet.

“Yeah? What is it my sunshine and rainbows?”

“Don’t stop, okay?”

“Never.” He grinned. “You’re stuck with the tacky humor and dry jokes.”

***

And with a burning blueberry muffins

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Note

can i request a tav x astarion where tav is mute? i wonder how they would be communicating

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I really struggled with this request, but I decided to try again on a whim and whoooo boy it's a doozy. I also did not make Tav mute, but I played with a Paladin oath I have had on my mind for a looong time so they are effectively mute

Warnings: fear of death, blood, mentions of death/dead bodies, religion, anxiety, fear, being trapped, crying, swearing, angst, hurt/little comfort, possibly OOC

Word Count: 3,624

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You huff in annoyance for the fifth- no, sixth, time. Perhaps more. The vendor stares at you as though you’re insane, even though you couldn’t possibly be clearer! You exaggerate further, pointing at the potion, yourself, and your coin purse. If he would just mark how much the damn thing cost, you wouldn’t have to keep going through this!

Astarion sighs sharply. “They want to buy the potion,” he bemoans. “Now, please, tell them the price so we can move on.”

The vendor starts with wide eyes and realization on his face. He flushes from his cheeks, down his neck, and to the tips of his ears as he stutters out the price. You shove the money into his chest and grab what you’ve paid for, before stomping off. And if Astarion slipped an extra something in his pocket while the vendor was dying of his stupidity, who would really care?

He caught up in a few long strides. “We must find a better way for you to communicate, darling. I can’t keep translating for you.”

You made a few sharp gestures.

“I don’t see the big deal in carrying a paper and pencil around,” he answered with a scoff. “Or, you know, you could just speak. I know you can.”

You glared at him. That, he didn’t need a translator for.

This had been an ongoing argument from the very moment you ran into each other on the beach. When he had you pinned to the ground and you didn’t speak, he originally thought you were just being stubborn. When he finally let you go, you’d explained to him (in writing) that you’d made an oath of silence, and that you had nothing to do with the Illithid kidnappings.

Fortunately, you discovered early on that some hand signs were shared with the Theive’s Cant, which he understood quite well. When Gale and Wyll came along, one who’d learned some sign through books and the other who learned by helping people as the Blade of Frontiers, Astarion was relieved he wouldn’t have to translate for you. Except, you continued to drag him along to act as the middle man anyway.

His solution, proposed frequently both seriously and in jest, was to break your oath. An oath of silence was a ridiculous thing to promise anyway, especially now that you needed to communicate so frequently, but any time the suggestion was posed, you’d just level him with a hard stare.

“You know I can’t do that,” you signed, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Paladins. So dedicated to the chains that bind them.”

“To break my oath would be to lose my powers. Do you want me to keep reviving your ass during battle or not?”

He sneered. “You couldn’t make an oath of vengeance or something? It would certainly be a lot easier to follow through on.”

You rolled your eyes and walked faster. You hated arguing about your oath. Wyll and Gale wouldn’t behoove you for it - so why did you bring him along, he wonders.

Astarion heaved, pressing against a stitch in his side that tightened with each breath. The fight was brutal. Everyone was bloody and exhausted. Shadowheart turned from the dead beast before them to help Wyll who lay prone on the ground. Karlach pulled her mighty axe from its head with a squelch and a crunch, cheering at the victory.

He chuckled breathlessly at her antics. Almost stumbling, he turned in a circle, eyes scanning the battlefield. The beast’s cronies lay still, scattered everywhere. Blood overwhelmed his senses. How did that saying go? Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

He frowned. He looked around again. “Where’s Tav?”

Karlach’s whoops quieted immediately. She looked around as well. “They didn’t get crushed under this,” she kicked the creature in the eye, “did they?”

He shook his head. “They weren’t close enough…” He growled, frustrated, and turned to the magic-users. “Did you see where Tav went?”

Shadowheart supported Wyll as he sat up, groaning. They both shook their heads. “Last I saw them, they were over there,” the warlock croaked, nodding over to the side. “But I don’t know how long I’ve been down for.”

Astarion winced as he jogged over to where he said, stepping over and on top of dead bodies. He took another step. His foot did not collide with floor nor flesh. His heart lurched as the world fell out from under him. A hand grabbed the neck his armor and pulled him back, falling on his ass onto solid ground.

“Careful, Fangs!” Karlach chastised worriedly. She let him go, pulling them both to their feet and brushing him off. “You alright?”

His mind was still reeling. He nodded in a daze. All he could do was stare at the nearly-invisible chasm he’d almost fallen down into… And then his mind caught up.

He raced forward again, dopping to his knees right before the tear in the earth, and leaned over it. Even his darkvision couldn’t help him see what was below; it was so dark, like all light that fell into it was swallowed up. A heavy weight settled in his chest.

“Tav?!” he shouted down into the darkness. His voice echoed. He had no idea how deep it went.

The realization set in for Karlach as well. “Oh fuck…”

“Tav, are you down there?!” He waited a moment, but he was met with only silence.

Shadowheart and Wyll rushed over. They peered into the deep with concern. Astarion shifted so he sat on the ground, legs dangling over the edge. He remembered the feeling of falling. Fortunately, he couldn’t see how deep it was, so at least vertigo did not make it seem deeper; the shadow was doing a perfect job of that on its own.

Wyll grabbed his shoulder before he could slide forward. “Astarion, we have no idea how deep it goes, or what’s down there! You could be impaled on a spike before you ever make it to the bottom. We don’t know if they’re even alive!”

“And if they are?” he growled. “They could be trapped down there with no way of telling us.”

“And you’ll be trapped down there if you go after them!”

He couldn’t argue with anything logical. So what if he got stuck down there? He needed to know you were okay. His blunt nails dig into the stone edge, knocking loose flecks of rock and sediment. How could he just leave you down there?

Shadowheart looked around at the bodies. “We could make some rope. Lower it down, see if they grab on.”

He snorted mirthlessly, sneering at the cleric. “And if they’re too injured to?”

She glared back at him. “I don’t see you proposing any better ideas.”

Karlach and Wyll shared a look. It seems they’d have to be the level-headed ones here… “We can strip the bodies. Tie their clothes together until it’s long enough.” To hopefully reach the bottom, was left unsaid.

Karlach and Shadowheart got to work immediately, working to remove the clothes of their fallen enemies, scrunching their noses in disgust all the while. Wyll squeezed Astarion’s shoulder and joined them, trying to decide what clothes were in good enough condition to hold weight. Astarion stared into the pit for a while longer.

Your head spun. Everything ached. Each breath was like fire in your lungs. You bit your lip to silence your whimpers, biting down so hard you could taste iron in your mouth.

As the pain ebbs to a manageable level, you try to figure out where you were. It was dark. You couldn’t make out your hand right in front of your face. You couldn’t even be sure your eyes were open. You only knew they were when you looked up and saw light coming from far above you. It was dim and flickering - the flames of the braziers that lined the battlefield.

You blinked into the darkness, willing your eyes to adjust. Cautiously, you reached out your hands and felt around. The ground beneath you was covered in fine gravel, almost like sand. The finer sediment stuck to your hands when you pulled away. There was a wall behind you, possibly made from slate. It would be impossible to climb. With a muffled groan, you’re able to reach your foot out and touch the opposite wall. The effort leaves you panting.

You lay still on the floor for a minute. Clearly, you fell from quite high up. How far was still a mystery, but the fact was you did fall. When you’ve caught your breath, you feel for any injuries. Your armor restricts you, but it seems to have protected you for the most part. You’ll be bruised as hell, but you can’t find any open wounds. At least you were fortunate there.

You look up again. You can’t hear anything coming from above, but you’re unsure if it’s from the depth of the chasm or because the battle is over. You hope they are able to win the fight without you. All your companions are strong in their own right, you know they can pull through this.

You squint at the opening above. You think you see something moving at the top, but it’s merely a speck. Using the wall and gathering your waning strength, you push yourself to your feet. You heave as you lean against the slate. The silhouette is still too far away to make out.

T..av….

A distant cry, distorted heavily by the chasm. It takes a moment for you to recognize it as your name. Your heart leaps in your chest.

… av….. Ar… d..wn… the..re…

You can’t tell who’s calling down to you, but you take faith in the knowledge it must be one of your companions. The beasts wouldn’t know your name. Now you just have to signal them somehow…

You feel around your body for your sword, but the sheath is empty. It must have fallen elsewhere, perhaps only feet away, but you can’t see worth a damn. You try instead to cast a ball of light. It should be easy - it’s a spell you’ve cast a hundred times before. But as you strain to conjure even a spark, you become lightheaded. Your knees buckle, collapsing you back to the gritty floor. You try again, but you can feel your energy being sapped away. Your hand falls weakly to the ground.

You rest your head back against the wall and think. You can’t use your sword to hit the rock and make a sound, or defend yourself if something lurks within the darkness. You can’t cast a light, nor any other spell, lest you fall completely unconscious and make your chances worse. The more options you run out of, the more desperate you become. You try reaching out to their tadpoles, but they must be too far away.

You’re stuck.

A sob chokes you as it forces its way up your throat. Even that is muffled by you, by pure habit at this point. You’ve held your oath for years; you’ve learned how to stay silent even under the worst situations. Now it’s come to bite you in the ass.

You look up at the dim light, blurred through tears. They burn as they just keep coming. Your lip quivers as you quietly gasp for air. You’re going to die down here.

Your last option, you’ve already dismissed before it fully forms. You could break your oath, call up to them, cry out for help with the last of your strength. But to do that would leave you even more helpless than before. To speak was to lose your powers. Your god would rip them away in a heartbeat, until you plead for forgiveness; pray for hours and hours to swear your allegiance and dedication once more.

A slave to the chains that bind you.

But what choice do you have?

You try to catch your breath, slow the hiccups and sobs down until you can fill your lungs with air. You open your mouth, try to form the words, but it comes out as a weak sound, almost a poor facsimile of a donkey’s bray. You haven’t spoken for years, to do so now was an astronomical feat. You feel the burn of your god’s eyes as they watch you actively work to break your oath.

You try to speak again. You form an h sound, but it’s so quiet, it’s hardly enough to be considered speaking. You need to shout. You need to let your friends know you are alive down here. Anxiety grips your heart as you imagine being left down here alone, left to starve to death, or worse.

You swallow. You have to do this. You can do this.

“H..e..lp,” you croak out, a mere whisper. It’s raspy and breathy, but it’s a word. You feel your power being sapped away. You nearly sob again. Your god would abandon you down here. An unfeeling master who only craves loyalty. Astarion was right.

You take another deep breath and try harder. “H-elp..!” It’s still a strained rasp, but you hear it begin to echo off the walls. Louder. It needs to be louder. You cup your hands around your mouth. “Help!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the burning in your throat. “HELP!”

Astarion’s hands are raw from tying knots. Karlach will bring him big piles at a time, plopping them down beside him, and he’d add them all onto the already-quite-long rope. It was perhaps 30 feet long by now, but he wasn’t confident it would reach.

Wyll sighed, exhausted. “We’re almost out of clothes, my friend.”

Astarion doesn’t look up, barely paying attention to the warlock enough to tell him to keep working. Calluses on his hands open and turn into blisters. He winces with each knot he pulls tight. But he won’t stop. How can he?

Shadowheart sighs as she pulls the pants off another corpse. She’s seen far more anatomy in one hour than she ever wished to again. Karlach sits down by the pile and pulls the other end of the rope into her lap. She begins working to tie more on.

They work silently, but rather efficiently. In another minute, the rope has grown considerably longer. Blood begins to stain Astarion’s end.

“Fangs, maybe you should take a break.” He shakes his head, frowning as he grabs a robe off the pile. Karlach is about to insist, get Wyll or Shadowheart to take over, when a sound comes from the pit. Astarion drops everything and scrambles over as fast as he can.

He tilts his head, facing his ear down into the depths. And he listens…

H..E..LP!

He immediately shouts down into the hole. “We’re going to get you out!” He rushes back to his feet and to the rope. The others drop their half-naked corpses, and Karlach finishes tying one last knot. They help Astarion drag it over to the pit, all lining up to hold onto the end, though, to be honest, Karlach will be doing most of the heavy lifting. He guides the end over the edge, and hurriedly lowers it down. He wants to throw it in, but he’d rather not throw somebody else over the edge with the sudden weight.

He’s knelt right on the edge, wide eyes staring, searching into the dark. He has no idea how close they are to you, or even if it’s long enough. He hopes your god is merciful enough to play with fate.

“Find the rope!” He shouts down. He hopes his voice is reaching you. “We’ll lift you up!”

It’s too quiet for too long. If his heart still beat, it would be racing faster than a rabbit’s on the run. Dread builds up, heavy and unpleasant, in his chest instead. Did you pass out? Was the rope long enough? Would he have to slide down and carry you back up? What was taking you so damn long?!

He’s a second away from removing his armor to climb down when the rope shifts, being tugged by something down in the darkness. He can only hope it’s you. He scrambles to his feet and gets in front of Karlach, grabs hold of the rope with bloody fingers, and begins pulling you from the pit.

Somehow they manage to work as a unit. He’s scrambling to pull you out as fast as possible, but Karlach manages to get him to slow down. If they could do long pulls, they could drag you out faster with less work. He worries his lip between his teeth. Each knot that slips over the edge adds to his anxiety. He’s waiting for the moment it reaches the end and nothing is there. He can only take solace in the fact he can feel your weight holding on. Gods, he thinks desperately, just keep holding on.

After an eternity of pulling, a hand reaches over the ledge. Karlach makes up for his absence when he lets go and falls to his knees at the edge. He reaches in and wraps his hands under your arms, heaving you up and, finally, back on solid ground. He pulls you solidly into his arms, sliding back away from the edge. He’s sick and tired of chasms.

You’re no longer wearing your armor, and your weapons belt is gone, too. Fine, black dirt sticks to your clothes and hands, and even smears across your face, washed away by a stream of tears. He wipes them away with one hand; he can’t give a damn about the blood he leaves in its place.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. You sob as fall forward, your head landing solidly against his shoulder. Your whole body trembles and shudders with each cry. He’s disconcerted by the sound of your voice, no longer purposefully muffled. He threads his fingers into your hair, holding you to him. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

If your body ached at the bottom of the pit, now you couldn’t even think about moving. Astarion had carried you as far as he could and then some, until Karlach had to take you from his arms before he dropped you. Even then, he stayed right by her side, watching you anxiously.

Back at camp, Shadowheart healed what she could, but most of her energy was spent during the fight. Haslin took over, but even the best he could do would have you bruised and in pain for the next few days. He went into the woods for ingredients to make a soothing balm.

Wyll helped you drink water, and Gale helped you drink some broth, to hold you over until he could make dinner proper. Lae’zel rifled through your veritable hoard of supplies to find you some suitable armor and weapons, and worked to sharpen and polish them.

When you were finally given the chance to rest, Astarion carried you from your bedroll into his tent, laying you down on his own bedroll. He provided as many pillows as you wished, as many blankets as you could ever ask for. He gathered a bowl of water and a fresh cloth and worked to clean the grime off your face.

You watched blankly, too emotionally and physically exhausted to process much. He passed the cloth over your forehead. It was blessedly cool, but the flash of red that crossed your vision could not be ignored.

Arms like lead, you willed a hand to grab his, stopping him mid-swipe. He winced as you pried the cloth from his hand, where it dropped wetly onto your neck, and ran your thumb along his palm. Blisters and blood covered every inch, skin torn and peeling in places. Without even thinking, you try casting a spell to heal him.

Whereas before, when you tried to cast a spell, you could feel it draining your energy from you, now you just felt nothing. It was like dipping a bucket into a well and coming up empty. There is no more magic within you to fuel a spell. Tears prick at your eyes again.

Astarion sighs, long and low. “You don’t have your magic.”

It takes far too much effort to even shake your head. You take a breath, and through the rasping pain, you speak. “They… took it away when… I called for help…” You swallow thickly. Your voice was foreign to you.

It was foreign to Astarion, too. He could recognize the way you signed, the slight variations of years of experience against Gale’s book-perfect signing or even Wyll’s slower, more purposeful movements. He associated it with you so strongly. To hear you speak was like watching a ventriloquist put on a show.

A bitter feeling took hold within him. Just like all gods, all masters, all people with power to laud over another, you were abandoned in your darkest hour, by someone you spent so long dedicated to. Prayers, offerings at alters, your faithful silence - it would never be enough, not to a god who always craved more.

But now isn’t the time to say I told you so. Gently, he removes his hand from your grasp. Your hand flops back to your side. He takes the cloth from where it rested at your neck, re-wets it, and continues cleaning your face.

He doesn’t say anything as he wipes away your tears, catching them before they have a chance to slide down to your ears. When the sobs choke you, he helps you drink some water. When your sorrow lulls you to sleep, he tucks you in and stays by your side, a faithful argus.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

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omnomnomdomcaps · 6 months

Text

Nevermore - Remastered

Another Spooky Season remaster, this time featuring some awesome original art from @spaced-goddess. Go check her blog out!

“Alright now, up we go,” came Mrs. Winthrop’s soft voice, as she picked her onesie-clad student up from the classroom floor and placed her onto her desk, their school principal looking on as she did. “Can’t be having a talk with you while you’re crawling around on the floor.”

Amber didn’t resist. She didn’t say anything, didn’t fight back against her teacher’s choice of words - after all, walking without tripping seemed to have become her latest challenge, and she had the carpet burns on her knees to prove it. Without a word of protest, the girl allowed herself to be picked up and placed on the desk, hiding her blushing face away as much as she could.

This was a far cry from the girl who first arrived in Mrs. Winthrop’s preschool classroom on Halloween day, half a year before. That Amber was headstrong and defiant, fuming constantly that some saboteur had seemingly drugged her and messed with her brain, leading her down a road of failed tests and embarrassing accidents. She was furious that she had to drop out of the college and come here to relearn her basics, and she let everyone around know it.

That Amber was proud. She was sure of herself. And even through all of her setbacks, she was confident. “Whatever,” she would snarl, “fine.I’ll just re-do some stuff and get out of here. I’m still an adult. I’m still better than all these dumb little brats.”

As the school year wore on, though, those “dumb little brats” could actually keep up with their preschool lessons. And Amber? Not so much.

While her classmates learned their numbers and letters and shapes, Amber just stared blankly, trying and failing to understand what the teacher was talking about, only to be distracted by the slightest hint of a pretty bird or a squirrel outside the window. Again and again, those “dumb little brats” ended up having to help her with shape blocks and stacking rings, while they played with their ‘advanced’ toys. Again and again, they would have to remind Amber to use the potty - or, more often, tell Mrs. Winthrop when the girl had an accident.

Maybe, if Amber had known that she was under a witch’s curse, she wouldn’t have been so shocked at how it all turned out. Maybe, if she had heard the incantation, heard that the spell would lower her abilities to the level of her maturity, she would have understood why her stubborn attitude wasn’t getting her anywhere. But of course, these were truths she never would have accepted, or believed.

“Amber, sweetie,” Mrs. Winthrop began, “we need to talk about your progress.”

The girl said nothing. Her face was turned away, her hands hidden between her legs.

“Now now,” the principal chimed in, a stern air of authority in his voice, “your teacher made you a very special potty chart, don’t you remember?”

Amber turned her eyes briefly to the wall, turning them back just as quickly. It was embarrassing for her to think about - the way her teacher had set it all up to help encourage her re-training, the whole class cheering her on like their little sister as she proudly donned her training pants. But of course, her results were anything but encouraging, and she was soon taken out of pullups altogether.

“Do you think you did a good job with your potty training?” Mrs. Winthrop asked.

The girl hung her head in silence.

“And do you think you’ve been doing a good job with your preschool lessons?” the teacher added.

“N-no,” Amber finally muttered, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

“And do you know what we’re going to have to do now?” came the principal, his arms crossed as he stood in front of the girl.

“Am I… Am I gonna havta stay in preschool again next year?” Amber's voice began to crack.

Mrs. Winthrop let out a heavy sigh. “No, honey… I’m afraid it doesn’t look like you’re ready for preschool at all.”

The girl was in shock. “B-b-b-b-” she stammered, “but… but I’m a big girl! I’m a big girl!”

“Oh?” the principal offered flatly, “And what do you think makes you a big girl?”

“‘Cause - ‘cause I’m…” Amber took her hands out from between her legs, trying to emulate the “I’m this many!” gesture that her classmates would often make. She wanted to show that she was nineteen… or was it twenty now? Was twenty more than nineteen? Would she need to use more fingers than the other preschoolers did? After all, she was a lot bigger than they were. But then again, they were a lot smarter than she was…

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Winthrop intervened, motioning the girl’s hands back toward her lap, “I think the poor thing’s gone and confused herself again.”

It was at that moment that another set of footsteps made their way into the classroom, and they belonged to Tom, Amber’s college boyfriend. Through all her failures and misadventures, he was the only one who stuck by her, seeming to enjoy having to take care of her more and more. And now, here he was again to pick her up from school.

“Daddy!” the girl blurted out instantly - he’d encouraged her to start calling him that, and it came naturally to her now - “They tolded me I can’t go preschool! They tolded me I’m not ready! But I’m a big girl! Big girl! Big girl big girl BIG GIRL!!” Amber shrieked, pounding the desk with her balled-up fists as the tears began to stream down her face.

“Oh my,” Tom turned to the two adults, unfazed, “has she been causing trouble?”

“Ah, you know how she can be,” Mrs. Winthrop shrugged, “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for her, trying to keep up with these classes with the level she’s at.”

“Maybe,” Tom nodded, a wry smile beginning to form, “or maybe she just needs a change and a nap.

“Up we go, princess,” he turned to the girl, lifting her from the table and into his arms, “time to go home.”

“BIG GUWL!” Amber kept shouting, hands still waving in the air, “BIG GUWL! BIG GUWL!”

“I’m sure you will be one day,” her boyfriend-turned daddy assured her, patting her padded bottom, “but for now, we’re gonna find you a nice daycare, and first we gotta change you out of that stinky diapy.”

“But I’m not stin-” the girl protested meekly, before freezing halfway through.

That, of course, was when the smell and the sensation hit her. Of course she was stinky - she'd probably filled her diaper while shouting about what a big girl she was, while insisting that she belonged in a preschool where she was nothing more than the pants-pooping laughing stock of the class.

As the last remnants of her pride crumbled away, Amber started to imagine just how far she had left to fall. She wondered, as she was carried away from that classroom for the last time, was she going to be the laughing stock of her daycare, too? It was all too much for her mind to handle, and so the girl simply started to bawl. She cried, helplessly, like the little baby she had become. She cried, helplessly, like the little baby she had now been for months. She cried, helplessly, like the little baby she was going to be for a long, long time.

#ab/dl community #ab/dl caption #diaper captions

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moni-logues · 10 days

Text

What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.

“I want you to fuck off.”

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.

“What if I want to fight you for her?”

“What if I told you she’s not legal?”

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.

And then this guy showed up.

“I was about to.”

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.

“I’m sixteen!”

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.

“Dead.”

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.

“And what are you, my hero?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.

“That’s exactly what a child would say.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.

His face and tone were flat when he responded.

“There are things worse than death.”

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.

“I’m walking here.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you.”

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“

“I don’t have a fucking father.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”

“I’m not sixteen!”

He frowned.

“That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go home, Sixteen.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Well you can’t have mine.”

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”

“Fuck off.”

“I really wish you would.”

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.

“Turn around.”

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Just turn around.”

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.

Minho pointed to the sofa.

“There,” was all he said.

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.

SECOND

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.

“I thought I was Sixteen?”

He shrugged.

“You do still act like it.”

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.

“Shut up, Minnie.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.

“BYE, Sixteen!”

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.

“Entertain me, I’m bored.”

“It’s your party.”

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”

“You would know.”

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.

“No idea of what? What?!”

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.

“You going to give me one?”

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.

THIRD

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.

“His loss,” was what he said.

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.

Then the front door slammed hard.

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”

FOURTH

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.

“Nope!”

“Want me to make you?”

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.

And you were bored.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.

“We’re on a job.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”

“Stop calling me Sixteen.”

“I always call you Sixteen.”

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well then, shall we?”

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.

“We’re on a job.”

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.

“Mouse...”

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.

You both froze.

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.

FIFTH

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.

Minho didn’t need telling twice.

“Where to?”

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.

Junho grunted.

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.

“You ok?”

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.

He nodded then turned to you.

“You?”

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”

He laughed too and nodded again.

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”

“Sixteen…”

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.

“Mouse…”

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.

“Come here.”

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

FIRST

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.

You thought only of Minho.

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!”

You hadn’t meant to shout.

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You think this is easy?”

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.

“You think I want it to be like this?-”

“I don’t know what you fucking want!”

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it and you never have.”

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Mouse...”

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.

“Do that again.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.

As it had always been.

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.

“Fucking finally!”

“You mean, they finally fucked?”

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.

#skz fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lino x reader #lino fic #lino smut #minho x reader #lee minho #minho fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee minho fanfic

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storiesoflilies · 3 months

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - General descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: I will be editing Chapter 1 as I’m not really happy with the format of it. I will let you guys know when I finish doing that, but there won’t be any major changes, just some more details here and there. I’m still getting back into the swing of writing again! Anyways, enjoy this chapter and let me know your thoughts :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — Chapter 3

-•-

Chapter 2

From that moment onwards, Y/N’s life was almost never her own.

Gojo dove straight into his duties as her soon-to-be husband; he ate with her, fought alongside her, and prayed with her every night before she slept. If customs didn’t dictate otherwise, he probably would have bathed with and slept beside her too. It was obviously to bond with her, to know her and create more intimacy outside the ties of marriage, but Y/N would have preferred them to continue the way they had before; right up until their vows were promised, and their names written together in between a cluster of stars to form a new constellation.

Was that delaying the inevitable? Perhaps.

He also started sparring with her, which Y/N had otherwise done with Nanami ever since Geto was promoted, and was intensely invested in training her himself. Gojo was desperate, it was obvious from how his eyes gleamed dangerously every time she misstepped, every time she fumbled into him; and Y/N didn’t know how, or why, but she knew it had everything to do with Geto.

“You need to be stronger than before because of who you are now,” Gojo said, looking far too calm and collected, a tense facade, as he looked down at her heaving with exertion. “Even if you’ll never fight without me.”

That particular morning, after yet another gruelling session, Y/N had been too exhausted and in agony to even descend and fight. Gojo had taken it upon himself to cover her duties for her, and so she stood there on the grassy plains of the training grounds after he had disappeared; using up all of her mental willpower for her knees not to buckle to the ground in front of the other seraphim. There was immediate pressure on Y/N following her engagement, Angels she’d known her whole life now avoided looking at her directly, their voices shaking with reverence if they so happened to speak to her. Her new role gave her power, but expected it returned tenfold; she was expected to be an apparition, an untouchable deity that was always composed and poised. Y/N felt their heavy gazes upon her all the time, daring her to give in and fall, and felt a flash of rage course through her that settled into its usual constant underlying discontent.

Why did she feel so much anger? Was it her soul protesting its dismay over her choice to marry Gojo, it’s grief manifesting as constant rage?

How could she feel a loss so deeply for someone she’d never even met?

“He is pushing you too hard,” Nanami’s familiar voice commented from behind her, snapping Y/N out of her inner turmoil.

A sour look was plastered on his face, but there was genuine concern in his hazel eyes; a warmth in them that he never cared to admit he had, but it was there, like a candle flickering determinedly as a reminder it was still there. Nanami had still stuck to his same routine, sparring with other Angels during her sessions with Gojo, which meant he had clearly been observing every part of her new regime. It wasn’t that Gojo was cruel to her, there was just simply no way Y/N could keep up with or even reach an equal level to his power, but she understood why the Nanami thought he was. She had no special powers of her own; her wings were just large enough to fly herself, and she barely controlled any divine power – but just enough to smite her enemies. However, her physical strength and weapon proficiency were her strong suits, which was why her and Nanami were a powerful duo that often worked together on the battlefield; they were nearly equal in terms of raw talent, two becaming one when they drew swords together.

“I’m getting stronger,” Y/N answered back, her face slightly scrunched up with pain as she started to take small steps forward. “And I have to be, I’m going to be his wife.”

Nanami said nothing at this, and walked alongside her in silence as they headed back to Gojo’s tower. She was grateful for his solid presence, it was reassuring in case she stumbled; they’d already seen each other at their worst, it didn’t matter what she did now. They passed through the grand doorway of the tower, and Y/N immediately hurried towards a padded chair in the main common room as the last of her resolve crumbled away into dust. Nanami closed the entrance doors behind them, shielding them from the outside, and since there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, Y/N could safely let out a large sigh of relief as she melted into the chair. She heard the clink of glass and a pouring noise, and her eyes drifted over to see Nanami offering her a clear glass of water.

Y/N murmured a thank you as she cradled the glass. He turned away from her, looking out of one of the windowed marble archways at the passing seraphim, with his hands held pensively behind his back. Like the rest of Gojo’s tower, the common room dripped with obnoxious opulence; intricate tapestries and paintings decorating the walls, all of them depicting ancient great battles between Angels and Curses. The numerous seating arrangements were made of oakwood, with velvet padding for comfort, enabling many to sit throughout the room. Warm sunlight filtered through the marble archways, basking the room in the light of the midday sun, and a slight breeze tenderly kissed Nanami’s golden hair.

“Always so deep in thought,” Y/N teased as she slowly sipped her water. “Don’t you have other places to be?”

“It can wait, I just wanted to stay and make sure you’re alright,” he replied, still not looking at her. “As I said, he is pushing you too hard.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Besides, you’ve wasted enough time accompanying me home when you need to be out.”

“You’re obviously in pain, you think I was going to risk you falling and crawling back undignified? Absolutely not, I have respect for you that has been there even before Satoru proposed.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. Nanami respected and acknowledged Gojo’s supreme strength and value to the Angels, but he was never fond of his character. He believed the Six Eyes was obnoxious; completely unaware of the wide effects of his influence and power, and lacked true empathy for anybody outside his inner circle. She had hoped her engagement would make Nanami more partial, seeing as how it was her own choice to become tied to Gojo, but it obviously wasn’t working – and maybe it never would.

The pair settled into a tranquil silence as they watched the day go by; her own time, a rare moment without Gojo infiltrating it, or anybody else coming to her for decisions on wedding preparations – not that Y/N was actually in charge of anything, it was more a courtesy to let her know what was to be done. She was aware how harsh she sounded, as if she couldn’t stand Gojo just like Nanami couldn’t, but that was far from the truth. She just wanted to stay in silence, peace and quiet, with someone choosing to share her space with as an equal rather than consume it; perhaps Nanami understood that without ever having to hear it directly from her lips, she always did underestimate his compassion and intuition for others emotions.

It didn’t last long.

“Ah Nanami, so good to see you!” Gojo’s voice called out from the entrance, announcing his return with a great clap of his hands as he joyfully traipsed into the tower. A number of his followers filtered in behind him, like honey bees following the scent of their queen.

Satoru Gojo carried no weapons during battle, as his divine power was wielded through his hands, and they had to remain as free as possible. His silver and gold armour gleamed in the sun, not a single drop of Curse blood offending its cleanliness, his hair tousled and wild from battle; and he walked with a swagger, his entire being oozing confidence, completely untroubled by the weight of the world. Y/N felt a spark of pride, a sense of awe that crept up on her suddenly when she lay awake in the dead of night unable to sleep.

Of all Angels, Gojo is going to be my husband.

“I’ll take my leave now Gojo, I was just ensuring your future wife is well,” Nanami quipped, but still respectfully bowing his head at Gojo, while sparing a glance at Y/N with a much softer look.

Gojo’s smile never faltered, “You have my thanks, I’ll take care of her now.”

Nanami nodded to her as he left, and she smiled at him. She hoped he knew just how much she appreciated his unwavering solidarity for her, and how much she missed him; fighting alongside him was like singing a song only the two of them knew the words to, safe and familiar. Gojo sat beside her, holding his hands together as if he was anxious, and his smile dropped completely.

“I’m sorry, are you alright? I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” Gojo asked, worry evidently lacing his words. It was strange, like he didn’t know how to handle her anymore, and she realized this new dynamic was as foreign to her as it was to him.

“It’s ok Gojo,” Y/N said as reassuringly as she could, squeezing his hand in a comforting gesture. “I know I need to do this.”

He immediately perked up at her touch, ethereal eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief. This was something she had learned during their time bonding together; Satoru Gojo instantly responded to physical affection, and returned it intensely. It had taken sometime to adjust to, because it was something she never thought to expect from him, but Y/N felt that wide crack in her soul grow smaller with every one of his embraces; as her doubts drifted away, his cooling aura drawing her into him like a prayer.

“You’re already far better than you were a month ago, you’ve been working hard,” he praised, leaning back into the chair as he tenderly swung his arm around her. “I think I might be a good teacher you know?”

She giggled, a delicate tinkling noise, “Of course, shall we go and eat something so we can do it all over again?”

“Ah good idea! You stay here, I’ll bring some food for us,” Gojo chuckled, brushing his temple into hers, stray hairs tickling her forehead, before getting up and sauntering towards the food hall.

Y/N sighed when he had passed out of earshot, her weariness and frustration returning at the thought of having to exert her limits once more. How much did Gojo had to have pushed himself to become limitless? Or was the Six Eyes born limitless, unable to comprehend how much a single Angel could be stretched before snapping? Would he ever come to understand when he became her husband, and would she ever uncover the sheer magnitude of his power when she became his wife?

She was overwhelmed, but marrying Satoru Gojo was never going to be easy.

You have to get through this. You made your choice.

Y/N heard his familiar footfall approaching and quickly composed herself.

“Here we are!” Gojo exclaimed as he carried two plates laden with food, plopping down beside her again and handing her a plate.

They dug into their meal whilst discussing their wedding, the newly appointed Sky Sentries, as well as their mutual concerns about the increasing number of deeper layer Curses emerging. More of Gojo’s followers entered the tower, relieved from their duties as the sun sank further down the sky; casting shy glances towards them despite their obvious exhaustion. At the start of their engagement, Gojo had thrown menacing glares towards anybody lingering within earshot of them conversing, and the seraphim had quickly learned to leave the couple alone. Y/N discerned that it was part of his unwillingness to let any Angel be privy to a even a slightly deeper side of him, as if it angered him to give a piece of himself to anybody he didn’t deem worthy enough.

“Don’t you think it’s strange, that this is finally happening to us?” she asked after some time, their meals long since finished and lighter conversations passed.

“What, us getting married? It took me long enough to ask,” Gojo replied, an easygoing aura to him that seemed to only seemed to come out the longer they spent time together.

Y/N smiled nervously, twisting her fingers as mustered up the courage to ask, “Well, what made you decide then?”

Gojo’s eyes darkened, his ease falling dramatically like a heavy cloak, and he looked away. He didn’t seem inclined to answer, and she internally scolded herself for asking when she probably wasn’t ready to hear the answer, or never really needed to know.

“I don’t want to just be the strongest,” he finally said, looking at her but not directly into her eyes; like she was playing the part of the benevolent apparition. “Geto thinks that’s all I am, and that’s all I’ll ever be, he said so the last time I saw him. I want to end this war, but I don’t want our entire existence to be about it. I want to build a legacy that’s not just about my power, and you’re the only one left I care about that I want to build that legacy with.”

She froze.

So… I’m just a means to an end?

“It wouldn’t matter if my soulmate was here right now either,” Gojo continued, looking at her intensely. “I never planned to marry anybody else but you, I only trust you now.”

“You wouldn’t trust your own soulmate?”

“No, I don’t know them. How can I have any trust?”

Y/N nodded silently, mulling his words over in her head. She was unsure of how to respond, and Gojo didn’t seem to want to converse anymore; he was all taut, his muscles pulled tight and ready to lash out if he didn’t find a release soon. And so they sat together watching the day turn into night, until he was summoned to fight once more.

-•-

She woke gasping for air, her body fighting back from returning to land of the living as the warm tendrils of her dreams begrudgingly released her from their grasp; still whispering to her of delightful vengeance, promises of pleasure and freedom, and pain. So much pain. Y/N frowned, her fingers splayed across her bare stomach, a familiar shard of loss tearing through her.

Why is it so cold?

She felt like she’d experienced this a thousand times before, her heart aching from an age old ailment that could never be healed. Her soul was floating downwards and out of her body, just like the Angels fleeing from their punishment of sinning, but forever doomed to remain experiencing it over and over.

A prompt rapping at her door pulled her from her state of limbo, snapping her soul back into place.

”I hope you slept well,” Gojo greeted, the door only slightly ajar to preserve her privacy. “Nanami and I are waiting outside for you, come join us when you’re ready.”

Y/N composed herself, the coldness dissipating almost as quickly as it came, and hastily donned her armour and sheathed her katanas. Gojo’s urgency was unnerving, as well as the fact that Nanami would be there as well. She huffed, shaking off the remnants of her dreams from her shoulders, displeased from her lack of knowledge. The street outside was shaded in the shadow of the towers; the sun still not yet high enough over the city to cast the light of the dawn over Heaven. Gojo was lazily stretching his thick arms over his head, not a care in the world, and Nanami stood looking away from him – not looking particularly pleased.

“Good, you’re here!” Gojo exclaimed as he noticed her, instantly interlinking his hands with hers.

“What’s all this about?”

Gojo looked at Nanami expectantly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Nanami sighed, already tired of having to repeat his tale like a mysterious storyteller. “I picked up the start of an odd trail yesterday just before nightfall, and so I couldn’t pursue it. I requested that you and I track the Curse that left it.”

“Naturally, I have to accompany you both on this,” Gojo interjected, earning a scowl from Nanami. “I swore to protect Y/N from any harm. Besides, this is a good opportunity to see you both fight, I’ve heard you’re a formidable pair.”

Without skipping a beat, he placed a hand on her and Nanami’s shoulders, and Y/N sucked in a breath as her psyche was stretched across the Unlimited Void. She wondered if Nanami was fighting to keep his mind closed from the Six Eyes prying, or if he even cared to shield himself; Nanami was simply incapable of sin, he was too in control of himself. On the other hand, Gojo handled her soul with more care in the Void; still overwhelming as before, but his essence didn’t control her so much – she had some freedom to take in the infinite space around her.

Within seconds, they were standing at the edge of a charred forest; the air thick with smoke and dust, leaves of the trees long since been burned away, and only their remains stood bent and broken like the bones of spindly skeleton. A lone mountain loomed overhead, spewing ash as if it was preparing to spit down on them. Y/N hated that initial breath on Earth, it reeked of death and sulphur – the smell of Curses and Hell that could never be washed away.

“Ahhh, isn’t this so much nicer than descending through all the gates?” Gojo remarked, his nose turned up as if he too was offended by the smell and ugliness of the burnt forest.

“Descending through the gates is a mark of respect for those guarding it,” Nanami murmured, taking in his surroundings. “I heard you spent much of your power during last night’s battle, this seems like an unnecessary expense of your energy.”

”Bahh, nothing I can’t handle.”

Y/N ignored them and crouched down, concentrating hard to visualize the lingering energy imprinted in the soil. Viridescent wisps flickered in and out of sight, settling into a singular writhing root that seemed to extend from deep within her core. She knew this energy; it was like rediscovering long lost ancient knowledge from eons past, only to find that she’d never really forgotten it in the first place.

She pointed a finger towards the forest.

”There, do you see it Nanami?”

He nodded, and Gojo towered over her from behind as he studied the trace too.

”This energy… have either of you ever felt anything like this?” He questioned, his excitement palpable like a child unwrapping a gift.

Gojo didn’t skip a beat before answering anyways, “The only kind of Curse that leaves energy traces like this are their Kings. I’m guessing maybe a Third or even Second Layer King has left these.”

He was unnaturally giddy, nearly bursting with glee at the prospect of unbridled violence; the outlet for him to finally unleash himself upon. Y/N sprang up and stepped back from him. A Curse King hadn’t been killed in centuries, they rarely emerged from the depths to fight at night, much less during the daylight; surely Gojo didn’t think there was one running rampant on the Earth at this very moment?

“Gojo, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, let’s see if we can hunt it down. There’s a chance it mightn’t have descended yet.”

Gojo motioned with his head for them to follow, and he set out at a brisk run through the forest. Y/N understood why Nanami didn’t waste time yesterday trying to follow its tracks; the energy followed no clear pattern, as if the Curse had sprung up from the Hells just to jump around for the fun of it. Nanami and her kept a similar pace beside each other, while the Six Eyes forged on ahead like he was on a warpath. Perhaps it was Nanami’s previous comment, but Y/N noted Gojo seemed… erratic. When was the last time he properly slept, or even ate? That wild look in his eyes promised savage violence against his prey and anything else standing in his way, and she pursed her lips with worry; was he really in the right mindset to fight a Curse King?

The landscape barely changed as they traversed the forest, burnt trees were all that was left from the destruction of Curses. It would have once been a mighty forest lush with life, but now there was only death to be seen for leagues and leagues as far as Y/N could see. Sadly, most of the Earth was scorched, and almost nowhere safe from Sukuna’s reign of fire and terror. What little life that grew were in various Angel strongholds scattered leagues and leagues from each other, and even then it wasn’t more than a pitiful bunches of daisies destined to be crushed underneath a soldiers boot. The strongholds were placed as closely as possible to areas of high Cursed activity, known points from which a large volume of Curses ascended from Hell; places the Angels could launch their attacks on emerging threats. They finally reached a clearing in the forest, a tombstone of burnt earth over what should have been vibrant grass, as the sun climbed to its midway point in the sky. Gojo stopped abruptly, his knuckles cracking loudly.

“Nanami, can you detect any traces?” He inquired, his evident frustration complimented with an irritated expression on his face. It was a last ditch effort, almost useless – if the Six Eyes himself couldn’t trace it, nobody else could.

Nanami said nothing as he sidestepped Gojo’s wings, blue eyes flashing wildly upon his white feathers, and observed the ground as he tread farther on ahead, disappearing from view. Y/N moved to stand in front of him, peering up at him with worry.

“Satoru,” she whispered, tilting her head to encourage him to look at her.

His eyes flitted down to her, uncaring. “Hmm?”

”I don’t think it’s here anymore, the Curse must have descended.”

”Tsk, maybe you’re right. It doesn’t matter, that thing won’t live through the night. I’ll hunt it when the sun sets.”

Y/N smiled, knowing well enough that he would keep his promise.

A black flash sliced through the air.

Their blood spilled from a sword buried to the hilt through both their midriffs.

White hot pain coursed through her.

And then, a tidal wave of raw energy crashed over her as she stared at their assailant behind Gojo.

And stared.

And he stared right back at her.

It was a Curse, but he looked much more like an Angel would. He was tall and handsome and made of rippling muscle, like the waves of the sea during a storm; radiating just as much powerful energy, charging the air with a brutal force that demanded attention unlike anything Y/N had ever felt before. His black hair fell over deep forest green eyes that pierced right through to her soul, forcing another shockwave of his energy into her; and she took it gladly, maybe even eagerly, greedily. He glanced from her to Gojo then back to her, as if trying to figure out who they were to each other, and his eyes widened a fraction at her as he loosened the grip on his weapon ever so slightly.

She knew who he was.

She’d seen him a thousand times before this moment.

That dangerous gleam deep within his irises were so familiar to her, promising her violent delights full of sin that only he could deliver.

Y/N knew him from dreams buried deep within her soul; she’d walked with him through the ages, through time and space itself.

She was so deep in their trance she barely felt Gojo’s hands on her shoulders, and before Y/N could register anything he was pushing her away from him. His blade passed through her once more, her blood bursting forth from her mouth and gushing wound, and she collapsed to the ground as there was a blast of blue energy. Y/N weakly raised her head, her vision clouded with black spots, and her ears rang loud and true like the bells in Heaven. Still, she could make out Gojo standing defensively in front of her, and the Curse crouched some distance ahead, his head bowed and raven hair obscuring his facial features.

Her heart beat faster; the weaves of fate had finally been tied together, and there was no escaping it now.

”You’re fast, but something’s off with you, King,” Gojo sneered, his palms poised and ready to unleash his power once more.

He rushed forward at the Curse, and Y/N screamed as she was carelessly flung back through the air from the backlash of energy as both Angel and Curse clashed together in a flurry of slashes; the sky sporadically lighting up with hues of red and blue. Her head smacked into a tree trunk, vision nearly completely blackened now, and more blood trickled down her face as Y/N sensed her wing bones were crushed from the collision; making sickening crunching noises as she hacked up more blood.

What is happening?

Y/N felt his confusion, overwhelming rage that could have set fire to her soul, and perplexing elation that disoriented her.

Their bond had set, her soul was complete; and she knew what it was he wanted.

Oh God help me, he’s in me.

Run. Now.

Gojo’s voice reverberated painfully through her head, and Y/N grunted and gritted her teeth as she willed her vision to return, but was barely able to move herself. She screamed in agony and anger, trying again, her wound threatening to tear her in two as her legs managed, albeit shakily, to keep her upright. Her head swam as Nanami’s face engulfed her field of vision, sharply inhaling in pain as he pressed his hand onto her stomach while shouting something to her. His words were muffled, she couldn’t make out any clear words, and her eyes drifted behind him. Y/N couldn’t see neither Gojo nor him. She felt Nanami sling her arm around his neck, hoisting her from the ground as her head rolled forward and panic gripped her like a vice.

“Nanami, no,” she heaved, shaking her head wildly, her vision and hearing clearing only just slightly. “Nanami.”

“We need to ascend, you can’t fly can you?”

She shook her head again. Nanami’s wings were just like hers, large enough to fly himself but not enough to support another beings weight, and Gojo was too distracted fighting to send them back to Heaven through the Void.

They were both stuck until the Six Eyes won his battle.

“Nanami,” Y/N sobbed, her words a blubbery mess, “That Curse, I can’t-.”

“Don’t worry, Gojo can handle it. We need to get to safety, otherwise we’ll be killed in their crossfire.”

“No no no Nanami, no. The Curse, it’s - he’s - my soulmate. I can’t leave.”

Nanami halted, “Are you quite certain?”

Y/N could only nod, and Nanami paused to look back over his shoulder, “You’re too injured, we have to go.”

“Nanami, please. Please!” She begged, gasping as she tried to dig her heels into the earth, flailing against his strong hold on her.

Nanami looked torn as he gazed down at her with such pity, as if he shared her heartbreak and pain, and murmured, “Y/N, I can’t help you. I can’t fight the Six Eyes. He’s too strong for either of us.”

Y/N shuddered as her limbs gave out, her head rolling forward. Would she feel it when Gojo ended his life, her soul ripping from his like tearing flesh from bone? Nanami hoisted her up again, apologies falling from his lips like prayers as he carried her farther away from him.

“Well well, seems like you Angels come in threes! How unbelievably lucky!” Both of them looked up sharply at the figure chuckling in front of them; undoubtedly a Curse, its energy rhythmically pulsating from it, enveloping them in a mist of negativity and hopelessness. It had a strange shade of long silver hair, even stranger haphazard stitches all across its body, and mismatched coloured eyes that glinted with fake sympathy that masked a malicious intent.

Nanami set Y/N down gently as he unsheathed his blade.

”Hmm, I wonder if killing three Angels is considered lucky too?” It pondered, almost childishly considering an answer to its own question.

Nanami didn’t hesitate after that.

He launched towards the Curse, swinging his blade in a great swooping arc. The Curse giggled and crossed its arms to block the attack; lilac energy sparking off from where the blade hit it.

”You’re strong!” The Curse exclaimed cheerfully, wonderfully naive. “This is going to be such fun.”

Its unsettling gaze fixated on her, and Y/N tensed in fear; she was far too vulnerable, unable to defend herself if it decided to come at her. Nonetheless, her bloodied hands reached for her katanas.

A flash of anger, his anger.

The silver haired Curse tore its gaze from her as Nanami took another swing at it, and they danced together in a deadly whirl of his blade and lilac fists of cursed energy; neither of them able to land a proper blow on the other. Y/N staggered backwards as it reached out to her, gripping her katanas defensively as Nanami grabbed it by the leg and, with a great display of strength, flung it backwards and away from her. Y/N frowned as three small oddly shaped clods flew through the air, and thudded at her feet.

Instantaneously, they all erupted into life.

She barely had time to react as they metamorphosed into grotesque Curses, snarling and spitting unintelligible words, and she slashed at the closest one to her. Another barrelled into the right side of her, knocking the wind out of her, and she stabbed her blade into it as she was pushed into the dirt. The last one seemed to be waiting for her to make a move, swaying back and forth on its hind legs like a disfigured frog, babbling yes yes yes! over and over again. Y/N sliced its clawed hands, the severed limbs flying through the air, and brought down both her katanas through its head. Her heart hammered in her chest, life force rapidly draining as her blades slipped from the hilts sullied with her spent blood.

Perhaps they were both meant to die today. Maybe they were meant to lock eyes upon each other for the first and only time, and then shut them forever as their souls passed on to the next world. But was there any version of the afterlife where they could be together? He was a Curse, she was an Angel, and God hadn’t made a paradise for them to co-exist.

What was the point of it all?

Her pain was dulled now, her heart slowing. Her legs finally failed her and sent her to the ground, her blood pooling around her.

“Y/N I’m here, don’t give up.”

Nanami was pressing a hand down on her stomach, and Y/N’s broke for him. Half his body was severely burned, pale pink flesh rippling in the sunlight; his armour and wings in tatters, as his blood dripped from an empty eye socket onto her face. He looked haunted, desperately fighting a lonely losing battle of holding onto both their lives, the inevitable mercilessly creeping forward like hungry rats ready to devour them.

”Nanami, go,” she mumbled, pushing against him weakly.

She didn’t notice the crown of silver behind him until it was too late; the Curse placed a hand delicately on Nanami’s exposed flesh, as if caressing a blossom that threatened to fall apart.

Still, Nanami smiled at her like he was seeing her again after a long time.

No no no.

”Y/N, I’ll see you again. You take it from here.”

And then her golden haired guardian burst into nothingness right in front of her eyes; showering her in a cooling mist of his blood, an almost soothing farewell.

Time stopped.

Y/N took a deep breath in, her weak body rattling in shock as tears rolled down her cheeks, and the Curse kneeled in front of her.

“There there,” it cooed, and she closed her eyes, shuddering in disgust as she felt it stroke the feathers of her wings.

“Just end me already,” she rasped, a last cough sputtering out as she spoke, her final display of whatever strength she had left.

Defiance… and his desperation.

The Curse cocked its head at her, as if it was the most bizarre thing she could have said.

”Why? Your soul has the strength of more than one, it would be a waste.”

It wrapped its hands around her neck, smiling softly at her as Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and searing heat spread across her back. The sky started to seem farther away, like it was shrinking. No, the Earth was crumbling away underneath her, like she was sinking into her own grave that kept on extending further and further. The Curse stayed put on top of her, a hue of bright red appearing behind it as the last glimpse of the Earth faded away into nothingness.

She succumbed into darkness after that.

-•-

191 notes · View notes

mactavsh · 1 year

Text

Watching Over

Synopsis: Price tries to keep you awake while captured.

Relationships: Father Figure!Captain John Price x Female Reader, John “Soap” MacTavish x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

Note: Debated posting this one because it is quite self serving, but maybe someone else needs their fictional father figure to tell them they're proud of them too. The title was inspired from this song.

Masterlist

If it was an Intel mission that required a certain level of finesse, Laswell always knew who to send. You and Captain Price worked seamlessly after the many years of training he'd given you. He scouted you early on in your career quickly becoming a mentor in your eyes. He had also easily fallen into a paternal role, unbeknownst to him.

However, Laswell knew how Price had a habit of adopting kids. As a joke, she kept a running list of his “next of kin”. It started with you and has grown over the years to include Gaz, Soap and Ghost.

The mission required the two of you to go completely dark, Laswell was sending you to Mexico at the behest of Alejandro. You would both have to be in zero contact until the mission was complete. You both understood the gravity of the situation - there would be no backup.

You were given a month to track down an emerging cartel that was responsible for a rise in weapons trading. Los Vaqueros couldn’t yet make a move against them so Alejandro reached out to Laswell and Price for assistance.

When you landed in Mexico you had a brief meeting with Alejandro and Rodolfo to learn what they knew. After that you and Captain Price set out to see what you could find. By then end of your first week you had figured out the names of the higher ups and the locations of a few meeting spots.

However, when you had gone to infiltrate the meeting, there were more men than expected. The two of you certainly made quite a dent in their numbers but were eventually overpowered. You had been knocked out by someone who snuck up behind you. Price heard you fall and was distracted just long enough for someone to sneak up behind him, subsequently knocking him out next.

When you woke up you were both chained to metal chairs. You were situated on opposite sides of the room but facing each other. The cold metal dug painfully into your ribs with every breath. There were no windows, no way to tell how long you had been there.

Hours blurred into days then weeks. The daily torture had worn the both of you down. They gave you just enough food to keep you alive and looking at how Price’s features had grown sunken in you assumed yours had as well.

They had learned early on the dynamic between you two as much as you both tried to remain stoic, so they focused their torture on you hoping it would get Price to talk. What they didn't realize was that both Price and you would sooner die than tell them anything.

You were sure the check-in date Laswell had set had long since passed and you could only imagine the hell Soap, the 141, and Los Vaqueros were raising trying to find out what happened.

Your captors had just left after another bout of torture trying to get information out of both of you. Bruises began blooming on Price’s bare chest, emerging blue and red tones mixed with already yellow spots. Your arms sported new deep gashes atop barely healed scar tissue. Blood slowly trickled down your arms as your chest heaved. Your mind was dizzy from the pain and it was taking everything in you to stay awake.

“Stay with me, kid.” Price spoke from the other side of the room voice even and calm as it always was.

“I refuse to die at the hands of some random fuckin’ cartel member.” Your voice was firm despite the exhaustion you felt.

“That's my girl.” Price's chest swelled with pride that turned to worry as your head lolled downward. “Tell me about why you joined.”

You groaned and slowly brought your head back up to squint over at him. “Haven't I already?”

“You like to call me an old man.” He smirked, ”I forgot, tell me again.”

You huffed, if your brain wasn’t so foggy you would have immediately realized it was a tactic to keep you awake. “My dad served, his dad served, felt like I had to keep the legacy going. My grandfather also said I’d never outrank him so I had to prove him wrong.”

“That why you’re my youngest Staff Sergeant?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Price forced out a laugh. “Out of spite, eh?“

“It’s how I do most things.”

“He still around? Your grandfather?”

“Passed a year or so after I was promoted.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged as best you could with the chains restricting your movement. “He lived a long happy life.” Price didn’t press further about your family, he knew your parents were also passed and you didn’t have any siblings. The 141 had become your found family and he was happy that you were no longer alone.

“You remember the day we met?” Price pressed, trying to keep you awake.

“Yeah,” You breathed out, exhaustion dancing in the corner of your eyes. “you called me a muppet.”

Price smiled recalling the day. “You looked bloody ridiculous under all that gear. Five feet tall wearing gear in Ghost’s size.”

“My CO did it on purpose when we got word you were coming to scout recruits for some secret spy shit. He wanted his golden boy to be picked.”

“Bastard's plan failed. When I saw you running the course like that I knew you were the best for the job.”

You looked down at your feet, you weren’t sure you could ever put into words how thankful you were for all he's done for you. “Thank you, for choosing me. You pulled me out of a dark place that day though I didn't see it at the time.”

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for. Hell, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count. I’m proud of you, Y/n. You’re a whole lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t sure if it was the praise or the blood loss but tears began to well in your eyes and you were powerless to stop them.

“When we get out of here we are going on leave.” The Captain’s voice was firm, an unofficial order.

“That so? Don’t think my husband would let me go on holiday with another man.” You joked half-heartedly, the day you told Price you were officially dating Soap he had called the sergeant into his office. An hour passed before you saw either of them again and for a week after that Soap could barely make eye contact with the captain. When you and Soap had gotten married it was Price who walked you down the aisle.

Price rolled his eyes. “All of us. Been too long since we had a day we weren’t fighting for our lives.”

“Would be nice.”

“Thinkin' a lakeside cabin deep in the woods. I’m going to teach everyone how to fish-” Just then the sounds of distant explosions rocked the room you were in. Concrete dust fell into your lap and you stared at it for a moment.

“I hope that's our favorite demolitions expert.” You spoke as you looked back up at Price.

“Wonder how they found this shithole.”

“Alejandro?” You proposed as another explosion sounded, this time closer.

“Maybe. These idiots probably got cocky and sent some bloody ridiculous ransom note to Los Vaqueros.”

The sound of gunshots grew near, gradually getting louder until they stopped altogether. Price looked at you then you both looked at the door. What felt like an eternity passed until the door was broken open. A familiar masked face entered, gun at the ready until his eyes settled on the room’s occupants.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost said as he dropped his weapon and pressed the button on his communication device. “I’ve got Price and Y/n. Second-floor northwest corner.” He grabbed the bolt cutters off his back and moved towards you, quickly snapping the chains that were holding you in place. He put a hand on your shoulder and you grabbed his forearm, both gently squeezing the other before letting go, a silent reassurance. He then stood and moved toward Price to free him.

You stayed seated and rubbed your wrists, you knew if you stood now the blood loss would likely make you pass out. The sounds of footsteps in the hallway made your body tense before Soap’s frantic form stepped through the doorway.

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Soap spoke as he ran toward you. He kneeled in front of you, gently placing his gloved hands on either side of your face. He rubbed his thumb along your cheek, careful of the small cut there. “You alright, love?”

You stared into his eyes for a moment, basking in the blueness that had come to feel like home. A tired smile crossed your face as you leaned into the gentle touch. “Better now.”

Soap smiled back and you and then slowly helped you stand. He kept a gentle hold on your arm as you regained your equilibrium. After you were sure you weren't going to pass out you walked over to Price, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

“We made it, old man.” You spoke into his chest.

Price placed his chin on your head and gently rubbed his hand along your back. “Knew we would, kiddo.”

Bonus:

“Should I be jealous?” Soap whispered jokingly to Ghost as they watched the exchange.

“Shut the fuck up, Soap.” Ghost rolled his eyes before swatting the back of Soap’s mohawk.

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #mactavsh

2K notes · View notes

venusjeon · 2 years

Text

rock god

you've got one year left to either finish your novitiate and become a nun like your parents always wanted, or leave the order and live a secular life like you've always wanted. but the fact that a sister's flirty nephew is staying in the convent for the summer provides a perfect distraction to such headache.

♔ PAIRING: rockstar!jungkook x novice!reader

♔ GENRE: 80s au, angst, smut, humour, fluff, s2f2l

♔ WORD COUNT: 16.3k another long one i'm sorry

♔ WARNINGS: minor characters death, religious themes, catholic guilt, smoking weed, swearing, sacrilege and exhibitionism: fingering in a church, profanity, blasphemy, quiet sex & loss of virginity (you're probably thinking girl AGAIN?), protected sex, betrayal, one mention of rape

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: for an atheist i do seem to write a lot about religion lol. the first song jk writes & performs for reader + the inspiration for the title is rock god by selena gomez, and the second one church by chase atlantic. i recommend you listen to them in advance☺️ also, we'll pretend jk is blond in the banner okay?

1986

The day was going incredibly slow, as all of last month’s had.

Most people would attribute that to the fact that you were a novice, but their idea of what that entailed was far from the reality. Contrary to popular belief and even if some sisters wished it was the case, cloistered nuns didn’t spend all day just praying. There were many other things to keep busy with in a convent, such as attending to one’s studies, doing household chores, or working to bring money in and keep the place going. Free time had never been the part of the day you looked the most forward to, though, until recently. Not that it got any better then.

Contradictory as though it was, you were kept from the present by the same plaguing thoughts you didn’t want to be left alone with… And sometimes, such as now, you didn’t have any choice but to force yourself back into reality, running late as you were.

The novice mistress Sister Daeun—that is, the one responsible for the training of the novices—had assigned you to fix the torn seams on your classmates’ habits that morning. Hey, someone had to do it. So off you ran through the cloister not to melt under the same sun others didn’t seem to mind.

Others being Jungkook and the group of girls who gathered around to listen to him play the guitar.

The presence of men wasn’t rare in your abbey, built some centuries back. It was sort of shut off from the rest of the world, hidden up in a mountain, but lost hikers always wandered into it and the abbot was more than happy to let them spend a night or two as guests, regardless of their gender.

Jungkook was a guest too.

He was in a rock band, or so you’d heard, and that career choice was why his parents had kicked him out, something you’d pity him for if he wasn’t always in a cheery mood whenever you chanced to see him around. Of course, what guy wouldn’t, surrounded by girls?

It didn’t bother you that some of your less spiritual sisters succumbed to his tattoos, long dyed blond hair, charming voice, and piercings. Their parents would doubtlessly tell them to stay away from someone who looked like a delinquent—your conscience did too—but then again, they were the ones who’d forcefully made them join the order, so you understood where the girls’ disobedience came from. On a personal level, in fact.

Though not because of the same reason, you weren’t there willingly either.

Unlike theirs, your behaviour wasn’t scandalous in any way and there was no need for you to be schooled in rectitude, no. This was just the path your parents had wanted you to take since you were little and you’d resigned to comply, however unhappy it made you. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t make a good nun, devout as you’d been raised and actually enjoyed being, but it wasn’t your calling.

Leaving the lively cloister behind and trying to do the same with your affliction, you rushed to your destination.

About three hours later, you were still sat in front of the sewing machine in the otherwise empty laundry room, humming on a loop the part of the song Jungkook had been playing earlier. You couldn’t deny it was catchy... Besides, you needed a tune to distract you from the machine’s repetitive noise and the summer heat, or else you’d go crazy. Maybe you had already, given you’d failed to notice someone opening the creaky door and walking in.

“Hello?”

Startled, you raised your head to meet the eyes of the rockstar himself, filled with something akin to interest. “Oh, hi...”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Before you could kindly tell him not to worry, that it was your fault for spacing out, he grabbed the hem of his shirt to show you the hole in it that until then you hadn’t caught sight of. “I was told to come here to get this fixed?” He then glanced at the dozen habits lying on the table you still had to work on, and changed his mind not to burden you, “But I can come another time– Or not at all! I mean, ripped clothes are trendy, aren’t they?”

For the first time in a while, you laughed genuinely and not out of courtesy, “I wouldn’t know, there’s not much variety in a novice’s wardrobe.” Since Jungkook’s t-shirt would just take a moment to mend and you didn’t mind helping him, you decided to neglect your current task without a second thought, holding out your hand with a smile. “It’s alright, really!”

“You’re an angel.” He smiled back as he took off his t-shirt, exposing a toned body you weren’t prepared for. Bet he says that to all the girls, intruded a thought in your mind as though to make go away the uplift of his compliment, but you brushed it off before he reached the table. “By the way, was that my song you were just humming?”

“Oh? I heard you sing it earlier, but I didn’t know it was yours,” you said while getting to work. Meanwhile, Jungkook leaned against the door’s frame. “I don’t really listen to music much.”

“What?!” He was utterly shocked, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost. “That’s the greatest sin of all! I’ll have a serious conversation with the abbot, they’re not teaching you girls the important stuff here.” Father Jimin would certainly be amused at such a request. “But I did see you running earlier in the cloister, now that I think about it. It is hot, Y/N, but I don’t believe the floor is in flames.”

He knows my name? What a stupid question. Whoever had told him to come to the laundry room must have seen you entering it and mentioned you’d be there.

“Yeah, I was late, had overslept. It probably looked like someone was chasing me… Nun on the run!” you rhymed out of nowhere. “There’s a title for your next single.”

“If naming my songs will get you to listen to them, I’m down.” You looked up from the task at hand to ask him if that meant he’d credit ‘Sister Y/N’ as a songwriter, but the sight of someone walking down the hallway towards the laundry room scared the words away. “You know, you’re too pretty to be a nun.”

Sister Daeun, now right behind Jungkook, smacked the back of his head and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook’s smile turned into a pout as he rubbed the spot. “Nothing, aunty. Ouch…”

Yes, he was her nephew, which was the main reason why Father Jimin had allowed him to stay not just for a few days, but the whole summer. Sister Daeun had promised on his behalf that as a thanks, he would help around to earn his bed and under no circumstances put in peril anyone’s vow of chastity. If he weren’t so good-looking, you imagined she wouldn’t have needed to make that promise.

“Y/N…” she sighed when she saw the pile of habits you had yet to fix the seams of. Despite the disappointment in her voice, she made sure to say tactfully, “It’s almost midday, I asked you to have all of them done before ten.”

Jungkook was the only one in the room who had no clue as to why you’d been working so slowly, but he didn’t hesitate to step forward when your head lowered in shame. “My bad, I’ve been distracting her for hours. And on top of it, I gave her more work…”

He approached the sewing machine, got his t-shirt, and put it on, all while you stared at him at a loss for words. Why would he take the blame? Sister Daeun started telling you to finish some other time and get ready for lunch, but you stopped listening, attention fixed on Jungkook as he discreetly winked at you before leaving.

That wasn’t the last time you met that day. Well, incorrect, because it was past midnight.

Like many nights before, guilt stirred a restlessness that kept you from falling asleep, the only solution you could think of being walking around the empty abbey in the hope of tiring your body and with it, your brain. It wasn’t that easy, though, often hours how long you’d wander about, always ending up at the cloister. Sitting on the stone base between the columns and gazing up at the stars brought some peace to you. More than praying, it appeared.

That night, such peace was disrupted when barely after ten minutes of it, the sound of a lighter being flicked made your head whip around.

“So you do have hair,” Jungkook joked as he sat against a column, bending one knee so he could rest his elbow on it. Although a bit embarrassed you were in your pyjamas and thus wearing no white veil that covered your head in front of a guy you didn’t know, you did the same on the next column to be able to face him. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Lately, not.”

He puffed at his joint before offering it to you, and a short laugh broke through your lips. Was he seriously tempting a novice to burn one with him? To be fair, he did mean to help you sleep, but it was still a bit… much for you. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Yeah, probably not a good idea,” Jungkook nodded at his own words before taking another puff, blowing the smoke to a side so it wouldn’t reach you. “I don’t want your parents to make a complaint because there’s a bloke loose in the convent corrupting the nuns. Can’t afford to be kicked out of here, too,” he whispered the last bit, as though talking to himself.

“Don’t worry, that’s not happening.”

“Why not? Are you girls not allowed visits or something?”

“No, we are, it’s just… they died last month. Car crash.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” You could see in Jungkook’s wide eyes how much he regretted bringing them up. “That explains why you were out of sorts this morning... Agh, I can’t believe they’re still making you do work, what a bunch of heartless pricks! Not to mention class, I mean, isn’t it summer?”

His indignation for your sake came as a surprise. Ignorantly, you’d allowed prejudices to decide what kind of person Jungkook was before he got the chance to show you himself. The familiar guilt well-deservedly returned to grip your heart.

“Father Jimin actually had me switch jobs with some sisters so that I’d get to do less demanding stuff,” you came to the poor abbot’s defence. “It makes no difference, but he’s not to blame nothing can.”

"Doesn’t praying help?” He took another puff, lips curling into a smirk at the thought that next crossed his mind. “I thought nuns had a direct line with God.”

The truth was your relationship with the Lord had strained. As someone whose thoughts and desires couldn’t help but fall into sin over and over, you didn’t feel worthy of His comfort, or dared ask for guidance. His or anybody’s.

“I have to go through the telephonist angels first, I’m not an official nun yet.” The muscles of your face relaxed, gaze falling to your lap. “To be honest, I don’t think I want to be.”

Jungkook’s head cocked to a side. “Really? So, what are you doing here? You don’t strike me as the type forced by her p– uh, family.”

“I do like this place and what they’re teaching us, but I’m here because my parents wanted a saintly daughter who could put in a good word for them up there. I tried telling them once that I have dreams of my own, but it ended in an argument they had the last word in. Now that they’re dead, it’s like the topic is permanently sealed, I can never talk them out of it. And I mean, I love them, so how can I disappoint them? What would it say about me if I waited until my parents were dead to disobey them?”

Only after you finished venting did it dawn on you that perhaps you’d said too much. After all, what did Jungkook care? What did anyone?

“What’s your dream?”

The question took you aback, but you still answered, “I’d like to go to university, get married someday, have kids... Not be trapped inside these four walls for the rest of my life, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me,” Jungkook said quietly before puffing at his joint again. “You’re free to leave, though, right? I don’t need to master-plan an escape?”

You hummed a laugh, mindful not to be loud enough to wake anyone up, given neither of you should be out of bed. There may or may not have been a curfew you were breaking, as well as a tradition called the Great Silence in which everyone kept quiet from the final liturgical prayer of the day until the earliest one the next morning. It was a rule often broken, especially by you, but that didn’t mean the abbey wasn’t dead silent.

“Anytime I want, yes, only next year I’m supposed to take my solemn vows.” Jungkook nodded but a slight frown gave away he didn’t know what that meant. “Poverty, chastity, and obedience? It’s like a wedding with Jesus. I can always divorce him, but that doesn’t mean marriage is a light affair.”

Most orders didn’t work like that. There were various stages one had to go through before becoming a professed nun: an optional aspirancy, then a postulancy, a novitiate, and finally, a juniorate. Since you’d gone to Catholic school all your life, you’d skipped the first, done no more than a few months of the second, were about to start the final year of the third, and would not be doing the fourth since your convent didn’t teach it. Instead of six more years of formation before taking your perpetual vows, then, you had only one.

“Damn, and here I thought I had the most fucked up horoscope of the year. Maybe we were born on the same month.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t everyone know my parents kicked me out because I want to be a rockstar?”

“Yeah...”

Once again, you’d assumed wrongly about him. That because of his profession and looks, he was a rebellious kid who hated his parents and was glad to be rid of them. You hadn’t even considered their shunning might be putting him through a hard time.

“Look, disappointing your parents beats living a miserable life just to please them, even if it sucks. One day we’ll be old, and I personally want to look back and not regret my youth, feel like I wasted it. I’m not gonna tell you what to do but if you want my opinion, getting out of here and chasing your dreams says no more than you’re in charge of your own life.”

You had no idea why after that, Jungkook had taken it as his mission to stick with you.

It was common knowledge that you’d barely uttered ten words since your parents’ accident, so all eyes were drawn like magnets when you engaged in conversation with him of all people for hours on end. Since you came from vastly different worlds, it surprised you too that even though his company didn’t lessen your guilt, it was the best way to distract you from it. And precisely, that was his intention.

He would sit next to you at meals, trying to convince the sisters around the table in all seriousness that because they were cloistered, they weren’t aware Earth had been invaded by aliens last year.

“Do you think we’re stupid?” a postulant asked, giggles escaping you at how ridiculous the conversation you were having was. “Some of us do go out sometimes, I think we would’ve noticed.”

“They want you to think everything’s normal because only an army of nuns can defeat them!”

“How do we know you’re not one of them, huh?” you played along, narrowing your eyes in suspicion while Jungkook placed a hand on his chest, feigning shock.

“Aunty will vouch for me but even if not, I can’t believe you’d doubt me. We’ve known each other for like, what, a week? That’s enough for me to follow you into battle.”

“Sorry but can’t be too careful during an alien invasion.”

“That I warned you about! Why would I say anything in the first place?”

“I’ve been here for many years,” an older nun chimed in from the other side of the table, making everyone turn their attention to her. She addressed Jungkook, “You’ve just reminded me why I joined the order.”

He blinked, dumbfounded. “Why, sister?”

“Men talk so much nonsense it makes my head hurt.”

To see Jungkook argue playfully about aliens and men with a seventy-year-old nun who was having none of his shit was an experience, but it wouldn’t be just that.

Like you’d told him, Father Jimin had allowed you to switch jobs. Your old one consisted of embellishing clothes with elaborate religious embroideries—hence why Sister Daeun had asked for your help with the torn habits—that would later be sold on a street market stall in town beside other products manufactured by your sisters, whereas your new one required almost no effort.

There was an old married couple nearby who ran a goat farm, and a small group of nuns from your convent helped them in exchange of a portion of the food they made, instead of a salary. Father Jimin was clearly trying his best to raise your spirits when he’d assigned you to tend to the cutest new-born goats, but it wasn’t until Jungkook tagged along and you saw him struggle with the baby bottles, spilling milk all over his clothes and cursing at the tiny animals, that the abbot’s goal was achieved.

“No, no, no, come back, you little shit!” He chased a hoppy kid around the barn, unable to contain that lovely high-pitched laugh.

“How are you making a mess out of literally the easiest thing in the world?” you teased from the bag of pine shavings you were sat on, another kid resting otherwise peacefully on your lap.

“That’s easy for you to say, I’ve got Psycho making me do cardio over here!”

“Try this one,” you giggled, motioning to the empty spot beside you with your head so Jungkook would sit down. When he did, you lay the kid on his lap carefully and brought the baby bottle to its mouth, both of you watching as it fed without any problem. “See?”

It didn’t take long for the milk to run out, after which you and Jungkook stroked the kid to sleep while the other one still hopped around, sharing a smile when your fingers accidentally brushed.

Because he’d tag along, you agreed to helping out in the kitchen on another day, as time was somehow bearable if he was there. But you were still going through the motions, your parents’ absence ever-present.

“What do you think?” Jungkook stirred you awake from your trance. “Bitchin’, right? The best thing you’ve ever heard?”

The song that got stuck in your head the day you met was playing on a boombox he’d brought from his van and put on the worktop while the two of you and three other sisters cooked lunch.

The girl you’d just heard, he had explained, was the band’s lead singer Amber, whom he sometimes joined apart from playing the guitar. There were also a Hoseok on the drums and a Taehyung on the bass. Bangtan, their name was. You’d never heard of them.

“I’m not sure about the lyrics,” meaning all the cursing and allusions to sex, which got your sisters flustered in the background, “but I like the tune.”

“The tune…”

“I’m just more used to church songs, is all.” Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “No.” You knew he was thinking exactly of blasting his rock songs in the middle of Mass.

“Why not?” he asked as a joke while trying to steal a couple of french fries from a dish. You slapped his hand before he could.

“Because Father Jimin will exile you, duh.”

“And don’t you think I’ll give up yet. I’ll be found outside your cell’s window playing music on my boombox until you agree to go out with me.” You should’ve cast away the heat before it reached your cheeks, as his flirting was obviously just for fun. Something he did with all girls and which meant nothing. “Better yet, I’ll write you a song.”

“I don’t think a novice is the perfect muse for a rock song, especially if it’s about…”

Jungkook shook his head. “I’ll keep it PG-13 for you, I promise.” He then grinned, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll start working on it tonight.”

You weren’t together at all times, though. No, you had class, he had work, sometimes you didn’t see him for whole days. Such was the case one cloudy afternoon around three weeks after first meeting, when Father Jimin approached you in the cloister. It had been a while since your last visit to his confessional box, so you feared a scolding.

“I wanted to talk to you, actually,” he said with that distinctive, soothing voice of his as you walked together, “about Jungkook.”

Your heart missed a beat for a reason that escaped your knowledge. It felt, somehow, as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. “What about him, Father?”

“I hadn’t seen you smile for a while and now it’s all you do when he’s by your side. I know the past month has been very difficult, so it makes me happy to see you get through the loss of your parents, Y/N.” Did it really look like things were fine? Well, better that than having everyone worry about you until things got fixed, if that ever happened. “However,” Father Jimin continued, “as your Spiritual Director, it’s my duty to advise you not to rely too much on someone other than God for solace. There’s a reason for enclosure, so that the outside world doesn’t distract us from religion. Unless… you’ve reconsidered your life as a nun? There’d be nothing wrong with that.”

What Jungkook had told you that first night, you’d been chewing on ever since, but God and your parents had long won the war. ‘Honour thy father and thy mother’ was one of the Ten Commandments, after all.

“I have no doubts. I belong here.”

The last time you’d stepped in town had been for the funeral, but Bangtan was doing a gig at what Jungkook claimed was the coolest venue he’d ever been in and he’d managed to persuade the other members to perform Rock God, the song he’d pulled an all-nighter to write. You didn’t know what a title like that had to do with someone like you but apparently, the lyrics were from your point of view.

“You have to come,” he’d begged for the millionth time across the table the previous day, interrupting your Bible reading in the library. Luckily, nobody else was there, or had been before his arrival.

‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.’

Did that mean He would forgive you for the sin of going against your parents’ wishes? That you could hang the white veil and live how you dreamed of? The next passages from the Book of Isaiah answered those questions.

‘If ye be willing and obedient, ye shall eat the good of the land: But if ye refuse and rebel, ye shall be devoured with the sword: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.’

In other words, you were fucked. There was no way out.

“I’d have to ask Father Jimin for permission, and I don’t think he’d let me go to a rock concert.”

You’d laughed to yourself at the idea but Jungkook had been serious, insisted, “Tell him you want to go buy groceries or something, he won’t say no to you.”

“You mean, ‘lie to him because he’ll take pity on you.’”

“Please.” He’d sank his elbows on the table, leaning so close you almost had to back away. You would have, had he not bewitched you with the most angelic of smiles. “Do it for me? I’ll tell Saint Peter I made you do it so he lets you in Heaven.”

That’s how you ended up in the queue for his concert, holding a plastic bag full of stationary you’d told Father Jimin you needed for class.

Jungkook had given you no ticket, said telling the security guy your name would suffice, and surely enough ‘Sister Y/N’ got you in. The habit had wisely been left at home, but the man still frowned at your modest outfit before putting a wristband on you that was a different colour than everyone else’s. You assumed it meant you were VIP.

There was a secluded area with round tables near the stage you were indeed taken to, where only a handful of other people were hanging out, waiting for the show to begin. You wouldn’t have thought of approaching them, as there was likely nothing you had in common, with them or anyone in the whole poorly lit venue. If you were there, out of your comfort zone, it was for Jungkook only.

The lights at some point changed colours and finally, the concert began. Bangtan got on the stage and performed song after song, giving their all to an audience that cheered loudly. You cheered too, captivated by a Jungkook who made you feel things with every look he gave you.

His blond hair was wet, whether with water, product, or sweat you didn’t know, but it dripped down his curls to his ripped clothes which allowed a glimpse of the inked skin of his torso. When had he got new tattoos? They weren’t there the day he’d got his t-shirt off for you to sew. You had never paid much attention to those that covered his veiny right arm and hand, but now you found yourself tickled by the fact, and wanting to see them up close. Definitely the tattoos, not his bare body… But most tantalising of all was the passionate way he played his electric guitar, moving around the stage with a confidence that made it clear he belonged there.

With that confidence, though, came a cockiness that had him eye-fucking every pretty girl in the crowd. Who’s to say he didn’t write songs for them too? Not to mention Amber, to whom he sometimes got so close you feared they were going to kiss—as did their fans, judging by their screams of excitement.

The last song of the night was Rock God, which he made sure to announce by enthusiastically mouthing you ‘This is it!’. You braced yourself for the lyrics.

Preacher man walked into the club, and he said He said, "Hey girl, can't you walk and not stray?" Father, I'm torn and I'm selling my soul to the Rhythm, the beat and the bass 'Cause I can't confess my rock and roll ways (Ooh) 'Cause I'm so possessed with the music The music he plays

Was the preacher man supposed to be Father Jimin? He wasn’t likely to walk in the venue right then, but the idea of him attending a rock concert was so absurd it made you smile. You guessed the tone of the song before Amber had even got to the chorus.

I can't stop my feet from dancing to the sound of his drum (Oh no) I fell in love with my rock god I can't keep my hips from swaying to his sweet melody You see, I fell in love with my rock, rock god

Oh, so not only did you like his music in this narrative, but you were also in love with him? You raised an eyebrow at that, to which he failed to bite down a smile. There must be thrill in succeeding to seduce a novice.

The next verse was similar to the first one. Then came the chorus again, twice, but it was the bridge that struck you, putting an end to the fun you were having. Jungkook watched your reaction closely, as he had during the whole song.

No, I wouldn't change a thing even if I could 'Cause I chose a path and I'm not looking back And I'm sorry if I left the angels crying over me

The chorus was sung twice more but the music muffled into the back of your mind, the bridge’s words lingering in the foreground. Would you be able to choose a path that resulted in your angels weeping? How could you? And how could Jungkook portray you as remorseless over it, when the matter was eating away at you inside?

The show was over before you knew it, and the audience slowly exited the venue while the band got out of their rockstars outfits and makeup backstage. About fifteen minutes later, they came into the area you were sat in and Jungkook bumped fists with the friends who’d come to see him in a rush, so as to not keep you waiting any longer.

Checking out your collared shirt and ankle-length skirt while approaching, he whistled. “Gee, Y/N, I can’t handle myself when you dress so sexy.”

“Because a novice’s habit is so much better.”

“There’s an appeal to it. Makes a man want to tempt you.” Earning a smile from him, you rolled your eyes. “Thoughts on the song. Shoot.”

You pouted. “Full of blasphemies. Are you supposed to be the rock god?”

“Who else?” Jungkook asked surprised. How did that escape you?

“Then why do I say ‘sound of his drum’? You’re a guitar player. Are you trying to set me up with your bandmate?”

“‘Guitar’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘god’,” he said matter-of-factly, it hitting him in the pause that followed. You laughed. “Well, yeah, neither does ‘drum’… but it does a bit more, right?”

“A bit more, yes. So, are you and Amber dating?”

Jungkook smirked. “Jealous much?”

“If you are,” you ignored his question, “she might not be too happy her boyfriend’s writing songs to other girls.”

“She has a boyfriend,” he cleared up, lifting a weight off your chest. “We’re just friends, what we do onstage is part of the show. Don’t worry, you don’t have to fight anyone to keep me.”

“What a relief,” you joked, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Listen, I’m gonna get going, it’s late and you said you were getting some drinks with Bangtan, so I’ll leave you to it. I had fun tonight, you did great.”

“I can drive you to the convent,” he offered, but you shook your head, picking the plastic bag up from the table.

“It’s alright, Sisters Joan and Theresa are still at their stall in the street market. I’ll go back with them.”

“Swell…” he said under his breath, hoping you couldn’t tell he’d wanted to say ‘bummer’ instead.

You didn’t see each other until the next night, when you broke the curfew yet again to hang out in the kitchen. Sat on the table, the two of you discussed your dilemma while sipping at the awful tea Jungkook had made. There weren’t many ways to fuck up tea, but he’d still managed it, holding the old kettle responsible.

All had begun with him pointing out you’d paled towards the end of Rock God and you telling him the lyrics had moved you because you’d chosen to finish your novitiate. There was no way, therefore, you could sell your soul to the rhythm, the beat, and the bass.

“I know I said I wouldn’t tell you what to do, but–”

“You did.”

“But hear me out. Now that we’re friends, I can’t just watch you make a decision I know you already regret.”

“I’d regret leaving too, at least this is the selfless choice.”

“Well, aren’t you a good person!” Jungkook’s mocking made you sigh and sip on your tea like it were alcohol. It did taste as bad. “Y/N, you need to live for yourself, not for two fuddy-duddies who couldn’t put their daughter’s happiness before theirs.”

“Don’t be mean to them.”

Jungkook only bit his tongue because of your pleading tone. “Sorry… Even if you loved your parents, you can’t deny they put you in a tough spot. I’m sure wherever they are, they’ve realised they were wrong and want you to be happy however you choose.”

“The thing is, they were convinced I’d be happy as a nun, that I just wanted to switch to secular on a whim. That’s why they ordered me to stay, they were looking out for me.” Jungkook almost grimaced at the word ‘ordered’, fought against commenting how messed up was the fact that you were using it in this context. Staring at the almost empty mug on your lap, you wondered whether it was insensitive of you to speak your mind. “It’s also what’s happened to you that I couldn’t bear happening to me, even if my parents are gone. I don’t want to do anything that would make them spurn me. I don’t want them not to love me,” your voice broke despite your best efforts.

Jungkook immediately stole the mug from your fingers and put it next to his on the table, so he could hold your hands. “Listen to me, my parents are assholes. Like, genuine bad people who shouldn’t’ve been allowed to have a kid. I won’t tell you the things they’ve said and done to me because you’d cry, but they are a different breed. Normal parents love their children no matter what. Why do you think yours would spurn you if they were still alive, instead of realising that they were making you unhappy?”

Good point, actually. If only it wasn’t far more complicated than that…

The second Jungkook withdrew his hands, you missed their warmth, even though it was a hot summer night. He sipped at his tea, and you suspected he only mmm-ed with delight to make you laugh, given he bloody well knew its taste was disgusting. Idiot.

“Just promise me one thing,” he added, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If you quit being a novice, go out on a date with me.”

Now, that made you laugh. “A date?”

Jungkook nodded, anchoring his foot to one of the legs of your chair so he could drag it close to his and rest his arm on its top rail, the proximity such that you could feel his breathing against your cheek. Heart racing, you crossed your arms and tried your hardest to appear unbothered. “I’ll pick you up at five and we’ll go roller-skating until we can’t feel our legs, then we’ll have dinner in my van while we watch a drive-in movie– A scary one, so you cling onto me for safety. Then I’ll drive you home, walk you to your door, and you’ll go ‘Oh! It’s too late, why don’t you stay over?’. So we’ll have some drinks, and you’ll take my hand to lead me into your bedroom, and then…”

“And then we’ll say our prayers and go to sleep.”

“To sleep, yes,” Jungkook chuckled, “afterwards.”

“I don’t know what makes you think I wouldn’t live almost like a nun if I left here. I am, in fact, a Catholic.”

“A relaxed one, I dare say. Oh, come on. You’ve never thought about breaking your faith’s rules? Not even to have fun?” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a confession, but you shook your head.

“I can have fun without breaking the rules, I always have.”

Jungkook nibbled at his lip for a while, mentally debating with himself. Whichever of the voices in his head won, it made him say, “What if I showed you my ways? Would you be up for that?”

“Up for what, exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

Due to the series of communal prayers scattered throughout the day called Liturgy of Hours, it was as early as five that the whole convent got up. You’d usually go straight back to bed after the first one and get what more rest you could until it was time for class or work, but today, despite it being Sunday, a few sisters had volunteered to go to the farm and help around, you and Jungkook joining them to nanny the goats.

You didn’t mind getting your habit dirty there, but it was being an awfully hot July, which was the reason why you were wearing lighter clothes that morning when walking into the chapel alongside Jungkook to attend Mass. He was an atheist whom you supposed only went to these things to spend more time with you, and that warmed your heart.

Ever since you’d started hanging out, the same less devout sisters who’d previously flocked around him had gone back to the handsome abbot’s orbit, so the nearer pews to the altar had quickly been taken. Together, you sat alone at the back, the pew all to yourselves. Three quite tall sisters were sat in the one in front of you and acted as a barrier Father Jimin hid behind of, but as long as you heard him, it didn’t matter.

Your mind went elsewhere no more than a couple of minutes into the service anyway. Tuning out seemed to be easy as of late.

It was just so unfair, all of it. You could be learning in university, meeting new people, living a normal life where you wouldn’t need to ask an abbot for permission to go out if you fancied taking a fucking walk! It didn’t have to mean you’d stop practising your religion or let yourself fall into sin at all, nothing had to change in that regard. You took a deep breath charged with frustration. If only your parents hadn’t decided to take the car in the middle of a storm and you’d had more time to make them see reason… Why did they have to die? Why did God have to take them and leave you alone?

Right in the middle of your brooding was when Jungkook put his hand on your bare knee and asked in a whisper, “Hey, are you okay?”

You forced a smile that he didn’t seem convinced by, so his hand remained on the same spot after he’d gone back to paying attention to Mass. His touch didn’t make you uncomfortable, you welcomed it and the comfort it provided, but your jaw did drop when it slowly travelled down your inner thigh, towards your intimate area.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed, petrified at the possibility of anyone noticing. Luckily, the only person facing the pews was Father Jimin, who couldn’t see a thing from the altar thanks to your barrier-sisters.

“Showing you my idea of fun,” Jungkook leaned in to whisper, lips brushing against your earlobe. It wasn’t that what made you gulp, though, but the fact that he reached your clit and rubbed it softly over your linen shorts, up and down, side to side… The unexpected pleasure made your breath hitch in your throat, gaze flying around the chapel at the speed of light. “No one’s watching,” Jungkook reassured you. “Live a little, Y/N.” Feeling his middle finger now press your clit firmly and at an increasing pace, you looked at him, shocked there was no sign of shame on his features, eyes half-lidded with arousal as they studied your worried ones. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Stop? You were still registering something had started there, in a sacred place, during Mass! What you were letting Jungkook do to you was all kinds of sinful, but… it felt so good you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. Sobering up, he ceased his actions at that lack of consent, and was going to withdraw his hand and apologise had you not grabbed it and kept it in place down there, much to the surprise of both.

Relief showed on Jungkook in the form of an exhale. He wasted no time, then, sliding his hand inside your shorts and underwear, making you bite down on your lip when he found your clit once more and rubbed it in circles. He lingered there just enough to make your core pulsate with ache when he abandoned it to move on to your wet slit, something you had to slouch for him to do. He eased two fingers inside you that he began pumping in and out with a mastery that got you squirming in your seat, hand glued to your mouth to hold back the moans that threatened to escape it and gaze locked on the tattooed sleeve that disappeared inside your shorts.

That was when everyone started singing a hymn. Jungkook took the chance to quicken his movements, the sounds of your irregular breathing and his fingers sliding into your juices eclipsed by the song. He licked his lips, coating them with saliva before leaving chaste kisses on your neck, knowing if his tongue met it he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from fucking you right there and then. When he pulled back, he noticed you’d closed your eyes to get lost in the pleasure, and that they opened only when you felt his breath near your parted lips, to stare down at his. So close, yet he restrained the urge to kiss you, intent on watching you come.

He didn’t have to wait long, your walls now clenching around his fingers every time he rubbed that magical spot, thighs shaking as a result. All the tension built up inside of you suddenly released, and you dissolved into a daze just in time for the ending of the hymn. Not to overstimulate you, Jungkook gently removed his fingers and slipped out of the chapel. He returned a minute later with his hand washed and dry, and although you readily intertwined fingers with his when he reached out, you dared not meet his eyes after what had just happened.

That night you lay awake tossing and turning forever, unable to forget the feel of his touch.

Inexplicably, you weren’t ashamed of all the sins you’d added to the collection that day: falling into the temptation of lust, doing pre-marital sexual acts that didn’t lead to procreation, breaching your vow of chastity, desecrating a holy place, taking the sacrament while in mortal sin… Somehow, you just weren’t. You were, right after, but now it was as though you’d managed to sweep all the guilt related to it under the rug. As for the one related to your parents, well, Jungkook had been the sweetest distraction from it.

A distraction you craved again.

You must have been held sway by a demon when you got up from bed to go find Jungkook, but you were in no hurry to free yourself from its grasp.

Except for the first night, he tended to be the sleepless one who wandered about the abbey until you eventually joined him, so you knew he’d be awake. Indeed, he was on the phone in the community room, getting tangled up in the cord as he paced around, nervous. He couldn’t see you lurking in the hallway’s shadows, so you decided to let curiosity get the better of you and eavesdrop the conversation he was having.

“No, you’re not following,” he whispered into the phone. “My cousin’s friend’s brother is into this hot religious girl, and I– he! sort of fingered her in public… In a church… No, there were people present, it was in the middle of Mass… Nobody, that I’m– that he’s aware… No, Hoseok, it’s not dope! He’s going up and down the walls like a fucking yoyo... He isn’t so sure it was a good idea, fears he might’ve crossed a line… Well, he hasn’t seen her since, I think she’s been avoiding him– Agh, he thinks!... Fuck yeah, she did, and he loved it too… The problem is that I don’t want her to regret it and feel bad about it just because it wasn’t the time or place, or to never want to have sex because I got her into it the wrong way… What? He, I said he… You’re right,” he sighed, putting an end to his pacing. “I’ll tell him. Thank you, bro... ‘Night.”

Arms crossed, you couldn’t help but smile fondly. He was that worried about it? You should’ve known, you were friends after all. That was all he probably wanted to be, at least. Friends. With benefits, but friends. Who would want to be more than that not only with a novice, but with one as troubled as you?

A noise made you look up. It was Jungkook, now by the window, flicking his lighter over and over to pass the time. Your eyes inspected his fingers under the moonlight, the same ones he’d buried inside you that morning, and the longing that had got you out of bed returned to move your feet in his direction. You must’ve been abrupt while approaching him, though, as he jolted with a gasp at the sight of you.

“Sorry.”

“Y/N…” he said as he caught his breath from the startle. He had hoped you’d show up, but not so suddenly. Payback, he thought, for the way we met. “Listen, about earlier–”

You cut his sentence short with a kiss. It was soft at first, as timid as you felt, but Jungkook soon got over the shock that had frozen him and took charge of the matter, pulling you in a tight embrace. His tongue entered your mouth and swirled around yours like it was always meant to, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe. How else could it feel so good, and Jungkook so addictive?

It was a challenge, but you found the strength to step back and whisper so lowly that he almost didn’t hear, “I want you.”

“Are you sure?” Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. No need for that, they already had you enthralled, dark with the desire you’d infected him with.

“Yes,” you exhaled, taking his hands in yours to lead him upstairs. “With you, yes.”

Once in your cell, you lost your pyjamas in a matter of seconds, both too impatient to feel each other.

Being naked and seeing Jungkook so was initially nerve-racking but once you were under the sheets, under his toned body, your bashfulness flew out the window. Especially when you saw his dick, already hard from just making out—you figured he’d been charged up since the morning. Yet his priority wasn’t his own pleasure, but yours, not an inch of your skin left untouched by his lips as he slowly travelled downwards. Until you started giggling out of nowhere, and Jungkook raised his head from in between your boobs to look at you in confusion.

“Your Barbie hair is tickling me,” you teased him as you tucked behind his ears the blond cascade that covered his face and grazed over your chest whenever he moved.

“Barbie, huh?” Jungkook whispered next to your ear only to lay a warm kiss right under it, all while he positioned himself in between your legs. “Do you want me to tickle you somewhere else?”

“Actually, I…” How did one say such a thing? “I want to tickle you, but I don’t know what to do.”

He chuckled, “My pleasure to instruct you.”

You did as he said and reclined next to him, upside down so he could touch you—he’d insisted—while you sucked him off. It did feel strange to take him in your mouth and run your tongue along the length of his shaft, at least until you heard his breathing speed up, resisting to buck his hips into your face as he was. Your cunt throbbed, and you wished Jungkook’s cock was inside it instead of your mouth. He seemed to sense that, so his hand soon crept between your thighs to remedy your ails, a whine escaping you then.

“You’re just as tight as earlier, fuck,” he groaned from the pillow as his fingers struggled to curl and uncurl inside of you, given you couldn’t keep still. It made you all the more eager to pleasure him, taking him as deep as you could so he saw the same stars you were beginning to see yourself. “You’re doing so well… That’s it, suck it harder, darling, ah… Wait, stop, stop!”

Immediately, you backed off. “Did I do something wrong?”

Jungkook sat up and used his thumb to wipe the drooling trail of saliva on your chin. “You were doing too well, miss.” Ogling your body, he licked his thumb. “Why don’t you come over here?” You nodded, would’ve agreed to do anything he asked in that moment.

He lay down again while holding your hands to guide you over to his lap, over his erection, but your sudden nerves made you shy away. Nevertheless, Jungkook pulled you closer with a smirk. “Where are you running off to?”

“I’m sorry, just… Will it hurt?”

He sat up to peck your lips cutely, “Oh, it will be excruciatingly painful,” and you pushed his chest with an eye-roll, so he returned to his previous position. He grabbed the condom he’d stopped by his cell to get before following you to yours and put it on.

A deep breath later, you grabbed his cock and placed its tip in your wet entrance, looking down at it to make sure you were doing it right. Hands between his head and the pillow, Jungkook watched patiently, turned on by your inexperience and the fact that he and he alone got to be the one to pop your cherry, make you break your vow of chastity. He thought it’d take you a while to get used to the size of his dick, but you surprised him by rolling your hips almost aggressively the second you sat on it, chasing pleasure as though it would escape from your grasp otherwise.

“Shit, yes, like that.” All flushed under you and with his eyes barely open, feeling the way you moved with all his senses, Jungkook ignited a lust in you that even an angel would be willing to fall from grace for.

“Oh my God, it feels so good…”

“I know, baby.” He wanted to dig his nails into your hips and move them back and forth himself but found that for a virgin, you were already doing a superb job, laughed instead. “Look at you, fuck. What a dirty bitch, you’re loving it.”

“I am…” you panted, his name-calling sending you over the edge. “Jesus, I am.”

It wasn’t long until Jungkook felt your walls clench tight around him, something he didn’t blame you for as he himself was close too. His cock had been burning in his pants ever since Mass, even after he’d jerked himself off in his cell when the service had finished and you’d vanished. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you close to his mouth and kissed you hungrily, but even then, you refused to stop moving, felt too good. “Gonna come already? You like me that bad?”

I like you a lot. You were having a tough time not moaning, especially when he talked. His deep voice did all manner of things to you. “I’m so close, ah...”

“Why don’t I help you out with that, hm?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before bending his knees and repeatedly thrusting into you with such force that it had you gasping for air. If you’d known he could fuck you like that, you’d have asked him to be on top at the beginning. Eyes squeezed shut, you buried your head in the crook of his neck to moan against it as you came, finally letting go. Jungkook bit into your shoulder, not to hurt you, just hard enough to keep himself from grunting loudly as he found his own release after a few more thrusts, but your bodies remained locked until your heartbeats slowed down.

It didn’t hit you how loud your panting had been until your breath toned down and there was silence in the room. You prayed it hadn’t woken anybody up.

At some point, you got off Jungkook for him to remove his condom and go throw it in the bin next to your desk. You covered your naked body with the sheets, expecting to next see him get dressed, but he lay back on the bed. You didn’t understand.

“Aren’t you leaving?”

He scoffed. “Kicking me out, ouch. Why would I leave?”

“I thought… that’s what guys do.” At least, that was what your non-virgin sisters had told you. That men lost interest in a woman as soon as they’d had their way with her.

Jungkook shook his head as he said softly, “I’m not going anywhere.” Having sex surely messed with one’s head, there was no other explanation as to why you blushed like a teenager. The two of you got on your side, facing each other, and Jungkook started caressing your arm with the back of his fingers, the simple action so soothing you thought you’d fall asleep. “Is this nice?”

“Very,” you replied, eyes closing against your will.

“Did I go too far earlier?”

You were taken aback by the sudden question. “Maybe, but I liked it. You were right about breaking the rules. Looking back… I think it was what you said about living a little that got to me. Here at the convent, I don’t really feel alive, but I do when we’re this close.”

“See?” Jungkook asked gently, trying to make you see his point. “What’s stopping you from quitting, then? Nothing should cost you feeling alive.”

“Apart from my parents?” you sighed. “Look around. As a novice, I couldn’t receive their inheritance. Vow of poverty, remember? What you see in this cell is everything I own.” Jungkook had already noticed on his way in your lack of personal belongings. A cross hung over the bed, a small pile of religious books on the desk, a framed photo of you with your family, and little more. It was so empty and cold that anyone would’ve thought you’d just moved in. “I can’t afford to go to university, much less live on my own.”

“Well… I’ve been saving up for a while and I’m moving in an apartment with Hoseok and Tae when summer’s over. Why don’t you come stay with us? I’m sure they won’t mind!” he said enthusiastically, eyes sparkling like he’d come up with the solution to all your problems. “I’ll help you find a job and you’ll be able to afford uni, easy-peasy.”

You were too sleepy to chuckle, but a faint smile did tug at your lips because of how determined he was to fix things. Things that were too broken to be fixed. “Let’s not talk about this right now, please?”

Even though Jungkook wasn’t pleased with your response, he forced a smile. “Why, did I tire you out?” Leaning in, he kissed your lips lightly. “You’re right, let’s not ruin the moment. Come here.”

He had you rest your head on his chest, and held lovingly, you fell asleep.

Understandably, he’d left by the time you woke up. If anyone saw him coming out of your cell, they might work out what he’d been up to there and the two of you would be kicked out of the convent. His scent lingered in your sheets, but it didn’t make any less disappointing waking up without him by your side. What’s more, as you put on your habit after having a quick shower, you were assailed by the most heart-breaking questions.

What if Jungkook had pretended to be your friend only to get in your pants? What if, now he’d got what he wanted, he blew you off? What if you’d risked everything for a guy who felt nothing for you?

To your immense relief, when you walked into the refectory for breakfast, he waved at you with a smile and gestured you to sit next to him. You were going to before Father Jimin suddenly appeared before you.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted warmly, as ever.

“Oh, good morning, Father!”

“I wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

You blinked. “It is, why?”

Shit. He knows?

“You left the chapel in a hurry after Mass yesterday,” he said, “and you didn’t show up to the remaining services. Were you unwell?”

“Oh... Yes, I was.” If you had locked yourself up in your cell, it was for no other reason than to avoid Jungkook and digest the fact that he’d fingered you in public. You lied, “I was sick all day, but I’m fine now.”

“I’m glad,” Jimin said with a smile you returned, then grabbed your hand to surround it with both of his, like old people will. “I know this comes out of nowhere, but I’m really proud of you, Y/N. For pulling through these challenging times. Many, including myself, can only learn from your strength. I know you’ll make a great nun.”

He gave your hand a soft squeeze and left you there, frozen in your spot. It was as though your sins finally dawned on you, all of them at once. You’d really believed leaving the convent didn’t have to mean you’d betray your faith and here you were, sleeping with a guy you’d met barely a month ago without shame because that made you feel alive.

What had you done? What were you turning into?

No longer hungry, you left to go back to your cell, tears already streaming down your cheeks before you made it out of the empty hallways. Or were they empty?

“Y/N!” You ignored Jungkook’s voice and quickened your pace, too ashamed to face him. “Hey, wait up!” He sprinted to reach you, concern shaping his features when he blocked your way and realised you were crying and trying to hide it from him. One thing was telling him your troubles, another to break down like a pathetic, helpless little girl. In the most caring tone, he asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You explained, told him how you felt.

“I’m letting Father Jimin down,” you sobbed. “Him, my parents, God, and everyone.”

“You’re not,” Jungkook kept repeating. “You’re in a period of discernment, right? So who says you can’t reach a conclusion by trial and error? That’s what other nuns have done too. Before they got here, yes, but it was doing things they later regretted that convinced them to become nuns.”

“I don’t regret last night,” you said in all honesty, “but I do hate that I don’t regret sinning... You just can’t understand, you’re not religious.”

Jungkook looked down. “Maybe I can’t, but if I know something it’s that if what we did made you happy, it shouldn’t be a sin.” He looked around to make sure no one else was there before cupping your wet cheeks and kissing you, every muscle in your body relaxing under his touch as he knew they would. “Now come with me and eat something.”

He didn’t fully convince you, but your will wasn’t strong enough to resist his tempting.

For the next three weeks, you continued sleeping together at night, pretending you were no more than close friends at day. Whatever the time, Jungkook made sure to spend as much of it as possible with you, although not for a moment did you ever let yourself believe he had any feelings for you other than sexual. You weren’t even sure you wanted him to develop them, truth be told, as this thing you had was a fling. Come the end of summer less than a month from now, he’d move out and you’d start the second and final year of your novitiate, so whatever it was between you had no future.

Still, he kept writing you songs.

Some he’d sing quietly in bed so you’d fall asleep listening to his angelic voice, but the latest one, Church, he’d also asked you to come see him perform in a concert. And so, you’d lied to Father Jimin again, claiming the ancient kettle in the kitchen was broken and a new one needed to be bought. What’s a sin more to secure your one-way ticket to Hell?

Jungkook had warned you this song was not PG-13. He’d be the one singing it, not Amber, and he’d begged and begged you to wear one of his huge t-shirts to the concert with nothing underneath, refusing to tell you why. Leaving the abbey dressed as modestly as was expected of a novice, you changed outfits in the venue’s toilets. You didn’t know why you’d agreed to it but the first line of Church explained his request.

You're wearing nothing but my t-shirt Call me shallow but I'm only getting deeper, yeah Stay on the ground until your knees hurt No more praying, baby, I'ma be your preacher

He half whispered the whole verse into the microphone, all while his eyes pierced yours from the stage. You couldn’t look away either, entranced by his voice and presence. So far from where you were sat, how could he make you feel as though the air had run out in the whole venue?

And I'll keep leading you on If you keep leading me into your room The drinks are all gone But that's fine, baby, so am I

You remembered the date Jungkook had talked about taking you out on and how… standard it now sounded to you as he turned his attention to the girls who cheered for him in the audience. Was it scripted? Something he said to all of them to lead them on? The more you thought about it, the more you realised he’d never actually take you skating. No, you were just for keeping his nights busy.

His gaze found you again.

I'm about to take you back to church (back to church) Well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst? Yeah Baptise in your thighs 'til it hurts (you know it hurts) 'Cause I'm about to take you back to church (oh yeah)

I'll keep you up until the sunset Speaking in tongues, yeah, we ain't done yet (yeah) Don't take my verses out of context I know it's weighing on your conscience

Those last two lines… Further confirmation your relationship was just sex and that you shouldn’t read too much into anything he said, or feel guilty for sinning by having a friend-with-benefits. It was self-contradictory of you to feel down about him not reciprocating your feelings, but you did. Don’t they say love is irrational?

Despite how sad you’d got, the night didn’t end with the concert, but with Jungkook fucking you without restrain. When he was inside you, nothing else mattered.

You were in the back of his van, parked somewhere near the abbey yet not enough for anyone to hear the loud moans that each of his thrusts caused, even with the windows open not to melt in there.

“Fuck, keep moaning for me,” he grunted, gripping your waist to keep you in place.

“Keep fucking me, then…” Jungkook scoffed, would’ve commented on how dirty he’d turned you had he not been so close. You’d come already yourself, but were more than glad to let him go on until he did too.

“Since you’ve got such a big mouth,” he said, panting, “why don’t you put it to good use?”

It took him most of his willpower to pull out and remove his condom. You sat up and opened your mouth for him to shove his hard cock in, swirling your tongue around the tip before closing your lips tight around it and starting to bob your head to take all of him. A bit more experienced now and having learned to love sucking Jungkook, you knew exactly how he liked it done. You could feel it, his cock twitching against your tongue as you savoured it, letting you know he was going to come.

He pulled back again to jerk himself, and you began rubbing your clit, aroused again by the sight between your spread legs. “I thought you were done?”

“Yes, but you’re so hot…” you moaned, and he huffed out a laugh. Biting his lip harshly as he ogled your naked body and the way you touched yourself, it wasn’t long until he came all over your thighs, your own release following.

Jungkook smirked when he was no longer out of breath. “Dreams do come true.” He was staring at your thighs dripping with his cum and your own juices, and you realised he was talking about Church’s ‘baptise in your thighs’. You were about to smile when the rest of the song came to mind, and suddenly you didn’t feel like it anymore… Once Jungkook had cleaned you up with a cloth, he lay down next to you. “Come here.”

You always hoped he’d say that, even though he never failed to. So resting your back on his chest, he held you from behind, caressing your hands in a comfortable silence. It was then that you noticed the blank spot between the tattoos in Jungkook’s wrist. It was tiny, but seemed intentional.

“Are you not inking this bit?”

“I’m saving it for a small symbol, maybe a letter.” He kissed your temple. “Your name’s initial, what do you say?”

Your lips committed to it before your brain did. “Do you get tattoos of the others?”

Jungkook frowned. You couldn’t see him, but you knew he did. “What others?”

“The other girls you sleep with.” There was no jealousy in your casual tone, but it was still petty. Jungkook shifted so he could face you. He was indeed frowning, both perplexed and offended.

“There are no others,” he promised, serious as you’d ever seen him. “You trust me that little?”

“I didn’t think I had to trust you. Aren’t we just hooking up?”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes as if the confusion was giving him a headache. “You thought I was sleeping with other girls and said nothing?”

By what right could you ask him to be faithful in a relationship you planned to end soon? Besides, what if in doing so, you annoyed him enough to stop wanting to be friends? If sharing him with others was the only way to have him, it hurt, but you’d do it. You looked down as you whispered, kind of embarrassed, “I guess I do like you that much…”

Jungkook raised your chin with his curled index finger, made you look at him. He despised the sadness he saw in the depths of your eyes, the one you were trying to repress. “You’re much more than sex to me. I worship you and if I could, I’d spend every waking moment next to you.”

In a small pause, you tried to rack your brain. “Is that from a song?”

“No, but it should be. I’ll write it down later.” Jungkook nodded, agreeing the rhyme had potential. Still, he wasn’t going to let you change the subject. “Y/N, I’m in love with you.”

He is? That did take you off guard.

“You shouldn’t be, I’m a novice,” you said anyway at your most hypocritical.

Jungkook sighed, “What’s so wrong about it? Don’t you love me?”

You didn’t want to lie to him. A smile made your lips stretch before you answered, “I do,” and softly, Jungkook kissed them. Every time he pulled back from a kiss, it felt like it had been too short, no matter how long it lasted. Like you needed more because you could never be sated of him. “Does this mean… we’re dating?”

“I mean, you’re technically engaged to Jesus, and I’m not a guy who likes sharing,” Jungkook joked before giving you a peck and returning to his previous position under you. “If you don’t wanna be just lovers, you’ll have to break up with him first.”

You answered nothing. Should you listen to him, though?

Around two weeks of bliss sprang from your love confessions, where it became hard to pretend you weren’t mad for each other in public, such as when he’d whisper in your ear how provocative you looked in your habit and you giggled like a schoolgirl in love—which, technically, you were. Your parents barely made it into your thoughts, as they were filled to the brim with Jungkook.

From the moment they were over, it all went downhill. Worse, it fell into an abyss.

You had just come out of class with other novices when your hand was grabbed by someone who dragged you through the hallway to head upstairs. “Sorry to steal her, sisters, it’s urgent!”

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” you asked as he led you into your cell in a rush, closing the door for privacy. “You can’t be in here during the day–”

“I’ve found a way.” Only then did you notice how excited he was, a grin across his face. “A way to pay for your university.”

His aunt had been the one to tell him, at the beginning of the summer, that he must plan ahead as an adult now that his parents had turned their back on him, but it wasn’t until he fell for you that he actually started doing that. He was sure he wanted you to be by his side on whatever path he took, for his future to merge with yours somehow.

You, however, knew this conversation would not end well. “Enlighten me.”

“Bangtan is going on a nationwide tour next year.”

“Oh my God, that’s great!” You held his hands and grinned with him. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Y/N, this means I’ll earn a lot of money.” Then, you looked away. “With what I’ve got saved up plus that, you can afford to go to uni, even a private one, and we don’t have to live with the boys, we can have a place of our own! On the road we won’t even have to sweat about that, our company will pay for everyth–”

You freed your hands from his grasp, said with a nervous laugh, “You’re going a bit fast, Jungkook…”

His grin faded. “What do you mean? Isn’t money what you need to get out of here?”

“I’m grateful you want to take care of me but I can’t leave, you know why.”

“Are you serious right now?” Jungkook couldn’t believe it. “Y/N, your parents are gone. I know it’s hard but you have to move on, I don’t want you to wither in this place when you have a chance at happiness.”

“Just because you chose to let your parents down doesn’t mean the rest of us want to.” You regretted those words as soon as they left your mouth, the sound of Jungkook’s heart breaking reaching your ears. Or was it your own?

It took him some long seconds to process you’d said that, then answer, “I told you how they were to me, forgive me for not giving a shit about them.”

“Well, mine are a different story. I do care about them.”

“And not about us? We can’t be together anymore after I leave the convent. Have you not thought about that, or were you going to end things like they meant nothing? Because for weeks, I’ve been trying to find a way to have a future with you.”

“I never asked you to,” you sighed, welling up. You might not have, but a part of you had wanted to. Wanted to go with him too. “There’s no way we can have a future together.”

Jungkook teared up as well, and you hated yourself for it. He was being met with unjust meanness from the person he genuinely loved. You sucked so bad.

“What am I to you, then? What have I been these past months?”

“A distraction.”

It wasn’t a lie, and that’s what hurt the most. You loved Jungkook, and yet, you’d used him to set aside the pain of your parents’ loss and the guilt that was consuming you for being a sinner. You were always going to dispose of him like a toy outgrown, regardless of everything he’d done for you.

He stared for a while, but you couldn’t meet his eyes out of shame. “That’s good to know,” he muttered before storming out, leaving you in a puddle of tears you deserved to be drowned in.

You trudged your way to class after a grey morning in the library. There was still no passage from any religious book that excused your countless sins and promised the salvation of your blighted soul, but that didn’t worry you so much right now. What did, was Jungkook.

He was likely avoiding you—for which you couldn’t blame him—though you doubted meeting and apologising for the ugly things you’d said would be a remedy to the damage done. Not that you didn’t mean them, but they could’ve been said with tact. Jungkook’s wicked crime was loving you, after all.

So busy were you missing something as random as his cologne that you didn’t notice until the end of the class that everyone kept stealing glances at you, whispering to each other afterwards. Even if a tired demeanour wasn’t deserving of such a disproportionate reaction, you still blamed the barely two hours of sleep you’d got for your sisters’ scandalised looks, but another novice approached you in the hallway out of pity to let you know you’d actually made the convent’s news.

You froze in your spot when she said it was because Jungkook had spread the rumour that you’d been sleeping with him.

No, please... Tell me he hasn’t.

Leaving your sister where she stood and running off to find him with the disapproving gaze of every other person you passed burning into your skin, you prayed you were inside a nightmare harder with each stride.

Jungkook couldn’t have betrayed you. Someone must have seen or heard you and put two and two together, right?

Such theory turned into dust when you saw him sat in the cloister surrounded by girls like the day you’d met, playing a melody in the guitar for their attentive ears. Somehow, you knew he’d done it then, and on purpose. You started to feel sick as you approached them, whether because of the summer heat or the knife stabbed and twisted in your back, you didn’t know.

“We need to talk.”

Jungkook didn’t bother to look up as he said, “If we were still dating, I’d totally be shaking at that sentence, Y/N.”

Some of your sisters giggled, others bit their lip not to. You went red, begged, “Please.”

Albeit reluctantly, he stood up and followed you to an empty hallway. You didn’t know whether you were more upset, scared, surprised, or disappointed, but the smell of the cologne you were missing earlier managed to calm you down a little, as Jungkook’s company tended to do. Your stupid body seemed to not have caught up on the fact that he was the cause of your hurting.

“What do you want?” he asked curtly.

“What do I want? To know how you could tell everyone about us, Jungkook, how you could do this to me. I’ll be expelled! And I don’t have parents or a family that will take me back if I go apologise to them, I have nowhere to go. Is that what you want? For me to be with you because I have no other choice?”

“Of course not, we’re done,” Jungkook assured you that wasn’t his plan, which you believed. He hated your guts, his dark eyes told you. “But now you’re not tied to a place you don’t really want to be in.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t do this out of revenge.”

“So what if I did?”

You stared at him for a while, speechless like he had the time you’d last met. “And here I thought you’d proved me wrong.”

“In what,” Jungkook asked in a scoff, “becoming a nun now that you’ve been dicked down?”

The coldness of his tone stung your heart. In disbelief, you shook your head. “No, in that there was more to you than what first meets the eye.”

A grain of shock broke through the mask of indifference Jungkook was wearing, probably because your words weren’t visibly said against your better judgement this time, but while seeing him through the same lenses as his parents did. You looked at him just like them the night they’d kicked him out, in a way he had hoped you never would.

And how could you not? You’d thought you knew him, yet he’d gone ahead and ruined your life. Maybe you never did know the real Jungkook at all, who was now too taken aback to come up with an answer before another novice approached.

“Father Jimin wants to see you, sister,” she said, after which you took a deep breath, nodded, and followed her without so much as giving Jungkook one last glance.

In his office, sat on his desk, Father Jimin was quiet. Had been so since you’d come in and sat down.

One of his elbows rested on his chair’s arm and two fingers pressed on his closed lips as he thought of what to say. You already had an idea of what it would be, and it made you no more ready, fists clutching the skirt of your lap.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally confessed in a sigh. It struck you how it was the first time in the few years you’d known Father Jimin that you didn’t see a smile on his face, or at least friendliness. He was the kind of person who always saw the best in people but right now, there was nothing good left in you. “I’m truly at a loss for words. I never thought you’d do something like this, or that I’d find out from other mouths.”

Tears blurred your sight at the memory of him telling you he was proud of you. “I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness, but I’m begging you, Father. It was the mistake of my life–”

“You broke your vows, Y/N. Defiled a holy place.” Oh… Jungkook had admitted to that as well? Chin trembling, you pressed your lips together not to cry. “Lied to me about it and God knows what else… This behaviour cannot be tolerated. You can stay in the abbey until you find a job and a place to live, but you are dismissed from this community, if not excommunicated.”

You sobbed, unable to hold it in anymore, “Father, please. I can’t let my parents down, their last wish was that I become a nun–”

“Isn’t it your wish? Were you lying about that too?” Your head lowered in shame and Father Jimin leaned back into his chair with a loud sigh. “You should have thought about your parents before getting involved with Jungkook. Be grateful they aren’t here to see you stray this bad.” He waited for you to say something, but shame kept you from it, as he was right. “You may leave now.”

Everything had happened so fast that a week later, you were still assimilating it.

Except when necessary, you barely left your cell. Dreaded both the judgemental looks of your sisters and the non-existent ones from Father Jimin, who ignored your presence whenever he had to suffer it in the chapel or the refectory. Not to mention running into Jungkook. To your knowledge, he’d been kicked out too, was sometimes seen moving boxes from his cell to his van. There wasn’t much for him to pack, so you guessed he was dragging the process. What for, you tried not to care.

That was the main reason why, helped by the yellow pages, you’d been job-hunting through the telephone. Not that it was better or worse than going in person, because nobody wanted to employ an ex-novice anyway. They literally hung up when you mentioned you’d been expelled from the convent—as expected, to be honest—but lying again was not an option. You’d learned your lesson the hard way.

Eventually, you did manage to land an interview for a job. Given it didn’t pay that well, it’d be a while until you could afford to move out of the abbey and even longer until you’d step in a university as a student, which was frustrating, but at least you didn’t need anyone’s permission to leave. Since you weren’t a novice anymore, nobody batted an eyelid at you heading outside the afternoon of your scheduled interview.

You were near the main door when, out of nowhere, Sister Daeun stopped you to talk.

“My nephew’s told me everything. I can’t say I approve of your relationship, but it does make me feel better that there was love involved. A lot, apparently,” your gaze averted to the ground, “which makes your decision to break up with him out of respect for your parents all the more admirable. It was wrong of Jungkook to make it public, he knows that, and he would like to apologise and give you the money he made this summer.”

“I couldn’t take it, sister,” you opposed. “It’s his. He needs it to pay rent, he’s moving in with Hoseok and Taehyung.”

Wait, was that why he hadn’t left yet? Because he wanted to wait until September so he didn’t have to pay for August?

“He’ll make much more when he’s on tour,” Sister Daeun insisted. “This is the least he can do for you. That I can do for you, too. You’ll always be my novice, Y/N, no matter what.” Without a second’s thought, you hugged her tightly. It was solacing to know there was at least one person who saw past your sins. “Jungkook’s gone to get the money but he won’t be here until late, Bangtan is opening for another one of those rock bands in a concert tonight. He’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“I was just going into town, so if you tell me the name of the venue, I’ll stop by. He must be there doing a stage rehearsal.” You remembered the light in his eyes when he’d explained to you everything about the vocation he was so passionate about, how sweet his smile was… No. No. You shouldn’t feel anything after what he’d done. “I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible.”

That turned out to be yet another bad decision.

Once your interview was over, you rushed to the same venue you’d seen Jungkook perform Rock God and Church.

Paying no mind to the fans at the entrance who looked askance at you for jumping the line, the security guy let you in when he recognised you. Memories of the two nights you’d previously been there stormed you while getting backstage, especially how fast your heart had beat because of the racy lyrics of the songs and the way Jungkook had looked at you from the stage.

Now, it died inside your chest as you watched him make out with Amber at the end of the otherwise empty hallway.

He had her pinned against the wall, hands gripping her ass to press their bodies together and lips devouring hers as though he couldn’t get enough. Amber’s hands were wrapped around his neck, and she now grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull his head back and start kissing his neck. You saw how Jungkook smirked at the action, turned on by her dominance.

Both in their rockstar outfits, they looked like a perfect match, so you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been dating all along. If that boyfriend of hers Jungkook had told you about was none other than himself.

Forcing yourself out of your shock, you exited the venue through the back as quickly as you could, saving the cascade of tears that was already building up in your eyes until you were alone.

It wasn’t that you were going to forgive him and expected his apology to come with an offer to date him again, but even after everything he had done to you, you still loved him. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn't help it. You were so stupid that you wished he'd find you there, sat on the cold concrete, and just held you in his arms until you stopped crying.

The next day you slept through breakfast, and would’ve stayed in your cell until lunch had Father Jimin not summoned you to his office again.

Curiously, this time around he looked… sorry?

“I’ve been made aware of some information this morning,” he said from across his desk with a nod.

“About me?” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Oh, God, what now?

“I can’t answer that because it has to do with a confession, but it’s made me realise I was wrong.” He leaned in, gaze moving around as he tried to think of a way not to reveal anything disclosed in the confessional box. “I should’ve been more cautious instead of welcoming just anyone into our home. Sometimes, I fail to see beyond the surface, and it results in the harm of others. A harm I pray it’s possible to heal from.”

“I don’t understand…”

“What I mean is that you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You can go back to being a novice, or take as long as you need to resolve any doubts you might have. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.”

“But, why, Father? The things I did– You forgive me?”

“I’ve seen you regret them even if they weren’t your fault, so yes, I do.” You frowned. “I just hope you can forgive me too.”

On your way back to your cell, you walked slowly, using all your energy to figure out what Father Jimin had been talking about. When the answer popped up in your mind, you turned around and ran through the abbey. If Jungkook had done what you thought he had… Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find him, as you almost crashed together when turning to the next hallway. Had it not been because he’d grabbed your waist in time, you would’ve fallen.

When he realised it was you, he let go and stepped back. “Y/N, I wanted to talk to y–”

“Did you tell Father Jimin you raped me?”

The question took him by surprise. “He talked to you first… Wait, I thought confessional secrecy was unbreakable?”

“He didn’t tell me, I deduced it on my own.” You crossed your arms, disappointed you were right. “Why would you do that? I can’t make sense of it.”

“It was the only way to get the abbot to take you back. It’s not like he can report me to the police, and I’m leaving anyway… I told him I made you do things and that you were scared to tell anyone.” Jungkook looked everywhere but your eyes. “I’m really sorry for outing you. It was fucking childish of me and you didn’t deserve it. I was just so mad at what you said… but I know that’s no excuse.”

A part of you wanted to apologise for that and even ask him if it was too late to start over, but another reminded you of what you saw last night and stopped you, along with the one that should hold the most weight—your parents. It was a miracle you’d been given back the chance to honour their wishes, so you couldn’t ruin it again.

“I also wanted to give you this.” Jungkook handed you an old school bag. “My aunt told you what’s inside, right? She mentioned earlier you were going to come pick it up yesterday at the venue.”

“Yes, I forgot…” you lied. “I was at a job interview and got out quite late.”

“That’s okay. Did it go well?” He shouldn’t have asked, it was none of his business anymore. The interest in you had just rolled out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“It did, actually.” Both of you knew that if you went back to being a novice, you couldn’t take the job, but neither addressed it.

“Swell.” Jungkook put his hands inside his pockets, looked at you like he wanted to say much more. “I hope you have a happy life, Y/N. I really do.”

“Wait, are you saying goodbye? You’re leaving now?”

So soon?

“Yeah, poor Father Jimin thinks I’m… Well, you know. I wouldn’t want someone like me around you girls either. Plus, it’s September today, summer’s over,” he said with a forced smile. “Hoseok and Tae are waiting for me in the van. I shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Before he could leave, you walked closer and gave him a hug. It didn’t feel right even when he wrapped his arms tight around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, what with everything left unsaid, but you needed to feel his warmth one last time.

“Goodbye, Jungkook. And happy birthday.”

Two years later

“You’ll like Bangtan, they’re wicked hot,” Chloe said for the third time, rather trying to convince herself than you, as she knew rock wasn’t your type of music. “Especially Taehyung, he’s my favourite!”

The concert was supposed to start soon, so hugging yourself and rubbing your arms, you stood on your tiptoes to check if the long queue ahead was moving any faster. “Well, I’m glad they’re hot, ‘cause I’m freezing.”

She, Chloe, was a friend you’d made on the first day of university. Lots had changed.

“It won’t be long now, get the tickets ready,” she gave you something to do, to forget about the February cold.

As she’d promised, it took less than five minutes for the two of you to enter the biggest venue in town. Such was the fame of Bangtan now. You were only glad the security guy from the other times wasn’t there to recognise you, since Chloe was unaware of your past as a groupie. It wasn’t that you were keeping it from her… You just didn’t feel like talking about him.

“Come on,” she grinned while grabbing your hand, all excited, “let’s get close to the stage!”

The concert lasted what felt like an eternity.

Not only did you have to endure Rock God and Church again, which opened the wound of a relationship you still hadn’t healed from, but you also had to keep your head down so as to not be spotted by the band members.

It was going alright, though, until you made the mistake of glancing up, and saw him. And he saw you.

Minus the fact that he wasn’t a blond anymore, Jungkook looked the same as always. Not that that was a bad thing. Whether in his rockstar outfit or covered in goat milk, he took your breath away. He skipped a few notes due to the shock of seeing you in the crowd but as the professional he was, he managed to make his faltering almost unnoticeable and keep playing the guitar like nothing had happened. But he wouldn’t lose you out of sight.

You wanted to look away, leave, even, but found you couldn’t, like Jungkook had put a spell on you. A spell that only broke once Bangtan thanked their fans for coming and left the stage.

Chloe, who’d been cheering throughout the whole show, now went on about how amazing it had been, how hot Taehyung had looked. Not really listening, you automatically nodded to everything until you heard, “Let’s go to the toilets before a line forms, I really need to pee.”

“Sure.”

You held her purse while you waited outside, recalling how Father Jimin had warned you seeing Jungkook again would only make your wound sting—to which you’d agreed! The only reason you were there was because you’d promised Chloe. Chloe, who was taking so long.

With a sigh, your eyes neglected that random spot on the floor they’d been fixed on and flew around to end up on those of Jungkook, who was walking towards you. The few people in the line to use the toilets gasped and watched their idol, but he didn’t care, walked past them like they didn’t exist. You, weren’t sure what to feel when he was finally in front of you.

“Hi,” he said with a faint smile that you returned rather awkwardly, given the fact everyone was looking at you. “Can we talk… in private?”

Every cell of your body told you to decline, that Jungkook was a book you shouldn’t pick up again even to leaf through, but your head nodded on its own accord. Hope you don’t mind, Chloe.

It was upstairs to the now deserted first floor he led you, and the balcony of which you stood next by, where you could see the few people left heading out. They didn’t hold your attention for longer than a second, though.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Jungkook spoke almost shyly, yet his eyes didn’t leave your face until he forced them to, not to weird you out. How long had he been staring like that? But you looked so pretty...

“I’m here with a friend from uni, she’s a fan.”

He didn’t understand. “Wait, you ended up leaving the convent?”

“I did finish my novitiate but I never took the vows. They let me live there, though.”

It wasn’t a decision you made overnight, obviously, and one Father Jimin and Sister Daeun worked hard for many months to make you see it wouldn’t have upset your parents as much as you believed, much less get them to stop loving you. In fact, you were still coming to terms with it, not entirely free of guilt, but a mix of secular and spiritual life was proving to be exactly what you needed.

The university and the abbey, parties and Mass, your new friends and your family… You could have both and save your soul from damnation. Now, could you save your heart from breaking all over again? It felt like it already was, physically so close to Jungkook yet so far that an uncomfortable silence had fallen between you.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

You looked at him. Cut to the chase, alright… “I’m not. A-Are you?”

Was that a sigh of relief he let out through his parted lips, or did you just want it to be? “No.”

“I thought you’d be dating Amber.” Jungkook frowned slightly, so you went on and confessed, “I saw you together the night before you left. I came to pick up the money and… Well, none of that matters now.”

Horror painted Jungkook’s face. That was how you’d remembered him? Getting off with Amber?

“She’d just broken up with her boyfriend,” he wasted no time in saying. “Neither of us was thinking clearly. It was a one-time thing, an adrenaline rush after a concert.”

You hugged yourself, lips pressing together at the details you didn’t want to hear. “You don’t need to explain, we weren’t dating anymore…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry that you’ve thought all this time that I was with her,” Jungkook apologised anyway, gaze falling to the floor in shame. “Actually, I know that it doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

“Yeah, I wish it did. Count… Or better yet, I wish I’d gone with you,” you laughed, at the fact that you meant it.

“What?” Jungkook took a step closer, as though he’d misheard and wanted to make sure he got it this time. Suddenly, you realised what an idiot you were being.

“Nothing, forget it.” You turned around to leave before the lump in your throat summoned any tears, but Jungkook took your hand to stop you. He couldn’t let you go, even if he’d been the one to leave last time.

“I’m glad you didn’t come with me, Y/N, and that you got to do what you wanted. But I do wish I hadn’t ruined everything and hurt you. If I could go back, I'd punch me in the face.”

It didn’t mean you’d forgotten, but the truth was that you’d forgiven what he did a while ago. After all, “I was also a dick to you.”

“If you’re a dick, then I like dick.”

Actually, you hated him.

You hated even more that that made you laugh but it was because of Jungkook’s clownery that you first fell for him. And you’d never stopped loving him. He smiled fondly, caressing your hand. On his wrist, where there used to be a small uninked spot, now was your name’s initial. Neither had he, it seemed.

“Does this mean you want us to…?”

His eyes opened wide, feigning scandal. “What, here? I’d sooner do it in a chapel.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t keep from smiling. “How about we start with a date? Say... Friday at 5pm? I know a good roller-skating rink.”

⇢ drabble: faith

#bts au #btswritingcafe #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #bts #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #bts jungkook #rockstar jungkook #bangtan imagine #jeon jungkook scenarios

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noroi1000 · 5 months

Note

HI! I'm the one who asked if your request is open ^^

I'm just want to know how would it be if the mc/reader is the one who defected not suguru. How would both of them react. Thank you so much!

I've been reading you on AO3 and I'm so glad I found your tumblr too!

- 💫

Wild Animal

Summary: You were always their best friend. You were so tiny to them. You could fight; you were a sorcerer. But to make them smile at you again, you took their bad thoughts to make them smile. Instead of letting Suguru kill someone, you did it.

Warnings: mentions of death

You were so close to your friends. You were sometimes cute to them, sometimes funny. Sometimes pretty. Shoko has told you more than once that they like you. But how can a girl who is their friend fight for their hearts? Besides, you could never choose between them.

Even though you were starting to see that they were getting closer to you, much closer than to the others, you didn't want to do anything that would change your current life.

You were so docile to them. Even though you were strong enough with your technique to fight any of them. There's a reason why, when they were grade 1, you were grade 2. And then you were promoted to semi-grade 1. You were getting closer to them. And that was the point. When you are at the same level, you will be just like them!

You won't be weaker, and you won't be stronger.

But you were docile to them. You internally liked the feeling of them smiling at you so softly. And you were docile and sweet.

That's why Satoru said several times that you are like a cat. And Suguru confirmed it. To them, you were so docile.

Docile animals don't attack without reason, right? They won't do anything wrong, right?

After the mission with Riko, you collected their negative emotions for you.

You collected it, making them stop thinking about it.

They told you absolutely everything. Including their inner thoughts about it.

Right after everything that happened, thanks to Satoru, you understood what death is. He told you what it felt like to die. And you could have listened to him and hugged him.

Satoru understood that he was strong and that he had to protect weaker people. He is higher than others. And as someone stronger, he can keep them safe.

He understood something he had previously rejected.

But Suguru...

It was Suguru who knew the role of the sorcerer from the very beginning. That the sorcerer must protect non-sorcerers from curses.

But then... Suguru didn't know what was right or wrong anymore.

You hugged him and calmed him down. You did everything to make him forget about what happened.

You took his negative emotions for you too. You comforted him and told him not to think like that. You convinced him to smile. To live as it was before and not think about what had to happen anyway. He could fight, but someone would still lose his life.

Luckily, it wasn't him who died...

When you managed to see Satoru smile, Suguru wasn't smiling in any way.

„Why do sorcerers have to protect people?”

"Why do we have to protect them even if they are the ones creating the curses?"

„Why can't we eliminate the source of what is killing us?"

„Why can't we erase non-sorcerers?"

The questions that were swirling around in his head also started swirling in yours.

For several months, you did everything you could to convince him.

„You may hate non-sorcerers. But they cannot be completely eliminated. This is not something possible, Suguru.”

You had some important conversations with him. And he smiled at you.

He didn't have to worry as long as there was a ray of light in such a badly damaged Jujutsu society.

Even if Haibara was a clear example of this, you are still with them.

You helped him get out of his madness. You took all those bad thoughts away from him, and that's why he could only think about your funny words.

Not seeing that by taking their honest thoughts, you were destroying yourself from the inside.

If you combine the thoughts of both of them, something will come out that may be a solution for them to never think of such a thing again.

Satoru thought about how many people were dying. He was thinking about whether he should kill the cult members. He watched death, and he killed. He himself died.

After death, you can rise and become someone else.

Satoru, who understood more after death...

And Suguru... He had complete doubts about the lives of non-sorcerers.

Killing them so that only the sorcerers remain... Or forcibly turning them into sorcerers...

You took over their thoughts and started destroying yourself. You couldn't stand it... You couldn't stand what you knew.

You started to have a different view of the world.

Panic attacks that occurred at night. The fact that you were crying while sitting on your bed. You're fighting something made by humans...

People are afraid of disasters or that, at some point, artificial intelligence will eliminate them.

But they don't know that from the very beginning of their existence in the world, they have been creating something even more dangerous. Something that's around every corner and causes death...

People could change. But they are not sorcerers who can die and then rise from the grave.

You wanted to be that docile again. Let them hug you and play with them.

But you couldn't smile.

Witches and humans... It's all black...

There is no whiteness here.

Suguru and Satoru are shades of gray.

You are a black figure in the soul. You had shades of gray, but you agreed to accept all their negative thoughts. That's why you became darker.

You are as afraid of death as anyone else. But they were right.

You killed the first non-sorcerers for no reason. Simply because they cause sorcerers to have to protect them. It is because of people that sorcerers must exist. If it weren't for people, you too would be normal, and you would live a normal life. That's why... You didn't explain yourself to anyone.

Because no one would understand anyway...

Even those whose bad thoughts you turned into yours.

You could have been meek. But docile animals also sometimes attack when they have a reason.

You didn't want them to destroy themselves with what they thought.

So you will destroy yourself for them.

You can't be their girlfriend. You couldn't choose between them. You couldn't fall in love with them because it would destroy the friendship you've had for so many years.

You will destroy yourself so that they don't have to lose what they worked for. Strength, a high place in society, their friendship, and respect.

Everyone works for themselves and for only themselves.

You work for yourself, and you want them to get their dream worlds, at the cost of your life.

Because you agree with them...

What they thought was true.

Curse user?

Why you?

They were frozen when they heard this. You couldn't be a curse user! Not you! Of all the people around, you?!

The knowledge that you, their friend, who could be even closer, is a murderer and a curse user strikes knives in their hearts.

Their hearts were broken when you avoided them. They couldn't even find you. You escaped completely.

Even as special-grade sorcerers, they couldn't find you.

And tears came to their eyes every time they looked at your old photo.

They heard about the murders you committed. But they couldn't do anything.

They couldn't kill you.

But it was inevitable.

When no one could catch you, they were sent to kill a dangerous curse user.

Their docile kitty has changed.

But the sparkle in your eyes when you saw them didn't change.

You wanted to run away as soon as they stood in front of you.

You felt the sudden pressure of their energy pressing against yours.

You heard that they are much stronger now. These three years passed very quickly.

And in order to distract you from what was happening to you, they grew stronger. They trained.

To catch you in one move.

You didn't even feel like fighting. You felt like your body was ready to give up because it knew it had no chance.

Your waist was held in place by a strong forearm, and a large hand appeared over your mouth.

Your wrists were also grabbed.

You looked terrified at Suguru's hands that were holding you.

You jerked your body to try and get free.

They really didn't even move an inch.

"...Our kitty got claws. She's not so docile anymore." Satoru laughed, pulling you closer to his chest.

They can't kill you. They can't capture you and lead you to death.

Unless their superiors are suspicious, they will lie.

They will say they destroyed you on the spot.

In fact, you will just sit quietly at home. As a punishment, with no way out. So that you don't endanger them or you.

Suguru was even grateful to you for showing him what would happen to him if he followed that path. But he would never forgive himself for letting you die because of him.

Non-sorcerers are fools who deserve to die.

Sorcerers are crazy. And everyone has their own morality.

Suguru smiled, leaning slightly toward you.

"Satoru, claws can be trimmed. And a wild animal can be tamed and turned into a docile kitten."

@weebotaku21; @yihona-san06; @mikkies; @raysheil; @dreeamiea; @safaia-47; @porridgesblog; @weebnk-popper; @mc-reborn; @witchbybirth; @starlightanyaaa

#jjk x you #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #jjk x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x reader

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spicyvampire · 2 months

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Man, I cannot stop thinking about Chalothorn coming to save Tharn and listening to Tharn when he asked to not kill Montree (and u know it's serious cuz i'm using his actual name)

Like that is when Tharn understood what he had to do to break the curse isn't it? Like this is when he went from grieving having to leave and accepting it because he knew what he was going to do while he was gone and he didn't know if it was going to work but he was going to try like this is a man with determination right there, like he isn't only looking at Montee he also has a goal in mind

and I feel like talking about this process Tharn went through but also just going through the trio's "character descriptions" as in Chalothorn being a fighter (maybe not talk about Chalothorn in this specific post I want to give him a whole post for himself), Wansarut/Tharn being an healer/protector (mediator?) and Sakuna/Phaya being a fighter (somewhat a little bit of a protector Wansarut/Tharn kinda rubbed off of them akasghjsgajhad like literally) and also just talk about power levels and who would match who in a fight and how that affected Tharn's decision or something idk we will see

Disclaimer : pulling all of this completely out of my ass from watching the show but it makes sense to me, might not make sense to anybody else cuz these are just raw out-of-order thoughts

I think I'll put everything under a keep reading cuz I know We about to spend an hour on this cuz this is taking too much space in my brain and I got school assignments to do so we just gonna throw it up right now

WANSARUT

Let's start with the fact that Wansarut is a healer/protector (and a mediator of some sort maybe? idk) like from the get go you got Wansarut saving Sakuna and healing him, simply because Sakuna was still alive (ep 8)

Like they are enemies at that point??? and what if Sakuna decided to kill Wansarut when he got better? And you can see that Sakuna does not understand Wansarut's actions cuz like they are enemies! That is a big risk Wansarut took simply because he was still alive, because it's not in Wansarut's nature to just sit there and watch someone die, whether they are from the enemy side or not, and Wansarut tells Sakuna to leave as soon as he feels better too, because Sakuna is clearly in Naga territory and it's dangerous for him there, and Wansarut didn't ask anything in return until Sakuna proposed it, and what Wansarut asks is just so goddamn UUUGHHHRBSGUYAHFG [tv static noise]

I literally do not know how to describe it but like Wansarut has an entire Garuda that is the literal Garuda king's brother saying he will give Wansarut anything as a favor because Wansarut saved him and Wansarut asks for peace between their people??? That's why I was like Wansarut is kinda a mediator, also later Wansarut says this

Really showing even if Wansarut would be happy with Sakuna, this situationship they got going on, Sakuna's presence in these woods, could make the war both of their people are living worst, and Wansarut do not want to cause harm, it would go against Wansarut's healer/protector nature

Also random sidenote : the way Wansarut talks the human world and about that Naga legend of a Naga turned human that wanted to be a Monk, is such a benevolent and loving god way of talking, also the fact that Wansarut is showing this whole part of Naga culture (Naga offering and breathing fire to pay respect to Buddha, on the 15th nigh of the 11th waxing moon) to Sakuna an outsider??? a literal enemy of Wansarut's people???? mind fucking blowing if you ask me

THARN

Ok enough about boyprincess time to talk about babygirl Tharn and how Wansarut's healer/protector (mediator) nature translated to him

Let me start with the fact that Tharn almost never attacks anyone first, and is always ready to put his gun down, and literally never shoot if he doesn't have to, let's just take a look at how fast he put his gun down in ep 12 and the fact that he didn't just shoot Montee goon in the back which gave him the time to disarm Tharn

Also when he could have literally shoot Narong possessed by Chalothorn back in episode 5, the coast was clear Phaya was out of the way and Narong was attacking Phaya so he had "reasonable" reason to just shoot the guy, like hell they even made eye contact and Narong (Chalothorn) just fully ignored him cuz he knew Tharn was not gonna shoot and Tharn really just didn't shoot

And don't get me started on the fact that Tharn took that stab for Phaya i'll be here till next year like!!! All that was in his mind was protecting Phaya and if he get hurt doing it so be it, which is literally exactly what his past self did, they will protect what they love, whatever the cost

Like it almost doesn't make sense that Tharn is a cop in this lifetime because of his healer/protector nature, if they still were making him a first responder, it would have made more sense if Tharn was a paramedic or something, but because his parents were killed it and he had to get justice for them he was knocked off the typical healer/protector path slightly, but he was still doing his cop job like he was a healer/protector (which is what cops should be tbh. but that's another discussion), like i wouldn't be surprised if Tharn's other reincarnations were in the medical field in some ways (but again how do you tell this story if they aren't in the same field of work? that's another problem innit)

SAKUNA

Unfortunately I gotta stop talking about babygirl Tharn and talk about our resident bird

Sakuna is fighter first and foremost like there is no questioning that, but I think he is a level lower than Chalothorn, like Sakuna is a high ranking soldier, probably his brother's right hand man but both time Sakuna tried to fight Chalothorn he lost, first time he was hurt very badly and Wansarut had to heal him, second time cost him and Wansarut's life and that's how the cycle started

And it honestly doesn't look like he match Chalothorn's powers even in garuda form, I think the garuda that would match Chalothorn would be Sakuna's brother (ep 12), unfortunately Sakuna would never get to a level where he could win since he died, and just keep dying every reincarnation after that, and I assume he just keep dying before he reach his full powers

But anyways by the end of Sakuna's life he wasn't only a fighter, you can see he genuinely was worried and wanted to protect Wansarut and he didn't care for his brother's war all that much, he did fight but that was to prove his love

And that's kinda beautiful isn't it? that's the effect Wansarut has on people Wansarut is close to and that's honestly the most powerful talent, like more powerful than the actual magic Wansarut can do

PHAYA

Phaya bird man extraodinaire is yet again a fighter (soldier) in this life, quite literally in the investigation team, but you can see that he has leadership qualities real early on (ep 2)

He is honestly a natural leader and I'm sure Sakuna was too, but on the powers side, his garuda powers like dormant/just under the surface this whole series, the best we get are little sparkles (ep 5 + ep 12)

His best qualities : his sparkles

Sidenote : let me just mention how protective Phaya is of Tharn, guy put his whole body over Tharn when there is a blast near, he is always in front of Tharn when they are fighting, not just episode 12 but simply all the time, like both time we saw his sparkles were related to protecting Tharn in some ways, like this man has a very fighter way of being a protector

But anyways my little birdy you are doing amazing tweety and I love you, but like how is he supposed to fight this fucking thing with goddamn garuda sparkles????????????

Well the answer can only be that he was never supposed to fight it. Like let's think about this for a sec, every goddamn reincarnation before phayatharn died why do you think? well idk but I can at least say for certain Sakuna and Wansarut died because Sakuna chose to fight. Literally every goddamn time this shit has always gone down south and we can assume it is because they fought Chalothorn. Fighting was literally NEVER the answer, but they kept doing it and honestly isn't insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results???? They've tried Sakuna and Chalothorn's way and the only thing it got them, is them both killed in all their past reincarnations and Chalothorn being honestly one reincarnation kill away from turning into a Naga forever

Also like sidenote : there is no sign of Tharn's Naga form, like what we got from Tharn are some somewhat powerful sparkles but you can't seriously tell me he can fight Chalothorn literal king of Nagas with that, like the sparkles were only there to protect Phaya, Tharn/Wansarut were never meant to be fighters (ep 5), like even with Phaya and Tharn's powers combined it wouldn't work tbh

Problem is, this whole situation with Tharn's parents dying and people Tharn love dying did make Tharn forget who he was, so much suffering and hurt and grief from a young age can change a soul, Tharn was looking for justice for his parents and frankly was kinda impulsive and reckless about it, and thats why the abbott's role in this show was so goddamn important, he was here to remind Tharn of who he is (the lion king simba and mufasa style REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE), and that is a healer, a protector and a mediator first and foremost, he even said this in episode 3 and he is right Kindness is Tharn's biggest weapon (and Phaya's btw because Sakuna's soul has changed a lot over the courses of reincarnations and he is such a sweetie, that is until Chalothorn walks into the room)

FINAL

bro where was I even going with this? Idk but back to Chalothorn listening to Tharn in episode 12, I think that's when Tharn got a declic as to what the abbott meant by all of his mediation and precepts stuff, Tharn understood then that first of all Chalothorn is not only a killer, the person he has known all these years that cares about him and his wellbeing is there, he literally came to Tharn's rescue twice, in ep 11 when Tharn was falling off the cliff and with Montee in episode 12, the problem is you cannot talk calmly to Chalothorn with Phaya in the room, it's just never going to end well, you put those 2 head strong (mostly) fighters in a room and all hell break lose and people literally die

So Tharn knew he had to leave, but this time, in contrary to the end of episode 11, he had a purpose, the purpose was to change Chalothorn's mind from the inside, because Chalothorn's has show signs of caring and kindness (again he probably got that from hanging out with Tharn tbh), but Tharn didn't know if that would work, he didn't know if he was going to be able to come back to Phaya, and that's why he was saying goodbye like that

That's why it felt like, contrary to episode 11, this goodbye from Tharn had an air of acceptance of his fate, because he knew it was his time to go and fight for his and Phaya's love, but this time he was going to do it his way, and that way is with kindness, love and empathy, like the healer/protector that he is

#the sign #the sign the series #phayatharn #i have no idea if any of this makes any sense but i'm exhausted so i'm going to bed #but what im saying is this story could have never been resolved by fighters #like they would have fought each other into complete destruction of their souls it would have never worked

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ | ᴄ. ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ

GIFs by the amazing @henricavyll

Dad!Chris Evans x Wife!Reader (DiCaprio!Reader)

summary: It’s the Lightyear world premiere in L.A.—and everyone is asking where Chris’ wife, YN, and their kids are.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: fluff, more fluff, mentions of complicated pregnancy, really short mention of traumatic child labor and death of both mother and child, double the fluff, not really proofread because I’m tired

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from. But I also don’t care because it’s my first Chris piece, and I’m excited. And for age’s sake: Leo is 15-20 years older than he actually is because I kinda forgot that he is only 47 after I already finished this one xD

“I’m standing here with actor Chris Evans on this beautiful sunny afternoon. How are you, Chris?” One of the many interviewer asked, and the man grinned shortly to the camera before focusing back on the woman in front of him, holding a microphone right under his nose. She was nervous; he could see that, so he didn’t say anything about it. He understood her on a different level. “Hi, Susan. We really had luck with the weather, didn’t we? And I’m great, thanks. I mean, how could I not be great?” He grinned again and pushed his sunglasses up. “I probably would feel the same when I voiced my longtime favorite character! How did your kids react? You have two, right?”

At the mention of his two sunbeams back home, the father couldn’t help but smile softly. It may have taken a long while to find the perfect woman and the love of his life and an even longer while to create these two joys in his life, but Chris thanked the universe every single day for the honor of having them in his life.

“I have two wonderful and beautiful children, yes, and number three is on their way. My eldest, Ophelia, was over the moon when I left my study a few months back after I had just wrapped up the call with my manager and Disney and were allowed to talk about it. She, of course, eavesdropped because she just loves to do it when it contains me and my study. And she had picked up on some parts of the conversation and had bounced up and down and asked me nonstop if it’s true and I’m playing Buzz. It’s her favorite Toy Story character, so I had a bit of pressure while doing the actual work.” He showed his thumb and pointer moving very closely together and chuckled. “Who am I kiddin’, I had a lot of pressure,” he laughed, and Susan laughed with him. “I only can imagine how it is with such a harsh critique living under the same roof. How did your second child react?” Chris grinned again, and it was visible for everyone to see in this world how much he adored his two children. “My son Aiden was much more chilled. Well, it’s not science because he only objects if someone dares to steal his share of ice cream—or cuddle time with his mom. He had only shrugged after Ophelia had screamed through the living room that I was voicing Buzz, but he was kinda excited after we watched it for the first time and heard my voice. Y’know, to see your own kids become happy and have those big round eyes just like you at your first Disney movie and the birth of your first movie heroes? It’s something entirely else. And to witness this moment while they watched Lightyear? Mindblowing, really.”

His chest was swelled with pride, and everyone around gushed over the epitome of proud fatherhood Chris was in this very moment. And he didn’t mind because he could boast all day long about his kids—and wife. Speaking of which…

“This is probably the sweetest story I’ve ever heard. Thank you for sharing this very intimate insight of your family life with us, Chris,” the interviewer thanked him with a genuine smile, but Chris only waved it off. They might keep their kids out of the spotlight to grant them the childhood he had been gifted by his parents, but they never stopped talking about them when people asked. “Is it okay if I ask about your wife and why she isn’t here today? She usually is at all your premieres and vice versa. I barely can remember a time without her at your side or you at hers, to be quite honest. You two really found one another.” Chris nodded in absolute agreement. “We really did. It was unexpected and kinda bumpy—quite literally.”

The husband remembered their first encounter at one of the Oscar Afterparties vividly where the stunning woman had bumped into him—and had driven the heel of her painful stilettos into his shoe. Ever since the actor saw these shoes with other eyes. He returned back to reality. “But we pushed through the obstacles, and I am the lucky bastard she had agreed to marry. Lucky me.” He chuckled under his breath and shook his head. YN would hit him as soon as she saw this interview, and maybe she sat in front of the tv at this very moment and watched him gushing over their family. “But back to your question, Susan. YN is currently at home, maybe watching this interview and throwing a pillow to the tv because she is heavily pregnant and can’t get up without help anymore.” Chris grinned straight into the camera. “I’m sorry, love!” He almost shouted after the exposure of her struggling state he almost loved the most about her being pregnant.

He just was a sucker for his wife when she called for him to help her with the easiest of tasks and boss him around as if there was no tomorrow. But he was a happily obliging husband because, after all, her state had been his fault. Something he would always be proud of.

“She wanted to come with me, but the doctor had put her on bed rest for the time being after we experienced a tiny scare of our little one two weeks back.” The same icy cold feeling ran his back up and down, just the same he had felt during the few hours of panic and anxiety in the depths of night when their unborn child tried to greet them earlier than agreed. And gladly, as stubborn his wife could be, she kept her word and watched out for herself and the little bub instead of ignoring every warning and trying to go head first through every wall possible. His father-in-law was a great help on days like this when Chris couldn’t be at home to watch out for his love and his tiny love. “I am sorry to hear that. But now, everything is back on track and in order?” The actor nodded, relieved. “So far, yes. But it still means I have to attend these without her calming presence, and let me tell’ya: it’s freaking scary.” And then, he laughed and shook his head. “I’ve never expected to be so lost without her. I almost forgot to lace my shoes because my head was all over the place,” he let out and still couldn’t believe how his life had changed within only a few years.

“Don’t worry, Chris, I feel the same. My life without my girlfriend? God, send some help,” Susan laughed with him, and Chris smiled thankfully. “So, I suppose you will head straight back home after the screening?” And the Evans was more than relieved to nod this question yes. “Totally. I love everyone involved in this movie, and I’m beyond grateful. However, my priorities are heading home, being greeted by Dodge and maybe the kids if they’re still awake, thanking Leo for keeping an eye on these two—more like three, Dodger included—troublemakers and his daughter, and then finally greeting my wife. We probably will watch a Disney movie, eventually waking the kids with the sounds, and everything will morph into a huge Disney sleepover on the couch. And yes, that’s the description of my personal favorite night.” He had always been a more at-home type of guy after passing a certain age, but now, it was all he could ever want.

“That sounds like a night in just like mine, minus the children. Thank you again for talking to me, Chris, and congratulations on the brilliant movie and your family. I’m definitely not the only one when I’m saying that you deserve every single bit of it,” Susan closed the interview, and Chris waved a last time to the people standing behind her before heading back to the red carpet to get the final shots for the press.

;

Chris was glad that they had settled back to L.A. for the making of Lightyear to avoid stressful last-minute flights from one side of the country to the other. He could be there if something happened at home, almost within a matter of thirty minutes tops, and Leo wasn’t busy as he usually was to help him with keeping an eye on everyone. And now, he was glad because it meant he could hold his wife in his arms after only a twenty-minute drive instead of an almost six-hour flight. He could even grab her favorite ice cream flavor on the way home.

Leaving the car and wishing Daniel, his driver for today, a good night, Chris slowly followed the pathway, flanked with blooming bushes and flowers exploding in every color there was, up to the four steps leading to the porch and door. Their L.A. house reminded him of home back in Boston, and he couldn’t wait for them to move back and relish in the family time they would have after baby number three was born.

Smiling at the sounds of an excited Dodger waiting for him, Chris took two steps at a time and opened the door to get in. His fur companion wiggled with his tail at the sight of his human, and the Evans crouched down to greet him with a loving scratch behind his ears. “How is my best boy?” He asked and chuckled as Dodger impatiently nudged his hand to follow him. He wanted to, but tiny, excited voices let him stop in his tracks.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“Daddy’s home!”

Two tiny humans rounded the corner into the hallway at full speed, and the father could only let the bag with ice cream and snacks drop to the floor before he was attacked by the hugs of his five-year-old girl and an almost four-year-old boy. “What a greeting!” He laughed as he lifted both children in his arms and tickled squealing noises out of them. Ophelia grinned brightly—the grin almost too big for her pretty little face— while Aiden preferred to snuggle onto his father’s shoulder. It was late for him, and Chris was actually surprised at how long he had pushed through.

“Did you bring the biiiig Buzz? I saw him on TV! I want him! He is so cool and sooo big! And Sox??? They had a statue of him too! Did you see it, Daddy?? Can we go there tomorrow?? Please??”

Chris chuckled at the tsunami of questions he already had anticipated, but another voice slid into the conversation. “Lia, darling. Give your dad some time to arrive and at least to take off his shoes,” Leo quipped with a small grin on his face and stepped to his son-in-law to take the kids off him. “But, Poooops!” Ophelia pouted heavily, and even Aiden seemed not happy about the interruption of stories. “No but’s, darling. Come on; you said you wanted to bake a cake for your dad and the work is only halfway done. Plus, your mom said something about craving a banana smoothie. Who wants a banana smoothie?”

And suddenly, the world was back in order, and both kids screamed “Yes!” throughout the entire house.

Chris followed them after taking off his shoes and retrieving the paper bag again. He took one spoon from the kitchen on his way to the living room and already saw the head of his wife peeking up between thick couch pillows. The husband left the bag with snacks at the opening of the kitchen, only taking the ice cream bucket with him. He crouched behind the back of the couch and let his arm appear from behind in front of the woman he loved—ice cream presented like an offering to the gods.

“M’lady, I brought gifts,” Chris laughed softly at her gasp and grabby hands, kissing her cheek tenderly. “Fine sir, do you possess the ability of mind reading? We should consider burning you at the stake.” YN had turned her head and grinned up to him as he rounded the couch and plopped down next to her. She was dressed in one of his Red Sox shirts—usually, it would be way too big for her, but now with the ever-growing baby bump, it fitted perfectly—, yoga pants and fluffy socks under which she probably hid the pestering compression socks the doctor had prescribed for the next weeks. “Please, I beg you, don’t burn me! Who would tend to your needs, m’lady?” YN’s eyes wandered to Dodger, who had taken over his place at her side once more. Ever the protective fur baby, Chris thought with a smile. “I could train Dodge to go to the store. Remember this video with the dog and his little basket on the market? Where he bought fruits for his owner? It could be Dodger after a bit of persuasion.” The woman grinned brightly, the same grin Ophelia owned, and with one hand on his neck, she pulled his face closer to hers. Chris obliged and leaned down to press their lips together in a loving kiss, which still let butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“Hey,” Chris whispered, lips still touching, and YN sighed. “Hey,” she returned just as quiet as he and nudged his nose with hers. “Everything alright?” She could see the worry in his blue eyes, darkening them a bit, so she took his hand and put it on the right side of her still-growing bump, even though she was almost through with it. But each pregnancy held its own surprises, as she had experienced. “Of course,” she smiled at his joyful, boyish grin as he felt one of the many kicks of their third bundle of joy. Number three may be an accident because, after Aiden’s birth, they had agreed on waiting a couple more years to grant them the attention they both deserved, but everything would be okay. And she couldn’t imagine a life without bub three.

Chris bent his head down to the spot where he suspected his baby’s head and pressed a kiss on top of his… YN’s shirt. “Hey, love. Here is your daddy speaking. I hope you didn’t give your mom a hard time today, and I damn sure hope you will continue to be a good girl in a few hours when she tries to sleep—unlike the last three nights. ‘Thought we had a deal.” YN chuckled while her fingers carded through Chris’ fluffy hair but groaned at a particularly hard kick. “Love,” they both warned in unison before YN settled back into the cushions and continued to caress her husband’s hair and scalp. “A girl, huh?” She softly smiled at the man who had swept her off her feet so suddenly, she still wondered how she didn’t brake her neck in the wake of his adorable flirting endeavors she oh so happily had returned. Chris leaned his cheek against her bump, wanting to be as close as possible to his baby and wife, and her knuckles tenderly stroked over his bearded cheek. He had a boyish smile tucking at his lips. “S’just a feelin’,” he mumbled, Boston accent very prominent—just as always when he felt contentment and happiness, mostly when he was at home with his family. YN grinned down at him while slowly rubbing the spot where the tiny bub had kicked again. “You can admit that you want another girl. Nobody would be surprised, y’know? The whole internet sees you as a girl-dad,” YN winked, and Chris’ rumbling laugh almost shook her body as well. “Do they, yeah?” She nodded and tipped the tip of his nose with the pad of her finger. “Yes, they do, and we both know that you know this as well. Don’t try to fool lil’ ol’ me, Mr. Evans. I’m aware of your stalking tendencies when it comes to your fans and this family.”

Chris grinned sheepishly before sitting up and pressing another kiss to her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Evans,” he whispered before commotion erupted in the kitchen and tiny feet came rushing over. “Mommy! Mommy, look! I made banana shake!” Aiden proudly presented the filled glass, and both parents were sure there would be a dripping trail of shake from the kitchen to the couch. But her father already followed with a kitchen towel in hand. “We made the banana shake,” Ophelia stressed and gave her mom the reusable straw she had carried while Aiden gave her the glass. The mother almost teared up and blinked rapidly to hide the tears. “You two are too good to me,” she sniffled before taking the first sip and hummed in utter approval. “Perfection. Maybe you should think about opening a shake shop.” Ophelia giggled while Aiden squeezed himself between Dodger and his mother. With another human, Dodger wouldn’t have any of that, but with his family, he only made space and put his head in his tiny human’s lap to get the cuddles he loved.

Meanwhile, Ophelia climbed into the spot between her mom and dad and cuddled into Chris’ side, grabbing the ice cream out of her mother’s hands and starting to steal a few spoons full of sugary delight. He had thought about getting up to change into something more comfortable, but he decided that this was much better. He could outlive a few hours without his sweatpants. Leo returned after bringing the kitchen towel into the laundry room and bent down to press a kiss to the top of his youngest daughter’s head. “I would head over if you don’t need anything else, darling,” he said, and YN looked up to him with all the love she held for this man. “Of course. Thanks again for coming over and handling everything.” She really had lucked out in the family department, even before finding Chris and creating her own perfect family with the perfect man that was her husband. The DiCaprio smiled down at her and kissed her forehead. “That’s nothing to thank me for.” And with that, he kissed his grandkids goodbye before patting his son-in-law’s shoulder. “There is a cake in the oven, but the timer is set.” Chris nodded, and after peeling a grumpy Ophelia off his side, he stood up and brought Leo to the door.

There, the older man turned again. “Before I go… I wanted to thank you, Chris, for making her so happy. You know what happened to her mother, and though it was a long time ago, it had always cast a shadow over her.” Chris knew what Leo was referring to; YN had told him about the traumatic labor her mother went through, only that she died and the baby with her. It had taken its toll on Leo, too, and the whole family had needed years to recover from it. It still amazed Chris how she had handled every pregnancy and every birth, although she knew what could go wrong. “But with you, she finally is… I can’t even describe it. Not to mention that you took her fear. So… Thank you.” Both men hugged each other closely, patted their backs reaffirmingly. “It’s an honor to love her and have her in my life because you raised one of the best women on earth. You deserve every thank I could offer you,” Chris mumbled before they let go of one another. Leonardo waved it off, but in reality, it was the proudest achievement in his life. YN and her sister were his pride and joy, just as Ophelia, Aiden, and the little one were Chris’ pride and joy. “Have a good night, Chris, and give me a call if it’s happening, yeah?” Chris nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, of course.“

Returning into the living room in his favorite sweatpants and Red Sox shirt—one of the few he actually was allowed to wear and which wasn’t claimed by his darling wife—Chris sat back next to Ophelia and out his arm on the back of the couch to softly caress YN’s neck and shoulder. “The kids decided that we’re watching Wall-E,” she let him know while his eldest already held onto the remote and scrolled through Disney+. “Daddy?” He hummed in question at Aiden’s voice. “Lia and I want see biiiiig Sox,” he told the family, and YN softly shrugged at Chris’ questioning look in her direction. “If they’re still there, why not? You two have to take a lot of pictures for me, ‘kay?” Aiden nodded with a serious expression. “Otay!” YN carded through her son’s mop of blonde hair—Chris’ genes definitely outrun hers—and changed another look with her husband, both obviously thinking the same. “You know, after your brother or sister is born, maybe we could check out Disney World and if they already have a Buzz and Sox there.” Both parents knew what mentioning Disney World would do to their kids, but they didn’t mind the explosion of tiny voices. Instead, Chris settled back right next to his wife, hand again on her bump, while they watched their children playing in the living room—Dodger was Sox, Ophelia played Izzy, and Aiden was Buzz himself.”

YN laughed softly and leaned her head onto Chris’ shoulder. “We really have a Disney obsessed family.” Chris grinned in total contentment and kissed her head. “We have, and I don’t want it any other way.”

;

I don’t know where all these words came from, but I kinda couldn’t stop writing. Even though it’s kinda shitty, I hope y’all enjoyed it! As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x wife!reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagine #chris evans fluff #chris evans one shot #chris evans oneshot #chris evans blurb #dad!chris evans #dad chris evans #husband!chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans imagines

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steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

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The top of your blog says you're still taking requests,no pressure though of course: Eddie lives through the events of s4 and heals in the hospital, his name is cleared, Eddie spends his time with his uncle and his friends, plays games. He notices that Steve sort of remains on the back burner, shows up to little gatherings but keeps himself at a distance, busies himself with small tasks. Keeps the focus on Eddie, and is content to sort of stare at everyone, and not join in. Eddie gets worried and asks Robin whats up with Steve, why does he keep just standing in the corner or the kitchen smiling instead of joining in, I think he's bumming the kids out, Robin. And she has to calmly, and frightfully, remind him that Steve died over spring break. What are you talking about he's right there! I'd love a Ghost Steve who doesn't want to move on, wants to stay with his family. Doesn't want to be alone. Eddie is the only one who can see him at first(?)

OKAY SO THIS WAS SAD AS SHIT AND I LOVE THIS PREMISE. I especially love it because I have read A LOT of ghost Eddie fics, some where he was actually dead and some where it was a weird Upside Down thing and he was alive. I'm a big believer in happy endings so I went full speed ahead with the latter option for Steve. But since you requested ghost Steve not wanting to move on, I had to switch it up a bit to where Eddie couldn't just let it go. Still plenty of sad, but I had to make it hopeful and happy at the end because I am me. - Mickala ❤️

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While Eddie was in the hospital, it felt like he was in a bubble. His uncle was the only one allowed to visit for the first week, and then the kids were able to come by when his name was cleared.

They weren’t themselves, a cloud of sadness around them, but that was to be expected with everything that had happened.

Dustin, especially, clung to him more than he expected.

He figured it would be rough, he did almost die, after all, but this was on another level.

Dustin was with him every day for hours, sometimes had to be dragged out by his mom who understood, but only in the way a person who doesn’t know about the Upside Down could.

Robin came by sometimes, a haunted look on her face, none of her usual energy anywhere to be seen.

He managed to get her to crack a small smile twice.

When he left the hospital, things somehow felt worse.

The government had provided him and Wayne a new trailer, nowhere near the trailer park, even managed to get Wayne a new truck since Eddie’s van had been destroyed and Wayne’s truck was on its last leg for the last year.

His name was cleared, but that didn’t mean people changed their mind about him.

He mostly stayed at home, didn’t even attempt to go to the store with Wayne or anywhere but Dustin’s house or the Byers’.

The kids started begging for normalcy in whatever ways they could: meeting up for movie night, bringing Hellfire back, dinner at the Byers’ house.

Eddie was on board with it, wanted to put everything in the past just as much as they did.

He went to movie night, at Robin’s house while her parents were out of town instead of at Steve’s.

Steve, who hadn’t visited him once while he was in the hospital, hadn’t made it to any hangouts with the kids, apparently was coping with everything by ignoring everyone.

Eddie would have to do something about it soon because the kids were clearly missing him.

Movie night was okay, but he decided to have the next one at his house.

He told Dustin to let everyone know, didn’t think he had to be specific about everyone.

Steve didn’t show up on time, which was unusual since he was usually Dustin and Lucas’ ride. They rode with Nancy and Mike.

Everyone settled in, Eddie started the movie and passed out popcorn, waved goodbye to Wayne on his way out the door to his night shift.

Everything felt okay, but without Steve, it didn’t feel right.

Eddie could admit to himself he had a crush on him. He had one on him in high school, but that was easy to ignore when he was an asshole.

Now, he knew Steve was a good guy, protected these kids and Robin and Nancy with his life and didn’t hesitate even when he should.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore, he realized that while he was in the hospital. It was full blown feelings. Love.

Eddie sat in Wayne’s recliner in the corner, keeping an eye on everyone through the movie. He glanced over to the kitchen and saw movement, but didn’t think anything of it.

They paused the movie halfway through for bathroom breaks and refills on snacks and drinks, and Eddie followed all the kids into the kitchen to get his own beer.

He was startled when he turned the corner and saw Steve smiling at him from the corner.

He didn’t want to say anything, figured the kids had already said hello and he was just letting them get their stuff first.

But it was kind of weird that he’d come in the backdoor of a trailer he’d never visited when he easily could have come in the front door. Eddie watched as Steve leaned against the wall of the kitchen, watching everyone move around without saying anything.

It was weird, especially because the smile seemed to transform from a genuine one to a sad one quickly.

He didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t know how much Steve let the kids see usually, so he turned to grab his own snack from the counter.

Robin was standing there, staring at him, eyebrows pinched together.

“What were you looking at?”

“Uh,” Eddie glanced back over and saw Steve frowning now. “Steve? Looking like a kicked puppy in the corner?”

Robin’s face went from confused to worried in a millisecond.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Steve.” Eddie gestured towards where Steve was still standing, but now he looked panicked, like he wanted to interrupt. “Please feel free to make me not look insane, Steve.”

Robin glanced over to the corner, then back at Eddie, tears in her eyes.

“Eddie,” she said, voice sad, like she was about to break the worst news in the world to him. Then, she did. “Steve died. Remember? We had to leave him.”

That can’t be right. He could’ve sworn Steve was there when he was being pushed through the gate, when he gained just enough consciousness to look around and take inventory of the people around him. Steve was there.

“When did he die? He was at the…with the bats…he was at the trailer…right?”

Eddie looked back in the corner and saw Steve looking down at the floor.

And then Robin was pulling him into a hug.

“Nobody told you. They were supposed to tell you. And we-” she let out a sob. “We just haven’t talked about it. It’s hard to. Last time we tried, Dustin had to be given anxiety meds. I’m sorry, Eddie. He’s gone.”

She was crying through the explanation, almost too much for him to understand what she was saying.

But he watched as Steve wiped at his eyes in the corner.

Like he was crying. Like he was there.

He knew Robin wasn’t lying, she would never lie about something like this, and it would explain a lot of the behavior of everyone and Steve’s absence up until this point.

“Robbie, I-” Eddie didn’t know if it would help or hurt her to know he could see Steve right now. He made a decision based on the way Steve was watching them now, his eyes wide and sad, like he would be crying if he could. “I can see him right now.”

Robin pulled away, looked at him, then over at the corner.

“Right now? He’s there right now?”

Eddie nodded.

“Can you hear him say anything?”

“No, he hasn’t said anything. I don’t think he can.”

Steve was still just staring at them, and Eddie knew he was stuck.

If he was truly dead, he wasn’t moving on the way people do. If he wasn’t dead, then something super weird was happening and he would have to get help from everyone.

But he didn’t want to involve the kids, not for this. Because if Steve was dead, like they thought, and they went through the trouble of trying to find him, they’d be hurting all over again.

But if he wasn’t.

“Robin, were you sure he was dead? No pulse or breathing, no movement?”

Robin’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I guess as sure as we could be with how rushed and emotional we were? Nancy couldn’t find a heartbeat and he wasn’t moving, and we waited as long as we could, but he didn’t wake up. Do you think he isn’t dead?”

Steve was watching them, his fingers tapping against his arms that were crossed over his chest.

“How long can someone survive down there?”

“Eddie, look. I already talked to Hopper about it. He said even if somehow Steve managed to survive his injuries, they were bad enough that he would have probably been found by something and attacked. And even if he survived that, he’s been down there without food and water and clean oxygen for a month. The fact that Will survived a week was a miracle.”

He didn’t push. He could hear it in Robin’s voice that she’d already thought of every possible outcome, probably even tried to plan a rescue mission at some point.

She couldn’t take the disappointment either.

Eddie dropped it for now, but he watched as Steve watched him.

He just had a feeling that this was more complicated than Steve being dead.

—-----------------------

He let himself mourn that night.

While he didn’t feel like Steve was dead, he knew that no matter what, Steve had been missing from all their lives for a month.

He cried for hours, he cried for Steve, for Dustin, for Robin, for Max, for everyone who Steve loved so much that he died for them.

Himself included.

Because that’s what it came down to: Steve died protecting them.

They all took a risk, but Steve paid the price.

It wasn’t fair. The guy who put everyone first was the first one gone.

Eddie finally fell asleep, but it was restless. He kept getting flashes of Steve in his dreams, his face bloody, his body bloody, his screams loud.

Which was weird for a lot of reasons, one of them being that he didn’t know what injuries Steve even had when he died. The ghost he saw in his kitchen earlier had just been Steve, not bloodied or broken or scared.

When he managed to get up, he went through the motions of his day: brush his teeth, shower, eat breakfast, do his stretches, play guitar, eat lunch, clean up, talk to Wayne.

But by dinner, he felt like he had to do something. He had to figure out why he felt this buzzing energy around him.

He waited until Wayne left to get their dinner at the diner and bring it home, then he called Robin.

“Robin, is there a gate open somewhere?”

“Seriously, Eddie.”

“I just need to know! Maybe you’re right, in fact, you probably are. But what if you aren’t? What if he’s stuck down there? What if he’s too hurt to find a way back here?”

Robin was silent, but Eddie didn’t let that deter him.

“I know you guys were pretty sure. And I know you wouldn’t have left if you didn’t believe he was dead. But you said yourself you were emotional and overwhelmed and feeling rushed because of everything happening. It’s not that far of a stretch to believe that he could be alive.”

“Eddie.”

Her voice was broken.

She didn’t want to believe him.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay.”

“I know it’s hard. It’ll get easier, I hope. His parents just sold the house, and his car, so. He’s gone. We have to accept that.”

“Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay.

He hung up with Robin, promised he would try to get some sleep, take care of himself. It was a lie.

He ate dinner with Wayne, pretended he was doing alright, pretended he didn’t still hear the echoes of Steve’s screams in his head.

Wayne left early for work, claimed he was picking up some overtime due to them being short staffed still after the quake. He said he wouldn’t be home until nine the next morning.

Eddie nodded and pretended to head to his room for the night.

He did a lot of pretending until he was alone.

Then, he got on the phone with El.

El had gotten attached to him while Max was in a coma, stopping by to talk to him after she’d spent an hour or so with Max. She saw him as a cool older brother, especially when she realized Hopper wasn’t his biggest fan.

“I need to know if there’s a gate open.”

“Eddie, I do not know if I can help with that,” El responded slowly, carefully.

“What if I say it’s for a really good reason?”

“I am sure it is, but I promised Dad I would not open one.”

“But what if there’s one already open?”

“There is not. I would feel it.”

Eddie sighed. He didn’t want to make El break a promise, but this was worth it.

He knew Hopper would forgive her and him if he was right.

“Has Will mentioned feeling anything weird?”

Sometimes Will felt things that even El couldn’t, usually things happening only in the Upside Down. Everyone’s running theory was that it was because of the time he spent down there.

“No, he just feels the usual.”

“What’s the usual?”

“It is just there. Sometimes it is more there than other times.”

“And right now? It isn’t more than other times?”

“I think it is just always more than other times since Vecna.”

Hm. That could be something.

“Why does it feel like more sometimes?”

“It is hard to say. Sometimes it is nothing, sometimes it is because something is moving and trying to get out.”

“Is it always a creature?”

“It always was before.”

“El, I think Steve’s alive.”

There, he said it. He said it to someone who could probably actually help him, who would would help him if she believed him.

“Why do you think that? They said he was not breathing.”

“I know, but, look. Robin even said that they were being rushed and were crying and could have missed something.”

“But it has been a month.”

“I saw him. In the kitchen.” He hated saying this to one of the kids. They all loved Steve so much and if he was wrong, he really didn’t want this to hurt her. “At movie night. He was there, but only I could see him. Robin said maybe it was a ghost, but it seemed too real.”

“It was Steve?”

“Even if he’s de-,” Eddie stopped. “Gone. If his body is where it was left, it should be put to rest here. And if it isn’t, and he’s alive, then we can save him.”

“But we will get caught.”

“Not if we do it tonight. Hopper works nights this week, right?”

“Yes.”

“So he won’t be home to know you’re gone. Will is over at Dustin’s. Jonathan is so high, he won’t notice you’re gone. Joyce will be asleep by ten. You can sneak out.”

“What if you get hurt? I cannot go down there.”

That was a valid concern.

They defeated Vecna, and the Mindflayer hadn’t been a problem since, but that didn’t mean the other creatures weren’t still prowling around down there.

Out of all of them, he had the least experience with them, and she had every right to be worried.

“I can handle it. I’ll bring Steve’s bat.”

—------------------------

He met El in the woods behind the cabin they were staying in. Hopper had redone it, adding two bedrooms and a bathroom so they could all fit more comfortably.

They silently hugged and kept walking further, away from any chance of being seen or heard.

El warned him that opening the gate was risky in other ways too. She had a lot of control over her powers, but sometimes using this much strength would leave her too tired to close it again, and they couldn’t leave a gate open for longer than it took for Eddie to get in, check for Steve, and get out.

They also ran the risk of her using a little too much power and making a gate that was too big for her to close at all.

But these were risks Eddie deemed worth it, and with some convincing, El did too.

They found a small clearing, big enough to make a gate that Eddie could fit through.

He didn’t let himself stop to think about the last time he was being pushed through a gate, how he was bleeding out and barely breathing. He only thought about how Steve was down there, dead or alive, and didn’t deserve to be.

“Are you ready?” El asked him, her hands digging into the earth below her.

“Ready.”

“Two hours. If you are not back in two hours, I call Hopper.”

That was the deal. That was the only way she agreed to do this.

He knew if it came down to him being gone for more than two hours, he’d probably be grateful to see Hopper.

“Got it.”

El nodded and closed her eyes.

The ground started shaking, Eddie held back the panic, and suddenly El was staring up at him, blood dripping from her nose, smiling.

The ground had opened between them, just big enough for Eddie to slip through, small enough for El to cover with sticks and leaves if someone came looking before their time was up.

“You will come back in two hours.”

“Sure thing, supergirl. With Steve, hopefully.”

“With Steve,” she added with a small smile.

Eddie didn’t think anymore.

He dropped himself down, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when everything turned upside down on him.

He didn’t let himself hesitate, even though he wanted to.

He had a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time, and if Steve was alive, he could be anywhere.

But he walked towards where Robin and Nancy had left him. It would at least confirm if he was dead, his body hopefully would still be there if so.

It was only two miles, but Eddie was never a very fast runner. The first mile went surprisingly well, much faster than he expected to be able to do it. But during mile two, he felt his legs shaking.

He was still technically healing, the physical therapy stretches he did every morning further proof that he still had a long way to go before he was completely recovered.

But he pushed through it, knowing that the way back would be worse and he couldn’t waste time now.

But when he got to the area between the Creel house and the trailer park, he saw no sign of Steve, or anything for that matter.

There weren’t even vines or dead creatures around.

He tried to remain calm.

Steve had been alive when they left him here.

He may not be now, but he had been.

That felt worse.

He pushed that aside and decided to run to the trailer park.

Steve wouldn’t have gone in the direction of the Creel house, and he wouldn’t have wandered aimlessly no matter how much blood he’d lost.

He would have gone to the place he knew they would be in hopes the gate was still open.

The trailer park had always been kind of eerie, even in broad daylight, so the Upside Down version was downright horrific.

Eddie ran directly to his old trailer, hoped that somehow Steve found shelter here.

It looked worse than what he remembered, blood on the floor from when they were half dragging, half carrying him after being a meal for the bats.

The door had been kicked in at some point, and he wasn’t sure how or when that could have happened after they left.

He almost didn’t want to know unless-

He could hear movement in the back bedroom. His bedroom.

It could be anything. Wind blowing through a broken window, a creature he wasn’t entirely prepared to kill, Steve.

God, he hoped it was Steve.

He slowly walked towards the bedroom, his hands shaking where they were holding on tight to the bat.

The door was open a few inches, and he could hear the movement more clearly.

It sounded like someone was in bed, shifting in the sheets.

Holy shit.

He pushed the door open.

Holy shit.

“Steve!”

Eddie dropped the bat and ran to the bed, only stopping himself from jumping onto it when he saw the blood.

There was a lot, though most of it looked old, like maybe Steve had crawled here and then couldn’t quite find his way back out.

Steve was pale. It was dark, and hard to make out a lot of details, but he could see that he was deathly pale.

“Steve?”

“Eddie?”

“Holy shit, Jesus Christ, Steve. Where are you bleeding from?”

“Um, I think my leg? And my stomach.”

His voice was raspy, sort of nasally like he was coming down with a cold. Could you catch a cold from being down here? Probably.

Eddie’s hands hovered over the sheets, ready to move them so he could try to help, when Steve suddenly turned on his side and threw up.

“Shit. Hold on, let me help you sit up.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Steve was crying, and Eddie didn’t know what to do.

He took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to apologize, Stevie. I’m sorry you’ve been stuck here. Can I check your heartbeat?”

Eddie needed to see if it was ridiculously fast or slow, needed to determine how quickly he had to move them out of here, if he could take a few extra minutes to try to patch him up or if he just had to put him on his back and run.

Steve held his wrist towards him and Eddie quickly found his pulse.

He counted like a kind nurse showed him while he was in the hospital, filed away for future emergencies so he could be useful.

“It’s a little fast, but I think that’s normal for the situation. Let’s get you up and we can go.”

“Go how?”

“You can hop on my back.”

“I-”

“Steve, it’s not up for debate. You’re coming back with me and I don’t care if it means I break my back.”

Steve nodded once, his eyes closing as if he was just too exhausted to fight.

Eddie was sure he was.

Even if he managed to sleep here, it couldn’t have been well. It’s hard to rest when you know scary monsters are just outside the door.

“Tired,” Steve said, almost like he could read Eddie’s mind.

Hell, maybe he could after spending so much time down here.

Something to test later.

He checked his clock. Still had almost an hour and a half to get back to the gate.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink lately?”

“Found some water four days ago I think? Maybe five. Managed to stretch it until yesterday. Food’s been gone for days.”

How was he not passed out?

“How much of this blood is yours?”

“All of it.”

Awesome.

Eddie felt his forehead. He had a fever.

Even more awesome.

He probably had infections, which can be treated if you get them taken care of quickly, but he could have had them for weeks by now.

Cool.

“Alright, on three, wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’m gonna lift, and I just need you to try to keep leaning forward while I get you on my back.”

“Mkay.”

“And you cannot close your eyes. You hear me, Steve?”

Steve didn’t answer.

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk to me.”

“Mhm. Eyes stay open.”

“And mouth keeps moving. Alright,” Eddie helped him out a bit by placing his arms around his neck. “One…two…three.”

He lifted, and huffed out a sharp breath when his ribs started aching almost immediately.

“Okay?” Steve whispered against his neck.

“I’m okay. You?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie let himself take one calming breath, just enough to get himself back on track. “Talk to me.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, love, but I need to know you haven’t passed out,” Eddie said sympathetically.

“Wanna hold your hand.”

God, okay. He could handle that.

He could.

“Okay, one hand for a minute. I need them both to hold you up though.”

He moved one hand up to his chest, where Steve’s hands were sort of dangling. He let his thumb run along the side of Steve’s hands, then Steve grabbed it and squeezed, surprising strength behind it.

“Is Dustin okay?”

Jesus Christ, this guy was half dead and still asking if others were okay.

“Yeah, he’s doing okay. Misses you, though.”

“Miss him.”

“Max is gonna be mad you came back from the dead in a more impressive way than her.”

“She can win.”

Eddie let out a laugh and tugged his hand back to adjust Steve on his back.

They had barely made it out of the trailer park and Eddie’s legs were shaking. He could do it though, he had no choice.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“A month.”

“Robin?”

“She’s hurting. She thought I was crazy. Didn’t wanna come because she didn’t wanna see you like she left you.”

“Not dead though.”

“Nope, not unless dead people can talk down here.”

Steve’s breath was hot against his neck, tickling him and sending chills down his back.

“You?”

“What about me?”

“Hurt?”

Steve’s voice was getting more strained, like he was doing his best to still talk but it was causing a lot of pain for him to do so.

“I was really hurt, yeah.”

“Still?”

“Not as much. Just a little.”

“Love me?”

Eddie knew he was losing it. The pain, the dehydration and hunger, the deliriousness. Steve didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

“What?”

“You love me?”

“Um.”

Steve squeezed his legs around Eddie’s hips.

“Came back. Love me.”

When it was put like that, yeah, Eddie guessed it seemed kind of obvious.

“Just a little.”

He could sense the eyeroll Steve wanted to give, but didn’t quite have the energy.

“I saw you. In my kitchen. Were you there?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you dream about it?”

“Just you. Kids. Robin. Missed you.”

“We all missed you.”

Eddie was making more progress, his determination to get Steve medical attention far outweighing any weakness or pain he was feeling.

“Ow.”

“What hurts, sweetheart?”

“Stomach.”

“Bites?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie could feel where the blood was soaking through his shirt, but he knew it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t at least make it through the gate before bandaging it up. He’d made it this long with them out, another 30 minutes wouldn’t kill him.

Hopefully.

Steve was quiet again, but he was breathing against Eddie’s neck steadily, so he didn’t push.

“Man, you won’t believe the place they gave me and Wayne. It’s got two bedrooms. And we have a whole kitchen instead of just a small counter area with a stove and fridge. Maybe you can cook us dinner when you’re better, you know, as a thanks for rescuing you.”

“Not a good cook.”

“I don’t believe that. Robin said you made her chicken parmesan from scratch for her birthday.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so chicken parmesan, my kitchen, soon.”

“Soon.”

They were close, creeping into the edge of the woods, and Eddie was trying not to panic at Steve’s silence.

“Stevie, just a few more minutes. Tell me about the first thing you wanna do when you’re back.”

“Mmm.” Steve’s head rolled back and forth like he was trying to focus. “Kiss you.”

“That can be arranged. What else?”

“Hug Dustin. Love him.”

“Yeah, he could use that.”

“Hug Robin. Love her.”

“She could use that, too.”

“Hug you, love you.”

He wouldn’t hold Steve to this, he wouldn’t. But it would hurt so much when Steve forgot about this whole conversation.

He bit his lip and nodded.

“Yeah, I could use that.”

Steve’s lips were pressed against his neck, most likely accidental, but Eddie let himself pretend for a moment it was a kiss.

When he reached the gate, he whistled to get El’s attention.

“Oh! Eddie, is that…”

“He’s alive. Really hurt and needs water and food. I need to get him through.”

El was prepared with everything and it only took a couple of minutes for them to get through the gate, Steve whimpering slightly as they moved him around.

“You were right.”

El seemed surprised, like she had only done this to give Eddie closure. She hadn’t expected Steve to be alive.

“He loves me,” Steve said.

El looked at Eddie, then at Steve, then back to Eddie.

“You love him?”

“I do. And I’ll love him a lot more if he stays alive. We have to get him to the hospital.”

“I can call Hopper?”

“Tell him to meet us at the cabin with an ambulance.”

“Jus’ need sleep.”

Eddie looked at Steve, mouth open in disbelief.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Sleep.”

“I’m not arguing with you. You can barely form a sentence. You’re going to the hospital.”

“You come?”

“I won’t leave your side.”

Eddie put him on his back again so he could walk towards the cabin, hopeful that Hopper wouldn’t ask a lot of questions until they got Steve taken care of.

“He is on his way!” El yelled from the porch, Joyce coming up behind her, hair a mess from being asleep.

When she saw Steve, her eyes widened and she nearly tripped running down the stairs.

“Oh God, Steve! Honey, are you okay? Of course not, you can’t even walk. You’re bleeding!”

“Mrs. Byers, can you get him some water maybe please?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

She was running back up the stairs, mumbling to herself the whole way.

El giggled as she watched.

Eddie loved her.

He could hear sirens in the distance, and he hoped he would be able to ride with Steve.

He shouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

Steve’s eyes were closed, but Eddie kept his fingers on his pulse, making sure he didn’t have any changes while the sirens got closer.

Hopper’s patrol car arrived first, barely in park before Hopper was jumping out and running to where Eddie was cradling Steve.

Joyce came out with the water and handed it to Eddie.

“Dammit, why would you go down there alone? You know the rules.”

Eddie ignored him, just focused on getting some water past Steve’s lips.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just a few sips.”

Steve’s lips moved, then he swallowed some of the water.

“There ya go. Good job.”

Hopper was watching in silence now, Joyce with her arm around him.

Eddie knew they were wondering how the hell they would ever get over leaving Steve behind.

The ambulance pulled up next, EMTs rushing out and asking Eddie question after question.

He had to keep it simple: found him in the woods, must’ve been out there since the quake with the injuries and level of dehydration. They took him at his word.

When they loaded Steve up, they let Eddie in only because Hopper insisted.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

And he was.

Eddie kept his eyes on Steve the whole time, but he could see the lights of Hopper’s police car in the window next to him.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open a few times as they hooked him up to oxygen and an IV, kept checking his vitals.

Eddie smiled at him each time, made sure he knew he was there and he loved him.

—---------------------------

It was two days before Steve woke up again.

The wounds weren’t bad, but they were infected, which was why they kept randomly bleeding despite not being very deep.

The infection was actually the worst of it, but it had potential to be life threatening if they couldn’t get it under control.

They pumped him full of pain relievers and antibiotics, fluids and nutrients.

Eddie sat by his bed the whole time.

None of the kids were allowed in yet, doctor’s and Hopper’s orders, but he heard Dustin in the hall multiple times a day giving it his best shot.

Robin hadn’t come by yet. Eddie knew she felt guilty, immensely so. She left her best friend down there, suffering, and didn’t even think to double check when it was safe to do so.

Eddie didn’t blame her, and he knew Steve wouldn’t either, but Robin would.

But when Steve’s eyes finally opened, bloodshot and glassy from his IV concoction, he smiled at Eddie.

“Love me?”

“Just a little.”

He fell back asleep a few minutes later, holding Eddie’s hand like a lifeline.

—------------------------

It took another four days before the doctors said he could be around others. His infection symptoms had gotten better and they believed the worst was over.

Eddie called Robin and told her to bring Dustin, no arguing. Steve was asking for them.

It wasn’t a lie, but he may have exaggerated it slightly just to get them here.

And when they did show up, everyone cried.

Robin collapsed next to the bed while Dustin folded himself against Steve the moment he was given permission to.

Eddie just watched from his chair, took in the way Steve comforted them despite the fact he was still in the hospital after spending a month alone in the Upside Down.

That was just who Steve was.

It probably wasn’t healthy, but it’s why Eddie loved him. Just a little.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #the party #temporary character death #ficlet #request #angst #happy ending

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