#I'm not sure if this is a result of me getting back into Bones
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I Swear That's Not My Dead Body: Part One of Seven: Bakugo x Fem! Kirishima! Reader
I recently asked @aikugo on Tumblr what their favorite AUs are and one of their answers was Office au! I personally also love crime-solving and quirkless AUs, so I blended them all together into this mess! And to make sure I didn't abandon this poor fic I created an outline (although whether that will motivate me we shall soon see 👀)
Y/n Kirishima stood outside her new boss's door, hesitating to knock. Should she? At her last job, she wouldn't have done that, but she wasn't sure how "hero agencies" worked. She had gotten this job because of her prior training as a nurse, meaning she worked well enough in high-adrenaline situations. A hero agency worked alongside police and emergency medical services to help the victims of violent crimes and natural disasters.
Y/n decided to knock. "Hello? Mr," Y/n paused to look at the name on the door. "Mr. Yagi? Are you in there?"
A tall man in a black suit with bright blonde hair and blue eyes opened the door. He looked about forty but acted like he was still in his early twenties. "Hello! Yes, I'm Mr. Yagi, but I'd much prefer it if you called me Toshinori! I might be your boss, but I'm still your equal!"
Wow. This guy was as energetic as Ejirou. A second man, lean and shaggy-haired wearing jeans and an unbuttoned blazer walked out of Toshinori's office. "I'm Taishiro," He offered, grinning and taking a bite out of candy of some kind. He was also blonde and had brown eyes that shone so bright they almost looked yellow.
"Oh, nice to meet you Taishiro! I'm Y/n Kirishima, the new hire," Y/n said, smiling at the man but shaking her head no when he offered her some candy.
Taishiro waved a man who looked maybe two years older than Y/n over from the desk where he sat. "Tamaki! Come meet the new hire!"
How many people in this office had names that started with T? Y/n was relieved when she saw Tamaki. He had dark blue eyes and black hair that was dyed indigo on the tips. He wore slacks, a collared shirt, and a red tie. Tamaki smiled when he saw Taishiro and Toshinori. "Tamaki has been with us since he got out of medical school! He's a real prodigy, and graduated top of his class. He's calmer and has a more slow-demeanor, which you might enjoy since most of the rest of us are pretty fast."
Y/n chuckled softly at the blush spreading across Tamaki's cheeks. "Can I be shown to my desk? I'd like to get settled in before my first job."
Taishiro nodded and pointed to a desk in front of an angry-looking blonde man. "You'll be next to Katsuki. Be careful around him. He didn't get the nickname Pomeranian for his soft and caring attitude."
"This might be an even better job than I first thought," Y/n said, carrying her small box of items to her desk. The only pictures she had were of her and her brother or her brother and Mina, his girlfriend who they'd grown up with and who had become like a sister to Y/n.
Y/n and Mina had become so close Y/n had told her brother that if they ever broke up she'd marry Mina just to keep her in the family. Although Y/n doubted that would ever happen. Just last week she'd gone with her brother to pick out the engagement ring he wanted to give her on Sunday.
Y/n put her pens away and turned to her new deskmate of sorts. "Hello, I'm Y/n Kirishima. I just got this job last week and I was hoping to make some friends so-"
"I know who you are. You moved into the apartment beside mine. I'm 1-A, you're 1-B. I also know your brother. He and his girlfriend live in 2-A right above me."
It might be easier to make friends here than Y/n thought. "If you're coming over to my apartment it better be because I asked you over. I'm having wine and pasta tonight. Do you want to come? It'd probably be us, Tamaki, Eijirou, and Mina."
"Sure!" And thus began a beautiful friendship. Well, if you call neighbors and co-workers eating pasta together and cussing at tv characters on Friday nights a beautiful friendship. Which Mina Ashido certainly does.
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Y/n was talking on the phone with Mina two months after moving into her new apartment. "Yes, I've already chosen hand towels. Yes, Mina, of course, they're the same! I'm not spending money on new towels when I have old towels that work just as well! Hang on, someone's at the door. It's probably Kats."
Y/n could hear Mina snickering on the other end of the phone. She walked to her apartment door to see - as she'd thought - her neighbor Katsuki Bakugo standing in front of her. "Hey, Y/n. I need some help at my apartment."
Y/n had heard that she didn't know how many times. It was a ploy Bakugo used to get her to come over and eat with him when he didn't want to eat alone or had made too much food by accident. Since he often used his mother's recipes, which were designed for three to five people, he had leftovers almost every night. "Sure, Kats."
Y/n was about to hang up when Bakugo motioned for her to stay on the line. She was about to ask why when she noticed what was lying on Bakugo's floor. "Katsuki Bakugo! Is that an effing body? What the hell?"
Bakugo shrugged. "I don't know how it got here. I came home and she was just lying on my floor. Since there are maggots eating her I'm guessing she's dead."
Y/n made a disgusted noise. "Yep. She's dead. How did you not smell her? Yuck."
Alright. Chapter One/the prologue is finished. Next to come: Chapter Two, probably by the end of the month. (But don't hold me to that 😅)
#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki#kirishima! reader x bakugo#Quirkless au#crime solving au#I'm not sure if this is a result of me getting back into Bones#Or just insanity#I think it might be insanity
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you never thought this day might come, sat down with the Radio Demon's head in your lap, his gaze lazy and half-lidded as he allows you, generously, so generously, to touch the pronged antlers that extend from the top of his head. His lips pass soft white noise as you run a finger from the base to the tip of his antlers, the vibration that you can feel beneath the hard exterior somewhere between the hum of a domestic appliance and the throb, throb, throb of a heartbeat
You can feel Alastor's shoulders tense up whenever you put too much pressure on them, his calm breathing briefly interrupted every time you push his sensitivity past his tolerance. Each time you find yourself being too exploratory, you correct yourself back to the safety of gentle strokes, letting your fingertips soak in the unique texture. They are somewhere between the firm smoothness of exposed bone, like his teeth when they drag across the topmost layer of your skin, leaving perfect streaks too shallow to bleed, too pronounced to refute their creator, and the spongy give of delicate flesh. You know the trust he's imparted to you to be given this kind of access; not only does he so limit incoming touch, but resents any reminder of his reincarnation as a prey animal.
"I'm surprised you're okay with this," you murmur to him, so unwilling to compromise the sanctity of this moment.
"Only because it is you," Alastor assures you, his tone just as hushed.
You continue, relishing in this opportunity. You explore every hook and divot of the black extensions, marveling at the current of demonic energy that pulses through them. It was your impression that they only grew when Alastor was angry, but not quite: any overwhelming passion, be it joy, theoretically speaking, or fear, or sadness, and they will billow out. You wonder if you can elicit such a response. Your opening gambit is strong: you lean into his ear, whispering "If anyone else were to do this, you'd tear them apart, wouldn't you?"
"For even less than this, dearest. I'd assumed that was obvious."
"But not me?"
"But not you."
"Maybe I want you to tear me apart, love."
The first sign; you feel a shift through the skeletal system they're connected to, a tremor of recognition, of sudden awoken desire.
"I'm sure you just aren't aware of what you're asking for."
"No, I'm all too aware. You want something deeper, too, don't you? It can't be enough just to meet in such a temporary union, only to separate. I want you to bring a little piece of me along with you, knowing you've claimed more than just one part of me, but any you desire."
He shudders, deeper this time, and you feel growth. Sharp edges and deeper curves sprout like curling ivy where there had once been certain ends, like a blossoming tree bursting into life. Your loving strokes down the length of his antlers grow deeper, more pronounced, almost incessant.
"What game are you playing at?" Alastor pants, his breathing hitching every time you push against them with any kind of firmness.
"I love seeing what you do."
His body has seized, but doesn't do anything else. You can feel the efforts of the sinew across his back against your lap. Best of all are his facial expressions; his initial contentment has evolved, firstly into surprised, the edges of his bladed grin peeking out from his thin lips, his eyes squinted and playful. Now it's become a look of desire, his mouth open slightly, droning a steady song with no melody but a captivating refrain, nonetheless. His eyes plead with you; so uncharacteristic, for him to be putty in your hands. To think you could hold the high ground in any situation, much less as a result of this.
"Don't toy with me," he warns, but his voice doesn't sound assured. It sounds needy, like a request for more.
"I would never, love."
"Then end this teasing," he begs.
You do as he asks, taking your hands away from his antlers. With some strain, he manages to get his breathing back under control, his antlers receding like the retreating tide, back to their typical size. "Did you enjoy yourself?" you wonder, after he's calmed himself.
He looks at you with mischief etched in his features. "Not as much as I'm sure I will soon enough."
~~~
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Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)
Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader
Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf, fantasy
Rating: 18+/nsfw
Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)
Summary:
At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.
Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling
Author's Note:
It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all.
I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages.
I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones.
Enjoy!
To read more, click here for the masterlist.
“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”
The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”
The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.
“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.
It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked.
“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”
His words have affection swirling in your chest.
This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.
And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.
“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.
He likes that answer.
You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.
So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head. So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.
He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.
It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.
“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.
His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.
Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”
Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.
Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?
You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”
He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”
Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”
Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.
But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.
His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.
Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.
Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.
Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.
Or so you had thought.
He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.
You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.
Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.
He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.
There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.
It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.
Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the canopy of trees.
The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.
You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.
Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.
You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.
He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.
He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions. Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.
Or so he had said.
That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.
You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.
You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.
Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.
You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.
Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.
Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.
“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”
The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.
“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”
Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:
“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”
The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.
A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.
You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.
When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.
The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.
White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.
“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”
That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.
You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.
The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”
“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“
Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.
“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”
His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”
The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”
With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.
His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”
The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.
Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.
There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.
Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.
It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?
Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?
Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.
The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.
You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.
But to do that, you had to leave him.
So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.
You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.
It read:
The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,
The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,
The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,
Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,
Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,
Warmth that no rain could fall with,
The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,
The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,
The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,
Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,
Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,
Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.
Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.
Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,
Wait for me, and I will be yours.
You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.
You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.
You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.
You will always have me.
You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.
All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.
I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.
The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.
You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.
Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.
Always.
-Your Alpha
The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering, you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.
Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.
That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.
It still wasn’t enough.
You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.
Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.
Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.
Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.
You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.
Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.
Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.
You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.
Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.
When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.
Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”
You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.
Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.
He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.
You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.
You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.
“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.
“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.
It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.
And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.
“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.
You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.
His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.
Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.
Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.
Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.
With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”
“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…
You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t.
You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.
It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.
“You are blaming yourself for this.”
It is not a question. It’s a statement.
You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.
Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.
Your mate will not have any of that.
He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”
Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.
Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.
This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.
There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:
“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”
The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.
And yet, he does.
For you.
Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.
“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”
You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.
Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left, the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.
Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?
“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”
The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.
“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.
You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.
His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.
It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.
“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.
The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.
The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.
You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.
Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”
He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.
Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.
“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”
You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.
You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.
Not that he would let you, though.
His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega. An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.
Or so the tradition had held.
“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”
With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do. You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.
Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.
“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”
You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.
It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…
“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.
His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”
You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.
“What are you doing, my love?”
It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.
The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.
I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.
You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.
You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.
You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.
When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.
The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.
“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.
I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.
You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.
With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.
Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.
The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.
Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?
Yes, alpha. You have.
You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.
He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.
You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.
His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.
When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.
Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.
The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.
The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.
Keep going, my love. Tell me more.
He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.
The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.
Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.
The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.
His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.
You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.
I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?
You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.
With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.
W-what else ails you, alpha?
More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.
I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.
˙
That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.
You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.
You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.
What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?
There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.
You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.
You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.
I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.
The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.
Forgive me, alpha.
It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.
He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.
Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.
I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.
The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.
You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.
Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”
Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.
I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.
There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.
Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?
The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”
As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.
You had to stay strong. And you could not panic. Doing so would only stress him further.
But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.
You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.
The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.
All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.
You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”
Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.
“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.
He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.
You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.
You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.
“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”
He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.
His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.
So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.
You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.
Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.
It was the perfect length for his arm.
Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.
“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”
You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.
You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.
Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.
You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.
This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.
Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.
When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.
He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.
However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.
Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.
It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.
It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.
Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.
You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.
Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.
The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.
The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.
You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!
Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.
I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.
Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.
The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.
You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.
I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.
You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.
With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.
Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.
As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.
The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.
Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.
The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.
With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.
It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.
He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.
When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.
With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.
The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.
His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.
The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.
He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.
You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.
“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“
You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.
“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.
You’re already answering before he’s even finished. “I’m all yours, alpha.”
The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.
From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.
When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.
You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does.
Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.
He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.
More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.
“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.
You taste sweeter than sweet.
His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.
You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.
When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.
He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him.
Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines, remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture.
The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature.
You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh.
How he had fucking ruined you.
His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him.
“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down, “I…I-“
The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you.
“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.”
He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck.
With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.
“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.
Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”
The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”
“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.
One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You, the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”
His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.
“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“
He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.
There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.
And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.
But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.
When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”
You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.
Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”
You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.
He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.
“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”
He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”
You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.
You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.
As if it were nothing but an old war scar.
At first, you think you might be seeing things.
You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.
It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.
Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.
There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.
Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”
“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”
Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”
Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.
When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”
#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts writing#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#bts scenarios#bts#jungkook bts#bts smut#jungkook smut#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#alpha!jungkook#alpha!jungkook x reader#dom!jungkook#sub!reader
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imagining a situation where for whatever reason you absolutely need to be sat on the ghoul’s lap (like, due to lack of space/seating or something) and he gets the sick idea to bounce his knee once after you’re sat on him for a bit. y’know, trying to make it seem unintentional/like a muscle jerk or something.
but fully knowing exactly what it may do to you, and wanting to see…he’s beyond thrilled when it immediately elicits an involuntary moan😏
Close Quarters
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader
Word Count: 2,429
Warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, very sweaty fucking around, mild choking, slight dubcon if you squint.
Notes: Anon, you're just like me (I am also embarrassingly into knee and thigh riding)! Thank you for the excellent submission.
Apologies for the delay in getting this out! I'm so relieved to be back at home, finally, as I wasn't able to be as productive when traveling as I'd hoped. Please enjoy.
You were going to tear Cooper a new one the second the two of you got out of here.
It had been his idea, after all, to veer off the road in your latest trek to nose around this place, which hadn't seemed all that interesting to you. Your business partner had been quite unrelenting, as in all things, despite your inability to see anything of immediate value in the area; some hulking old rusty machinery you couldn't identify, train tracks partially buried in the sand. Boxes of blasting supplies, long emptied. It appeared to be an abandoned mining facility upon first glance, but was difficult to tell, as you had barely had a chance to actually look around before things had suddenly gotten crazy.
It was his fault the two of you were stuck here now.
The old man was absolutely insistent that he'd glimpsed a deathclaw (which you'd read had a special propensity towards mines and quarries, and had told him as much just the night before) just over the nearby hill; you hadn't been looking in the proper direction to confirm when he'd grabbed you by the arm and yanked you into this...storage closet? Frankly, you weren't even sure it was large enough to pass as that, more like a coat closet with a single wooden box on the floor. The two of you were crammed as physically close as possible without touching, mostly due to the great efforts you were taking to balance yourself against the wall as carefully as you could. It was incredibly claustrophobic.
It was also unbearably hot, but apparently only for you; as you cast another unamused glance at him, the third in maybe twice as many minutes, you couldn't help but notice how his only annoyance seemed to be boredom. His eyes lazily scanned back and forth between the small holes in the wall like he was watching out for mole rats. You, on the other hand, were convinced you were about five minutes away from sweating yourself to death, your knees aching worse than they did most nights after miles and miles of walking, the pain setting deep into your bones. It was making you squirmy, your thighs and quadriceps flexing and relaxing as you tried your best to hover above your companion's leg, his body crowded so close behind yours. You'd been traveling together for months now, and he was much more comfortable with you than he ever had been, but you still wanted to respect his space...
...a courtesy which he didn't always afford you.
Something about Cooper Howard that you hadn't been anticipating when you started to grow closer was just how much of a filthy tease the man was. Despite his rather rough exterior, the old cowboy could be very charming, a side of him you saw more and more as your travels went on, and, as a result, you'd developed quite the embarrassing little crush on him. An additional heat crept up the nape of your neck as you thought on it, adding to the untenable swelter around you.
Once you'd propositioned him for sex. Once! How were you supposed to know that people on the surface didn't generally approach their casual hook ups that way? He'd laughed until you thought he'd be sick, your face red as a Nuka Cola sign the entire time.
You thought that had been that, and it was all you'd needed to assume that he simply wasn't attracted to you in that way. It stung some, but whatever, life goes on. So you'd soldiered on, trying to keep your head low the next few days to avoid making him uncomfortable, desperate to not lose his companionship due to an awkward misunderstanding, but that's when the teasing began in earnest. He took very apparent glee in crowding you in, getting into your face or into your ear, murmuring in that soft tone that made you crazy and turned your cheeks pink, only to almost immediately pull away, his demeanor as if nothing had even happened.
Whether he did this because there was any real intent behind it or simply because he enjoyed embarrassing you and making you squirm, you hadn't the faintest idea. You chastised him when he did it, but ultimately you couldn't really conceal the way the attention from him still made your heart race and your panties damp. Heck, the way the ferals seemed to be able to pick up on your scent from a mile out, you wouldn't be shocked to learn he could smell when you were aroused. Just another small humiliation to throw on the pile.
The damn space was already small in total dimension, made even worse by the fact that a shelf up top cut off a lot of the total height, forcing Cooper to stoop and bend awkwardly, the desire to stay silent keeping him hunched over you for several minutes before he slowly, slowly slid down onto the box, eventually reclining somewhat, bending his neck to and fro to peek out the various rust spots and bullet holes in the metallic siding. Your Pip-Boy didn't register any nearby movement, but that didn't always inspire confidence in situations like this.
This whole thing was miserable, but being torn limb from limb by a deathclaw would be worse, so you continued your infinite wall-lean, trying hard to remain silent as you wiped the sweat from your brow for the millionth time. Behind you, he seemed to relax a little further, his knee sliding slightly along the inside of your thigh. A shiver broke up your spine.
Eventually, your trembling, aching legs fully gave out, forcing you to allow your full weight to straddle the knee that was poking out from between your knees, pressing down directly at the apex your thighs. You tried your best to rest towards one foot or the other to keep your weight off of his thigh, but his hands quickly found your hips and stilled your movement.
The pressure from sitting this way had already begun to make your slit swell, increasing in sensitivity as the time continued to pass, but it was ignorable. Then, slowly but surely, and to your absolute horror, Cooper's leg began to jiggle, the slight movement rocking you back and forth ever so slightly until your clit began to ache. Now, you'd never seen him fidget before, but you'd also never seen the man have to cram himself into a shoe box, so you gave him some mild benefit of the doubt.
But the jiggling quickly became a problem, the heat between your legs quickly equaling the heat in the room, leaving you breathing with noticeable volume. You buried your face into your chest as best as you could to try and hide the sound of your labored huffing, but the man behind you was quick to let you know that you were failing.
"Keep it quiet, kid." he chastised you in a hushed voice, but his hands stayed glued to your hips, balancing you right back onto his thigh, shifting your weight right to where you were trying to avoid placing it. You cleared your throat as another wave of heat swam through your gut, your companion continuing to move his leg up and down as the wind and sand hissed against the walls. Increasingly, you were nervous to look at him, afraid he would call you out for deriving some sort of sick pleasure from his innocent movements, accuse you of endangering both of your lives for some fleeting sexual gratification.
However, that moment never came, only more rocking and more huffing. Eventually, you began to slip further down towards his knee, struggling to fully support your weight any longer. His thigh jerked upwards, bouncing you several inches backwards and pressing hard into your swollen bud, drawing out a high pitched yelp that made you sound like a wounded animal. If you didn't know better, you'd have thought you felt him grin against the sweaty back of your neck.
"Hush." he said, tone thinner this time, but his hands began busily working your body as he slid you up and down. Two fingers worked their way into one of your belt loops, pushing and pulling you fully; the other traced teasingly along the damp, exposed skin of your belly at your belt line, and the feeling made you moan in earnest shock.
The leather of his gloves was shockingly soft against your damp skin as he suddenly let it jump up just above your breasts, the heel of his hand brushing at your cleavage as it slipped higher and higher, firmly clasping at your throat. You were still able to breathe, since he wasn't really choking you, but the grip he maintained below your jaw meant that he basically had full control of your body, pulling you back quickly and easily until you were snug against his chest, his cracked lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.
"If you can't keep that mouth shut, I'll find another use for it." he whispered, continuing to tug at your belt loops and your sanity. Your throbbing pussy clenched around nothing at his dirty talk, so much realer than ever before. You knew now that his teasing came from a genuine place, at least; you could very clearly feel the shape of his hardening cock against your ass.
You were tempted to test his claim, to whine out again fully and see what he would slip into your mouth. But instead you clamped your lips between your teeth so hard that you wondered if the chapped flesh would bleed, finally giving in and letting your hips cant ever so slightly against his leg as he continued to bounce his knee, the motion becoming quite exaggerated as the minutes continued to tick by.
The idea of any looming danger outside was quickly becoming lost among the static, the pretense of accidental squirming rapidly melting away; your brain felt runny, loose, and it was difficult to you to keep a logical train of thought for long, but it did occur to you that the two of you were basically fooling around in a closet. If you'd been coherent at all, you'd have wondered how he would react towards you when this whole awful, delicious thing was over, or even how it would end, but coherence was long lost to you as you barreled towards something amazing.
"Please, I...you have to stop..." you whispered desperately, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you felt the incredibly tense muscles in your abdomen start to flutter. If he didn't know what he'd been doing, he knew now, and his leg didn't stop for a single second, not even a falter in his movements as you began unashamedly moving your hips as far back and forth as you could reach, the firm muscle of him stimulating you so perfectly. A frantic little whimper escaped your lips, which your left hand jumped to cover, your teeth sinking into your palm you danced right up to the edge, your empty cunt gripping feverishly at nothing.
"Coop. Please." you begged, but you were unsure if you were begging him to stop or to let you finish.
He granted you the latter, both hands sliding right back down to your hips, pressing your weight hard down into him as you both worked your body back and forth, once, twice, and a final time as your head fell slack against his shoulder, his lips at the side of your throat as you came completely apart in his lap, limbs twitching, teeth pulling a tear in your dry lower lip as you bit down on it hard to hide your moans. Vaguely, you were aware of the feeling of him rocking his erection against your backside, his breathing almost as heavy as yours.
"Good girl." you swore you heard him mumble, but chalked it up to your overstimulated, spinning brain simply making you hear what you wanted to hear.
For maybe a minute, you allowed yourself the indulgence of resting against him, struggling to slow your heaving breaths. Slowly, you leaned forward once more, curling yourself into a half-ball with your head as far between your knees as you could manage until you no longer felt light headed. At some point, your companion regained his composure, his tone not strained or breathy in the slightest when he spoke to you again.
"Well," he said, suddenly back at his regular volume and causing you to jump slightly, "I think we can get out of here."
You twisted back to look at him, but before you could lock eyes, he was already lifting you by your hips to force you to stand on your shaky legs, pulling himself up to a crouch as he tugged the door open. You flinched, stumbling a bit as you attempted to conceal yourself behind the wall, but you peered back out when he confidently strode out past you, bending and turning at the waist as his spine let out a series of loud cracks and pops. Behind him, you struggled to stand fully upright, attempting to fix the fit of your clothing from where it had been tugged on.
"C'mon, let's go." he called over his shoulder, not turning to look at you fully as he trekked forward towards the hill you'd spent what felt like ages fearing as if it were nothing but another pile of dirt to be crossed.
"Shouldn't we try to go the long way around outta here? What if they're still over there, just not close enough to pick up on?" you called, concerned once more now that the flow of blood had generally returned to your brain. Everywhere around you, you felt imaginary danger, ready for anything to jump out from anywhere, as nothing had actually changed the whole time you'd been hidden away.
That got him to stop and turn to look back at you, an incredibly impish look playing across his face.
"I get the feeling it'll be alright." he winked before resuming his climb up the fairly steep incline, sand rolling down in little rivulets behind his retreating feet.
You lagged behind a bit, watching him go through narrowed eyes. Turning your gaze towards the setting sun, you mused to yourself that soon, the two of you would need to stop for the night. The roads through here were too dangerous to travel at night.
He would have some turnabout coming his way, you knew that for certain. Your days of being teased were about to be done.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv show#fallout prime#submission
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Hii, I saw your post saying you want requests for Aventurine, but your pinned says you don't accept requests atm.. I'm just gonna send this one in and if you don't want it you can ignore it ofc :33
Scenario with Aventurine where he (or someone else) handcuffs him to the reader so they have to stay close for a few days but the reader (lightheartedly) hates every second of it?
chained to love.
૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! aventurine + reader reader is gender-neutral friends to lovers aventurine being a piece of shit (lovingly) im ignoring the penacony quest for tis ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 1293 — catalogue
“This has to be the worst day of my life,” you deadpanned, staring or more like glaring at the offending item; a pair of handcuffs.
It just so happens that Aventurine and you were sent on a mission to collect debt from someone in Penacony. One thing led to another and both of you got into some trouble, only to end up with a handcuff wrapped around your wrists. Speaking of the infamous gambler, he merely lets out a heartful laugh and pats you on your back, ignoring the scowl of disdain thrown his way. He was unfazed with his situation, which makes you wonder if he had foreseen this beforehand.
“Now don’t say that! With me by your side, I’m sure your life will be much more interesting!” He chirps.
You merely let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a headache coming your way.
~
“(Name).”
Silence.
“(Name), wake up,” Aventurine’s soft voice woke you up from your much-needed beauty sleep.
Groaning, you reluctantly opened your eyes and the first thing you saw was his face unusually close to yours. Heck, you could even count the number of eyelashes due to your proximity. The sudden closeness was enough to fully wake you up. You jumped, only to end up roughly knocking your forehead against his. Both of you yelped in pain, clutching your heads and Aventurine lightly chuckled as he rubbed the now sore spot.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up but I need to use the toilet so…” His voice trailed off, hoping you could read between the lines.
Your eyes widened comically. “No.”
“Well, it’s not like you have a say in this so, let’s go!” He laughed, easily dragging you off the bed and what happens afterwards is something you will take to your grave.
~
You were so used to doing everything alone with peace and quiet engulfed around you that having Aventurine lending you a helping hand was something you couldn’t get used to. What would have taken you many hours to complete certain tasks resulting in you finishing them within the span of an hour or so. Initially, you were surprised with the amount of knowledge the man possesses but then again, there was a reason why he was handpicked by Diamond; due to his charismatic personality and the way he handles matters.
“Hello? Earth to (Name)? Are you still there?”
You blinked, returning to reality when Aventurine waved his gloved hand in front of your face. One quick sweep around your surroundings indicates that you were in your office, with your desk filled with nonstop towering piles of papers that required your attention. Sighing, you leaned back in your seat and used your free hand to rub the space between your eyes.
“I’m done, there’s no way I can finish all these,” you complained, tiredly gesturing at the papers standing before you.
You were oblivious to how his features softened when he heard your complaint. Your body froze when you felt his hand gently caressing your head and you didn’t dare to look up, not wanting to ruin the moment.
“It’s fine, I’ll help you out. Trust me, we can finish them by today,” he murmurs, sounding extremely confident in his words.
The next few hours passed in a blink of an eye and true enough, you had completed your dreadful paperwork. Thrilled, you didn’t think twice and gave Aventurine a bone-crushing hug, letting out a relief laugh as you did so.
“Thank you so much! Now I can finally take a break!” You exclaimed, unaware of how he went stiff in your grip and how his ears flushed red.
~
When he was there to help you with your workload, you would have to repay the favor by being dragged to attend events with him. Both of you managed to conceal the handcuffs from the public’s view by wearing long sleeves, not wanting baseless rumors to spread. Due to how close you stuck to him, people mistook you as his plus one. And you hated how you didn’t mind the thought of it.
“...is this person? I’ve never seen them before.”
You parted your lips, ready to introduce yourself but Aventurine was faster. He smoothly slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until you were snugly pressed against his side. His sudden action elicited a startled look from you but he ignored you, choosing to focus on the stranger and gave them his signature charismatic smile.
“This is my lover; (Name) and we’ve recently got together,” he lied through his teeth. If it weren’t for how long you had known him, your cover would have been exposed on the spot.
“Oh, that’s great news! Wishing the both of you luck on your relationship and hopefully we’ll be receiving a wedding invitation soon!” They teased, earning laughter from all of you.
Once the event was over and you retreated to the privacy of your room, you turned to face him. “Aventurine, what was that for? Why did you tell them that I’m your partner?”
“Hm? Does it matter that much to you?” He hums, struggling to remove his coat and you end up helping him out, gently tugging down the other end with your free hand.
“...What if I say yes? What would you do?” You muttered under your breath but your voice was audible enough for him to pick up.
“I would be pleased, because that’s what I was hoping you would say,” he fully turns to face you, giving you a small but genuine smile.
Both of you held eye contact but you were the first one to break it, feeling shy out of a sudden. Aventurine chuckles, reaching out to cup your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him once again. It was then you realized he had long removed his glasses, revealing his eyes to you. You had always found his eyes mesmerizing, longing for the times when you could stare at them forever.
Your gaze, filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability, locked with Aventurine's intense stare. You could feel the heat of his gaze, a tangible force that drew you closer with each passing heartbeat. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own yearning; a shared longing that resonated deep within your soul.
Aventurine's expression softened, a rare vulnerability shining through the mask he often wore. In the depths of his gaze, you glimpsed a depth of emotion you had never seen before; a raw, unfiltered longing that mirrored your own. With a subtle shift in your positions, you leaned in closer, drawn inexorably towards each other as if by some invisible force. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with the promise of what was to come.
And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity, their lips finally met in a tender, passionate kiss. The kiss was sweet and short; similar to a promise for a long and fulfilling future with one another. You rested your foreheads against one another and you were the first to break the silence.
“So, does this mean we really are lovers now?” You murmured.
“I guess to,” his eyes twinkled in evident happiness at how you returned his feelings.
Clink!
You glanced down, surprised to see the handcuff now on the floor. Your eyes averted back to Aventurine, only to see him holding a key in his hand. It didn’t take you long to pierce the dots together and you shot him a glare.
“Seriously? You had the key on you the entire time and you chose not to use it!?”
“Haha! I wanted to see you suffer- wait, darling, what are you doing?”
“I’m giving you three seconds to run.”
#୨୧ magazine articles#honkai star rail#star rail imagines#star rail x reader#aventurine imagines#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine x y/n#aventurine fluff
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accidents happen. accidents particularly happen around children.
we make scissors designed for children because we know they can hurt themselves on it. we cut their food up smaller so they are less likely to choke. we "babyproof" our houses, make sure our medications are all closed and locked, close all the outlets.
we are told to just carry a gun.
at some point a kid is going to get hurt. everyone with or around kids knows this. often adults (who shouldn't work with kids) are a little-too-okay-with-this. they sneer that in their time, kids just got hurt. which is great for them, but i don't feel it's particularly necessary to willfully allow children to break bones just to "build character". the kids do just fine when i do my job right. i make sure, to the best of my ability, that they don't break the bone. it turns out you can still learn life lessons without trauma. yes, at some point they'll get hurt. that's the nature of it. but i like to try to keep it to a minimum of bloodshed.
about five years ago, in the middle of my summer training, the cop that came in to prepare us for mass shootings actually happened to be the same cop that used to be my DARE officer. what a small world! his hair had gone grey.
before working with children, i had no idea how many things a child can hurt themselves on. i had never thought about the possibility that a child could climb a bookshelf, only for that bookshelf to topple over. everything has to be screwed down. nothing can have particularly sharp corners - what if a child falls backwards onto it? - or be particularly breakable. no plastic bags or choking hazards. watch out for allergens, do your best to clean your super-gross classroom with all-natural (and expensive) fragrance-free products. there's a million other considerations, most of which are difficult on a public school budget. i hate the calculation - either the kids get a new playground 5 years from now OR they get new books now and just risk the tetanus.
the gun is not included in the paycheck.
we do our best, you know? but like, there's the rest of the actual job to do. we're neither trained, paid, or aided in our one-person quest to somehow get jason to stop giving himself splinters. and besides, we have the 98 other things to consider for our 30 other students. one of which is, you know, teaching them.
the children aren't prisoners. we need to walk this incredibly fine line of "chaotic exploration" and "reckless endangerment." to be frank - they're gonna do stupid shit and get hurt while they do the stupid shit. it's my job to at least try to predict the stupid shit, and minimize the risk. and before you judge the kids - i'm going to remind you that adults die every year from shaking vending machines. people just do stupid shit.
did you know that the leading cause of childhood deaths in america is to guns? we're the only country in the world with that statistic. it used to be motor vehicles, which is why there are so many laws about seatbelts, air bags, babyseats, and other protections against accidents. 1 in 5 childhood deaths will be a result of guns. of these deaths, 65% are the result of an intentional attack.
my brother often takes me to archery. i fucking suck at archery, because i have no aim, bad eyesight, and no grip strength. it's fun, though! as a teacher, archery at my school is super banned, because kids could get hurt. no throwing rocks or sticks. no impromptu self-made bows or arrows, oh my god, why do we keep having to have this conversation.
i remember this one conversation with a parent. he was chatting with me during pick-up and mentioned that kinder eggs being banned is so stupid, because, like, if a kid is gonna choke - they kind of "deserved it" for being so stupid. without thinking, my response was, "we don't typically practice darwinism at school, but you can encourage that at home if you wish!" which did result in me getting written up - for "talking back", i guess.
but his idea isn't unusual, is the thing. there's this sense that there's somehow almost an "expendable" child trauma rate. that it weeds out the weak or whatever, which is categorically cruel & dehumanizing. children should be able to mess up and have fun and - again - do stupid shit. they might get hurt, yes. but the job of the adult is to just go help the kid.
i had to quit teaching. i was really, really good at my job - 15 years of practice. but i would wake up at night, coating in sweat. trying to figure out how to bullet-proof my public school classroom with a public school budget.
bad things happen. in every other category: we try to prevent them.
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Before I Leave You (Pt.64)
(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)
Summary: “Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.” “Shut up Jimin you are not going to die.”
Tags: Angst, Blood, graphic depictions of violence, dead bodies, Gore, Maiming, violent acts described perpetrated by loved ones, near death experiences, near death experiences, No one dies, Jimin does not die, Hurt with just a little comfort, implied sexual content,
W/c: 8.6k
A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual after such a long wait. i've been going through a rough patch™ which is why recently the updates have been 3 weeks apart instead of just 2 like usual. When i tell you the end of this chapter has a fucking twist to it that i love, you're not prepared!
Previous part - Masterlist - First part
“I shot Minnie.”
It takes you a breath for the words to sink in. Standing in the bathroom in the half-grey darkness golden hallway light streaming in through the open door. It’s strange how inside of your body you feel at that moment.
That frantic fever urgency of your pulse, your breath, your everything when traumatic things are about to happen and when they’re happening.
For a moment you’re keenly aware of every molecule of your body. The tacky-sweet feeling of slick drying between your thighs, the cold smoothness of the slate tile beneath your feet, the too-long press of your fingernails as you grip the bathroom countertop to keep from falling to the tile floor. Everything in feverish detail.
you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the light from Yoongi’s phone screen illuminates your face in blue. You look at the mirror, then down at your hands.
Minnie, a gun.
A bullet, Jin.
Your brain is whirling. Putting two and two together is like putting together a recipe. Only now you have the result and have to backtrack. How did you get here? Jin keeps talking, word vomiting down the line, and you miss a few sentences while you’re trying to put it together.
Butter, cream, sugar.
You, Jin, Jimin.
Jimin.
You think you might vomit tiramisu all over the bathroom floor.
You close your eyes, thinking hard while Jin talks. His words run over themselves with worry. “I discharged my weapon if we go to the hospital- they’ll- they’ll know and I don’t know if I can cover this up with just lies-”
“Is he dead?” Your voice is lethal in its quiet, so quiet that you think it might not go through the phone. Jin doesn’t hear it- too preoccupied with his own terror.
You close your eyes, quietly begging anything or anyone who might be listening. If god is going to take so much from him- the least she can do is give jimin this. One simple measly miracle is all you're asking for.
“Jin- tell me right the fuck now- Is Jimin dead?”
“Pup.” Jin sounds like he’s just been strangled. Like all the wind has just been knocked out of him. “Put Yoongi on the line.”
“No.” You're shaking, your heartbeat in your ears louder than your lofty hopes. Hand digging into the counter so hard that you feel it in your bones. “No, not until you tell me right now- is Minnie-”
“Hey pup.” Jimin’s voice is a quiet croak. You sag against the countertop and slide to the floor. It’s barely a weak whisper on the other side of the line. You’re glad it’s not a video call. You’re not sure you could handle seeing him if he sounds so raw. “Minnie- Minnie are you? does Jin?”
Does Jin know?
Jin must have taken back the phone because- “I need you to go get Yoongi. Now. We can’t be here any longer than necessary.” there's the muffled sound of shuffling, of hair grating against the speaker. "We're vulnerable here, I don't know if more people will come."
You move, leaving the bathroom and thundering up the steep stairs to the bedroom. There's the distant sound of Hoseok in the kitchen probably putting away the tiramisu. You head for the nest, rushing, falling to your knees in front of it, phone pinned between your shoulder and your ear.
“Yoongi isn’t here. He’s with Jungkook and Tae and Namjoon.”
“Hang up then and I’ll call Namjoon.” You peel back the nest skirt to get under it, where Jimin keeps his gun cases. They're there in the shadows, three of them black and plastic. A photocopy of his concealed carry license is taped to each on top. No one had been particularly happy about him storing them there (Namjoon especially) But now you’re glad to have them close on hand.
“No, not until you tell me where you are.”
“Pup this isn’t- you can’t-”
“Jin, please.”
You try the same code that Jimin has for his cellphone. You know it because you have a habit of going through his after your dates for some of the photos that he takes of you and Tae.
8-7-5-8.
The box clicks open and you roll your eyes. Alphas.
“Pup” you wait for him to say that he needs more help than you can offer, that carrying Minnie and keeping him alive is more than you can help with. You wait for him to say that you’re neither strong enough mentally nor physically to handle this.
But it doesn’t come. Jin’s tiny fraught sigh is there, but then-
“Alright.”
There are spots for five different handguns inside. Two missing vacant cuts into the foam. You take the smallest one, checking stock to make sure it's got bullets in it. You fumble with it, unsure and unused to this. You make sure the safety is on before you tuck it into your waistband.
“Send me your address. And if you need to- get rid of Jimin's gun- god only knows whats on that.” To Jin’s credit, he hardly splutters, hardly takes in another shaky breath.
“How do you know-” You descend the stairs slower. Screwing your eyes shut tight to keep from crying, leashing your voice into something gentle.
“Jin, Minnie is bleeding. You have more important things to worry about right now. We need to figure out how to keep Jimin alive and undiscovered.”
“You know-”
“Yes, I fucking know about Jimin, okay? We’re wasting time. Bye.”
You hang up on him. Your hands are still shaking and you spend a breath looking at them. You want to call Yoongi. Your body aching for your mate's touch, for how steady he makes you feel just by being there. the way he tucks your hair behind your ears, the way his hand is always hovering near the small of your back to guide you- to options that won't hurt and secrets that won't damage things.
You need your mate for this, already your pulse is hammering. The haze of a panic attack on the edge of your vision. One second foggy fear, the next heartbreaking clarity.
Maybe you know how this ends, you know why this is happening even if you try and ignore it. Maybe you realize just then what's going to happen. Not today but eventually, it turns you cold from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
You might not lie to the pack (lying by omission doesn't carry the same weight) but you lie to yourself often.
You will call Yoongi, you decide. You pick the phone back up and navigate towards Tae’s contact. Your thumb hovers between her name and Jungkook’s. You don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your voice steady calling her but Jungkook will almost certainly be able to tell something's wrong just from your tone alone. He's perceptive like that.
Before you can make the call something moves in your peripheries.
There is a dark figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from the front door and the bay window. It makes you startle but at second glance it’s just Hobi. You look down at him 3 steps up the stairs. Yoongi's phone in your hand and a gun at the small of your back, covered by the fluff of his sweatshirt.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask who you were talking on the phone with. He just tilts his in question, eyes teaming with that warm sort of playfulness.
You have a decision to make; let his opinion of the pack remain what it is or change it for good. In an irrevocable way that you won't be able to take back. It feels like too much change too quickly. Barely an hour ago he was telling you he loves you and now-
The thing about secrets is that they’re terribly hard to keep.
Hobi notices, because Hobi always notices when there’s some sort of change in you or a shift in your mood- call it a survival instinct if you won't call it love.
The set of your jaw is less pouty neediness and more leashed discomfort. Your expression is the same one you had when tae came out and you sat with them at the table and told them for you. You'd think that telling other people's secrets would be easier but it isn't.
Hobi knows your tells. What it looks like when you're about to play your hand. Ace's and all.
You descend the last few steps, each one thudding, making sure you're on the same level before you slowly wrap your arms around his waist. You do it slow even though you feel every second like a gunshot wound. Like every second could be Jimin’s last heartbeat.
(thump thump thump)
Pulling yourself in tight. His hands smooth up and down your back. You could call Yoongi but-
Hobi looks down at you, pecking your forehead. He smiles softly, his lips twisting into something like a grimace because you smell a little bit sour. Doesn't mean he's not going to kiss you but-
You wonder how many times he’s kissed you already, it's only been a day but you’re already losing track of how many, maybe 2 dozen now. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes then back again.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or are you just going to pout at me until I go get Yoongi?”
You shake your head and close your eyes hard. "Don't get Yoongi."
Stealing yourself just a little and hold Hobi a little closer, a little harder. But there’s nothing you can say, no lie that you can tell that will make this better. No secret that you could confess either.
“Jin called and something bad has happened.”
You feel more than see the goosebumps on Hobi’s arms as you pull away, the visceral hard swallow as he looks at your face again, waits, expecting you to pull back say-“It’s a joke it’s nothing-“ But it doesn't come.
“You have two choices Hobi, you can go to the pizza shop, and hang out with Tae and Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi or-” Hobi searches your face for something he knows; the darkness in your eyes, the vague tremble in your arms around his waist. “Or you can help me and be scared. I kind of-”
I kind of need you
But Hobi should have agency in this and shouldn't just take this path because of you. After Yoongi, you've learned when and where to give people the choice to be dragged into things they'd be better off sidestepping. You don't say it but Hobi hears it all the same.
Hobi looks so earnest but asking this of him is no easy thing. It would be easier if you weren’t so keenly aware that you’re taking away something from him. You’re giving Hobi the choice you never got that Yoongi never got, and he'll choose the same path anyway.
He cups your face, skimming his thumb up and down your cheek.“I’m okay with being scared.” I'm okay with being scared so long as it's for you.
“This is serious, this is- you can’t ask questions until I have time to answer them, you just have to listen, understand?”
“Okay.” He nods, tousled hair fluffing, looking so innocent and eager to please that you almost tell him to just stay home.
But as much as you hate to admit it. If Jimin is injured, there’s a chance you and Jin might need a second pair of hands.
It’s a blur. Tugging on your shoes- the same ones Yoongi got you ages ago for your first date with Jimin and Tae. And when you stand, he’s holding out your jacket for you to step into. When you nuzzle into the collar there's the scent of vanilla there from where Jimin rubbed his nose to your throat when you were at the hospital. It doesn't seem possible that it was only yesterday. Everything is Jimin Jimin Jimin.
“Thank you,” you say, sounding vaguely hollow. He kisses the nape of your neck and you put your hand over it.
You point your feet in the direction of Hobi’s car and get in the driver's seat. Taking his keys from him because you need them, need to be the one who drives right now. Holding the steering wheel and controlling the acceleration. Pressing down as fast as a heartbeat.
Thumpthumpthump.
You pull away from the house with a screech hitting the curb with a bit of flying sparks. you don't even wait for it to warm up. Hobi’s hands are on the plastic console of the driver’s side, holding it to keep himself from bobbing before he's belted in. He looks over at you startled. But he doesn't ask you to slow down.
You keep your eyes on the road, blinking back tears. Controlling your emotions because you can’t drive through blurry eyes. Every inch, every tick of the needle, every second of pavement screeching tire means you're a second closer to jimin.
"Jin’s going to send you an address in a few seconds, and I need you to tell me which way to turn.”
Hobi looks at you and then looks at the phone. He doesn’t try to put on a playlist, he doesn’t try to do anything just stares at you and bobbs in his seat when you take a corner too fast.
“What are you looking at me like that for?”
“Nothing; you’re just driving like if we don’t get there in time, someone is going to die.”
~-~
Hoseok remains remarkably calm for the drive, barely saying anything except for the winces he lets out every time you do something risky with the car like take turns at 30 miles an hour or evade a break check by driving along the shoulder.
You start to pass by empty factory buildings. The wheels of his car thudding over cracks and dips in the road until it becomes dust and gravel and the smell of gasoline permeates the interior of the car. Questions building like the heat pumping from the vents.
But he did promise not to ask until later.
The fog covers everything like a balmy damp shadow, the snow going straight to sublimation. Pockets of old street lamp lights punctuate the darkness. Husks of metal rise like soldiers from the shadows. The sky burning rust orange from the distant lights of the city. Not a single star in sight.
Jin’s car is there; Hobi spots it. Its blue paint stands out through the overlap of grey brush as the car's lights roll over it. Jimin's car is another 50 feet away and buried in the darkness. Shiny and black like the husk of an insect.
You're about a mile away from where they must be doing demolition. A singular crane and floodlights shine across a narrow tributary casting everything; the river and the buildings, into a grey-slanted light.
You pull around in the yard in front of the largest and most intact building. You leave the keys in car tumbling out the second it glides to a stop.
“Stay here.” You say, but Hobi gets out anyway. He hasn’t noticed the gun tucked into your waistband until now. It makes his pulse tick higher when you take it out.
"Hobi, sink or swim?"
He looks down at the gun in your hand, "Swim." You shake your head like you're angry with yourself, not him but you don’t waste another second arguing. You head off following the disturbed dust and Hobi trails behind. Ducking from pocket of light to pocket of light.
He always wondered what happened to the gun you’d pointed at him that night you’d run away. That train ticket that still burns a hole in his pocket, a distraction maybe from larger questions he should have been asking.
The way you hold the gun is not practiced; and why should it be? The only one who knows how to handle guns in the pack is Jimin. But the way you walk; completely silent is heartbreakingly familiar. Hobi knows how and why you've learned to move quietly. It's almost a dance; the way you glide across the floor. The gun is an extension of your arms. Spreading and flaying like a wing. Pinky to trigger, your index finger balanced along the barrel.
Hobi had always assumed that it belonged to Yoongi. It was almost 6 months ago now, wasn’t it? Hobi had almost forgotten about it.
There are some things that you never forget. Trauma makes his bones quiet. He's not as good at walking silently as you are but if the crunch of his red Converse against the gravel bothers you; you say nothing.
Hobi feels like he should have asked more questions about it at the time, but now he just bites his lip and stays quiet. You'd promised. You'll tell him in time. Hobi trusts you.
That's the worst thing, isn't it? That Hobi trusts you.
Jimin is sitting in one of the puddles of light, leaning up against one of the containers on the ground floor. Alone. You let out a quiet bereft when you see him. You and Hobi pause in the doorway. Your hand on the gun goes slack
“Minnie!”
you run to him, tucking the gun back into your waistband and falling to your knees at his side. Fingers finding wet-dark fabric. Not water but blood.
Hobi stays there in the doorway, his pulse thudding through his ears, an odd sort of peace to him as he takes in the details. The blood that pools dark on the dusty floor.
Jimin’s half covered with dust himself. Something wooden and red in his lap. The blood that’s dripped down his shoulder gathering there. There is a dragged-through patch of dirt a few feet away, more blood, and Jin is nowhere to be found.
Minnie’s eyelashes flutter. “Alpha-” you say. Almost sobbing in relief that he's alive. Alive you can handle. Alive you can work with. You bend down, getting your hand on his cheek. "Hey- wake up for me a sec okay? We're gonna get you out of here-"
“Hey pup” he laughs half delirious with pain, wincing like making the sound hurts him. “You came to the party" he coughs. "Did you bring Tae?”
You pull back to look at him. “Tae?”
Jimin grins, eyes fluttering closed and his pretty face tipped up against the light. His lips have blood on him- and it looks like a disturbing imitation of Tae’s lipstick. The shadows she leaves on your mouth, on his.
“Yeah- wanna tell her I love her. Wanna tell her I’m sorry. Could you tell her for me?”
This is something Tied tourniquet tight around Jimin’s shoulder to keep him from bleeding out. something you didn't immediately notice. You stare down at the vest now- at the yellow patch letters slowly darkening with blood.
FBI, and then in smaller letters; Organized crime division, Dir. Kim.
Jin appears from around the corner, covered in dust and blood across his thighs, and his throat. So quick you barely have time to raise the gun and then put it down when you see it's not some stranger- someone sent from Yoongi's family to tie up loose ends.
Your hand tightens on the gun as you stare at Jin.
The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his forearms and black nitrile gloves cover his hands; same as Jimin's- although one is ripped. His eyes flick from you to Hobi and he almost flinches.
“Jesus fucking Christ-” Jin looks back at you. “Did you have to tell Hobi?”
You bristle “I didn’t tell him anything yet. That’s how you properly protect people. Instead of you know-” The insult doesn’t make sense and neither does your anger. Jin is your pack omega but it doesn’t feel like it when you grab his lapel and shake him a little. He doesn’t move, You’re too slight to alter his course.
Hobi stumbles to your side, hand on your shoulder and Jin's. The pack omega almost flinches at the touch.
“Will both of you swallow your god damn pride and-”
The three of you fall silent when Jimin reaches up to grab your thigh.
Jimin's hand on your wrist goes vice-tight, and when you look down at him, he's more lucid. More there through the haze of pain and blood. "If anyone has any right to be mad at Jinnie- it's me."
You stare Jin down, and after a breath, he's the one who looks away from your glare, taking your hands from his coat and gently detangling them.
"Let's just get him to the fucking car." You bite out. And you get back on your knees to gently guide Jimin away from leaning up against the metal. Get your hand around Jimin’s good arm and start to try and tug him to his feet. His eyes follow you fever bright. “Tell Tae that yourself when we get you out of here.”
the three of you get jimin on his feet. Jin under his good shoulder and Hobi by his hip you there, grabbing Jimin's gun and the mask from the ground. Hobi almost trips on a piece of metal.
He’s being so good with this so- so normal. Making pregnant and stressed eye contact with you when you look at him but stay mostly silent.
Jimin’s car keys fall onto the dusty earth just as you get to Hobi’s. placing jimin gently into the backseat before you stop to pick them up.
“My car; they can’t find it here.” You glance at Jin, then Hobi, looking grey.
“Someone needs to be in the back of the car to stabilize you. you can’t just be flopping around when we drive to the-” You break off because oh this just got so much worse; there’s no way that Jimin’s going to be able to go to the hospital. Even with injuries like this.
You make eye contact with Jin again, and both of you realize at the same time, the mountain of evidence that must be inside it, but you're only the three of you- if you take Jimin's car and Hobi takes his and Jin takes his own- no one will be there to hold Minnie and keep him stable. But who knows when you'll have a chance to come back and get Jimin's car.
If the authorities find his car and the body still inside that building. There's no shortage of what they might be able to convict Jimin for. If there was ever a time that you needed another person it would be right now. You should have called Yoongi.
You look up at Jin, “Get rid of it, we just have to-”
“The river-” You stand there, two opposite sides of the same coin both grinning because it's a good plan.
“If we sink it, they’ll never find it.”
A couple of miles away where the floodlights shine, they must knock over something large because you hear the boom and feel the tremble in the earth.
You take everything out of the car first, throwing it into the front seat of Hobi's car. Hobi tries not to think about the items too hard. The sniper rifle, the 3 bulletproof vests, or the ski mask. There's a variety of other equipment underneath the false bottom, arranged perfectly, everything has its spot. An empty tranquilizer gun. Ropes and black trash bags.
The three of you work like a polished team. Moving the car as close as you can to the water Near an old dry dock that flooded, where the soil turns soft and spongy.
It’s hard to push even though you put the car in neutral. the three of you still have to put all your weight into it. Jimin waits in Hobi’s car, parked on the edge. Watching your sluggish procession.
“Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.”
“Shut up you are not going to die” You snap. The line of the doorframe digs into your shoulder as you push with all your might, putting all of your anger and betrayal behind it because it has nowhere to go otherwise.
Jimin really isn’t helping. Hand pressed over his bullet wound, blood slowly dripping from between his fingers.
Your feet fight against the muck, sliding through it, cold and gross around your ankles. Water soaks your socks.
“Seriously I’m bleeding all over the interior. gonna have to get it detailed after i'm gone.” Hobi picks his head up from the other side, grinning at you. You think it’s the first time you’ve even felt a ghost of a smile grace your face since you got the call. He has no idea how much you need that smile.
“It’s red, won’t stain. Don't worry minnie.”
“Your concern for me is glowing.” He's smiling but Jimin’s hand is knuckle-tight over his shoulder.
“Shut up.” you grind out.
Once you get going downhill it’s easy to push the car, down down down until you hit the muck, knee-deep in the fowl-smelling stuff. You walk with it into the icy water. Hobi’s sweatshirt is so big on you and it billows around you in the brackish water. Weighing you down like an anchor in a storm. You guide the car and the cold water is up to your waist. The car thuds and then shudders, bubbling as you get it deeper and deeper.
"That should be good. Come on."
You think you’re fine until you try to pull away from the side of the car and can’t.
Hobi is already cutting through the water back towards the shore, his back to you. You can’t move, and the car is sinking inch by inch. Slowly dragging you along with it. Some corner of your sweatshirt snagged on the doorframe or hooked.
Your hands move scrabbling. Trying to find the spot at your hip where you’re caught. But you can’t see, the water is so dark you can't even see your hands below the surface. Is it terror or just the cold that makes your hands so uncooperative?
You haven’t even had time to cry out before there is a body behind you, hand closing around the spot where you’re snagged under the water, ripping the fabric with strong hands.
Jin’s hands don’t leave you once he’s untangled you, grabbing your hips and dragging you back, back through the mud and up to the embankment. His hand on the back of your neck, “I’ve got you pup, you’re okay, you’re fine.”
Hobi’s already standing up there, soaking wet too. The dust pills on your pant legs and behind you, the car gives one last gurgle. Disappearing for good.
In the dusty darkness, you look at Jin. His gaunt face, soaked with muck like you are. The ends of his hair clumped together, muddy. You blink up at him and he blinks down at you, water in his eyes.
Jimin and Hobi wait, watching you both stand there. Suddenly the gun in your waistband feels too heavy to carry any longer.
Jin closes his eyes, screwing them shut tight like he's waiting for you to shove him again. “Before you yell at me, you should know that Yoongi already knows, about me being an FBI agent. He's known since the beginning."
there is a moment of silence where hobi looks from you to jin. But then You collide with Jin burying your face in the front of his shirt. He swallows past the lump in his throat. One bloody hand comes up to touch your hair and cradle the back of your head.
“Pup- we don’t have time, we have to go. Minnie-” You pull back, eyes wet.
“Alright- alright- just- we’ll meet you at home?”
Jin turns to Hobi, nodding. Hoseok stoops, putting Jimin's legs in the back of the car, they're shaking. All of Jimin is shaking. His body is in shock from losing so much blood and from the cold.
“Don’t speed, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t give anyone a reason to pull you over.”
~-~
(Namjoon.)
The inside of the pizza parlor is balmy with the smell of cooking dough, garlic, parmesan cheese, and Jungkook's happy sunny scent. So at odds with the cold outside.
Namjoon watches Tae and Jungkook giggle and act like pups. Heart clenching the way it always does when he looks at the pack. They smell like roses and honey, like spring days far away now in winter but Namjoon can already feel the spring warmth thawing his tiredness left over from work. A haze to the edge of his vision like he's feeling bumble-bee fluff and sucking honey from the air.
Hope is hot and necessary like sunlight, and Namjoon has a whole lot of it for the future right now. and good for him honestly- it's the last easy breathes he's going to have for a good long while.
He can't believe it. You and Hobi. His body gives an involuntary happy shiver.
Yoongi catches it and raises a knowing eyebrow.
The pack is willing to wait here and give you and Hobi a little more time to sort things out. They've given you hours, they'll give maybe one more. They've already taken Tae and Jungkook out for ice cream. Dessert before dinner has both of them sugar high and hyper.
The pizza parlor is mostly empty- there are no glares or looks as they laugh loud and try to imitate a dance, jungkook's phone propped up on a napkin holder.
Namjoon and yoongi don't join in, they just stare at each other. Yoongi looks like he might be a little bit in shock, the scent blooming every few seconds, sweet chocolate cocoa when he thinks of it, and salty worry when he reaches over to check Tae's phone- just to see if you've texted.
Namjoon knows, and so does Jungkook because Jungkook knows everything.
“I can’t believe they actually-” Jungkook snorts, this isn’t the first time Yoongi’s repeated those words, he’s been muttering it under his breath every few minutes for the last few hours, mostly to himself. Jungkook indulges him this time.
“I know- I thought they’d be emotionally constipated for at least another month.”
Jungkook’s hand is nearly permanently glued to the back of Yoongi’s neck, squeezing reassuringly every few seconds. Even as he and Tae giggle and fall into each other, watching back their video on Tae’s phone. Her sparkly phone case catches the light, and little bits of glitter fall and trickle slowly just like the snow falling outside.
Namjoon's thoughts slush slowly.
Namjoon feels settled down to his bones, in that deep-seated alpha way that he’s not sure he’d be able to articulate even if he tried. Nesting tonight is gonna hit so fucking well. Namjoon is going to scent both you and Hobi until he can feel the sex and pleasure on his teeth and tongue, might just need to taste your arousal for himself. He'll be sweet about it and give you a little wiggle room just to put you back in your places. He feels half feral wanting it already. If he's not careful a scenting like that might send Hobi into rut or you into heat.
Namjoon's almost trembling at the idea of it.
God fucking damn it, he's so in love it hurts a little. He’s sure that Yoongi feels the same deep calmness, the sense of rightness, thinking about you and Hobi.
Yoongi’s lopsided grin says It finally fucking happened. Namjoon’s dimpled smile says, I know, I’m surprised we didn’t have to orchestrate it. They don’t have to say it, the soft words would be swallowed up under the music playing over the loudspeaker (the idol group that Jimin guards- their newest hit).
Their knees are nested between each other’s on the too-small table and too-small seats. Namjoon’s big palm on Yoongi’s knee all tight. His hand over the pack alphas, tangling and playing together in a way that Jin would call flirting without words and Tae might call poetic.
The pack took one car to the pizza place, Namjoon's, gathering snow outside. Probably a bad move honestly because Namjoon is on call. The surgery this morning went off without a hitch, clipping aneurysms on a middle-aged alpha usually goes off without a hitch because Namjoon is quite good at his job. If anything happens post-op Namjoon will have to leave them stranded here.
As Namjoon watches something crosses Yoongi’s face that looks a bit like confusion, his hand leaves Namjoon’s to settle on his hip. Eyebrows pulling together.
Huh? Is it the mating mark?
Their food has just arrived, cauliflower pizza for Jungkook, a messy calzone for Yoongi, and his own meat-filled slice when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Namjoon smiles seeing Hobi’s contact, and answers it. It’s you on the line when he picks up.
“Whatever you do, don’t put me on speaker. Don’t react. Just go somewhere where you won’t be overheard by anyone.” Namjoon's smile falls instantly.
Something about your tone has goosebumps rising on his arms. inexplicable, whether it's instincts or just the fact that Namjoon knows your voice and has never heard you sound like this that tips him off he's not sure.
You’re in the back of Hobi’s car, Jimin sprawled across your lap, your fingers stroking down his cheek, your other hand putting pressure on his bullet wound. Jimin lets out these little hiccupping breaths and in the front seat, Hobi’s eyes flick to the two of you. Your pause your call to soothe him, letting him inhale big settling breaths of your scent. Nose and mouth pressed hard to your wrist. Teeth biting down because Jimin needs something to muffle his pained growl.
"Just hold on Minnie, I know it hurts. We’re almost back to the house."
Namjoon hears it, and his whole body goes cold.
You can say many things about the pack, about pack alphas and pack omegas, but listening goes both ways. Namjoon would never dream of disobeying you when you talk like this. Namjoon stands and walks to the door mechanically. Only when he’s outside, cold air swirling around him, does he speak.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened," Namjoon closes his eyes "-and I need you not to tell the others. I need you to come home and leave Jungkook and Tae. Jimin's hurt and we need you.”
Namjoon feels the moment the tense breath in his chest sticks there and he realizes you’re not joking. Jungkook looks up, furrowing his eyebrows at Namjoon in the dark window. The snowflakes falling catch the lamplight around him, dotting his red sweatshirt like the reverse of blood on snow.
There’s a pause and then, “There’s a lot you don’t know, but I need you to hurry.”
Namjoon nods then pauses when he realizes you can’t see. He’s not sure he’s ever heard you sound so serious.
“Do you understand why I’m asking you this Namjoon?”
Namjoon has always been an honest alpha, even when it doesn’t stroke his ego. “No.”
“Because if Tae sees what’s happening, she’s going to need someone to comfort her, and everyone needs to be focused on mini right now.” Your voice trembles, breaking. Below you, Jimin smiles, leaning into your arm. Babbling little and delirious from pain and blood loss.
“Love you so much Tae- wanna be your mate- wanna marry you too if y/n lets me- wanna have your pups."
"Jimin. You are an alpha. You can't get pregnant." Hobi says dryly from the driver's seat, making a very careful left turn that's so slow that it garners a honk from the people behind him.
"But Tae could at least try-"
You close your eyes against the lights of the highway, and across your lap you feel wet soaking into your pant legs. You don't look down, You know it’s blood. It’s so warm, spilling across your knees like sunshine. Bubbling up with every heartbeat.
You don’t know how much more blood Jimin can lose before it’s critical, which is why you need Namjoon.
“-And if Jungkook finds out the stress could make him have a seizure.”
Namjoon is silent on the other end of the line. Completely quiet. Frozen on the sidewalk outside of the pizza place. Above him, the pastel blue pizzeria sign buzzes and flickers. Namjoon inhales the cold air, his exhale coming out warm and steamy visible. When he turns to look inside Yoongi is already staring.
Namjoon must look devastated because Yoongi shoots to his feet. Saying something to the others before he heads out after Namjoon. The bell clinging until he's right there reaching for the phone.
“I’ll see you at home.” You shut your eyes tight. “Bring Yoongi too. I need him.”
The phone in Namjoon’s hands buzzes and when he looks the call has disconnected.
~-~
It's a good thing that most of the snow has melted off or else you’d have a harder time concealing Jimin’s bleeding form as you pull into the driveway. You’re barely outside for a handful of seconds. No curtains move in the shuttered windows of your neighbors. No one is in the cul-de-sac, not even Noodle is waiting for you on the rock wall.
There is no red trail in the snow, just a few drops that land on the dark slate walkway that you’ll clean up before morning. The porch light is off and Your hand leaves a dark imprint on the railing as you rush to open the door for Jin and Hobi, supporting Jimin between the two of them.
But the door opens before you can get to it.
"Joonie!” Jimin's tone drips with false cheer, grinning at the pack alpha and your mate standing just inside the house. As Jin and hobi half drag and half carry Jimin inside and out of sight. Blood dripps down the side of his face from his temple to his chin.
“Holy fuck” your mate mutters. Out of Jin and Hobi and you- you easily have the most blood on yourself. Your pants are soaked through with it and muck from the river, even your hair feels wet and sticky. You must certainly look like a sight, like something out of a nightmare or a bad memory- yoongi can take his pick.
(In truth, the sight of you blood soaked brings up only one other night in yoongi's memory; a night just as tense and pain filled as this. the night you killed Geumjae. This won't be the last time Yoongi sees you soaked in blood either. But at least next time the blood you'll wear won't be the packs and you'll be wearing it as a king and not a pawn).
The drive must have truly taken a toll on him because the second the door closes behind you Jimin’s knees give out and his eyes roll back, passing out as the last bit of energy vanishes from his body. Hobi almost falls with him, but Namjoon and Yoongi are quick to come to his aid.
“Quick- the table.”
Yoongi clears the dining room table with a simple swipe of his hands, sending the bowl of tangerines scattering, rolling like many mini suns across the hardwood floor. They put him down as gently as they can, but Jimin's a puppet with his strings cut. Namjoon swoops in, more trained than any of you, grabbing Jimin’s ankles and holding them up above his heart.
"Come on- Minnie- come on " Namjoon reaches over to tap Jimin’s cheek, gentle once and harder the second time, more of a true slap.
Jimin gasps awake, but he’s only half conscious. It’s twilight, his eyelashes fluttering face pale. Mumbling Tae's name over and over again.
"Jin, hold his legs up for me- here"
You’ve never seen Namjoon move so mechanically, so professionally. He's already wearing sterile gloves. His black doctor’s bag cracked open and full of gauze and other medical paraphernalia. The skin around the bullet wound is pinched with blood. Gushing fresh as Namjoon cuts away as much of the tourniquet as he dares with a pair of kitchen shears.
Jimin’s head lolls to the side.
Namjoon lets out a single wet noise. You haven’t heard him cry in so long, you don’t realize that’s what it is until you look at his face.
Your mate’s face is pale and gaunt as he looks at you over the dining room table. “Didn’t you tell him anything?”
“No- I wasn’t sure what to say, I-” Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to Minnie, then up at Jin who looks like he might be about to pass out himself. Holding himself away.
“Who shot him? Did someone corner you? Jin-”
Jin lifts his chin about to confess but before he can Namjoon snaps “Everyone needs to be quiet- please.”
Namjoon places his stethoscope oh so gently to jimin's skin Even the slight action makes Jimin’s face twist in pain. The whole pack is quiet and still, like statues.
The moment passes syrup slow, And Namjoon moves his stethoscope an inch to the left, then the right. Only then does he toss it down onto the floor. Grabbing a sterile towel from his medicine bag and presses it hard over the bullet wound. Closing his eyes and grimacing before he stuffs it, fingers and all into the bullet wound.
Jimin jerks violently, howling, nearly thrashing in pain if it weren’t for Namjoon and Yoongi and you holding him down. He flails, hitting you in the face knocking you back.
Hobi catches you before you fall. “I’m fine, it’s okay just- help them hold Minnie" your hand over your hot cheek. It will probably bruise- but you don't even care as you watch as Namjoon pulls himself onto the kitchen table, putting his full body weight over the bullet wound to try and stem the bleeding.
“He needs a hospital. We need to pack it and then take him there. He’s lost too much blood.”
"We can’t- all bullet wounds need to be mandated reported.”
It’s not all that large of a hole to be honest. Maybe a finger with on the back side and a little smaller at Jimin's front because Jin shot Jimin at such close range. It’s a threw and threw. Even though Namjoon packed the front his back still leaks steadily.
“But Jimin will live, whatever’s going on-” Namjoon shares a glace with Yoongi Jin, then you- and you watch as it dawns on him. “wait- You do know what’s going on, theres something you're not telling me.”
It's accusatory but you nod while Jin and Yoongi stay placid. Namjoon looks once at Jin again then at you, deciding who he trusts more to correctly gauge the odds.
Namjoon looks at you, waiting.
“If the wrong people find out Jiminie is- that he’s-” you pause, and Jimin grimaces, there is blood on his teeth, in his mouth. “It might not just be him hurt by the end of it.”
“But we can’t just let him die.”
Hobi just stands by the couch, your nest just tousled as you’d left it what feels like a lifetime ago. for the first time that night- hobi breaks.
"Oh my god Jimin's going to die-"
Jin's hands are in his hair, yanking, "Tae is going to kill me-"
“Shut up, no one is dying yet. If he dies on us I’ll kill him myself.” you scoff, holding Jimin’s wrist, his hand. “I won’t even bother with a gun I’ll just..."
You fall silent with a sudden intake of breath. Yoongi's head whips in your direction. Jin too looks up from where he was just bowed, realization lighting his eyes up bright.
The three of you share a look and for a second, the only sound is Jimin's blood dripping. A little faster with every heartbeat. Down the leg of the kitchen table onto the floor in red rivulets.
Drip drip drip.
(What you don’t know about Jin and Yoongi’s tentative agreement is that even though they know about each other- they've still been on either side of this. They’ve never worked with each other, never shared querying glances like this. It's a special secret language that thieves and secret killers share.)
Yoongi follows your line of sight to the kitchen. The knives sit sheathed in the knife block. The same ones that he bought Jin as a fancy courting present years ago. The same one's Yoongi sharpens before he cuts the meat that the pack eats for samgyeopsal and bulgogi and shabushabu.
A sharp cut is an easy cut to fix, unlike a blown-apart cavernous bullet wound.
“No.” Is your first reaction. Even though it was your idea. “It’s too dangerous.”
"It won't work." is Jin's response. Namjoon glances from you to him. He hasn't yet realized what you're talking about. doesn't posess the same finess for bloodshed that the three of you do (the three of you could conquer the world, you just haven't' realized it yet)
"It will work." Yoongi straightens. there are whispers of darkness on yoongi's face. a childhood he doesn't talk about in his eyes. a childhood filled of blood and less kindness than you'd think; for it to have made a man like yoongi; who knows how to be gentle because he's felt every kind of unplesantness there is.
"I've seen it done before. A long time ago but still- it works."
“What,” Namjoon snaps. "Are you guys fucking talking about?"
“There’s another option.” Yoongi’s hands are on Jimin, holding his wrists down. his other hand tucking his hair behind his ears and kissing his bloody cheek. His hands are getting colder and there isn’t much time. He’s quiet for a moment, lips pressed to jimin's skin, before he looks up. None of you want to say what you’re thinking.
“A good stab wound with a larger knife, through and through will disguise the bullet wound. It will stop him from bleeding any more. No one will know that Jimin was shot and we can take him to the hospital."
Namjoon’s scent is sour, sour, and acrid and it makes Jimin arch in pain, face twisted. He still doesn't understand why no one must know that Jimin was shot. Still doesn't understand that it was Jin who shot him. He'll learn later over hospital coffee but for now, he misses the blood-soaked and cut up FBI vest laying in a heap on your dining room floor. No yellow left on it- just red.
“Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting anyone stab anybody."
Jimin’s head lolls on the table. His mumbled words fall on deaf ears. “Stab away….might as well…already stabbed through the fucking heart from Tae" (how could Cupid be so cruel?)
"Joonie look at me." Your hand is on Namjoon’s arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck and he rounds on you. Alpha aggression striking before Namjoon can reign in his instincts. He almost snaps his teeth at you. You don't react at the alpha baring his teeth in your face because underneath it all is the panic of a child, a pup who's terrified he's about to lose his family (a sinking feeling in his gut that says maybe, he already has.)
You understand, you know what it's like to feel that way.
Your voice is so calm and gentle. “Namjoon- you just have to trust me. If we take Jimin to the hospital and if they have a reason to take his fingerprints. There is a very good chance Minnie will go to prison. That I will go to prison- that Yoongi will too.”
Jin blinks, eyelashes fluttering. And Namjoon is silent, Hobi's silent too. All of them watching you. Your hands are steady, and your eyes are clear. The clearest they've ever seen.
“There is a lot we haven’t told you. But you need to trust me.”
It’s then that he spots it. Yoongi’s tone is dark as he yanks the wooden mask out of Hoseok's hands. Yoongi would know those masks anywhere; the one that the family gives its employees. This specific type is to delineate a non-relative. The specific kind is the mask that killers wear.
“Where the fuck did you get this?”
You look up at him, “it’s Minnie’s.”
Yoongi’s chest heaves, breath coming quick and fast. “No, it’s not- it can’t be.”
Namjoon’s teeth look particularly sharp when he snaps. “Does anyone but me give a fuck about Jimin right now? Or do you guys only want to pretend that you do?” The rest of the pack watches Namjoon as he ties a new tourniquet. A better one. he can't meet your eyes. quiet and furious as he pulls the knot tight.
“There are too many ligaments in Jimin’s arm, you could cripple him.”
“What other choice do we have?"
“So thats it?” your voice is a shred past hysterical, “we just take him to the hospital and let him go to jail, or let him bleed out and die here?”
The four of you stand over Jimin, on the kitchen table, the spot where you’ve eaten dinner and broken bread and loved each other for the last year. A place of nourishment and love now a place of pain and terror.
You walk three strides to the kitchen and grab the largest steak knife from the kitchen block. Your eyes dark and determined as you stare them down.
"I'll do it if you won't! I'm not letting Jimin go to prison!" you blink tears out of your eyes and there is a moment of silence, a moment where everyone just looks at you.
There is a warm body at your back, a strong chest and long arms that you know circling your waist to pull you back against them. Rubbing soft down your stomach as another comes up to guide your hand. long fingers that curl around your small fist. Grabbing the knife and guiding it, syrup slow out of your grasp.
"There we go" hobi says, words whisper soft.
It's like his words break the spell. “Give me that thing before you hurt yourself.” namjoon snaps.
Namjoon holds the knife and everyone watches as he walks to the pack's liquor cabinet. grabbing the nearest highest proof bottle that he can find and pouring it over the kitchen blade.
“If anyone’s going to do it, it should be me, because I know where Jimin’s joint is.” The pack nods, agreeing. Scattering.
You toss a rag to Jin. “Wipe the gunshot residue from your hands before we get to the hospital. Wipe Jimin’s too while you’re at it. Just in case.”
Namjoon holds the knife in the kitchen. You all have some amount of Jimin’s blood on you and he blinks from the table lucid.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, staring down at Jimin, knife in his hand. “Go outside and warm up the car. You’ll drive because you have the steadiest hands besides me.”
You and Jin and Hobi are silent, everyone just watches namjoon for a second. Yoongi hesitates, turning back in the doorway. "Do it from behind that way Jimin can say he didn't see who stabbed him."
Namjoon nods, looking down.
There is Jimin’s blood on the doorknob and the floor. You wonder who’s going to clean it up.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, and your mate starts, running out the door, leaving it open so that the cold can slip in. Namjoon’s hand tightens on the knife.
Jimin grins up at him from the table, eyelashes fluttering.
"Do it."
~-~
Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3
Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!
Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter
~-~
Notes:
the line "A faceless god, if you’re going to take so much from him- the least you can do is give me this." is a call back to a line all the way in the beginning of the series where tae writes "the least you could have done was leave me whole" about yoongi.
the beginning feels a little drawn out but honestly i feel like it's such a traumatizing moment that it makes sense. the beginning was one of those cases that i read it so many times i can't tell if its ass or gas- so it's up for you to decide. i like the later parts of the chapter a lot better.
All things said, hobi is taking this incredibly well.
I was such a sleepy bunny editing this this morning! i'm sorry if there are more errors than usual.
ooh they fighting~ this might be a little bit of a /oh shit/ confession- but i greatly belived that the m/c would have killed jin had she thought that he was actually trying to kill jimin for being involved with the mafia like- one wrong move on his part and she might have shot him. they're gonna forget about it and nothing will change between them but god- that moment where he comes around the corner could have gone so bad if she was a little more trigger happy.
honestly i started to hate this chapter halfway through editing it, if there was ever one that i needed you to show love to its this one god 😮💨 i never thought i'd feel out of practice writing this sort of thing.
are the funny parts out of place? do they break up the terror too much or just the right amount?
I cannot take credit for the methodology behind how they hide jimin's bullet wound. i will confess this is copied from an episode of Elementary- ie the american version of sherlock. i tried to look it up if you could possibly conceal bullet wounds this way and didn't find anything so you're just gonna have to trust me.
#bts mafia au#bts omegaverse au#bts polyamory au#bts x reader#bts poly au#bts werewolf fic#bts fluff#bts angst#bts hurt/comfort#min yoongi fic#min yoongi x reader#yoongi x reader#min yoongi#omega! reader#bts a/b/o au#bts a/b/o#bts gang au#bts au#bts werewolf au#bts angst bts omegaverse fic#bts hybrid fic#kim namjoon fic#kim seokjin fic#kim taehyung fic#park jimin fic#jeon jungkook fic#jjk#pjm#myg#bts fanfic
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the casual dominance in the fic abt carmys girl going to the resturant drunk was immaculate !!! i would absoluetly devour a piece where his girl goes and gets a tattoo and he’s there and helps her take care of it after yk but with some casual dom in there if you’re cool w that 🫶🏻🫶🏻
no pressure to write the piece if you’re not up for it! LOVE your work and your carmy fics💗💗💗
ahhh thank you so much!!! ofc and I hope you enjoy <3
"'s cute." Carmen muttered, lips curling when he looked at the little design, dainty and on your ankle, a simple line work for your first one.
"You think so?" You looked down at your extended leg, the sketched designs laid there before the actual process started.
"Yeah," Carmen nodded, eyes shining when he looked up at you. "Looks like you."
You blushed, rolling your eyes and looking off to the side to hide your melting face, how flustered he made you with such ease.
"You ready for me?" Donovan, Carmy's cousin, turned the corner, black gloves on and hair pulled back.
Carmen insisted you go here, where he got all his tattoos done by his cousin. "You have a big family, huh?" You had grinned at him.
"Not that kinda cousin, but yeah, baby." Carmen had laughed, grinning at you sweetly.
"Yeah." You nodded, a little shakier than you would have liked.
Carmen's eyes darted to yours, scanning the features on your face. "It'll be quick. Promise it doesn't hurt that bad." Donovan nodded at you.
You nodded back, lying back onto the reclined chair. Carmen pulled up his stool next to you, a hand running over yours gently. "Want to hold my hand?" He teased gently, fingers wiggling next to yours.
You weren't sure if he was joking or not, but you grabbed his hand anyways, fingers sliding to lace with his, clinging to the rough skin of his knuckles. Carmen smirked, rough pad of his thumb brushing over your hand.
"I'm gonna start." Donovan announced, holding the machine in his hand. "Try not to move, alright? It'll make the lines all jagged and weird."
"Ok." You nodded, your hand squeezing Carmen's a little tighter.
"Hey, look at me." Carmen muttered, your eyes sliding to meet his. "It won't hurt too bad. I promise."
Your face distorted, tensing with the first prick of the needle on your skin. You squeezed Carmen's hand tightly, back tightening to keep yourself from moving. "It's ok, it's ok. " Carmen muttered, putting a hand on your thigh to still yourself. "Just take a deep breath. That thing is tiny, it'll be over soon."
"I don't know how you do this." You grit, teeth clamped to keep a strangled gasp out as the needle danced over your ankle.
"Yeah?" Carmen snorted amused. "That would be nothin', baby. My knuckles hurt like a bitch."
"Really?" You grinned.
"Oh my God, Donny, tell her." Carmen looked at the man by your ankle.
"Oh, yeah." Donovan laughed lightly, shaking his head gently, hand still gliding over the sketch. "Nearly cried on me, sweetheart. I kept having to stop so he could walk around and get himself together."
You giggled, looking up to catch Carmen's eye roll. "Really? Thought you were a tough guy?" You teased, teeth sucking when the needle ran over tender skin.
"No way, baby." Carmen muttered, eyes shining at you playfully.
"'m just kidding." You hummed lowly. "You're pretty tough. 'specially to have all those because I think this is gonna be my last. No offense, Donovan."
"None taken." Donovan snorted. "They all say that. Then they're back in here in a few weeks."
You grinned, taking a cleansing breath at the bump of the needle against your bone. Carmen's free hand running over your hair.
When Donovan finished, showing you the final results, you grinned admiring the tiny little design. "Looks so good." You beamed.
Donovan gave a half lipped smile, nodding in a thank you before pushing back on his stool. "I'll get you wrapped up. You'll wanna get some Aquaphor or somethin' to put on that. Stay outta the sun."
Carmen nodded beside you. "I'll make sure she does it, Donny."
Your tummy flipped with excitement, his hand still laced in yours. And he did make sure you did. Giving you Advil later after your pre-appointment dose. He took the wrapping off the next day for you, putting a thin layer of the petroleum on for you.
"Wow, you're a pro at this." You hummed, watching him from the opposite end of the bed.
Carmen shrugged, heat blooming on his cheeks. "Yeah. Done it a few times before y'know. Just wanna make sure it's done right f'you, baby."
You were sure that's partially true, but you also knew Carmen liked to take care of you like this. A love language all of his own that made him feel safe, in control. And you were happy to let him do that for you.
#thebearer#thebearerblurbs#the bear#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy the bear#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy x reader#carmy smut#carmy berzatto x you#the bear season 2
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the struggles we face |mafia!eddie munson x reader|
prompt: based off of their first fight.
contains: 18+, mafia!Eddie, language, mentions of violence, blood, drugs, fighting, suggestive themes. angsty-ish with fluff at the end
Eddie leaned his head against the wooden door of your townhouse, bangs sweaty and matted against the skin of his forehead. He rapped his knuckles, bruised and bloodied, against the chipping white paint, waiting and hoping that you'd still be awake; that you'd open the door.
He gripped the bouquet in his hand hard, hard enough he was sure the stems would break, waiting a moment longer before he knocked again, a little louder this time.
Eddie could hear your footsteps, pounding little steps that got louder and louder as you got to the door. He heard the lock click and turn, perking up at the sound. It swung open to reveal you, in your little chemise night gown, silk and short. He knew you'd be wearing your matching silk panties underneath, mouth salivating at the thought. He'd bought you that very set, made you try it on when you got home. It was short and sweet, fit you perfectly and left him weak kneed at the sight of you. He longed to reach out and touch you, feel your fleshy skin underneath the smooth silk material, but the way your lips twisted, pursed in anger, hurt, he knew to keep his hands to himself.
"Hi, baby," Eddie muttered weakly, giving you a tiny smile.
He sounded tired, defeated, looked a little beat up. Normally, that would have you softening, relenting and pulling him inside so you could fuss over him. Not tonight.
"Don't," You snapped, not moving from your place in the doorway, manicured nail gripping the wood. "Don't you dare 'hi, baby' me when you were supposed to be here three hours ago!"
The shrill in your voice made his eyes pinch close, brows knitting together. His head was pounding, probably a result of the small cut over his eye.
It wasn't often he had to get involved in the dirty work, but with the more they brought in, the more people wanted it for their own. His guys had been ambushed during a drop, by a rival wanna be 'gang' who thought they were slick, thought they were tough until Eddie and his boys showed up. He'd give them credit, they didn't go down as easily as he thought. It had been a hard night, a lot of fighting and breaking to get their answers and supply back, but they did. At the expense of your date night.
Eddie sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I really am, I-I got caught up with some shit, baby, you know how it is." He looked at you, brown eyes rounding and pleading. He was never this soft with anyone else. "I had to take care of business."
"And you couldn't call?" You snapped, throwing your hand out.
Eddie blinked at you. "What? You wanted me to pick up the phone while I was beatin' the guy? C'mon, honey-"
"No," You huffed in annoyance. "You could've called me before you left. Or had someone call me, Eddie. I sat at the restaurant waiting for over an hour! I looked like an idiot!"
Eddie ran his free hand down his face, his rings reflecting in the glow of your porch light. You could see how his knuckles were split, dried blood that he'd tried to clean was still left around the swollen bone. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm really sorry, and-and I just... I had to take care of work things, alright? I'm sorry you sat there and wasted your time waiting for me."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes hard back into your head. You were fuming, irritated and hurt all in one. "I was so fuckin' scared, Eddie." You snapped. "I tried to call your house a million times-"
"-You did what?" Eddie's eyes snapped to yours harshly. "What have I told you? You don't call me, ever. If I don't call you, there's a reason. You calling my house could put you in danger, fuck-"
"-I was scared, Eddie." You snapped, eyes bulging at him. You leaned forward, past the threshold, hand still gripping the door angrily. "I thought something had happened to you. You didn't call me before, you left me there, no one's heard from you, and it was a long time. I was worried about you!" You threw your hands out.
Eddie swallowed hard, grinding his jaw lightly. "I'm fine." He quipped. "Don't be worryin' about me, alright?"
"That's fuckin' easy for you to say, when you're the one who's disappearing all the time. You're the one in danger." You snapped. "How would you feel if I just went MIA for a while? Didn't show up for a date, didn't answer your calls, just untraceable, huh? How would that feel?" You challenged.
Eddie's jaw clenched, fists balling by his sides. His heart squeezed and dropped at the thought, even the mention of it all made him feel sick, nauseous and head spinning.
"Stop." Eddie sneered. "Don't you fuckin' even think about it, or I'll-"
"-or what?" You spat, eyes narrowed. "How is that fair? You get to disappear all the time, and I don't get to know what you're doing? Maybe I should do the same to you. Give you a taste of your own medicine."
"Can you quit?" Eddie sighed, exasperated and on edge. The thoughts alone were making his head spin, but now, it was starting to feel to real. The familiar creeping of acid crept up his throat, making him swallow hard. His heart was hammering in his chest, uncomfortable hard and ringing in his ears.
"Just knock it off, alright? I told you I was taking care of business." Eddie huffed, eyes narrowed at you. "I had shit to handle. I'm very sorry I didn't get to come to date night."
Your lips twisted, pressing together in a tight line. "You don't get it." You sighed, shaking your head. "You just don't fucking get it."
"Get what?" Eddie's shoulders dropped, tired. Too tired for another fight. "Get what, baby? Just tell me."
"You never tell me anything!" You shrilled, throwing your hands out. "And I know, I know, it's dangerous or whatever, but I'm not asking for every little detail, Eddie. I just want to know that you're going to be late, or you're going to not be able to make it, that something came up, or-or that you're alive."
Your breath hitched in your throat, white knuckled grip on the door. Eddie felt his heart drop slightly at your hurt expression, wobbly lower lip and glassy eyes. "I need to know that you're ok." You whispered.
"Kitten, I didn't have the time to call-"
"No? But you had the time to get flowers?" You shot back, eyes flickering to the bouquet in his hands. "You had the time to clean yourself up? To switch cars, so that means you went home, and you still couldn't call me? Just to let me know that you're safe."
Eddie swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in the pit of his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. Your lip quivered, biting down on it to keep yourself from crying. You had to be strong, tough, even if you didn't want to be. Even if you wanted to let him in, and have him smother you in affection, win you over with tender touches and sweet promises.
"I'm sorry." Eddie whispered, eyes locking with yours. "I really am sorry."
You shook your head, turning so he wouldn't see your face crumble. You stepped back inside, shutting the door on Eddie.
"Honey, wait, please-" Eddie begged, moving his face towards the crack of the door before it shut entirely. He heard the lock click, panic rising in his chest. "Please, I'm sorry! I-I'll do better, ok? Please, just open the door, baby? Please, let's talk it out!" Eddie begged. He never begged, not even in the face of danger and fear.
The porch light flicked off, leaving Eddie standing in the dark, alone on your front porch step. His shoulder's dropped, breath catching before he let out a shuddering sigh, deep and broken.
He cursed, throwing the flowers angrily at his car, fists balling in anger. Angry at himself, angry at the stupid fuckers that had to ambush his guys, angry that he was dense enough not to call, angry at everything, every choice he made that led him to this moment. Most of all, he was angry that he'd hurt you. He'd kill anyone who made you sad like that, who made your face crumble and cry like that. He wasn't sure what to do when he was the one causing it.
Eddie sat in his car, waiting for hours, knee bouncing, smoking through his entire pack in the cold night air. His heart hammered and twisted with anticipation, in the hopes that you might come back out. He saw the curtains move a little after two am, he knew she was looking to see if he was still there. He perked up hoping that maybe, maybe she'd let him back in. She didn't.
Eddie fell asleep in his car, parked out on the side of the road, car turned off and arms wrapped around himself. He wasn't leaving until he talked to you, he couldn't. He had every intention of waiting up for you, waiting until the morning when you opened the curtains and saw he was still there. Waiting to return back to the porch and wait and beg for you to open up, but the sleep overtook his body, exhausted from the fight before and the fight with you, completely drained.
The sharp knocking of the glass against his window awoke him with a startle. He was already reaching for his glock, ready to flick the safety off and empty a clip if he had to, but there stood you, through the dark tint of the car in the morning light.
You looked like you hadn't slept much either, bags under your puffy, red rimmed eyes. He felt his stomach plunge again at your face, knowing that he was the reason you'd been crying.
Eddie opened the door slowly, scampering to stand in front of you. Your arms were crossed over your torso, wrapping around yourself like a shield, protective of yourself. "Are you going to stay out here all day? Seriously?" You huffed.
"I will." Eddie nodded, shutting his car door. "I'll stay out here as long as I need to, until you're ready to talk to me."
You rolled your eyes, heart squeezing at the admission. You knew he would, truly, too love struck and stubborn to not. You sighed heavily, shivering in the cold of the morning. "Just-Just come inside." Your shoulders dropped. "We can talk."
Eddie nodded, following you inside. Sitting at your little kitchen table across from you. You already had a cup of coffee for him, for yourself. You'd planned this. He didn't comment on that.
"I-I really am sorry-" Eddie started, but you held your hand up, silencing him.
"You've said that." You bit, eyes cold and fierce. There's a pause, the air between the two of you tight with tension. In any other scenario, Eddie would be the dominating, intimidating force of the conversation, looking down the slope of his nose towards his prey in front of him. Here, sitting at your little table, he felt weak, small, at your mercy entirely.
Eddie tapped his fingers nervously against the wood of the table. "I don't know what else you want me to say." He said truthfully, brown eyes rising to meet yours.
"I don't want you to say anything." You admitted with a small sigh. "I want you to listen, to hear me." Your eyes were rounded, pleading with him silently.
Eddie nodded slowly, spine straightening in his chair. You took a deep, cleansing, steadying breath. "Eddie, I know you can't always talk about work and what you do with me. I know you want to keep me safe and away from all of that, I do." You started slowly. "But, baby, I'm in this with you. I know what you do, Eddie. I know it's dangerous, and-and when you don't call me? That scares the shit out of me."
Eddie felt his heart twist and squeeze in his chest, the same guilty feeling pooling back, deep into the pit of his stomach. You looked down at your own hands.
"I'm not asking you to tell me all the details, or stop everything to call me and tell me every time you leave the house, but," You sighed heavily. "On nights where you know you might be late, or you are late, can you just call me? Let me know. I was embarrassed sitting at the restaurant, yes, but I was more worried about you. Thinking something happened or-or, fuck, I don't know... I was scared."
Your bottom lip quivered, tears pooling back into your eyes and you tried to blink them away. Eddie swallowed hard, the burn of his own tears in his throat. He never wanted to make you scared, never wanted to make you cry.
"I'm sorry," Eddie whispered, brown eyes soft and vulnerable when they met yours. "I know I've said it, but I mean it. I'm not used to having someone look out for me. I always do the looking out, and it's taken some getting used to." He admitted, twirling the rings on his fingers.
You nodded slowly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. "'S alright." You muttered. "I know you didn't mean to. I didn't mean to lose my shit on you like that last night, I just-"
"-No, you should have." Eddie nodded. "Sometimes you need to lose your shit on me. Keep me in my place, kitten." Eddie grinned up at you.
You gave him a sweet smile back, pink blush dusting over your own cheeks. Eddie stood, hands on either side of your face, his nose nearly touching yours. You could see the cut on his eye, and it made your stomach flip again.
"I'll do better, I promise." Eddie whispered, his lips brushing over yours. "I'll try my best not to scare you anymore, and not to miss anymore date nights."
"You better." You whispered back, smiling against his gaze, warming you from the inside out.
"I'll make it up to you." Eddie moved his lips, bruised knuckles under your chin, tipping your head forward. "I promise, kitten."
You let him kiss you, sweet and slow, pillowy lips moving against yours, hands sliding up the silk of your gown, gripping onto your hips. You let him push you down the hall, towards your own tiny bedroom where he got on his knees between you to really make it up to you.
Eddie insisted on taking you out, later. A makeup dinner complete with a shopping trip beforehand. You told him he didn't have to buy you anything, that you'd be content with pizza and beer at home, but he wanted to. He lived to spoil you, to have you pressed up into the booth at the restaurant, kissing down your neck, lips trailing lightly down the chain of the new necklace he'd just bought you.
#mafia!eddie munson x reader#mafia!eddie munson#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson au#eddie munson#eddie munson angst#eddie munson blurb#Eddie munson x fem!reader angst#Eddie munson x reader angst#stranger things#funsonmunson#oneforthemunny
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dirty secret
coriolanus snow x reader
tip me on kofi
requested: nope, I pulled this out of my ass, but if you want more coryo stuff lemme know 😜
warnings: suggestive content, coriolanus snow (derogatory), speaking of derogatory, snow has a degrading kink in this so yeah, mentions of cockstepping, faceslapping, just... be prepared
content: im p sure i dont mention readers gender but pls correct me if you catch anything, hella ooc snow (like, this dude would never act like this but I'm a writer which means I can make him do whatever I want), readers a bitch but snow likes it, sub!coryo, lowercase intended because fuck grammar, unedited
smut under the cut♡
a/n: give me more submissive coriolanus you cowards (I'm kidding ur not cowards but pretty please write this man begging for mommy to let him cum or whatever, not for me, I swear.) also, this is my first time writing full smut like ever so, idek what came over and I wanna apologise😭😭
here me out, academic rival!coryo with a little secret...
the two of share a friend, for lack of a more fitting term, in clemesia, and find yourselves in each others presence often as a result of the fact. and this would be good and well, if the two of you didn't despise each other down to the bone.
besides the fact that the two of you felt the need to prove yourselves due to differing circumstances, you both also shared an insatiable need for power, the kind that could only be obtained by bring the very best at the academy.
it was almost comical how much you wanted to beat each other, and this rivalry bled into your non academic interactions, making them just as sour.
coriolanus found genuine enjoyment in getting under your skin, and you retaliating only made him want to poke at you more, which led to you retaliating once again, and so on and so forth.
as time passed, you'd somehow found yourself tolerating snow, even going as far as to enjoy your occasional back and forths with each other when you were the only two in the library, sitting at same desk even though you didn't need to (coriolanus insisted on planting himself directly across from you just to be a nuisance, and it worked.)
your banter turned more and more friendly, confusing your peers as you walked side by side, your arm linked with his as you bragged about receiving a higher score than him on a test, to which he just responded that you had gotten lucky and that it wouldn't happen again.
you didn't turn completely soft though, your insults were still as sharp as ever, even though you now said them with a playful smirk. they were cruel, and always seemed to send coriolanus into a spiral as he attempted to get the last word in, which he never did, always waving the white flag at the end.
you had always held that over his head, the fact that you could always best him in a verbal battle, on top of beating him in assignments and the like. but what you didn't know was that you were mistaken.
coriolanus didn't always relent because you were better at verbal lashings (which you were, but that's besides the point), he always stopped egging you on before your words escalated because if he let you degrade him any further, he wouldn't be able to hide how much he liked it.
he was almost shameless, as if he wanted you to know just how much you turned him on during you spats with him. like today for example, where you had been particularly harsh to him, even going as far as calling him useless. it wasn't his fault, someone had passed you off before you had met up with him in the library and you were more agitated than usual.
he excused himself to the bathroom shortly after, and you found yourself wondering if what you said had affected him so heavily that he needed to get away from you.
oh, it affected him alright. he thanked the universe that 1) something had happened to make you as harsh as you were and 2) that the bathroom he entered was completely empty because he knew that he would have a bit of trouble keeping himself quiet.
he had barely made it to a stall and closed the door before palming himself through his pants, shudders moving through his whole body as his hips canted to meet his hand.
a whine tore through his throat as he imagined you catching him like this, and he quickly unbuckled his belt and slipped his hand in his underwear, stroking his dick firmly at the image.
you would probably laugh at him, dishing out every degrading name you could think of, calling him a dirt slut, saying that he was disgusting pervert for being so turned on at you being mean to him. and he would nod his head vigorously, because he was a slut, only for you.
maybe you would slap him across the face, leaving him with red cheeks, or maybe you would step on his poor weeping cock until he came on your shoe. would you make him clean it off? god, help him if you did.
his hips stuttered at the thought of eating his own cum, it was just so dirty and the fact that a simple look from you could turn him into such a depraved shell of the image that he excuded in his day to day was enough to send him over the edge.
he came with a groan, his hips not ceasing their thrusting into his fist until every last drop was out. as he cleaned himself up, fixing his uniform in the mirror, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, you knew what you were doing to him. and if the look you gave him when he came back, timidly taking his seat, it seemed that you had some idea.
"you know, I think you need to punished for what you just did, coryo. for what you've been doing. do you like the sound of that, hmm?"
and if the way the cock pulsed in his pants, already hard again was any indication, he loved the sound of that.
#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x you#coriolanus smut#corio x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus x y/n#coriolanus snow x female!reader#coriolanus snow headcanon#coriolanus snow angst#sub coriolanus#tbosas x you#tbosas x reader#tbosas#the hunger games
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What About Me | Harvey x Reader
Summary: A story about how Pelican Town's bus revamp sends Harvy into a world of worry with the farmer.
Content warnings: injury
It was a calm evening in Pelican Town. Closing time was nearing, but Harvey always stood by for any emergencies that may need to be addressed. That was part of the glory that came with living above his practice.
"Okay, Dr. Harvey, I just clocked out, I'm gonna head home now!" Maru declared.
"Alrighty, see you!"
He leaned back in a desk chair, filing paperwork and checking inventory. In a quiet town like Pelican Town, it was relatively uncommon for anyone to need something when he wasn't open. Occasionally, the farmer would pass out in the middle of god-knows-where and that horizon would only be expanded by the new bus repair that was somehow managed.
Harvey didn't mind helping you out. In fact, he found it amusing at first. He understood it may have been hard to fully understand the body's limits with the work experience of an office worker. It was just something to scoff and roll his eyes at. What a silly farmer, he thought.
That is until it became more frequent. It took a copious amount of begging and guidance to improve your habits. Harvey even informed you of the purple mushrooms, starfruit, magma caps and nutritious meals that might keep you in good shape while monsters tear at your flesh. As a result of your constant accidents, he made sure to keep his elixirs extra stocked. He only hoped that the distance from the Calico Desert and Ginger Island from Stardew Valley would encourage you to be safer.
A shrill ring from his phone blared next to him. He sighed and picked up the receiver, holding it to the side of his face. Regretfully, Harvey never even glanced at the number who called. Never did he expect it to be dispatch, calling in about an emergency trauma situation.
"Emergency? How bad is it?" Harvey stood up, and scrambled through the building to prepare for the patient. "Uh- y-yeah, bring ‘em in... I have the supplies."
He prepared an operation room as fast as he could.
The emergency door burst open, and two people propelled a bright yellow stretcher to his operation room. The person was unconscious and blood sprouted out of their arm in sync with their heartbeat. "Patient was found in the Skull Cavern mines of Calico Desert. Patient is hypotensive and we can't find a pulse. We believe they suffered blunt force trauma to the chest. We recorded several medial lacerations on their left arm. There is atrial hemorrhaging–"
"I can see that!" He said. Harvey, examined the patient, his eyes catching sight of the face, causing his stomach to lurch and anger to set in his chest. In his residency, he was always good at handling the sight of blood, broken bones, and organs. It was never an issue. Until they had come from you. It wasn't something he could prepare for. The sight had caused a rock to form in his stomach.
"What the hell," he breathed out in white-hot rage. Harvey was fuming. "Why hadn't you put a tourniquet on their arm yet!"
"Doctor," the paramedic's voice was worried. "Patient's heart rhythm..!"
Harvey's eyes widened at the monitor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no other option than to remain calm.
"Sinus Tachycardia. Shit, the hemothroax is making her heart tamponade. Get me an eighteen gauge needle, I need to get the fluid out of their chest, ASAP."
"I'll prep the EGC first!" A paramedic offered.
"I don't have time for an ECG, dammit!" Harvey snapped. The paramedics scrambled at his outlash for his request.
He felt his nerves explode and knew it was for the worst. Panic made his hands sweat and slick underneath the latex gloves he wore. There was a great tightening in his chest like a furnace of hellfire every time his eyes dared glimpse at yours.
The paramedics prepared the entry site and handed Harvey a large needle. Now he knew he had to get it together. He drew in a sharp, deep breath. To calm his nerves he thought it was good you were unconscious to spare you the image of the largest needle you'd ever seen plunge into your chest.
The thin needle glided through to your flesh, without any navigation Harvey bore the task with nothing but intuition, until the needle penetrated the pericardium. Behind him, one Paramedic had their back turned, unable to watch this infinite medical wager. A true test of a gut feeling.
Sweat slid down Harvey's forehead when he felt the needle had found the pericardium. He steadily lifted the syringe, the paramedic watching it fill with blood while Harvey had his eyes on the heart monitor. A great flood gate of stress opened and deposited his mind to see your heart rhythm steady.
After the surgery, and the departure of the paramedics, Harvey remained slumped against the hospital wall. It took a while for him to work up the energy to be upset. First, he was thankful, second, he was angry. He decided to wait until you woke up to be angry.
Days passed since the surgery.
As of now, he stood weakly beside your bed, he had a tight grip on your hand. His brownish locks swept messily over his eyes, dangling like vines in front of his glasses that slid down his nose. He was no longer wearing his white lab coat and the sleeves of his button down were rolled up, his necktie was nowhere to be seen.
After shock exhaustion hit him hard– something he experience a lot during his career but even harder since it was you on the operating table.
Harvey began coming up with random grievances, many of them being very valid. Like why is there no medical center near a very dangerous mine, let alone a desert. And why must you always venture alone? Especially without telling anyone? Why didn't you think things through before going down there?
A soft groaning sound came from your mostly motionless form. All except your eyelids remained still. A sudden wave of fatigue and a bone chilling pain all over made it almost impossible to move without wanting to die.
"Har... vey...?" you muttered, slightly craning your head to the side. He was just in the corner of your vision. His flustered face in all of its glory.
Harvey's physician instincts kicked in and began checking your vitals as well as asking you questions. "Do you know what day it is?"
"'s it the seventh of sp...ring?" you recalled.
"Where do you live?"
"Stardew Valley."
"Do you know my name?"
"Harvey."
"Now last question," said Harvey, a little irritated. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
It took you a moment to reply. The question didn't quite sound like it had an answer. You opened your mouth to answer but nothing came out.
"What?" you said, tensing up a little.
"I've lost count of how many times I've asked you to please be careful." His tone was desperate and distraught. You didn't pick up on the sincerity of his voice, being too involved in the pain in your side.
As soon as you realized what this was about, all the tension in your shoulders deflated. You rolled your eyes and sighed. "Come on Harvey. I'm going to be okay."
"You don't know that," he stressed. There was a hot anger in his tone that sent tendrils of worry down your spine. "So stop acting like your skin is made of platinum. You don’t even realize it, but you may just be the luckiest person in the Ferngill Republic! This isn't the first time you came into my clinic an inch away from death and every goddamn time... I don't know if you're going to make it."
You frowned. "Now... wait a minute..." Everytime this happened you saw the way Harvey's jaw locked, waiting for you to go home from his emergency surgery so he could break down over the fact he'd have to do it again.
He felt like his soul was becoming too big for his body, like a shaken Joja Cola threatening to burst. All he could do was tremble with desperation and anger. "You can't go back to Skull Cavern... and don’t think I don’t know about your little ventures into the Ginger Island volcano, hell, even the local mines-- you’ve lost your fucking mind-- you can't--."
You felt indignant. "That isn't your call Harvey." Even in your most vulnerable state, you stood your ground. It made sense to Harvey why you always ventured out into danger. "I can't believe you would even suggest that... that's so... selfish!"
"Maybe it is," he argued.
"What about my job, I make money by doing this! What about me leaving Joja Corporation to be here? The community center, too. Didn't get fixed without a few broken bones. What about that?"
The Joja Cola inside Harvey had finally exploded. A loud thud shook the bedside table and Harvey was standing, fuming. Tears cascaded like waterfalls down his eyes, ignited with fire and determination. His voice was broken and sounded like a scratched CD.
"What about me!" He gestured to himself with intensity. “What about me! Oh, it’s just one crisis after another and it doesn’t seem like a crisis to you, but every time I see you on that goddamn gurney I feel like my world is coming to an end! Dammit, if you come in again, and I can’t save...” he choked on his words. “I thought you were going to die, don’t you get it?”
You clenched your jaw, your face radiated heat. Harvey had scanned your eyes, as if he was frantically searching for something. He must have seen something because seconds after, he looked away, rubbing his eyes from underneath his glasses.
“Would you save me again? If I ignored this little debacle between us. And as soon I could get back up on my feet, and I go back into the mines, come in with a hole in my chest, the size of your hand. Would you save me, if you knew you could? Or… or even if you knew you couldn’t?”
He winced, his moustache wrinkling on his lip. His head bobbed, nonetheless. “You’re so cruel, you know that.” he said, looking at you like you asked what color the sky was. “You have this terrifying grip on me and I don’t think you realize it. I would rather not think of anything like that... you dying. Yet you force me. Not just now, but every time I see you rolling into this hospital. If you died, if you were on my operation table, my emergency room, and you flatlined... I doubt I could bring myself to hold a scalpel again. I am so deeply in love with you. I'd save you a billion times in a billion different lives. Again and again and again, I would save you in a box, with a fox, here or there, or anywhere. I am saving you now, and you’re oblivious. The most potent medicine I can administer for the madness within you is my own goddamn pleading.”
"I'm tired of this," you confessed. There was long a silence of him examining you. There was dark reddish-purple bruising around your face and various large ones dotting the lengths of your appendages. Old bruises that hadn't yet healed reopened and fading lacerations from being handled by Void Spirits throbbed around your wrists. "You're right. I... need a break from the mines. I haven't let myself heal."
Harvey looked caught off guard. He froze, eyes glued to your pathetic, ragged form. Hooked up to countless monitors and machines.
"I can't keep getting hurt like this. I... I try to act like it's no big deal but... I haven't been sleeping, it's so scary. I need stone and ore and money to expand my farm. I've gotten so caught up in boosting my efficiency I've completely turned into who I was when I worked for Joja."
Harvey was silent for a good moment. He took your hand. "(Y/N)," he spoke tenderly, his throat raw and shakey. "You live comfortably enough to take a medical leave from work. Doctor's orders, you understand?"
You frowned. Farming was your passion. But he was right, and the break might raise the prices of your crops if they become higher in demand. You took a deep breath, barely managing a nod. "I'll be awfully bored and lonely if I'm not working." You complained.
"Don't worry." Harvey managed a gentle smile. "I'll make my visits frequent."
"And long."
Harvey smiled. "One day, they'll be permanent."
#fanfiction#stardew farmer#harvey stardew valley#sdv harvey#sdv harvey x farmer#sdv harvey x reader#stardew valley fanfic#stardew valley x reader
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Will | Vegeta x Reader |
author's note: this is for the always lovely @miss-taura! i hope you're starting to feel better, or that you start getting better quickly!! rest and hydrate 🩷
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: saiyan!reader, illness, mentions of death, mentions of frieza doing frieza things
Anxiety clings to Vegeta's stomach as he marches to your room on the Frieza station— you weren't at dinner tonight. It's unlike you, unlike any Saiyan warrior, and worry nags the Prince to his bones.
Of the Saiyans left, you're certainly his favorite. The bar is low, with your competition being Nappa and the Radish-boy, but you're still quite the cut above them. And your lack of presence is irritating, rude, and above all worth a princely tantrum.
Pounding on your door, his patience is too worn thin to properly wait for an answer. You haven't responded with the half second between his harsh knocks, so obviously he's got every single right to invite himself in. It's dark but his scouter clearly marks your exact position in your bed, and he hears your soft groan as the light from the hall floods in.
"What the hell, 'Geets?" Congestion plagues your sinuses, and a fever leaves you with harsh shivers as you glare at Vegeta with blurry eyes.
Vegeta scoffs and narrows his eyes as he steps further in, kicking the door shut behind him. "More like what the hell is up with you. You skipped dinner."
You cough into your shirt, flopping down pathetically onto your pillow. "I'm not hungry."
"A Saiyan is always hungry." Vegeta's arms cross over his broad chest as he tilts his head— he's not sure if he's ever seen you sick, or anybody else on this ship, for that matter.
A cold trickle of fear suddenly drips down his spine; Frieza certainly would find no use in nursing any of his army back to health, and absolutely wouldn't tolerate a particular bug spreading amongst the force.
He can't lose you like this.
Too tired to argue with him, you wave a hand in Vegeta's general direction. "Leave me be, 'Geets."
Vegeta nearly growls— you're far too uncaring. Do you have a death wish? He storms out of the room and you're far too ill to wonder what's gotten into him before another terrible coughing fit assaults you again.
Your consciousness fades in and out, though the next time you come to for longer than mere seconds, it's at Vegeta's shaking of your shoulder. His touch isn't particularly gentle, the rare occurrence never really is, but you can feel his effort of holding back. "Mmm…?"
"Sit up and eat, and take this too." A platter from the dining hall sits on the nightstand beside your bed, and a small caplet is flicked your way.
"Where did you find medicine?" Throat scratchy and burning at even breathing, a soft cough follows your question.
"It matters not. Just use it."
So he broke an international law somewhere, got it.
Your legs rub together unconsciously, begging the resulting friction for warmth. A Saiyan rarely feels so chilled, but it's as if you're iced to your very bones. Vegeta's jaw ticks and he doesn't put much thought into the why before he's stripped off a glove and pressed the back of his rarely-revealed hand against your forehead. His memories of his mother are frighteningly fading, but that is one of the few that holds strong and he can clearly remember of his late mother. He was young and felt awful for perhaps the first time in his life, and her gentle hand measuring his fever did wonders as a cure compared to all the bedrest and tonics.
Your watery eyes meet with Vegeta's as he moves to touch each cheek, his knuckles dragging along your skin and bumping over your nose. Eyes guarded, he turns his head and pulls back his palm. "You're running a fever. Eat now, and take the medicine. You're to be cured by tomorrow, understand?"
This motherfucker is giving my illness orders!
Opting for a dumb nod, your attention focuses on what he's brought you. Nothing too capable of potentially upsetting your stomach, it's easy to devour even with your fatigue crawling back by the second and the shivering from your fever slowly icing you more and more. You can hardly even notice Vegeta's too-quiet demeanor as he stares a hole into the carpeted floor, though to not see such a stoic side of the rather bratty, barbarous man that typically wears a smile of evil would be impossible.
"Done." Voice hardly capable of more than a whisper now, you set the plate aside and, large pill laid out on your tongue, finish off the first of the gallons of water he's thoughtfully provided you.
"Rest." His order is swift and gruff as he turns to leave, but your voice, quiet and unsure, calls for him to linger just a bit longer.
"T-Thank you, V-Vegeta." The tremors of your body are harsh enough to make your teeth audibly clash together, and the thin blanket wrapped around you couldn't possibly be enough to dispel this fever.
Breaking the fever will allow the medicine to work, and a little sigh pulls from his lips. You certainly always manage to break down a barrier he places, and usually it's fully unintentional and unknowing. But he cannot lose the last woman in his life, the last of the Saiyan race, and that's what has him stripping to his underwear and climbing into bed with you.
"'Geets…"
"Speak not a word further. Rest." He grumbles and unravels your wrapped form, inserting himself under the blanket with you. The heat radiating from him nearly makes your head spin as you grab the Prince's body despite how unbecoming this all is. The touch of his body isn't exactly foreign, though it certainly is in the manner of comfort rather than the training you've always known.
Vegeta's hold is tight. It's his duty as your Prince to keep you alive, though the warming of his cheeks when he gets a glimpse of your sleeping face suggests to himself it may not be as noble as he wishes.
#vegeta x reader#vegeta x you#reader insert#x reader#dragon ball x reader#dragon ball imagine#dbz imagine#dbz x reader#fic
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✧:･ﾟI Thought it Was Something Else → Hwang Hyunjin x reader ˚₊· ꒰☘️꒱
꒰ 命 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ꒱┊Hyunjin's muscles were tense from the day's efforts, he deserved proper care.
꒰ 命 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ꒱┊Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader
꒰ 命 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ꒱┊established relationship, cute, soft, funny.
꒰ 命 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ꒱┊can be read with idol and non-idol, purposeful suggestive insinuation! It doesn't contain anything explicit, just humor and a cute moment between couples. ;)
꒰ 命 𝐖.𝐂 ꒱┊1,05k
꒰ 命 𝐀/𝐍 ꒱┊I have a lot of chapter ideas in my head, but since most of them involve a bit of anguish, I decided to post some cute ones first. English is not my first language! Have a good read, I hope you enjoy <3 - reviews of my writing are welcome ;)
⊹₊˚ʚ❛masterlist❜ɞ
A groan leaves Hyunjin's lips as he raises his arms, his right hand going against his left shoulder in an invalid attempt to ease his pain. His girlfriend watches him lie down on the living room couch while preparing snacks for them to watch movies together. She sighs displeased at the sight of her tired boyfriend.
It's been almost a month since Hyunjin has been coming home very late almost every day, busy with work that overwhelms him and keeps him busy until the early hours. Y/n admired the commitment he had to everything he did, always delivering the best results in his efforts. But when it started to affect him not only psychologically but also physically she had to talk to him.
He just explained with a tired gleam in his eyes that her hard work was paying off and that she didn't need to worry. Of course, she knew she would resist at first, but she couldn't help but worry about him and seeing him fidgeting on the living room couch on what was supposed to be their movie night, it made his bones ache and his heart squeeze in his chest.
Leaving what she was doing in the kitchen, Y/n cleaned the non-existent dirt from her hands by clapping them together before sitting down next to Hyunjin, He lifted her legs so she could settle next to him. "My love, do you want to go to sleep? You're tired and I promise I won't be upset-"
"No, no, no! Nothing like that, I finally arrived early this week and you already want to get rid of me?” His usual playful tone would make her laugh, but Y/n was more worried than anything else. Hyunjin gets up and wraps her in a hug, kissing the top of her head and speaking in a very low tone, his voice almost dragging in tiredness, "I promise I'm fine. I just want to spend time with the most beautiful girlfriend in the world." He laughs, kissing your cheek and then a simple kiss on your lips.
As if in a snap, an idea flashes in your head and a mischievous smile appears on your lips. Y/n quickly gets up, taking Hyunjin's hands as she pulls him towards the bedroom. Still laughing, Hyunjin looks at her confused and curious about where she wants to go. "Honey, what are you doing?" She lightly pushes him to sit on the bed while hovering over him with a loving, cheerful gaze. "Take off your shirt.”
Hyunjin's eyes widen as his voice catches in his throat. He watches her in surprise as Y/n walks towards the bathroom. "What?" He asks quietly, wondering if his tired mind made him hear wrong. "Take it off, I'll get the cream and be right back."
"What do you mean?" He stands up abruptly and feels pain in his back, making him lean lightly on the dresser next to him. His face started to heat up, his ears were red and he put his long blonde locks in front to cover them. His girlfriend enters the room with a smile and a slight expression of doubt as he is standing and clearly a little desperate. "What's wrong? Sit down. I'm sure you'll like it." She rests her hands on Hyunjin's shoulders, forcing him, albeit carefully, to sit on the bed again.
She snorts when she sees his resistance to taking off his shirt and walks around the bed, sitting behind him. She grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, still nervous, but leaves Y/n in control of the awkward situation. After taking it off, the girl ties his hair into a messy bun so that it is not visible from behind.
Hesitantly, Hyunjin waits for what will happen not before he feels something cold on his back, giving him a shiver, soon after feeling small, light hands massaging the area of his shoulders and neck, relief and embarrassment almost completely takes over him, not before being led to lie on his stomach so that he could facilitate the massage being distributed to his back.
He felt his muscles relax with the soft and sure touch of his girlfriend's hands, as if she knew the right spots where the pain presided in his limbs. Some time later, when his eyes were too heavy to keep open, he hears the soft sound of the lid of the jar of cream closing and a weight sinks beside him.
With his sleepy eyes already open, he finds his girlfriend looking at him affectionately with a relieved smile at finally seeing her boyfriend relaxed after days of tension and a lot of effort. He puts the shirt back on but not before pulling it up, where her head rests on his chest now covered by the thin fabric. She breathes in the scent of vanilla and medicinal cream that Hyunjin now exhales, closing her eyes as well, exhaustion finally hitting her.
"Did you like the massage?" She asks softly, hoping for a positive review from her boyfriend. With a low, sleepy laugh, Hyunjin kisses her on the forehead before speaking, "Thank you so much, I loved it. I really needed it, I think I feel a lot better now." He ponders for a moment before confessing quietly, "but I have to tell the truth, I thought it was something else. I'm sorry."
"Another thing? What do you mean" Y/n asks him, confused, but too tired to think about what it could be.
"Oh, my love… it's too embarrassing to say out loud."
A/N - I hope you enjoyed! It was a different style of chapter that I decided to write. I'll try to post the maknae line from the stray kids Headcanons that I posted a while ago! You can access the first part here. Leave your feedback, I will be very grateful <3 like × reblog!¡ original by:: @hyunjinners ^-^
#hyunjin x you#hwang hyunjin#skz#stray kids#skz x reader#hwang hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin#hyunjinners#stray kids fluff#stray kids hyunjin#fanfic#funny skz one shot#skz x stay#skz x you#skz x y/n#jinnie#hyunjinnie x reader#hwang x you#hwang x reader#hwang hyujin imagines#one shot hyunjin#fanfic skz#hyunjin fanfic#hwang hyunjin fanfic#hyunjin stray kids#koreanxreader#kpop x reader#jypartists#stray kids smut
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Omgg can u pls do Silas with a track runner reader?
Pls n Thxx❤️
Run, my little dove
Mafia!yandere OC x trackrunner!reader
Summary: Silas gives in and lets you run for once to be a cover for his mission. But he gets jealous because of the situation and decides to show everyone that you're his.
Warnings: threats, mention of death, isolation, jealousy, nsfw indication
Word count: 1.1k
Ever since Silas took you, you haven’t been able to compete and have barely been allowed to practice your running skills. Silas, that absolute sadist, has locked you into his bedroom where there’s not enough space to run. You think you’ll go insane. You need to move! Your bones are itching when you sit still for too long, and it results in you being disobedient because you can’t control yourself.
One day, he gets a mission that makes him have to be at a stadium, and what better cover than letting you compete in the running? You're a famous track runner after all and letting you compete will give him a justified reason why he's there. Otherwise the police will question him right away. Everyone knows you belong to him. This will be perfect.
"My little darling~", he sing-songs as he enters the bedroom.
You look at him with tired eyes from the bed.
"I have a surprise for you", he smiles.
"I don't want more jewelry …", you whisper.
"It's not jewelry."
"Then what?"
He crouches down in front of the bed with a smug smile.
"What if I told you that youre allowed to compete?"
Your eyes widen.
"A-Are you for real?" you ask carefully.
"One time", he says and break out into a genuine smile. "You're allowed to compete one time."
Before you can stop yourself, excitement has taken over you. You throw your arms around his neck tightly and repeats 'thank you' more times than you can count. He chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist in return.
"My pretty baby", he murmurs. "I'd do anything for you."
Be doesn't tell you that the only reason you're allowed to do it is because of his mission. You're only his cover.
"Give me a kiss", Silas says. "Show me how grateful you are."
You pull back to kiss his lips once. He locks his hand behind your neck to keep you there and deepen the kiss for as long as he wants to. You're sure that your lips are either swollen or bruised by the time he pulls back.
"I'm going to get you clothes and a temporary spot in the team", he promises. "And if you win … I'll reward you."
"Really? With what?"
"What would you like?"
"To continue running."
He thinks. "Maybe I can arrange that."
"Thank you so much, Silas."
He melts at your genuine smile. He doesn't see much of that now that you're with him. With his thumb, he traces your lips, admiring them.
A week later, you're escorted out onto the field by Silas' right hand man. Silas himself is sitting in the audience — in the front row. His men are currently hiding among the regular people, searching for the enemy. Silas is supposed to do the same, but he can't stop watching you. You meet his eyes and he smiles widely. You know that everyone here knows who Silas is and by the way he looks at you they'll soon know that you belong to him as well. You'll never be able to leave him now. No one will dare come close to you if they know who you has claimed you.
You turn back to the field, waiting for your signal you've run. You haven't been running for a while, but under the week you've trained on a treadmill. Hopefully it's enough. You're shaking with nervousness, but you tell yourself that you've done this before, that this is nothing new.
The second you hear your signal, you run. Heart beating loud in your ears, the only thing you hear is your own encouragement. Run faster, you can do it.
Silas is watching while biting his lip. He doesn't want to admit how terrified he is of you losing. He knows how you'll beat yourself down because of it. He starts to look around to see how the mission is going and catches the eyes of his men. They're nodding — they have the enemy. Silas smirks and leans back in his seat. Now his part of the visit is done and he'll take care of his enemy later. If you lose, he'll take out his anger on his enemy.
You win and oh, how Silas gets proud of you! He stands up and waves at you to run over. He gets out of the booth to wrap you in his arms. You run over to the audience and he bends down to cup your cheeks and kiss you. It's as if you can hear the entire arena gasp.
"Now they know you're mine", he smiles and hugs you to his chest. "Now the whole world will know. Good job by the way. My best baby."
You don't turn around to face the crowd after. Everyone will judge you, everyone will know.
"I'm twice as happy", Silas whispers smugly, thinking of his succeeded mission, "that I might keep you up all night."
…this sexual bastard-
"I want to leave now", you mumble into his black coat. "Can we leave?"
"You need to go get your prize", Silas says and takes your hand. "I'll come with you, let's go."
Walking across the field yo get your medal might be the hardest thing you've ever done. Everyone’s eyes follow you. Their thoughts are screaming through the air and all you want is to bury yourself six feet down. You reach the prize podium.
"We will not stay for the ceremony", Silas says coldly to the man holding the medals. "Give my baby their medal and we'll be on our way."
The man's arm is shaking as he holds out the medal. Silas takes it from him and gives it to you. You look at the shiny gold.
"You did well-", the man says, but gets cut off by Silas cold tone.
"Don't speak to them", he warns him. "Unless you want to be dead by sunrise, that is."
"O-Of course, I'm sorry."
Silas starts to pull you with him out of the stadium. He praises you for being such a good sport all the way to the black car. His chauffeur holds the door open for the both of you. Silas likes this man, he never talks to you and gets you where you need to go quick and easy.
After this day, you're allowed to run again. Silas usually rents whole stadiums or sport centers for you to run alone. Now that everyone knows who you are and you're too ashamed to run among everyone else, you find it nice that he's tented the places for you. He always stands by, timing you or watching. He loves to see you in your natural habitat. By being able to run, you no longer cause as much commotion for him. He can't be happier.
#yandere#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere fics#yandere stories#yandere mafia#yandere ocs#yandere oc x you#silas oc#male yandere#yandere oneshots#yandere scenarios
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Word count: 2100+
Warnings: mentions of fight, blood
This chapter was inspired by @nocasdatsgay and her stimulating questions😉 Thank you for always reading and commenting on this fiction💕
Part XX | Part XXII
You stood in a rose garden, fog lazily rolling on the ground and around your legs. Light was so soft that you couldn't say what time of day it was. You had no idea how you got here nor where you were or how to get out.
The pendant between your collar bones was warm to touch. You had a strange feeling. You turned around, finding only roses. Thousands and thousands of roses of all colours. You needed to look for something. However you wasn't sure what that something could be and so you aimlessly wandered around until you got to a low marble pedestal. The smooth white marble with golden veins was carved into the shape of a bed.
On the pedestal was lying beautiful young male seemingly asleep, shiny golden strands of his long hair spread around his head. His broad chest heaved with deep breaths.
Tamlin.
You finally remembered. You were here looking for Tamlin.
You ran to him, squeezing his hand, but he didn't move. His skin was cold to touch, unyielding as that marble.
"Tamlin?" Nothing. Not even a muscle moved in his calm face. "Tamlin? Do you hear me?"
He didn't react. You tried to shake his shoulder with the same result. Your heart sank, tears lining your eyes. You sat down next to him and caressed his face gently. He looked so calm.
"I see you," a voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. There was no doubt, you knew the voice. It belonged to Tamlin, though his mouth didn't move at all. "In my dreams.. I see you.. even when I'm awake.. Who are you?"
"I'm Y/N. Have you forgotten?" You leaned closer, cupping his face.
"Y/N.."
"Yes, Y/N. You gave me this name. Please, try to remember. Return to me, Tamlin."
He didn't seem to listen to your words, his mind as hazed as the garden around.
"Y/N.. I keep dreaming about you even when I'm awake. Why?"
"Because it isn't dream, Tamlin. I'm here, right next to you. Open your eyes." He didn't move, motionless like a statue, cold as a stone. You inhaled readying to tell him more.
The dream disappeared replaced by bright light of late morning penetrating through dirty windows.
It was just a dream, yet it felt so real. Just like the one you had some time ago back in Velaris. Your heart painfully throbbed in your chest, eyes filled with hot tears. What could that mean?
Two warm bodies pressed against you from each side. The heat was unbearable. It was also quite uncomfortable because you were used sleeping alone. Sighing you touched the pendant hidden under the dress and at that movement one of the bodies rolled away. Good. Cool air bit into your left side causing a shiver running down your spine at the sudden heat loss.
You turned to the right intending to push the other body away, too. You were met with bright emerald eyes with golden flecks, already staring at you. Tamlin was still in his beast form, but his eyes changed during the night.
"Tam?" you questioned. The purr like sound came in answer. He watched you with interest. You sat up and sinking your fingers into his fur you caressed his head.
His eyes closed at that touch and he leaned closer, licking the back of your other hand and nuzzling to your palm. "Can you speak?" He made a whimpering sound. You smiled at him reassuringly. "It's okay. Take your time."
" 'morning," a hoarse voice muffled by sleep spoke from behind you.
"Look," you turned to Lucien with beaming smile.
He was lying on his back with hand shielding his eyes against the bright light. Wounded hand was carefully rested on his stomach. He cracked his russet eye open, focusing on you. You rolled your eyes and nodded with chin to Tamlin, now nuzzling to your legs. When he noticed the colour of his eyes, Lucien sat up swiftly, drawing a deep growl from the beast.
"Easy," Lucien laughed nervously raising his hands. "It's just me, Tam. Lucien."
"He still doesn't speak, but his eyes are again normal colored."
Lucien's gaze turned to you, watching you thoughtfully. "I knew it. Just one night and he's already getting better." You grinned, kissing the top of Tamlin's head.
Lucien agreed to go out to get some food for all three of you. Tamlin was too weak to stand up, although too stubborn to let you leave his side for even a while, so you stayed with him sitting on mattresses and waited for Lucien's return. At some point Tamlin drifted back to sleep while you stroked his head soothingly.
There was no warning of what was to come.
Rhysand stormed into the room like a dark cloud, panic and rage seeping from every part of his tall figure. In a blink of eye Tamlin's huge body flew through the air to the opposite side of room, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Whining in pain he slid down, staying on the floor.
"How could you," you gasped scrambling to your feet while fighting with the long skirt of your dress.
Rhysand blocked your way, embracing you firmly. "Thank the Mother! I was so worried-"
"Are you out of your mind, Rhys?" you snapped at him, catching him by surprise. He took a step back, pulling you with him, gaping at you. You tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let go.
"I won't allow him to get any closer to you. I saw the fresh blood downstairs. He's dangerous," he hissed angrily. You fought with him, hitting his chest and arms, but it had a little to no effect at him. Meanwhile he was trying to calm you down.
Deep growl was the only warning before sharp fangs snapped in front of your face, at the place where your brother's head was just moments ago, cutting only through air.
Rhysand managed to avoid the attack, but he had to release you in the process. He stood up, ready to repay that. Growling Tamlin stood between the two of you, saliva mixed with blood dripping on the floor.
"No!" You wrapped your arms around him, frowning at your brother. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him."
The tattoo on your shoulder burned and Rhys' had to hurt even more. Rhysand halted, assessing the situation.
"Y/N, slowly come to me," he reached out his hand to you.
"Tamlin won't hurt me, but it doesn't mean he won't hurt you. Especially if he thinks you threaten me."
"I do not-" Rhysand snapped, but changed his mind when the beast snarled at him, baring the fangs. "Sweetheart, please. Tamlin .. he's gone. This beast isn't him anymore. He's going to hurt you whether unintentional or not."
"I've spent last 10 hours with him and I'm fine." You showed him whole your body, so that he could see that there isn't a single drop of blood on you and the dress. He sized you up for head to toes and back up.
"That means nothing. He can get angry and-"
"You mean like right now?" You took a few steps, stopping in front of the beast's mouth. "Just look how angry he is." Tamlin stared at Rhysand, unblinking, growling.
Rhysand gasped. "Y/N, stop! Get away from him." You sent him angry glare and turned to the beast, placing your hands on his head with thumbs too close to the corners of his mouth. Just one move and he could bite off whole your hand easily.
"Tamlin," you spoke calmly to him. His eyes immediately moved to your face. He stopped growling and calmed down. "Are you hurt?" You knew he couldn't speak yet, but a small whimper was enough good answer for you.
"You see?" You looked back at your brother, running your fingers through the soft fur. "He won't hurt me."
Rhys shook his head. "But he could. Come back home with me," he pleaded.
"I am home," you sighed. You whispered to Tamlin to not worry and stay calm and pivoting walked to the place your brother stood at. You didn't dare to look at his face, knowing very well what you would see. Instead you hugged him. His arms squeezed your waist, hiding his face in your shoulder he relaxed a little.
"I'm so sorry, Rhys.. I like Velaris and I love you. And our family. I'm so grateful for what you have done for me, for returning my memories and everything. But this is my home. I've spent centuries living here."
"I just want my sister to be safe and with me. That's all," he breathed out lowly.
"I understand. I really do. I also want my overprotective big brother close by. But.. you have your Court and lovely wife. You started your own new family. I want to find my own happiness, too."
He sighed heavily. "And what about Az?"
"I think he understands how I feel and accepts it."
"All the time.. he knew you left, right? His behaviour was..strange last night and even in the morning."
"Don't be angry at him. I made him to promise." A lie smoothly slid from your lips.
Rhysand snorted with amusement. He always knew when you lied to him. This time it wasn't different. "He loves you too much when he allowed you to corner him like that." You were glad he wouldn't use this against Shadowsinger. "How did you get here anyway?"
Oops. Good thing Lucien wasn't here. You had to come with something enough truthful to pass your brother's lie detector.
"I winnowed," you said, your voice even. "Your help and those lessons we tried, were actually very helpful." Two unrelated truths connected into one lie.
While city was preparing for Starfall, Rhys offered to ease the fear and horrors of your memories which you gladly accepted because they were haunting you day and night and you didn't want to end up like the last time - too broken to fight. You had a mission and needed to be prepared and capable of offering all help and support that would be necessary.
He also patiently listened to you, letting you get everything that bothered you out, talking with you until you felt better. In the end, you ended up trying even some easy magic. You had a lot to be grateful for. To him and to Azriel, too. They both got you from the worst. And even though you still weren't completely healed, you felt much better these last few days.
"I don't want to leave you here," he whispered to your ear after being silent for a while.
You heard Tamlin nervously trampling over behind you, his claws scratching floor, small growls escaping him.
"I'll be safe here. He'll protect me."
Rhys straightened, frowning at nervous beast. "I hope you heard that. I'm willing to let her stay here and do as she pleases with one condition. If something happens to her, anything, I won't forgive you. Ever. And I'll find a way to revenge on you a hundredfold."
Tamlin snarled baring his fangs. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats and then Rhys simply nodded and looked down at you.
"Also I want to visit you. Often. Actually so often that you will wish to move back in."
You raised a brow. "I doubt that. Anyway you are always welcome."
His jaw tightened and then he smiled. It was very sad smile. He embraced you one more time and reluctantly releasing you, he winnowed away.
You breathed a sigh of relief.
Tamlin behind you collapsed. He was heaving when you pulled his head to your lap. You checked him for any wounds, finding just few already half healed bruises.
"Are you okay? Lucien will return soon with some food. Just hold on a little longer."
"I'm already here," he spoke from threshold, his expression serious.
It was clear he returned finding Rhysand in here and wisely stayed hidden. "I got us some bread and veggies. We can make him soup later."
His lips were pressed into thin line, eyes narrowed at you.
"I'm fine," you assured him.
"You lied to fucking Rhysand, the most dangerous High Lord ever, to protect me. I want you to know that when I brought you here, I knew what was to come. And I was ready for that. You don't have to cover for me."
You shrugged. "I know. I did it because I wanted. After all, that fucking High Lord is my brother. And your mate lives in his house."
Lucien tensed.
"It would be such a pity if he didn't let you in, the next time you go to try your luck with her."
"How do you-"
You shrugged again, not wanting to talk about that. You took a piece of bread he handed you and offered small piece to Tamlin. He didn't seem to want it, but when you told him to eat it, he listened.
You ate your late breakfast in silence.
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#english isnt my first language#tamlin fanfiction#tamlin x reader#tamlin acotar#tamlin#pro tamlin#lucien vanserra#rhysand acotar#rhysand's sister#acotar#acotar x reader#tamlin x you#sarah j maas#tumblr writers
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Coping Mechanisms
I had this idea of doing a story with multiple endings for all the people who can't decide between Seb or Ominis.
Plot Summary: So what would happen if you'd been friends with Anne, Sebastian, and Ominis since you were sorted into Slytherin at eleven. What would you do if someone tried to curse your best friend in front of you?
I'll link at the bottom Ominis, Sebastians, and a poly chapter with both! Because why choose
If anyone wants to read anything else about these two please let me know! I'm a little besotted
Disclaimer: This chapter is PG but the final chapters with the boys are a hard (wink) E. If you're not into that and want to read a fluffy PG version let me know!
You woke up the summer of your fourth year to one of your best friends poking you insistently.
“Wake up!” Anne hissed. You blink groggily up at the pale brunette, slightly annoyed.
“I am not helping you put toad spawn in Sebastian’s shoes.” You groan, burying your face into your pillow. Anne rolls her eyes and pokes you again.
“Never mind that. There’s someone at the old manor! I think they’re robbing the place.” You lift you head and stare at her.
“And that pertains to us how?” You ask. Anne huffs and grabs your wrist.
“Because. It’s our village and we have to protect it from thieves and rapists.” You can’t help but snort as you dress, fingers automatically lacing and buttoning your cloths in the dark.
“Your uncle is an Auror. Shouldn’t he handle this?”
“Ex-Auror.” Anne corrects, already dressed. “And he’s not here tonight.
“The boys?” You inquire, nodding towards the door at the other end of the room leading to the room that held your other two best friends. Anne shook her head.
“They wouldn’t let us go. You know how Sebastian is.” With that she grabbed her wand and marched out of the house. And, knowing how Anne was, you followed vowing to keep your friend as far from bodily harm as possible.
You met her outside the house and with a jerk of her head and a finger to her lips Anne guided you up the hill towards the old house that stood like a lurking creature at the top. As you squinted at it you saw that what Anne had said was true. Torches were moving back and forth in the windows and you could hear voices carrying down to you. The two of you quickly made your way there and stopped just outside the stone fence, crouching behind it and peeking out. You saw short figures moving to and fro and heard dark gravelly voices muttering back and forth. Anne’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Goblins? What would goblins want with an old house?” Before you could answer Anne stood up and ducked around the wall.
“I’m going to get a closer look.” Before you could protest she was running into the dark. You hissed her name and followed, but when you went around the corner of the house after her a dark voice ripped through the gloom.
“Children should be seen and not heard.” A bolt of red shot through the air at your friend. Without evening thinking you threw yourself forward, hitting Anne and taking her to the ground. As a result, the curse hit you full in the back and you felt your skin splitting down to the bone as agony coursed through you. You’d never had Crucio cast on you but you could imagine that it felt like this. You heard screaming but you weren’t sure if it was you or Anne.
~~~
You woke later the next day in St. Mungo’s. At your change of breathing you heard frantic shuffling, then a familiar voice.
“Hey. Hey, you’re awake. Thank Merlin.” You open your eyes to see Sebastian standing over you, eyes wide and hair even messier than usual. Glancing around him you see Anne slumped asleep in a chair by the window next to an also sleeping Ominis. Sebastian glances over his shoulder at the two then back at you.
“How are you feeling? I was so scared when I heard Anne screaming. I – we – thought you were dead.” You open your mouth then wince at the dryness of your throat. Sebastian sees this and quickly goes to work grabbing you some water. He carefully lifts your head and helps you take a sip before settling you back down.
“Thank you.” You whisper and he nods.
“No, thank you. Anne says that the curse was meant for her. You’re a hero.” His eyes are a little shiny in the dim candlelight and you flush a little at his words and shake your head. You plant your arms on the bed and try to push yourself up to refute his claim but a wave of agony so strong you almost pass out whites out your vision. It feels as if you’re being skinned alive and a strangled scream leaves your throat. Both of your sleeping friends jolt awake at the sound and suddenly you have three sets of hands holding you up.
“What happened.” Ominis is staring at you in that uncanny way he has, always able to find your face and eyes even across the room.
“I don’t know.” You whimper. “My back. It hurts.”
You’re gasping by now. Slowly and gently, the three of them pull you up to a sitting position and Anne carefully pulls the back of your gown down, her fingers feeling amazingly cool against your burning skin. You’re too busy lost in the soothing touch to even be embarrassed about Sebastian seeing the bare skin of your shoulders.
“There’s nothing here.” She whispers. “Just a scar. Where the curse hit you I think.” You frown.
“I felt it cut me when I got hit.” Sebastian’s fingers tighten in rage where they held your arms.
“They put a healing salve on it.” Ominis explained. “I heard them say so to Solomon.”
“It looks like those four sided stars they put on Christmas trees.” Anne said, putting your dress back to rights. You lay back, the pain fading to almost nothing.
“At least its pretty.” You sigh. Anne smiles but then begins to cry.
“It’s all my fault. I brought you there. I wanted to see what they were doing. I’m so sorry..” She trails off, burying her face in her hands.
“No, no.” You coo, slowly leaning forward so as to not aggravate your injury. “I’m glad it hit me and not you. I can handle pain much better than you.”
Anne stopped crying instantly, her indignation cutting off her grief.
“What makes you think that?” She demanded.
“I’m taller than you.” You say pertly and Anne sputters.
“You’re the same height.” Ominis pipes up dryly and before you can ask him how the hell he knows that, a nurse pokes her head into the room.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” She says smiling a little too brightly. You sit up again and Sebastian quickly moves to help you, settling you fully upright against the pillows.
“Your parents are here. I’ll send them in. Your friends can wait outside.” You swallow and nod, sending a slightly panicked look to Anne who glances back in commiseration.
You were muggle-born and while your parents weren’t ‘anti-magic’ it scared the hell out of them. They thought you might explode either themselves or their house at any second which was the reason you spent so much time at the Sallow house even if they did claim it was because the train ride was shorter from Feldcroft to Hogwarts.
Your friends shuffled out and a pair of terrified muggles shuffled in. Instead of coming to sit next to you as the others had they both stood at the foot of the bed, your father standing slightly in front of your mother as if shielding her. Suddenly you realize that your earlier explosion metaphor may not be all that far off in their eyes.
Over the next few minutes you alternately try to coax them closer and calm them down but in the end, its Solomon’s intervention that saves you. He announces that you would stay with him for the rest of the summer and the professors at Hogwarts would surely have a solution in the coming semester. You knew they trusted the man, all you’d had to do was tell them he was a wizard police officer, so they agreed quickly and with relief. They left soon after that, edging nervously around Ominis as he and the others came back in. This made you scowl at their backs as no insult to you could.
“They still think he’s cursed?” Sebastian asked in a low voice at your look. You nod.
“Superstitious twaddle.”
You spend the next few days with healer after healer attempting to rectify the curse placed on you. It caused terrible pain radiating from the scar if you moved too quickly or harshly; otherwise it was a dull ache. You insisted you could manage it. You had to. If you couldn’t return to Hogwarts you would be consigning yourself to being a muggle for the rest of your life and after five years of magic, the thought of having your wand snapped gave you worse pain than any curse could ever.
So, in a week you return to the Sallow house with your three best friends to support you. By the time you are all back at Hogwarts, you’re starting to get a handle on what causes the pain to worsen and what helps in the times when it's unavoidable. The dull ache fades to the back of your mind most of the time but it's always there and it's exhausting. There are times when you can’t sleep for hours on end because of it and even when you can you are plagued with nightmares. What if you hadn’t been there? Or if Anne had woken Sebastian or Ominis? What if the pain was bad all the time? You’d wake up covered in sweat or wracked with agony. At first, you woke the others in your dorm with your cries but after a while, you got better at keeping silent. You knew Anne was so full of guilt already, that you didn’t need to add to her suffering.
It was when you stopped sleeping that you noticed a difference in the two boys. They had always been caring in their own way, they were your best friends after all, but now they took it up to eleven. Sebastian in particular wouldn’t let you carry anything heavier than your wand and would probably carry you from class to class if you’d allow it. Ominis was always fetching anything you wanted or needed and encouraging you to eat even if the pain got too bad. Because of your injury, you couldn’t ride a broom so you spent those classes with your blind partner in crime. You found it soothing to read to him on the lawn while the other student flew around far above your heads. He joked he wanted to be close for when Sebastian eventually fell off his broom.
Sebastian got many a-detention by sneaking into the restricted section in hopes of finding ways to help the pain until you impatiently asked him why he hadn’t asked a teacher for access. This befuddled him enough that he didn’t say anything while you marched to Madam Scribner and asked if Sebastian could help in the library in return for a pass to the section. He became an assistant of sorts to her and what that meant was that you barely had to think of a book you wanted before he had it for you.
To be fair he did find a few helpful treatments, including a numbing oil that he commissioned from Garreth Weasley after you explained a muggle version you’d read about. It made it so that drying off after a bath wasn’t agonizing. Of course, Garreth brewing this did come at a cost, namely Sebastian not turning him into a small mammal after he finally asked Anne to go to Hogsmeade with him, which you were grateful for. You would hate for all your hard work encouraging them to actually talk to each other instead of staring longingly across the potions table to come to nothing because of a jealous twin brother. You even held his attention on the day of the big date by insisting Sebastian teach Ominis to fly while you shouted encouraging things from the ground.
At the end of the year, you went home and spent two whole weeks with your parents with them alternately scurrying around you, and trying to make you take muggle pain relievers, which you outright refused; you knew what things like cocaine did to people's minds. Thankfully they sent you to Feldcroft not long after for which you were thankful.
In your sixth year, Ominis found out you weren’t sleeping when you fell asleep during charms, a class you actually enjoyed. After much coaxing, you admitted to him about the nightmares and he finally opened up to you about his. You discovered his secret about his parents using the unforgivable curses on him and found solace in your shared experiences. You also discovered what a nice napping buddy he could be and, as you both found the undercroft soothing, you could often be found there curled up in a pile; like bunnies in a warren.
Ominis never kept secrets if he could help it so after hearing Sebastian ask you for the umpteenth time about the dark circles under your eyes he took Sebastian aside and quietly explained the situation. At first, the dark-haired boy was angry, demanding to know why you hadn’t told him yourself. Ominis told him your worries about Sebastian’s anxiety and Anne’s guilt. How Sebastian had finally stopped constantly looking for a cure. He listened, and together with Ominis, met with you at the library where they softly comforted you and explained that they would always be there to help.
A few nights later when he couldn’t sleep Ominis found you in the common area, staring out into the water. Without a word, he sat next to you on the lounge and pulled you close, and together you fell asleep. This became routine, one of them would come down to the common room in the middle of the night and curl up with you on the couch by the window where you'd both be found fast asleep in the morning. It was like they had a second sense of when your pain got bad.
As you got older, the burden of the pain became harder to bear. You found yourself, instead of waiting for one of them to join you on the couch, simply going to their dorm room and slipping into one of their beds. Usually whoever was most awake. This is how you found that Sebastian was a serious cuddler, he liked to wrap his arms around you and pull you so tightly to his chest that you could barely move.
Ominis on the other hand simply liked having you close to him and would lightly lay a hand on some part of your body. Top of your head, arm thrown over your waist, or holding your hand in his. If you woke with a nightmare or pain he would whisper gentle words to you and stroke your face. Sebastian would hold you tightly and do the same.
When you told Anne she acted scandalized and later confronted the boys about the possible consequences to your reputation.
“Reputation?” Sebastian scoffed. “Who cares about something daft like that.”
But Ominis looked concerned for a moment.
“Wait. Maybe Anne’s right. What about when she wants to get married?”
Sebastian glanced at the girl in question who was deep in conversation with Poppy across the lawn. She was clutching Duncan tightly by the back of the robes as the Hufflepuff girl held a Puffskein out to him. Sebastian grinned as he turned to face Ominis.
“Then one of us will have to marry her.”
Ending A: Ominis
Ending B: Sebastian
#hogwarts legacy#ominis gaunt#ominis gaunt x reader#sebastian sallow#Sebastian sallow x reader#comfort fic#dealing with chronic pain#ominis gaunt x reader x sebastian#ominis gaunt smut#sebastian sallow smut#hogwarts legacy fanfic
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