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hollyhomburg · 5 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.65)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The truth always comes out one way or another, and with Jimin temporarily whisked away for surgery- it's up to you and yoongi to answer Namjoon's questions.

Tags: Angst, blood, guns, murder, discussions of morality, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of past spousal abuse, confessions, hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals, reconciliation, vmin focus, Trans! tae, Everybody lives nobody dies,

W/c: 15.0k

A/N: this chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but! sorry that this chapter came out when it did, we're finally here! sorry for the break in chapters- I got some not great news about a family members health and wanted to spend some extra time with them over the holidays.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The abandoned industrial building rises without warning from the mist and fog. You could almost call in lonely. Although it has its comfort in its stillness, the same way that monsters that do not move do not instill fear. A foe vanquished but not forgotten.

The body. The dust. The puddle of blood by the door is more than enough evidence for plausible deniability. The faint splatter of it here and there like confetti left after a parade, or flower petals that fall in spring and pile up like snow.

Moonbyul stands in the doorway, like a pagan in a house of God. Out of place and out of mind. Dark coat unblemished by dust or blood. She doesn’t stoop to touch the ground or try and clean up the evidence from Jimin and Jin’s misbegotten hours here. She doesn’t think Hobi’s name, although she knows it.

God does she know it.

She’s poured over all the files that her men have collected about your pack for weeks now. Searching out weaknesses like a snake searches rabbit holes for soft fur and an easy meal. She’d spent the most time lingering over Tae’s file. The photos that shift from short hair to long, lipstick that she finds too pink and distasteful.

Red is better color.

She'd spent a long time pouring over Jin’s too because she’d needed to. Jimin and her cousins had been glossed over. She already knows enough about them to last a lifetime.

But only one file had given her paper cuts. Revenge on paper is not as sweet as it should be.

She doesn’t need to read that file anymore. Although she hears the words that the youth said so many months ago on repeat, you and Hobi in the coffee shop caught only on security camera. “I think I heard something I shouldn’t have”. As well as the ones that followed.

Contrary to popular belief, Moonbyul doesn’t like killing. She views it only as a necessity. She looks at the blood on the floor without any disgust. It’s been a long time since she’s cleaned up any alpha's mess, and she’s not going to start now.

She looks down at the blood and smiles. It’s a rare thing- seeing her smile. It’s different from her grin that bares her teeth. Sharped incisors changed and honed just before she’d been appointed the head of the moon family.

She remembers her mother's words when she’d looked at them in the mirror for the first time, She remembers that she could still taste the file they'd used to carve them. Metallic, like blood on her tongue.

“All the most dangerous alphas have fangs; you’ll need to learn to use them if you want to fill your father’s shoes.”

Familial death is more of a rite of passage than a time for mourning in the family. A time when power shifts and secrets get covered up or aired out. Like the moon waxing and waning.

Moonbyul hadn’t been born with fangs, the way alphas always are. Moonbyul hadn’t been born with a lot of things.

A smiling Moonbyul is either a happy or a bloodthirsty one. And a happy Moonbyul, when properly stroked- means they get privileges.

Privileges in their pack, amount to small little things most of the time. A night where they don’t have to take the heat inducers. A night where they can wear comfy sweats instead of the lingerie and stifling silk. But if they're extra sweet and good they get better things. A free evening where they can see their families as long as they come home before sunrise.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Solar is dressed as her clone today, with stockings pulled up her milky thighs flashing beneath the long hem. Extra extra cute in the way that she loops her arm into Moonbyuls and pouts. as if she's upset that her alpha is paying more attention to the murder than her.

She still smells faintly of sex, moonbyul, and her own ginger scent. Not like fresh cut- the kind that baked goods have around Christmas time.

Moonbyul smiles, rapping her long nails against where Solar's arm is curled around hers clinging to her as if her life depends on it. It does- Moonbyul and her both know it does. But Solar has always been a good pet. She’s never needed quite as much correction as Wheein who likes to know exactly where her cage ends and begins, or like Hyejin- who needs nearly as much combatting and careful maneuvering as their enemies.

She'd learned from Hyejin. Had never let the others have quite as much freedom or get used to challenging her. There's a reason why Hyejin had demanded to wear her mating mark and why Moonbyul had let her have it.

Omega's however sweet and however docile, still need a cage. Moonbyul's only ever tried to branch out of her tastes once, and she won't ever do it again. Disastrous as alphas are. They make piss-poor lovers and disobedient needy pets.

She sighs. Alphas and their messes.

In truth, the pack could use someone truly obedient, someone for whom being good is as easy as breathing to balance them out. The pack could use a good pup. The pack could use you.

Moonbyul burns in want, stewing in it ravenous. It’s not love, it’s not even really lust either. She’s never been an easily sated person. She’s always wanted too much, always finished the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting. She’s always wanted everything.

That’s why she’s smiling, because she’s about to get it.

She stands a little straighter, holding out her palm. “Why don’t we go see.” Moonbyul doesn’t turn to leave, however. She doesn't walk towards the body dumped at the back of the building, still bearing Jin's fingerprints. A single strand of hair would do it. She doesn’t make any move other than to reach into her pocket and take out a lighter.

She thinks of the family's assassins; The Bee, The Spider and The Wolf. She thinks of Park Jimin. The snake. Hopefully either dead or in the process of dying.

The body in the back of the building is another one of hers. She never thought that this would be the end of the Wolf, he'd always been one of their most reliable killers. Always showed up on time too, an exemplary employee. Not to be easily duped. She'll have to figure this out and pin down What did him in. But that will take time and energy, only one of which she has.

He was only supposed to wait in the wings and ensure that neither Park Jimin nor Kim Seokjin left this building alive, nothing more.

Sometimes things are just coincidences, sometimes if you're lucky- they're just bad luck.

This doesn't feel like bad luck, this feels like revenge.

Solar makes a noise in her throat, a questioning chirp. She really is trying to be her cutest right now. Moonbyul won’t reward her in a way that she likes, a way that she wants. Even songbirds still feel the itch to fly. Clipped wings and all.

She looks at the flame, sparking.

“Why won’t you just leave the evidence? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Solar is not as good as Hyejin at handling this sort of thing, not as experienced. But she’s currently handling other more important things. Things that need her finer touch.

Solar doesn’t understand why Moonbyuls going to light this place up like a fucking Christmas tree and do Seokjin’s dirty work for him. Solar is only a pup, and she’s been kept like that because Moonbyul likes pupish omegas.

She likes the innocence and obedience that people who weren't made for this kind of life have. So eager to please that they're willing to debase their souls. There is no greater sacrifice, no greater sign of love than someone willing to do anything for you.

This also happens to be why she likes you. Why she will have you. because neither Solar nor Wheein have ever been as good at this as you were. The perfect medium between sinful and pious. Cute even while killing.

And 5 is a prettier number than 4. 3 pups for her and Hyejin is a prettier number than 2. They need more than one for each.

Just one more pup, and then their collection will be complete. It took them so long to find the right one, so much trial and error. (Moonbyul despises errors. She's going to try and kill one before this is through)

She won’t let you slip through their grasp, not a second time. You should have never been Yoongi's.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave this as evidence? So that the FBI gets them all? We could just like- buy them off if they wanted to take her too-”

“Oh pup” she croons, half gentle. Flicking the lighter and letting it burn in front of her face before she tosses it The soil is so soaked through with gasoline that it lights as easily as a candle, slowly spreading from wall to wall and then- in the doorway, until the heat is too much and they have to move away.

“That wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

~-~

(Now, Namjoon)

Namjoon’s shirt is soaked so thoroughly with blood that it makes him cold. The hospital always feels cold, goosebumps rise like a mini mountain ranges on his arms. The hair pressed down where the blood has dried.

It’s not his first time covered in blood, but this time feels different.

He’s shivering, teeth clattering. His hands shake almost too bad to fill out the intake paperwork because he’d rather do it now than later. Park Jimin (registered, Kim) Alpha, weight 165 lbs (give or take a few). Blood type AB. No medications. No known allergies, no known prior conditions. No no no.

No.

Namjoon’s hands shake. He leaves Jimin’s ‘occupation’ blank.

Yoongi sits a few paces back, staring vacantly off into space. On the surface Namjoon would assume that he’s having no reaction and is feeling absolutely heartless about everything that's happened in the last 3 hours. But his breath becomes stuttered every few minutes, like he has to manually force himself to inhale and exhale. Like it’s taking all of Yoongi’s faculties to keep himself breathing and upright and not in a heap on the floor having a mental breakdown.

He kind of wishes Yoongi was crying and screaming instead. Then at least- Namjoon would feel like he had to be the strong one.

He can't get the feeling of stabbing Jimin out of his head, or the sound it it, the wet squelch of knife hitting skin.

Namjoon has cut into people thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times by now. But he’s only cut into someone he loves once, and god Namjoon never wants to do it again- won’t ever be able to touch warm prone flesh and hurt it, not after Minnie. Never again.

The pen in his hand weighs a million pounds. He contemplates asking for a piece of paper and writing out his resignation letter. he breathes in for 5 and out for 9, then sets it down on the clipboard and slides it across the counter for the nurse to take. Namjoon doesn’t hear her quiet tone asking him if he's alright and if there's anything she can do. just shakes his head on instinct.

There is a gaggle of nurses looking around the corner peering at Dr. Kim.

"Do you think he dresses like that outside of work hours?" "I never thought I'd be so attracted to jeans and a tee-shirt." Giggling in quiet voices.

It feels so strange, to hear people laughing while Jimin is dying. Namjoon almost wants to go bite their heads off and report them for poor bedside manner to the hospital manager.

This is Namjoon’s hospital. But Namjoon can’t find it in himself to smile or say thank you to the nurse when she tells him that the second she gets any news on Jimin, he'll be the first to know. He can’t say anything through the mountain of emotion in his throat.

If Namjoon’s love is a mountain, then his anguish is a river threatening to drown him. Yoongi smells like it- the line where water turns clear to brackish, Yoongi’s miserable scent has always smelled like the churning sea and now something that feels an awful lot like seasickness makes Namjoon sway on his feet.

Since he’s done with the paperwork, he promptly returns to Yoongi’s side and sits down. Only once he's sure he's stationary, does he pull a nearby wastebasket over between his knees to upend the contents of his stomach. It hits the top of old gauze pads crumpled up at the bottom and smelling like piss with a surprisingly violent sound, drawing the gaze of more than one person in the waiting room. At least it finally quiets the giggles.

Yoongi’s hand finds Namjoon’s knee, the hole in his jeans, The back of his ribs, stroking once twice. steady and hard the way that Namjoon likes. And Namjoon wishes he could snap at Yoongi. Wishes he didn’t curl into the touch. Wishes he was angrier. Wishes Jimin was perfectly alive and breathing and not going to-

Yoongi’s hand settles on the back of Namjoon’s neck, his throat, pulse hammering, thudding.

They’re just kids and Yoongi's hands are calloused. They've always been.

Deep down Namjoon still feels like he’s only 8 years old. Is just a kid and just starting to understand that the world isn’t all just papercuts and skinned knees; that it means something when people hurt. That it means something when you tell them you won’t let them hurt anymore.

He remembers promising Jimin something similar- a long time ago, the summer they all first met:

Namjoon remembers Jimin, standing in the apartment that wasn't theirs yet, after a movie night, the first movie night that the pack had ever had togeather (not totally togeather, becuase you and hobi hadn't been there yet but still).

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen Jimin in something other than a designer sweater, sweats and a tee-shirt so ordinary that Namjoon was surprised it didn't make him look less intimidating. standing in the doorway waiting for Namjoon to notice him and look up from his medical journal.

"Yes Minnie? Did you need something?" jimin had shifted from foot to foot. looking up at jimin, a first slice of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Tae and Jungkook, they've got a bit of pain in them. I want to know what you intend to do with it." namjoon set his glasses to the side, the papers rustling as he forgets his reason.

"Make it better hopefully?" Namjoon had been struck with how oddly intense he'd been. Jimin had opened up with time and had gone sweet and trusting with the right amount of love. But he'd looked intimidating in his dark clothes and the wrinkle between his eyes like he was used to furrowing his eyebrows. A cute detail that Namjoon already wants to brush away. To touch. to cradle. To love.

He'll catalogue all of Park Jimin's cutest things in time. He'll treat love as a scavenger hunt, to find the softness in someone who tries so outwardly to be gruff and strong.

Namjoon's stained sleep clothes and promises felt all the more shabby in comparison.

"I need you to promise."

Namjoon had avoided it. Unwilling to meet his words with the same intensity. Jimin doesn't take chances with Jungkook and Tae. Tae's low laugh from the other room, Yoongi's matching grumble, overly fond already. Overly fond from the beginning.

"What about you? Doesn't everyone have pain?"

"Just promise."

"I promise to look after the three of you." Jimin had scoffed. Puffing up like a bird with too many feathers.

"I don't need looking after. Just them- when I go away for work."

"I know, but let me do it anyway." Smiling at the pretty alpha was so easy, so easy with the sounds of Jungkook and Jin's giggles in the other room. Laughter building itself into the walls around them.

"I promise not to hurt you or them. You have my word."

Namjoon lied, Namjoon lied back then and he didn't even know it. He upends his stomach again and Yoongi rubs down his spine.

“He’s not going to die Joon, he’s going to be fine.” Namjoon continues to empty his stomach, it’s pizza mostly, a bit of coffee, and a half-digested protein bar from this morning as well.

“Does hurting the people you love ever get easier?” Namjoon asks. Honesty, not anger in his tone.

Yoongi’s hair has gotten longer and hangs in his eyes. Yoongi never grew his hair out before you, always kept it in that short black sort of coconutty style. It makes him look older and all the more beautiful. Namjoon wonders if that’s why you like it; How regal it makes your mate look.

Yoongi has asked so much of Namjoon in the last few years, from leaving to coming back and bringing you. To hiding the mating mark and now this. Namjoon tells himself he should care more about Yoongi's lies and less about the fact that he just lied, period.

“No,” Yoongi grimaces. He always gets so quiet when things are bad, steady in that consistent way. He still hasn't stopped stroking Namjoon's back. Namjoon knows this is simply all Yoongi knows how to do, his first instinct is to love and not much else. “It was never easy.”

It’s not weird that they re-hash this now. Every time Namjoon learns more about how and why Yoongi left, he understands it more.

“I threw up too, just so you know- when I left, leaving you made me so sick that I hurled the second I got on that train. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He blinks back wetness in his eyes, “I don't remember if I've ever told you that."

Namjoon nods. He can't remember right now either.

It’s been an hour or so now since Yoongi drove fast but steady steady steady to the hospital. Namjoon in the back while he stabilized Jimin in much the same fashion that you'd done earlier. The rest of the pack should be here soon. The three of you only lingered behind to clean up a bit and change your clothes, covered with blood and muck and who knows what else.

Yoongi sits like a statue and Namjoon can’t even look at him, can’t ask any questions or even start because he already feels like he’s yelling, and Namjoon hates yelling. This isn't isn’t exactly the most private venue for secrets that could land Jimin in jail.

Namjoon's still not entirely convinced that stabbing him was worth it. Namjoon’s brain is dizzy with terror. He’s still dizzy when he turns and sees you walking through the front doors to his hospital, Jin and Hobi trailing behind you.

He remembers the way you’d looked the day they’d gotten you checked out for the first time; how you’d run and pressed your face to his chest and buried your face there like just the sound of Namjoon's heart could make every demon and monster go away. For a moment, Namjoon thinks you might do the same thing. But your steps are measured, slow, and purposeful.

Namjoons eyes train on you, following you as you walk,

Yoongi stands, leaving Namjoon sitting with a cooling pail of vomit between his legs. he says something to you, to jin, but you don't pause, continuing until you're standing in front of him.

You don't say anything to him, just peer into the bucket and make a disgusted face down at it. Namjoon's teeth feel too sharp in his mouth with such a tense jaw.

Hoseok is on the phone, face gaunt and tired-looking. He must have drawn the short end of the stick and has the job of calling Jungkook and Tae and telling them what happened. They really shouldn’t drive themselves, but all Namjoon can reasonably do is restrain himself from cornering you and Jin and start demanding answers.

He barely even turns to Jin when the omega goes up to the desk and asks if they can have a room, please. A private place for the pack to nurse their worries and not crowd the already-packed waiting room. Namjoon couldn’t name the nurse by name right now if he wanted to but he’s well known here and well-liked too. They give them one of the adjacent exam rooms to wait- Jimin’s surgery will take a few hours more, and there isn’t anything to do but wait.

Terrible terrible waiting, terrible terrible time. (You get a bucket when you want a drop and a drop when you want a deluge. Time only comes in two increments; too much or not enough.)

You drop a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder without a word. After some beckoning Namjoon follows you into the room. Legs shaking and sluggish at first. The pack is quiet even as the door closes.

But once Namjoon's moving it’s hard to stop, careening like a comet or a bullet in your direction. Staggering.

You’d taken precious seconds to change your blood stained clothes before following Namjoon. You all pulled on the first things you could get your hands on. Which is how you’ve ended up in your mate’s shirt and Jungkook’s jacket, and how Hoseok’s in one of Tae’s extra-large pink sleep shirts stained from hair dye underneath Namjoon’s puffer coat and a pair of jungkook's grey work out sweats. Jin had been a little bit more purposeful- his sweatpants match- his matching purple set.

Namjoon's shirt is dark from blood, the bloodstain drying crusty, sticking to his skin like glue.

To say that Namjoon is angry is an understatement; rage rolls off of him in quiet unending ripples carrying with it the strength to change the pack for good if he’s not careful. He doesn't walk to the chairs no- he bee-lines it to you.

He watches you startle and turn, eyes widening. You do not make to move out of his path.

Namjoon has never made you feel afraid before, but the pulse of it, the threat of fear is there as he backs you against the wall until your body lies against it. Looming over your head, so much taller and larger than you.

An alpha. An alpha hunting.

You tremble but you do not move to avoid him when he corners you.

He has a tiny bit of blood on his face, and a hairline splatter, almost like a constellation of stars across his temple. His fingers are harsh and shaking when they dig into your cheeks, pinching them until your lips open. Your knees tremble and you press your palm flat against the wall.

His scent thunders so thick and consuming that you can't physically stop yourself from trying to bear your throat. Namjoon stops you, holding you in place.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at you, He pinches your cheeks harder, shakinging you just a little. His voice is steady when he speaks, inches away from low snarl.

“Never make me hurt one of our packmates again.” You swallow, although it’s hard. And he pinches again- harder before you get a chance to speak- to try and defend why you brandished that knife at Jimin hours ago. Namjoon holds your face the same way he held the knife- tenderly.

“I mean it. Never.”

He holds you there for a second longer before he lets you go, leaving you gasping. His hand slides down your throat to your shoulder and neck, You would fall over if it wasn't for his touch keeping you up.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, a few stingy tears making themselves known at the corner of your eyes. Namjoon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. His spiky silver hair hits your skin. Rough.

After a second, he opens them again. Nodding. And his scent loses its bitter edge. He guides you to rest against his chest. You take big gasps of his scent now that he's giving you permission. Your instincts thunder through you so viciously that you can't physically stop yourself from tilting your neck and bearing your throat.

Namjoon just drags a finger down it, humming. He holds you up, arms around you, a shield and a cage.

“It’s not okay.” I’m not okay, “but I forgive you.” Your knees do give out when Namjoon’s hand brushes the back of your neck, fingers digging in, a half hearted scruff that feels a bit like an apology of his own.

Even if he wants to be angry, anger won’t accomplish anything. Especially with you. His anger will only make you afraid and although Namjoon cannot be expected to control his emotions all the time, you have no reason to fear him.

He's never going to hurt you. He promised.

He walks you two strides, to put you into a chair next to Yoongi. Your mate takes you from him. The plastic chair makes a loud scraping noise against the linoleum floor. Jin's on your other side looking just as tired as the rest of you.

You'll get no rest tonight, sleeping in Jimin's hospital room when he gets out of surgery. Every fitful dream interrupted by the oxygen monitor on his arm. the first few hours when it will go off twice and prompt examination of his vasculature and operation site as well as a fresh dose of blood thinners. The biggest danger going forward will be blood clots; one too large in jimin's arm could leave his hand with nerve damage, numb for good.

But for now, Namjoon looks down at you, yoongi, and jin sitting in the plastic chairs. Secret, killer, and agent. All there in a pretty little row. Namjoon glares down at the three of you and crosses his arms.

“Explain.” Namjoon can’t wait another minute, another second. “Explain to me everything going on in my pack that I don't know about right now or I swear I'll-"

Yoongi scoffs, "That you'll what? That you'll tear us apart Namjoon? that you'll leave? Look around you- we're already falling to pieces."

"You don't honestly expect me not to be angry that I had to stab jimin do you-"

"No, but don't yell at her. I have my limits."

"I wish I was one of those limits, but i'm clearly not since you insist on fucking over our pack-"

Jin turns, cutting them off from their argument with the true shock of his next words. You know that's what he's intending- but it sort of backfires. "Joonie, Don't get mad at Yoongi or her for this. Especially since I'm the one who shot Jimin. It was an accident."

You flinch, then put your head in your hands, namjoon's scent goes impossibly thick and angry for a second before he gets it under control. You physically watch Namjoon's hackles raise. watch Yoongi push back in his chair, leg jumping, running his hands through his hair looking from you to Jin, then back again.

"Jin, you should have kept that to yourself."

"What the fuck-"

Namjoon looks like he doesn't know weather to cry or laugh. "You don't just shoot someone on accident-"

Jin's got the best scoff, one worthy of music screens not just the quiet tomb of this room. Your relationship that's dying all around you. "You don't just stab someone on accident either and yet here we are-"

There are some secrets you take to the grave and others that you keep for too long, so long that they make a grave out of you. Keeping secrets is like keeping someone else's heart beating, you run out of blood eventually.

You might vomit up the truth all over the hospital floor just like Namjoon did a few minutes ago. You feel sick and light-headed and sort of like you might have low blood sugar. namjoon's scent, angry alpha affects you more than you realize.

You start to teater, and their next biting words get extinguished when you almost fall out of the chair, nearly sliding to the floor before Namjoon catches you. One knee dully aches as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, ducking in close, real concern in his face, all his anger gone.

"Shit are you okay?"

"Pup?"

"Just got lightheaded-" Whatever it was, your lightheadedness will have to wait for another time. It's honestly probably just stress. Your heart feels like it's beating extra fast, extra hard.

Namjoon places you gently back in the chair and Yoongi touches your shoulder, the trio of their concerned faces that you swat away.

"We should wait for Hobi." You still owe him an explanation- for earlier and these aren't the kind of secrets you say more than you have to. A cup of water gets thrust into your hands and for once, they fall silent.

When Hobi comes in he’s mostly quiet holding his phone in his hand. Looking at you from across the room. His soulful eyes watching you, head tipping to the side in deference.

"Tae's in-" It takes him a second to gather his words. "Tae's in a fucking state. She was crying so hard that Jungkook had to call them an Uber. I just told her Jimin had been stabbed and nothing else because I didn't know what to tell her."

"That's probably for the best we don't have to-" your mate starts, but Namjoon cuts him off.

"No, no more secrets. Not between any of us."

Hoseok still has a hickey from you on the side of his neck, from you earlier. Jin's fingers skim down the one on your shoulder where a mirrored mark sits knocking you out of your Hobi-induced reverie, red and bruising from his mouth. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, but now is not the time to tell him about you and hobi.

"We've got like- maybe 30 minutes until they get here."

You swallow past a lump in your throat, readying yourself for it, “better make it quick then,” Namjoon waits, Seokjin is silent, watching you, gaze flickering from you to Hobi every few blinks. Yoongi holds onto your knee, sliding his palm down to your hand, your wrist. Finger digging into the sensitive scent gland there and rubbing comforting circles.

You swallow hard. “We’re all on each other's sides, right?”

“Of course,” Jin crosses his arms like he's offended you even had to ask. You bite back your retort. Namjoon nods, so does Hobi.

Your hair flops as you nod. But you still look to Yoongi to wait for permission. After a breath your mate nods and spreads his hands, giving you the floor.

If there’s one thing you know it’s that you can’t do this alone, you and Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin, Jimin and Tae. You and Hobi. There is no separation here, not when it comes to your safety. Each of you cannot keep the rest safe on your own.

“I met Jimin a few months before I met Yoongi, I…Yoongi’s family-”

Yoongi resists the temptation to speak for about 10 seconds when you fall silent. You can sense the moment that the truth shifts, when it explodes at Yoongi’s tongue. Unbidden but frantic and relieving like it's taken Yoongi's whole being to keep all this in.

“My family, I've never liked calling them that. Blood means nothing to me, you guys, you guys were always my family more than them." The pack is silent but you lace your hands with his and nudge his thigh with yours, encouraging him to go on.

"My relatives run the largest network of organized crime on the East Coast, from Boston to Miami. Everything from racketeering to prostitution to production and distribution of pharmaceutical-grade opioids. cover ups, sale of illegal weapons, extorsion of political officials and blackmail. If you can think of a crime they do it. If you can think of a way to make money, they've got their hands in it. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t go home- why my parents-”

Yoongi breaks off, his voice going small and quiet. Wounds he doesn’t talk about- even to you.

“There’s maybe 200 of us now. I’ve got a lot of fucking aunts and uncles. We try to stay in our lanes, our cities, and deal only in our respective crimes. There's a lot of politics and a lot of people vying for control here and there, but only alphas are allowed to lead, omega's increases the bonds of power in other ways and beta's- You know how rare beta's are- in my family- i'm treated as second only to the family head. Being a beta offered me certain liberties. Other freedoms. Not only to avoid most of the violent stuff- but to leave and move around without asking for permission. It's like a get out of hell free card. Not everyone gets that."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, “You mean they didn’t exactly expect you to go about popping heirs or advancing the family business through murder and ruining innocent people's lives. not like they expected with me."

Hoseok shrivels his nose, He looks from you to Yoongi- eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “hang on i thought- Are you guys trying to say you’re fucking related or-”

“Oh my god daisy-”

You splutter, “gross- No, we’re not fucking like- blood-related or anything.” You tap your chest. "I'm non family- brought in from the outside. Which means I was just about as valuable as piss to the aunts. In our world the only reason to mate or marry is for power- any other reason and your spouse is considered disposable." you cross your legs, admitting something you've kept to yourself, not a secret just a suspicion. "Geumjae never intended to keep me around forever."

Seokjin makes a strangled noise and Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, “Jesus Christ.”

Hobi raises his hands bare, “Sorry! You’re not doing a good job of explaining!”

"Well, if you just gave me a minute to get to the point-" Yoongi seems to shake himself, to put himself together. “Like she said- I'm not expected to partake in the family buisness, Only alphas are allotted that 'honor'." Yoongi puts the words in quotations and adds an eye roll for good measure.

"Mainly- I’m treated as some sort of glorified advice Column. People call and ask me things and I’m required to answer or else they’d hunt me down and drag me back. They bring me in to coordinate stuff because I'm a beta and I keep everyone calm and keep them from killing each other and shooting out their squabbles. I tried to keep you guys safe that’s why I left but-“

Jin’s hand goes to yours, nodding, because he understands. “But not why you stayed away.”

“No. It's not.” The pack's eyes naturally stray to you.

“The heads of houses report to the family head and she directs them to me if they need a beta's touch. Only she hasn't- the new Don hasn't asked anything of me since taking power. When the last one died- my grandparents- I left to help with the transition. But the new Don doesn't need me."

You flinch, you try to hide it but Yoongi turns, ferreting out that there's a secret there without you having to confess it. Your voice is darker than they’ve ever heard. "It's not that she doesn't need you- it's that she doesn't trust you."

Yoongi tries not to sound accusatory. "Her trust isn't something you should be after."

“It’s not- promise I just-” You pick at a stray thread on your pants.

The linoleum floor in front of you is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. "She shouldn't trust me either- and she knows it. Believe me she knows it."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you. To pull himself to the edge of his chair to try and get in front of you. A wordless question that he dares not speak.

"Before you, I was already trying to do whatever I had to survive. including doing what everyone else did back in that hellhole and ask for help-"

Yoongi stands, to much energy and panic in his body to stay seated. “You didn’t." This is a fight and a confession you shouldn’t have In front of the rest of them.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes beseeching. He's quiet and you make your words as measured and soft as you can. "I asked your grandparents first- and then when she told me as long as I did what she said she'd get me out I-"

“She’s more dangerous than Geumjae, you can’t have honestly been trying to trade one captor for another."

The whole pack is silent, watching the two of you. Not really understanding. But Jin- Jin pursues his lips. You don't know how he knows but he does.

Yoongi’s face goes truly white. Yoongi’s hands are shaking. Shaking until he grabs the handles of your chair, knees to the ground, bowed in front of you. Letting your silence stew for a second.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing to blame it on her, you hadn’t fought not to kill. But back then it had really felt like your only way out, the only way to escape the ever-suffocating pressure of trying not to die.

“For what it’s worth, I had no idea what they meant to you when she made me help her kill them.”

Something shifts in Yoongi’s stature, from surprise and shock to resignation so quickly you almost miss it. A tense set to his jaw but a tight-lipped understanding as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and he rests his forehead on your knees.

He's very careful in his words. Slow with them and intentional when he lifts his head and stands. You don't know if they're lies. “Just like my parents, just like all of us in the family, I knew their days were numbered anyway.” But you loved them once you want to say. You’re not sure why you want Yoongi to be angry at you.

“I won’t apologize, not for what I had to do to survive.”

Yoongi cradles your cheek. Something dark and conflicted in his eyes.

“I know, but I’d forgive you anyway, even if you did it out of anger.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi's hand drops from your cheek. "How does he connect to all of that?"

“I met him first, I asked him.” You hesitate. This isn't your secret to tell and you don't even know all of it- like how jimin even became an assassin or started killing. you don't know his motives. It's one thing to confess your own sins, and another to talk about Jimin's to them without his say-so.

Jin darts forward, holding your hand in both of his, “Whatever we say in this room- I’d never dream of recording. I’m not on anyone’s side but ours.” Jin screws his eyes shut tight, willing you and Yoongi to believe him. "Even with the FBI thing."

Namjoon whirls. He doesn't have to ask before Jin's spilling it. telling the truth.

Jin is measured with his speech, but it's his turn. No more secrets, that's what you've all agreed. "I've been working with the FBI for the last 8 years. They approached me back before we met Joonie- because of my proximity to Yoongi. First as an informant, then an agent and now the head of the task force.

"I only did it because I figured out that being a part of them was the easiest way to keep Yoongi out of jail. As long as I could reasonably assume I was the only one trusted and close enough to keep an eye on him, I could keep all the truly damning evidence out of their hands."

Jin turns to you, resisting the urge to reach out to you for his own comfort, you're looking at him like he's got three heads, but he smiles down at you, that pup-soft smile that he saves just for you when you're both nesting.

"I kept your name off of the photocopies of the recipie you used to kill them. Don't worry, no one but us knows." You look at Jin with new eyes, not a double agent but not an enemy either. Somewhere in between. Your heart pulses, and you grip his hand back.

Yoongi pulls his hands through his hair, angry, his tone grave "Well there's your reason-"

Hobi has been so quiet you've honestly almost forgotten he was there. Elbows balanced on his knees and watching the three of you on trial for Namjoon. "Answer to what."

"You don't understand Jin, you don't understand the laws of the family much less the one you've broken."

"The reason why someone's trying to kill you, if anyone finds out that Y/n killed them- everyone connected to them is fair game."

"You mean-"

"We're all done, if anyone finds out, that's probably why the new head of house was trying to take Jin out- to tie up a loose end."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused again." Hobi runs his hands through his hair, and it fluffs up. "Jimin's what again?"

“Jimin is an assassin, I asked Jimin to kill my husband for me but he said no.” You pick at a strand of thread on your pants, unwilling to look up and meet any of their eyes, not Namjoon’s or Jin’s. “Met him back when we meant nothing to each other. He still feels guilty for not saving me. We talked it out a while ago. It’s okay- I did it myself eventually- didn’t need anyone’s help.”

You look up at Yoongi and he looks like he might want to laugh or cry and can't pick which. “I don’t know much else about Jimin other than that he kills for the family."

"They've got people for everything, a few assassin's they keep on retainer," Yoongi clarifies. "People that anyone can hire if you've got the money for it. There are a few names that the family puts on a no-kill list, Children, the pack mates of the ruling pack, the heads of houses and their immediate packmates. If anyone kills a person on the no-kill list- their life is forfeit. I'm on it by default. The pack mates of the beta are on it too, All of you are on it. No one should be trying to kill you."

Yoongi's never paid much attention to the list, the waxing and waning names and faces and photos. he's been on it since before he was born and with no intent to kill or harm anyone and put himself even potentially in harm's way, he's never sought it out.

Maybe if he had, things would go differently.

A cold rush of realization rushes over you. "That's why Jimin and Jin ended up there" You stand up, adrenaline in your hands. "She was hoping they'd take each other out so she wouldn't have to break family law to kill them."

Yoongi shakes his head, "Something about this doesn’t feel right- something about this isn’t normal.”

Hobi’s phone dings before you can hash it out anymore. He looks down in his lap. “They're here,” he’s up and out of the chair, heading out the door and into the hall so quickly that the rest of you have to chase after him. Namjoon tugs you to your feet, staring at Yoongi and Jin. "Was that enough?" you ask.

"We'll talk more later." is all he says. But he does lace his hands with yours and pull you after Hobi. Your legs are so short you have to take two steps for every one of theirs.

“I wish Tae and Kookie were here for that-“

"They should know” your mate agrees, keeping pace with you in the hallway, dropping back with you when Namjoon accidentally lets go in his haste to get through the door. You make eye contact with Yoongi when you turn. Your back to one of those push doors using your body weight to push through it.

You pause, waiting with Yoongi on the other side of them.

“If anyone tells her about Minnie- should be me.”

(You know exactly how you’ll do it, you’ll tell Tae the story of you just like this. You’ll tell it like a story, with author notes and playlists near the end. You’ll talk about Jimin just like this; all of the good parts and all of the bad all in one. So that she might truly understand that having a choice doesn't always mean you're free to do whats right.)

Yoongi nods, “I can tell Jungkook. I think if I do it gently, he won’t get shocked enough to have a seizure.”

You pause before the doors open, to have just a moment with the two of you, just you and him leaning against it. He shifts closer, not holding you, hands by his side but he's close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder. You do rest your head on his shoulder. Just to hear his heartbeat thud sluggish and heaven-sent against your ear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” It feels like it’s been ages and ages since you’ve had a quiet moment with him like this. You resolve to have one, to make space for him when this is all over. A private date with just the two of you maybe. Whenever Jimin comes home. “To help with Jimin.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I killed your grandparents.”

“They weren’t good people,” Yoongi shrugs, you've never seen a sadder shrug. “I always knew that. They-” yoongi breaks off, stealing himself for a quiet confession. "I think they might have had a hand in killing my parent. She didn't like it- that they had so much power over me. Future of the family and all."

"You've never said-"

Yoongi pushes through the door, and a high pitched keening cuts off your next words. "Later."

You push through the door and Tae and Jungkook are already there. Entering through the outside doors with a puff of air into Namjoon and Jin's waiting arms. Namjoon holds Tae up as she wails and wails. Her cry high like a nightingale. Jungkook looks pale and shaky, settled under Hobi's shoulder clearly in shock.

You cut through them, ducking under Jin's outstretched arm and colliding with Tae before anyone else can join Namjoon in holding her. falling to little heap on the linoleum floor, just at the precipice of the long hallway that connects to the patient rooms and the nurse's stations to other surgical suites. Drawing countless stars, countless looks from passersby as Tae's sobs renew themselves, loud and broken.

You clinging to each other. Her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head like it's the last safe thing in the universe.

“Jimin,” her voice breaks, throat closing around nothing. Sobs wet and angry, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, big and unabated by hope. "Minnie- My Minnie-"

You cling back, getting your hands on her cheeks. “He’s gonna be fine, he’ll be alright- here- here let me help you up. We've got you Tae-”

Jungkook looks a bit better, a little bit less like he’s drowning. Jin reaches for him while you hold onto Tae. And JK’s nostrils flare, he steps back, looking Jin up and down. Tae clings to you on the floor of the hospital and you look up at them. At Jin and Jungkook, standing a pace apart. Jungkook's hands keep Jin from coming any closer.

“You smell like Jimin does when he comes home from his trips, you smell like gunpowder. And mucky-” Jungkook's voice breaks, "Jin? Why do you smell like blood?"

There are too many people around, too many people for something like this. You're just glad It’s a quiet omission, Jungkook’s scent is level and so is his breath.

Maybe you should give him a lot more credit. Yoongi might not have to tell him much.

Tae's tears hit your collarbones as she crushes you, sobbing loudly in your ear, immune to the string of sweet nothings that fall from your lips. Whispered against her temple.

To everyone else in the hallway, rushing in the late-night hum, you and Tae look just the way that you’d expect; Two girls clinging to each other, one tall and the other short. One an alpha and the other an omega.

The rest of the pack is so blinded by their concern and their terror that they don’t look up. They don’t look down the hall to see the figure standing there watching them. One second the hallway is empty of the dark figure and then next she's there- waiting for you.

Her pine and medicine scent is disguised by the smell of death that lingers here. Although more than 2 of the people there might recognize it if they had the patience to sniff it out. They're too distracted by Yoongi dragging Jungkook close and whispering in his ear to keep his voice down.

Moonbyul watches the scene from the end of the hall. Two coffees in her hands. One for her and one for you because she always assumes that you'll go with her when she asks. No matter what’s going on with your pack, Moonbyul is not the kind of person who you say no to. She’ll ask nicely for you to come one more time.

Or so she thought. Looking at you and Tae holding each other is giving her other ideas.

To love a man is something she's always been able to dismiss as a mistake. Little pups just don't know what they need and even less what they want. She'd been prepared to deal with you loving them, the alphas, on paper, even the admittedly pretty omega male currently in her cousin's arms.

But another woman? Even one like that?

Rage is not like other sorts of anger, it’s not like fire burning to take. Achieng to burn until all the heat has worked itself out. Rage is quiet, rage is darkness and a hunger that needs to consume. That will destroy even if you try to stop it.

It's one thing to know that you love a woman besides her, and another to see you peck kisses along her tearstained cheeks. The rage builds as she watches you cup that female alpha’s cheeks. She watches you brush her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears. She’s got honeyed skin and smudged lipstick (so inelegant) you wipe her tears away and kiss her cheek.

But what makes Moonbyul’s hands tighten into claws, her metal-tipped nails piercing the coffee cups and making them drip onto the ground, wet and hot, is the way you smile at her.

Moonbyul’s rage is like a tidal wave.

By the time the rest of the pack looks up, the hallway is empty except for a puddle of coffee on the linoleum floor and two discarded cups. One with red lipstick stains and the other without.

~-~

(18 hours later, Jimin)

Tae’s cheek is so soft. That’s the first thing that Jimin’s aware of as he wakes from surgery.

Coming out of general anesthesia feels like being a rickety buoy on the busy ocean. One second bobbing to the surface and the next crashing below the waves and taking on water. Sloshy. Everything feels sloshy.

He only feels her at first- not the hospital bed, not the scratchy sheets, Just the feeling of her cheek resting against the palm of his hand. Her gentle breath tickling his fingers in her sleep.

Jimin will always know the particular beat and cadence of Tae’s body. Would know it if the sun got snuffed out like a candle. Would know her breath anywhere because it’s the very fuel to Jimin’s soul, the very thing that sets the tempo to the heart monitor beating out a pleasant rhythm in the midafternoon hum.

Her skin is pillowy and sweet beneath Jimin’s flayed fingers, limp and cold to the touch because of the whole almost bleeding out thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but he's needed 9 units of blood in the past 24 hours. 4 right away, and 3 during the surgery where they removed the knife and stitched his arm together. And another two units just after.

Compared to his own body, Tae feels so warm.

At least Jimin can still feel his left hand. The doctors that stitched him back together must have done a bang-up job, Namjoon even more so. a lot of people can put an arm back together, a whole slew of them, but not many surgeons could stab someone carefully enough so as to not permanently injure them. There are only so many people that he would trust to stab him.

But Jimin trusts Namjoon with a whole lot more than just that.

When he opens his eyes (a task of herculean proportions) Namjoon isn’t there, it’s just Tae in one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs. She’s bent over his hospital bed in what must surely be an uncomfortable position to sleep in. Her back arched like invisible wings weigh her down. She slept like that, sprawled as close as she could get to Jimin without the nurses waking her up and telling her not to crowd him.

The smudged mascara on her cheeks flake like falling stars, little trails there were tears rendered it useless. Jimin wipes away a black droplet like he's banishing a ghost. She’s cried so much over the last 10 hours, most of her makeup gone and sporting a bit of 5 o’clock shadow too. The faint roughness that Jimin feels no more than once. Because to derive sensory pleasure from that feels…wrong.

He looks at the ceiling, wondering where the others are. He feels the edge of his body, the spot where the wound begins and the pain ends. Who knew gunshots and stab wounds could make you feel so sore? and tired too? Exhaustion pins his body to the bed like a butterfly to a corkboard.

A wire connected to his good hand tugs, But he ignores it in favor of cradling Tae's head and combing through the tangles in her hair. It's gotten so long now, just to her shoulders, but the bits feel so soft and gauzy against his fingertips. He wishes he could feel it forever. It’s much much better than the 5 o’clock shadow.

It takes a dozen passes for Tae to stir.

And then she startles awake, flinching into being. Fresh tears disrupt the mascara flecks as she beholds her soulmate and nearly tugs herself across his bed to get her hands on his face. To hold his cheeks.

To say that Tae has looked better would be accurate for jimin to say but the words would never grace Jimin’s lips. Not even close. Even with a crusty face and greasy hair- Tae looks gorgeous- so pretty that his heart pulses dangerously quickly. so quickly that jimin's suprised the nurses don't come by and check on him.

Maybe they haven’t given him enough opioids for his shoulder because for a second he feels his heartbeat ricochet through his whole body. To his fingers where he's touching her and back to his heart. Every echo and ripple Tae Tae Tae.

Tae bends over Jimin’s body. Her hands go to his face, fingers touching his smile, and thumbs pressed to his faint crow's feet and twinkling eyes. Clutching at him like he’s her lifeline (he is, a red string of fate that keeps her from drowning, always. She was stupid not to use it like an anchor).

“Pup told me.” She says, a note of finality in her voice, lower lip trembling, tears falling anew “told me you kept talking about me even when you were stabbed" she goes quiet, whispering the words like she's scared someone might be listening in.

"Pup told me everything."

Jimin’s eyes flick from her lips to her face, her body, everything. His hands are trembling, chest building with breaths until they’re heaving and the realization of just how much everything she must know hits him.

Tae knows Jimin well enough to know what a panic attack looks like- knows enough how to soothe it. Knows just to hold on and wait for it to pass. jimin's hands splay and flex, rubbing her skin once, twice, and then a third time in an effort to self-soothe.

"It's okay,"

"You mean you're not-" Jimin's heart monitor is going so wild that Tae has to tell him to calm down. Has to run her fingers up and down his scent glands on his neck, nipping at them to settle him. "You're not angry that I'm-"

That I'm a killer, that I'm a monster. That I've kept everything from you. Jimin readies himself, preparing himself for the speech he always knew he'd have to give. You don't understand, I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen this- I didn't I just. I never killed people who didn't deserve it- because I know that you'd hate that.

For the first time in their lives, Tae and Jimin are sitting across from each other- without a single secret to each of their consciousness. both of them free and perilously unmoored for it.

But there are no words that Tae needs when she looks up at him and smiles. Wetness at the corner of her eyes.

Seeing Jimin in the hospital bed had not felt like Patroclus and Achilles, it hadn't even felt like Orpheus and Eurydice. There was no roaring anguish. The kind that follows when people leave you too soon. Or the bitter vindication that happens when people leave at just the right time (it’s the worst when people leave like that. Either linger or make me miss you. Stay too long or leave me early. Either way is fine. I’ll feel more human if I’ve got longing or hatred to feel).

In truth seeing Jimin in the hospital bed, wires and hooks connected to him- keeping him alive and keeping him breathing, had felt like a second chance. She's not going to let something as simple as a secret spoil it.

Tae knows she should want to know more about Jimin's job as an assassin and should want to ask more questions (if not to understand her soulmate better, than for writing material). She Should be more revolted or disturbed or upset that her literal soulmate kills people for a living, but at the moment, all she can find in herself is just to be glad that Jimin is fucking alive.

It’s funny, how much your priorities can shift.

Jimin looks like he doesn't believe her. "Tae, you can't even kill spiders."

"Would you care?" Jimin falls silent. "Would you care if it was me in your position?"

Jimin swallows hard and winces. He doesn’t have to ask for a sip of water, because Tae has already gotten it for him by the time his good hand closes over his throat. His shoulder is bound so tightly in bandages that he can hardly shift it. Can't reach up to stop himself from spilling a bit of the water down his chin. Her nails (red polished and chipped) wipe away a drop on his lips.

(There's more that you weren't able to tell her just yet; a lot about you and Yoongi and Jin. You've decided to save the bulk of how Jimin ended up in the hospital bed until after Jimin woke up. Later when you can get her on her own you'll tell her. Probably after Jimin's discharged from the hospital. But the other secrets can wait for now).

It won’t really hit her until later. When she’s in her closet looking at all of her pretty things and designer clothes. Fingers toeing along the fine black cashmere sweaters, to the maroon dresses, to the scarlet ones, stopping just before she reaches the pink. The Dior, the Versache, the McQueen. It will only be then that she'll put two and two together and realize they were all paid for with blood money. With people’s lives.

It will bother her then; it doesn’t bother her right now. It will never bother her enough to think about leaving jimin.

How do you make the choice? What to condemn a loved one for? How do you pin down your line of intolerance when it's someone you love with your whole being? Can you decide at all or is it something that your soul chooses for you? The weight of one sin for another. what you're willing to go through.

They would have died anyway. Even if Jimin hadn't killed them, they had someone out there willing enough to pay for their death and they'd have died anyway she rationalizes. We're all going to die anyway.

Maybe it’s a silver lining that Tae no longer believes in the same kind of sin and wrongness that Jimin does. Doesn’t believe in God and heaven at all. Tae has always believed in soulmates more and believed in Jimin the most. More than any god or afterlife.

“I should be angry, anyone else probably would be but-” Tae turns her cheek into Jimin’s fingers, pressing her lips to his trigger finger. Eyes shining when she looks at him. “I’ve wasted too much of my life being angry at you, wasted too much of it feeling anything but love for you- Jimin- if you died, I-”

Jimin cradles Tae's cheek. “I’m sorry for Namjoon’s rut- for what I said. Didn’t mean it. Never mean it if I'm mean-” Jimin’s finger rubs across Tae’s lips, the wide part of his palm splayed across her jaw, and so much is said in that little touch. But they look at each other and laugh. "Not like Noodle."

It shocks a laugh out of Tae and she presses her temple to Jimin's jaw, feels his smile when the joint moves. She realizes that Jimin's still a little high. Probably too doped up on pain medicine to have this conversation but oh well.

“I never thought it would take you getting stabbed for me to realize it,” her lip trembles, “I don’t want to waste another second being angry with you.”

“I don’t want to waste another second with you either. Won't even sleep,” his eyelashes flutter, struggling to stay awake.

Tae pulls herself more firmly on top of the bed and Jimin shifts a little, wakes a little more when she slings a leg carefully over his hips. Being gentle, still conscious of his physical state. He uses his good arm to pull her up and up until She’s splayed across his lap.

Kissing Tae never loses its edge, it always feels like their first kiss, sweet and with that knotted bundle of anticipation. Jimin sits up into the kiss, sits up until his shoulder protests and he hisses into the kiss. "Don't strain yourself minnie-"

"Don't care just-" he pulls her hips snugly. After that words are sparse as they kiss, again and again, lips working together. Sloppy messy love kisses. Every breath tastes like love, every second of it. She giggles pulling apart for a second to get her breath, the heartbeat monitors in the corner going wild. Breath that washes over Jimin like a gust of spring air, cinnamon flower sweat, and heady. Tae’s kisses are better than a first sip of coffee or a breath of fresh air. (They’re better than living, just a little bit).

“If I was any less sore, I’d ask you to bite me right now.”

Tae grins, and it’s a special secret smile. “You said something like that to Pup too."

“I’m so lucky I get to be yours- don't want to waste the luck-" Tae shakes her head stubbornly pulling back.

"I don’t think that you should say you’re lucky. I’m so lucky that this person loved me, or I’m so lucky that I got to love them. Because when it comes down to it, love and luck are not the same thing. Love is not a single event, like winning the lottery, or finding a 100-dollar bill. Love is a choice and you have to choose it a thousand times. Every day you choose it. Luck is such a cop-out. It’s been really nice.”

“God, I hope I’m more than just nice.”

Tae smiles, “Shut up” She goes a little pale. “Actually don’t shut up with me like- ever. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.” She plays with Jimin’s hands, “Is that when either of us- whoever- goes first-“ Jimin’s grip goes knuckle tight on her waist, he's coming out of it, a little more lucid with every breath. Waking up more.

“When one of us dies- I don’t want to question if I ever loved you enough, I don't want to rely on just luck. I don’t want to think about the days that I could have gone for coffee with you or could have kissed you longer. I don’t want to think that I didn’t get exactly what I wanted and you didn’t get exactly what you wanted too.

"I want to give you one extra kiss every time so that you get twice as much as you would have gotten otherwise. I just want to think that it was nice, that every moment of it was nice- even when we fought, I want to look back on it and think ‘even the sad parts were nice and I got more than I thought I would.' No luck involved.”

She grins down at him, that same youthful grin she’s had her whole life, Jimin thinks of it sometimes- how many times she’s smiled this way and he hasn’t seen. How many more he will see.

“Also, y/n says that you’re allowed to mate me, but not marry me. She says my ring finger belongs to her.”

Jimin slides up the bed, flipping her over, supporting himself with his good hand, sending her sprawling and giggling. His growl is half hearted but promising. Tae laces her hand in his greasy blonde hair and it stays there.

It stays there.

~-~

The rest of Jimin’s hospital stay goes a bit like this:

There is a pair of suits outside the window, dark and imposing. plain clothes police officers watching and waiting like vultures. They’ve already taken statements from the pack but demand to hear from Park Jimin himself.

Lies from the source always taste the sweetest.

There is a story ironed out and penned in stolen moments, you curled up in one packmate's lap and transferred to another, "the pup" Jin had said, the youngest, was not taking her alpha's stabbing well. "She just needs a bit of soothing, sorry." The suits are charmed enough by two cuddling omega's that they don't notice your mouth pressed to their ears, like a game of cuddly murderous telephone.

The story gets ironed out easily, you’d all gone out for pizza, had come home to find Jimin bleeding in your kitchen.

“It’s pretty normal for Jimin to be reckless with his health. I’m not surprised he tried to come home and see if I could stitch him up himself. I'm a doctor at his hospital- Dr. Kim, pack alpha and head of neurosurgery. The knife- you should know I touched it on accident he wanted to remove it himself and I just had to stop him- I’m sorry- I should have known better I was just- so shaken.” Namjoon is a passable liar at best.

Jungkook has folded himself under your mate’s arm, and Jin’s too. He’s still vaguely shaking, bunny eyes wider than usual. In a little bit, Namjoon will drag him over to an empty exam room for a quick check-up. Just to make sure he isn't about to seize on the floor. Yoongi will go with him, Will tell him the truth about all of this then.

But what, with his comment earlier, you wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook has already figured it out on his own.

Jimin doesn’t even need to be coached into remembering it. The police don’t even think of not letting the pack see him, after seeing Tae’s teary eyes. A pretty girl is the best distraction, and the pack has two pretty girls that smell sour and need to tend to their alpha before the police get a chance too.

They’re impatient as they watch you and Tae fold yourself over Jimin’s barely aware body, more preoccupied with looking at your asses than they don’t see your lips moving against Jimin’s ear, mistaking your shaking for the racking sobs. And your quiet words for sweet nothings.

Hobi had barely leashed a growl, and resisted the urge to step in front of you and block you both from their sight.

The story is so easy and simple- a true case of Ockham’s razor. The simplest story with the least details is the most likely to be believed. the story Jimin tells the police goes like this;

Earlier yesterday, a crazy fan of the idol group he guards that must have followed him from his schedule with intent to learn his schedule and get closer to them. Her description is so ordinary that they’ll never find her because she doesn’t exist. Any person found will easily be made inculpable; either by alibi or honesty. Not that the law cares much about honesty, nor that any of you care about possibly implicating a stranger.

Love always did make people go to extremes, it's easily believable.

Nothing else matters. Besides keeping everyone safe. You're united against this.

Once they're gone, other promises get made:

“I want you to quit, this is too dangerous, if something like this happens to you again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

“We need to make sure we travel in pairs until we figure out what’s going on, why they're targeting Jimin and Jin.”

“I can ask some of my contacts-“

“You’ll do no such thing Yoongi.”

“Do you think we should be like- Armed? Just in case?”

“I don’t think more guns will solve anything but…Maybe.”

In a stolen moment, Namjoon corners you outside Jimin's hospital bedroom, he's holding three bags of takeout, not that Jimin will really be able to eat much of it. The opioids keep down his appetite. That doesn't meant the pack won't try to fuss. As it is, Jimin hasn't been interested in anything but kissing Tae and holding her hand. Pouting whenever the nurses make tae leave.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Namjoon has always found apologies easy and has never had so much of an ego that it would get in the way of any of it.

"It's alright, between you and me, I think it was kind of justified." You'd probably yell at all of them if they convinced you to stab Yoongi or tae or any of them.

"No more secrets, okay? Promise me this is the last one." It's easy to promise Namjoon that, so easy. To let him scent you, rubbing his coffee liquor scent all over your shoulder.

(But it's not about the promises that you make, it's about the ones that you break.)

You sit out in the hallway the following morning, still in the same clothes and starting to feel a little bit filthy because of it. None of you have gone home yet. Hobi sits next to you and Jungkook's on the other side.

They’re just checking Jimin’s stitches again, and his hospital room just got a bit crowded. The prospect of checkout is maybe a day away. Tonight is the last you'll have to spend at the hospital.

It was also time to talk over Jimin’s opioid regimen, and the doctor had been nearly delighted when Namjoon had stepped up and taken the lead, reassuring the doctor under no uncertain terms that Namjoon would manage them. You can forgive him for thinking a little too much with his hindbrain. If Namjoon leaned any more into his instincts you'd be worried he was close to going into a rut again.

“Is this what it’s like when I’m in the hospital?” Jungkook asks, sucking on some skittles. It's more sugar than he should be allowed to have especially during a high-stress situation. But Jungkook’s taking the panic to get a little bit of freedom. You cast a glance at Tae, at Yoongi and Jin, standing by the door looking like he’s about ready to twitch out of his skin with the effort it's taking him to stand outside.

Jin had apologized- him and Namjoon both, and Jimin had accepted it instantly. "If I trust anyone to shoot and stab me- it's you two so-"

"But-" they'd argued, but eventually Jimin had turned a little scary, a little threatening. showing a hint maybe- of a persona they're all unused to but you're not. Jimin can be firm when he needs to be. A quick retort of-

"Forcing me to comfort you over something I'm not upset about is not the way to make me forgive you." Shut them up for good (or at least for now).

“Yeah, pretty much.” You hold out your hand for some skittles and he gives you a few. Hobi grimaces and reaches over to take the orange ones out of your palm. He knows you don’t like those. He replaces them with a few green ones.

"It’s fucking boring. I should get you guys like- a DS or something for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell Minnie or he’ll blow all his money on-“ You cringe at your words and Hobi flinches. Jungkook just chews on his candies, they smack against his teeth with a hard clinking sound.

There is still some of Jimin's blood under Hobi's fingernails. You see it when he reaches over to take your Skittles.

The next time Hobi moves to take your Skittles, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "Come on."

You lead Hoseok into the women's bathroom, underneath the curious eye of the nurses, all the stalls are empty so you pull him over to the counter.

“You’ve got some- stuff- under your nails- let me.” You rip a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them. You clean Hobi’s hands diligently and he lets you.

He stays quiet, Hobi's been quiet for the last day or so. He hasn't done more than whisper a few quiet words to Jimin and stay close. He didn't say anything during your secret confession yesterday. Didn't ask a single question and the silence bleeds now as you scrub the clean-smelling soap against his skin. Your anxiety builds, and you scrub a little harder. His fingers remain limp in your touch.

“Say something- say anything okay? I need to know that you’re not-” not angry with me. That you don't hate me- that you still love-.

Hobi pulls you against his shoulder in a single clean movement. His wet hands hit your stomach when he grabs your hips. Your nose brushing his throat, his nose skimming your hairline.

“I’m trying not to take too much energy from Jimin- trying not to- be a mess- because he's the only one who deserves the packs attention. I'm not even sure if I am a mess about it. Sure that sucked but-" he sighs, "you and I are kinda like- uniquely able to handle things like this cuz of-" he doesn't need to finish his sentence. Hoseok's lips brush your ear, lips touching your skin, and- he pulls back, smiling softly. It's a tired smile but there it is- soft and special and just for you.

“You’re taking things, remarkably well considering the last time we…”

“The last time we had to deal with something like this?”

You hum, scrubbing a paper towel hard over the ends of Hobi's hands. The white paper goes orange-red with dried blood. "Give it time. There’s still a few weeks for me to go crazy this time.”

But this time, you have a feeling that it will be different. Although Hobi was there the last time- and played an instrumental role in making sure you didn't literally fall apart. It's different now. Right now, your hands tangle on the counter, holding on, even though you try to clean his hands of blood. Holding on is more important, neither of you tries and pull away. You don't have the energy for shyness.

What's more intimate? Sex or murder?

He huffs a small frustrated sound and stoops to rest his forehead against your shoulder, leaning almost all of his weight on you. You take it.

“Maybe this time I’ll take a crack at going crazy.” You laugh, stopping your brushing and just settling for holding him. Hips resting against the counter. The two of you rest, just for a moment.

Your nose against the side of his face where his undercut presses to your skin, spiky. "Still have that train ticket?" Hobi humms, taking a deep greedy breath of your scent to steady himself.

You're not expecting him to pull back and kiss you, but his lips are dry but warm, faintly chapped but yours are too. Pressing soft but demanding against yours. Hobi kisses you just as sweetly as last time and you grip the front of his jacket.

No sooner has he heaved you up on the counter, fingers hooking under your thighs to kiss you stronger- than is the door clanging open and a nurse comes barreling in.

"Ugh- uhm." She's a little stunned, but you're already hopping down, faces flushed and apologizing for the inconvenience.

You don’t throw the bloody paper towels in the garbage, but the toilet, flushing them once, then twice, to make sure that they’re down. Mumbling one last apology before you exit the bathroom together.

Hobi doesn't let go of your hand. You wonder if this is what loving him is going to be like; making out in places you shouldn't, special secret stolen glances when you keep holding hands even around the pack and keep stealing kisses.

You wonder if the kissing will stretch to the cars- to the late night drives, if he'll hold your hand like this around every hairpin turn. If Hobi's going to make you a make out playlist later, full of songs that make him think of you, songs that match the cadence and pitch of your heart. You wonder if loving him will be like this, stolen innocence, like finding sea glass on the beach. There and pretty for the taking if you only look for it.

Your heart feels all warm and tight with it, swaddled. Protected as Hobi tugs you back into Jimin's hospital room. You can't wait to find out.

The next few hours look like this; Namjoon sitting on the foot of the bed his hand on Jimin’s knee, feasting on hospital food. Jungkook giggles, and nearly throws himself across Jimin’s lap so that the alpha can put his hands through his hair. Looks like more takeout, living off of it because no one wants hospital food and you can't go home and cook. You refuse to leave right now.

It looks like Tae smiling for the first time In what feels like years but has logically been only a few hours. Rubbing a hand across her jaw and wincing when she feels the stubble.

Her wince quiets the sounds of the pack happy. And you look up from your plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always stupidly attuned to her and her needs, always watching and waiting.

“I need to freaking shave and I just- I haven’t had the chance to.” Tae lets out a tired sigh, the kind of deep frustration that comes with things that you have no choice but to do.

You take her hand from her chair and tug her up. Because this- this source of angst can be fixed.

“Here- come on,” A shaving razor gets found for her, Namjoon goes to the surgical ward to get the right kind. Sharp and medical and disposable along with a tiny tube of shaving gel. You drag her chair into the bathroom and make her sit while you do it. Lathering up her cheeks and tipping her head back. The whole pack a cacophony in the other room. The shock of skittles and other candies falling onto the floor. Muted words then soft laughter.

You drag the shaving razor up her chin, over her chubby cheeks. Your gentle touch, the soft scrapping of her hair against the blade a gentle accompaniment to the sounds of the pack passing the time until Jimin wants to go to sleep. Jungkook's phone plays a tictok loud, "Bunny- headphones, Minnie's trying to rest" Yoongi reminds him.

Jimin is struggling not to fall asleep, shifting to one side of the hospital bed just to get a better vantage point to look into the bathroom at Tae. Jimin cranes his neck.

Tae's face twitches, and underneath the white froth you see her reddening cheeks. “Stop looking at me.”

Jimin grins from the hospital bed, “Can’t help it, love you.”

“Love you too Minnie” She choruses back, and the pack joins her.

that night, namjoon and yoongi push three hospital cots togeather around jimin's bed and the pack piles in, sweet bodies and kissed cheaks, whiped down with sanitary towels, you end up tucked between tae and hobi, your cheek pressed to her back.

the following morning it becomes impossible to ignore both how purely filthy the 8 of you are and the fact that Jimin's doctors won't let him check out until tomorrow (and even then he'll have days of bedrest and won't be able to use his arm until he gets his stitches out.) You haven't been home in two days, no one can remember if you even locked the front door with how crazy leaving was.

It’s hard to convince Tae to go with you and leave Jimin's side. But she's less resistant when Yoongi reminds her that Jimin needs new clothes to go home in since all of his bloodstained clothing was discarded as medical waste.

“Honestly we should get like- to go bags full of a change of clothes for all of us when like, JK has his seizures,” Maybe it’s just because you’ve done overnights twice in the last week at the hospital- but the idea doesn’t seem like a bad one.

Jin drives you, Hobi, and Tae home in silence; no one tells Tae any of the other secrets yet. Tired as she is, almost falling asleep in the car. Waking with a start when you turn onto your street.

It's a little shocking. When you get home to a cold and quiet house. Jimin's blood has dried up into dark waxy puddles, on the kitchen table and the floor. There are fingerprints from someone, rusty and red on the doorframe. It's stark to see the evidence. To see a bit of it on the butcher block countertop all the terror and the color leached out of it in the grey afternoon light.

Tae is so stumbly that Hobi has to grab her twice just to keep her from walking into walls when he gets her inside. Noodles immediately yowl has you feeling terribly guilty, he circles your and Hobi's ankles. But you push at Hoseok's hands when he stoops to pick him up.

"Take Tae upstairs and shower with her, will you? I'll be up in a second, just gonna feed him and get some stuff together." She's blinking and looking at the bloodstains, eyes already looking glassy with fresh tears.

You need a second, a second in quiet, a second alone just to steady yourself. Jin comes in, dragging in a mountain of mail from your box, "I've got them, come on pups, grooming time."

Jin pecks a kiss along your forehead, "Come up the second you finish?"

You nod, "Just want to get some food first too- hungry."

Jin nods and makes to follow Hobi and Tae but pauses on the stairs. he looks like he wants to say something to you. Eyes full of something unreadable and warm. Unspoken words hover.

If he had to choose anyone, I'm glad he chose you.

But before he can get it out Tae calls from upstairs. "Jinnie? Can you grab one of my comfy sets from the closet down there before you come up?"

You stand, solemn in the kitchen, listening to the sound of them on the creaky stairs, the sound of their quiet voices. The creek of the house as they walk around upstairs.

"Here you go baby," you say, giving Noodles an extra spoonful of food. You know you left enough for him in his bowl and that he didn't suffer too badly. But still, his purring chirping is music to your ears. You pet over his back, his fluffy tail.

He's Still chubby, still good. You aren't too bad of a pet owner then.

There's the gun still there, sitting just to the left of Jimin's blood splatter on the seat of one of the dining room chairs. You're at eye level with it from where you crouch down to pet Noodle. It's the same one that you pulled out from under the bed when you found out he'd been shot. You should probably take it with you when you go back to the hospital, just to be sure.

"You got any secrets for me nu? Are you the long-lost prince of some cat kingdom?" Noodle chops down in response.

You go to the hallway closet to get a duffel bag, where the pack stores their larger bags and luggage.

"Hey!" Hobi calls from upstairs, muffled through the roar of the shower. There isn't much other noise in the house. The birds outside aren't chirping, probably because you haven't been home enough to fill their birdfeeder.

Probably.

"Yeah!?" You call back up, upending the duffel bag and sending a bit of loose change, some quarters and pennies scattering onto the floor. you stoop down to pick up a few of them, tossing them back into the closet with a metallic clang (to be dealt with later.)

“Can you grab Tae's phone charger? It should be by her computer.”

"Got it!" Tae's library room is much the same as it was when you left it, her computer is closed. The walls are green, the window dusty. You find it easily, the cord long and white, tangling in your hands.

You're not sure why your hair raises on the back of your neck.

Noodle stops his chomping.

The push of cold air startles you- the change of pressure in the house like a door being opened- the front door. The windows in the library room are leaky. You're used to being in here and feeling it, used to feeling that same draft every time one of your pack mates comes home.

You freeze where you stand.

The metallic jingle of the doorknob is so much softer than usual. You could almost convince yourself that you don't hear it, that you've made it up.

And then you hear it- Noodle's low hiss.

Call it a habit or a trained behavior but you still make your footsteps quiet everywhere you go. A thing learned from your years with Geumjae when you needed to be quiet to be safe and needed to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible to avoid pain. A vestigial survival instinct.

It serves you well now because no one in the house hears as you slide from Tae’s library through the pantry area, you don’t call out Tae’s name again, or Hobi’s. You don’t know exactly why you don’t.

Your house is an old house and you know every inch of it. You know this house that Yoongi’s built for you from the top of the eves to the shutters, from the windows up top to the ground floor and dusty half-finished basement. You know every creaky floorboard and which steps are the ones you skip when someone’s sleeping upstairs because it always sounds so high-pitched and it wakes Jimin up, light sleeper that he is.

You hear the subtle creek of the floorboards now, the small slide of heavy boots across the wide floorboards. A creak. Someone is about to ascend the stairs, up to where you can still hear Hobi and Tae talking softly. The shower off, they're probably just getting dressed.

Softly, you hear the sound of a heavy boot hitting something metallic, one of the pennies you dropped earlier and missed.

Jin might still be in the other room, that's what you tell yourself. You're just being paranoid. stupid paranoia you almost want to laugh. you're just jumpy from the last few days- that's all. Funny of you, to make it up.

The danger is all in your head.

Only it's not,

Because the first thing you see when you peek around the corner is the pitch-dark barrel of an extended gun.

~-~

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Notes:

There are some parts in this chapter, some facts about yoongi's family that haven't been touched on since the very begining chapters or jimin's secret chapters and i repeated them just so that people get a bit of a refresher but some of it feels a little monotonous to write! i hope it's not too hard to get through.

in an ideal world i would have given myself an additional week to edit this chapter, it's not the most edited and because of that i feel like it got repetitive or arduous in places.

i'm also realizing that this is like, 9th longest bts fanfic in existence. look it up on ao3 if you don't believe me. i think giving people a refresher of the begining is fair. In terms of the harry potter series (it really is a shame that no one knows who wrote it) we're just into the 6th book in terms of word count if you need that for context.

on that same vein. moonbyuls brief rant that is implied to be transphobic and sorta is- is not a reflection of my views she's just...you know...the villain?

this chapter also literally went from 8k to 14k during editing what the fuck. i stayed up till 2 am to get this done two nights in a row. i have this little nagging voice in my head that says its stupid to care about something like this but i can't help it- i love this story so much. even if this isn't the best chapter.

when the m/c has her freak out in the room where she almost passes out- that is called adrenal fatigue and it's soemthing that i struggle with as someone with ptsd. you know the feeling when you go on a rollercoaster when all of your adrenaline unloads it's self all at once? if i go through that my body goes a little haywire like- dizziness, exhaustion, dysregulation, memory fog, all of it. i still like rollercoasters though so as long i like rest and drink alot of water it doesn't affect me too much.

it's really important that you notice that no one says moonbyuls name during the moment when they're talking about their secrets between namjoon, jin, hobi, yoongi, and the m/c. i'm not telling you why just PAY ATTENTION.

Every time i think about the proverb "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." i think of the m/c and how thats her storyline with the family like- she really was like "either you love me or i'll kill all of you" and i think thats cute <3

In terms of why the last don and Beta killed Yoongi's parents- i think it's because yoongi's mother found out that she was pregnant with another beta and the don and beta didn't want to deal with such a divided power. They already had yoongi under their thumb and another possible successor would have over complicated things. Yoongi would have had a little sister, i don't know if he'll ever know thats why his parents where killed- he was between the ages of 16 and 18 when they died.

although this chapter was the least edited in terms of the most recent chapters- i will also say that there are two moments in this chapter- where i 'fuck up' and write things a certian way but heres the thing- they're not fuck ups and they're actually hints so! lets see if anyone notices!!

i'm gonna be honest with you guys the part where it goes "it stays there" left me fucking winded i can't even think about it too hard or else i get misty eyed.

i am catheterizing a lot of emotions writing this i am sorry it took so long to write, there is a reason why this update took a month and thats cuz yeah- my grandmother is dying. She's got cancer and She's 91 so they're not treating it. death is gonna be a /theme/ for me over the next couple of chapters, don't be surprised if I go off on a tangent or if it takes me a second between updates.

i wish i could write the m/c just a little dumber you know?

i wrote this series with the intent to write about people in realistic relationships- showing the moments they make mistakes, the moments they react too much or not enough, the way that trauma affects us all and how we handle it and love. it feels very full circle to have this chapter come out like- this is what bily is about you know? even though they'res alot of dialouge in it.

oh~ shits about to go down~

Mini-Playlist

Dominic fike- acai bowl (kinda hobi and the m/c's song for this chapter, they're going through it)

Hozier- Eat Your Young (Bekon's Choral Version) (this is literally bily's unoffical theme song at this point)

JID, Kenny Mason - Dance now (the beginning when moonbyul setting the industrial park on fire)

Frank sinatra- thats life (the song i picture playing at the end when tae and jimin are talking out their issues).

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rabbiteclair · 8 months

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Some differences between modern self-reported supernatural encounters from America vs. Japan, based on my general observations from perusing hundreds of each.

(disclaimer: thanks to the language barrier and all, this is kinda by necessity comparing American stuff from a pretty wide array of sources vs. Japanese stuff that's been put into text on the internet. And then both sets mostly reach me through curators with their own agendas. So don't consider this a 100% representative sample or anything.)

American stuff semi-regularly gets into 'I know it wasn't sleep paralysis and here's why' vs. Japanese stuff seems to have mostly settled on 'sleep paralysis is, itself, a symptom of paranormal things.'

Japanese has the very handy concept of reikan, whereas the idea that only some people can see most ghosts exists in the American side, but is far less prevalent.

The American side absolutely loves UFOs and cryptids, whereas Japan barely touches the former and goes pretty light on the latter.

Meanwhile, ghosts from self-reported American stuff rarely get scarier than 'yeah it moved some stuff around and I saw a bloody guy in the mirror' whereas Japan will readily go into 'here is a list of my friends who got murdered by this ghost, and I'm next.'

The type of people who write American ones seem to be much more willing to talk about, or simply more involved with, alt spirituality stuff, so you're way more likely to get 'and the ghost didn't go away even after I did a cleansing ceremony with my crystals' or whatever.

Similarly, American ones are much more likely to end with roughly 'and it's bullshit that the government/religion/skeptics/whatever are hiding this from us.'

On the other hand, going to monks/priests is practically a staple on the Japanese side, but surprisingly few (modern) American stories seem to involve pulling in a priest at any point.

The Shinto influence on the Japanese side manifests in lots of stories involving 'let me tell you about the weird kami that was enshrined in my hometown' vs. that basically not being a thing on the American side.

'Rural villages are creepy' is basically a whole subgenre in Japan, really, and I can't really name any setting for the American stuff that's quite as prominent.

It might just be up to the fact that the American side uses more of the other categories to begin with, but I feel like there's a lot more 'maybe cryptids are actually aliens and ghosts are just psychic phenomena that manifest around aliens' kinda syncretism there.

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thissccounthatesfascists · 14 days

Text

TL asleep? cool.

(long post, strap in)

i wanna talk about colin's wet dream. that was the most demisexual shit i have EVER seen. there's not even any sex. its just a romanticized, elevated version of their first kiss. its colin's subconscious wanting to replay the moment he fell in love with his best friend in the Most way possible.

lets break it down:

we got the same location of their first kiss. Complete with mood lighting and a fog machine. It’s giving pride and prejudice 2005

Penelope comes out (looking gorgeous, of course) to their rendezvous spot, which has been previously agreed on.

colin thanks her for meeting him, she doesn't know why he's asked her to come

he confesses his feelings for her

she reciprocates (this is the important part of this to me. ) her wanting him, makes him want her more (do you see where the demisexual colin energy is coming from? do you understand?)

they make out

he kisses her neck as she pants his name over and over (see my point above re: her wanting him makes him want her more)

he wakes up, absolutely shook

this is an idealized reimagining for colin: during their first kiss he was basically in shock, his new personality chokes on the reality and vulnerability of the moment

in the book he talks about how he tries to think of something witty to say but finds that no words are necessary, and there's no combination of witty banter or suave bravado that could help in that moment. the rake persona that he has put on up to this point absolutely fails him. but here, in this dream, words are crucial, the declarations of love are why its sexy! (demi colin is canon idc idc)

and its so important that this wet dream, the idealized version of this scenario happens like this. because we've also seen colin having sex with sex workers (and luke newton has talked about this) but his energy in those scenes is very detached, very focused on him and his pleasure with zero connection to the women he's with. he has two different threesomes (if you can even call the second one that, he's barely even looking at them) with four different women and we know nothing about these girls. they don't even get names. they don't matter, and its simply not. as. good. as the feeling of kissing pen. there is no connection

which is, i think, why he taps out during the threesome in ep4. he tries to go back to the devil-may-care attitude toward sex and intimacy that he had before kissing pen, he tries to return to that mask he put on of "the rake" and it just doesn't work! he feels nothing! in fact he feels disdain for the position he's in and the choices he's made!

the threesome in ep4 mirrors the outburst he has later at the club really well. like he's so frustrated with this position he's put himself in, the men he's surrounded himself with. he literally says "none of you are gentlemen!" "you're actually gross and disrespectful!"

a line that i love is :

"... it is tiring, is it not? The necessity imposed on us to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning. Do you not find it lonely?"

and they laugh! in! his! face! because these are men that feel perfectly fine sleeping with strangers and bragging about their "conquests" to their buddies

but that is not who colin is! he's still very young. and his experience with marina (who tried to seduce him and it didn't work, imo bc he just didn't feel that passion, that love that makes his relationship with penelope so different) has left him jaded, but not nearly as jaded as he wants to believe. even if he wants to be casual about romance and sex, he just isn't. this man proposed to marina after knowing her for what? a couple weeks? He is an All or Nothing type of guy. He has that Bridgerton 'when i fall in love i will only ever talk about my spouse' Gene

Now: some costuming details that i love:

Her hair:

(i know this is a stretch but go with me here) her hair is in slightly tighter curls than we've seen this season, which to me seems like a nod to colin liking (or at least not minding) her hair the way it was in previous seasons and maybe not caring as much as we might think about her transformation. but its still down and flowy and in line with her new style

let's talk about this! dress! (it has genuinely been keeping me up at night)

the sleeves seem much more similar to the silhouettes of her costumes in previous seasons, not necessarily in shape but in style

the sleeves are bulkier, compared to this season's costumes, which while they might have been the same size and shape, they are made of much lighter material, giving the silhouette a softer, more mature feeling.

compare it to this dress from s3 ep2: it looks very similar with the sleeve shape and the floral appliqués, but in the dress in the image above, the appliqués are much more obvious, closer to penelope's style under her mother's tastes

the point i'm trying to make here will be made more clear in a sec. what I am NOT trying to say that colin prefers her in her little girl dresses with loud designs, bright colors, and silly hairdos. he just associates those bigger, brighter, louder style choices with penelope.

And he has always liked Penelope. Even when he didn’t take her seriously as a potential partner, he always saw her as an equal. He never made fun of her silly dresses and questionable hair choices.

This has nothing to do with Colin but i feel like i should point it out:

there is something to be said about how her muted pastel color palette along with the more demure style that she has adopted shows that she is trying to Show Up with this social season, but as a wallflower, she is shy. she's always hated those brightly colored dresses her mother put her in, because no matter how close to the wall she clung, she was always visible. she was always vulnerable to ridicule.

but i don't think colin knows or realizes this because why would he think critically about the specific style changes she's made. and he probably doesn't really make the connection of the influence her mother has on her clothing. and around him, pen has never seemed all that shy. she's been confident and witty. if you pair her personality that shines around colin with her louder outfits, it seems more congruous

(take the scene from season 2 where we get the line "My purpose shall set me free") this is a side of penelope that no one, not even eloise!, sees

what his subconscious knows is that he associates pen with vibrant, textured, and often 3-dimensional outfits, and his subconscious creates a dress that fits her new style, with a little more of that featherington flair thrown in.

the fucking tie in front: i feel like this is a very clear reference/ foreshadowing to the mirror scene

for those of you who haven't read the book, the mirror scene doesn't actually happen, but colin tells penelope about a fantasy he has about touching her in front of a mirror

this is a pretty small offhand comment made while they're having sex for the first time but amongst book fans the scene has become pretty fleshed out i think, with fanfics especially

because the idea that it touches on is colin fantasizing about penelope seeing herself the way he does, as sexy and desirable (he seriously cares about her pleasure so much its sickening, I'm actually sick)

and although Book Colin doesn't mention it, the idea of him undressing her in front of a mirror has become a popular story set-up

i think the tie in the front sort of plays on the time period sensibilities of propriety: this is a time where in "good" society an unmarried man and woman would never touch skin to skin, its why all the women wear gloves most of the time. its why the scenes in season 1 between daphne and simon play on the excitement of removing the gloves: its a taboo thing

this is unrelated to this post but i need an explanation as to why pen isn't wearing gloves in a lot of her scenes this season, like the scandal that that would cause??? I'm assuming its representative of her growing into her sexuality; and bridgerton is a fantasy, not a historical nonfiction, but like some consistency would be nice guys bc i was so confused abt all the skin-on-skin contact happening. even with Francesca and Lord Samadani WHEN HE KISSES HER BARE HAND I WAS SO UNCOMFORTABLE FOR HER. especially because of all the glove-related tension in s1. but i digress.

so the tie in front is sort of a dare. even though its clearly an addition, and untying wouldn't actually remove her dress, its her (colin's subconscious version of her anyway) way of saying: "you could untie this, you could undress me if you wanted to" "i love you" "i want you"

and i think that's beautiful. this season is great and i will die on this hill.

If you've made it this far, congrats! you're just as feral as me! come and gnaw on the drywall with me while i post fanfics inspired by this season: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988977/chapters/142190584

chapters 1+2 of my new fic are up

photos are from : https://www.cap-that.com/bridgerton/302/index.php?image=bridgerton3x02_1502.jpg

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #penelope featherington coded #polin #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton meta #costume design #demisexuality #demisexual representation #demisexual colin bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 analysis #romancing mister bridgerton #romancing mr. bridgerton #adaptation analysis #some historical context analysis as a treat for me specifically

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bakugoushotwife · 10 months

Text

Daddy's Home For Good

a/n: this was requested by one of my lovely followers privately, and I absolutely love the idea of whipped daddy gojo just insanely in love with his wife and the idea of being a dad soon! so enjoyyyy. this is a part two but can be read as a stand alone.

part one : daddy’s home

pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader

cw: lactation kink, pregnancy, descriptions of pregnant body, reader was curvier to begin with, fingering, nipple play, brief childbirth i guess? unedited as always.

wc: 3.3k

It blew him away, really. How quickly the urge to be a father came on, how good it felt to act on these needs with you, and how successful his attempts turned out to be. When you came to him with all those positive pregnancy tests, he didn’t think life could get any better. This truly was the highlight of his life, and anyone that knew the man that existed pre-you would absolutely cackle at the sight. Satoru Gojo, buying baby clothes and bibs and strollers to take his son around town in, to show off the latest member of the Gojo family tree.

It was almost ridiculous. Every time, on his way home from grueling missions or a packed day of training those kids he loved so much, your husband came home with some sort of accessory or necessity for the baby boy you were growing for him. He always had that signature satisfied grin on his face, his eyes wide with pride and love. He just can’t wait to see your reaction to these onesies, he knows the colors go perfectly with the nursery scheme. He picked out the paint for the room as meticulously as he picked out these onesies—with all of his love and care in mind. He looked around to see the empty living room, figuring you were either in your shared room resting, or doing some more nesting in the baby’s room. He sighs happily, slipping out of his shoes and putting his keys down, that shit-eating grin still adorning his features as he waits for you.

You—his most precious wife, glowing and beautiful with that bump of yours. He just can’t help himself, Satoru has always lacked impulse control and the way you waddle out from the bedroom to greet him makes his chest warm with emotion and his dick pulse with another one. You were eight–almost nine– months along, his son inside you causing your breasts to grow two cup sizes, though they were already massive. Your hips had widened even more, your hair and skin seemed to shine brighter. You were mesmerizing, the perfect image of a mother. You grin happily, resting your hand on your growing stomach while you make your way over to him. You were the reason he got to be this happy, and he would pamper you in every way because of it. The next Gojo boy could arrive any day now, and he could barely wait.

“My beautiful woman!” He cheers upon your approach, holding up the shopping bags filled to the brim with clothes and pacifier clips and little shoes and anything else you can think of when it comes to a baby’s needs. His smile spreads wider when he sees your forced surprise. You were impossibly sexy like this, stroking your belly and leaning against the couch as he pulled out the dinosaur onesie he was most proud of. He loves the soft look in your eye as you look at him, the adoration you have can only mirror the kind he holds for you.

“Look at all this, Daddy spoils us.” You giggle, shaking your head as you examine all the clothes and toys your over excited husband brought home. You couldn’t wait to give birth at this point either. You thought you looked horrendous, sweaty and swollen at all hours of the day. You can’t get any sleep because of your size, and no clothes were comfortable. You loved being pregnant but…you also loathed it once you got this big. “Haru is so lucky to be your son, yeah?”

Satoru beams at this, nodding his agreement. “Oh but of course, nothing but the best for my loves.”

You can’t help but admire him this way. He’s so in love with you and the prospect of a family, he can’t stop himself from bringing home an obnoxious amount of gifts for you and baby both. This far into the pregnancy, as the days draw closer to Haru being on this side of the world with you, your anxiety increases as well. It was such a relief to have a husband like Satoru by your side. He took care of everything, leaving you to rest and take it easy, reading your books and preening about as you wish. It seems he had the inevitable nesting instincts, keeping the house clean and making all the meals for the two of you.

He would always say he had to keep you healthy since Haru was sucking out all your nutrients. He had surprised you honestly, doing all this research to keep you comfortable. Half the gifts he brought home early on were suited for you, the highest end maternity clothes and body pillows—though he preferred you use him when he was home. He made sure the cleaning products he used were all non-toxic and safe for you to breathe, once again completely surprising you during the earlier months of your pregnancy. He even brought his students in to meal prep freezer food for the recovery, that way Satoru never had to leave your side and could give all of his attention to you and your newborn son. He was so beautifully excited to be a father, and you were so content to be the one giving him children. As long as he kept this treatment up, you’d continue to pump out Gojo’s until he wanted to stop.

Which didn’t seem to be on his mind at all. Seeing you like this right now, swollen and fatigued from all your hard work, he wanted this all the time. It was such a dominant and possessive and honestly out-dated thing to desire so deeply, to keep you pregnant and at home caring for all the other babies all day long, but fuck this would never get old. Your giggles as you pull out yet another adorable little outfit for your son, the sweet way you bat your lashes up at him to say thank you, the darkening patches spreading across the cloth of your t-shirt…it all made his body break out in a sweat, a need to please you growing in his gut.

You hear his shaky breath, looking up at him to see his chlorine colored eyes darkening steadily, and his hand covering his crotch.

“Sato? What’s wrong?” You ask, your sweet voice sending shivers down his spine and making him blush in embarrassment at the same time. You were much too big to try to accommodate his sexual desires, much less, it’s wrong that he’s so turned on by you leaking breast milk in front of him.

He shakes his head, giving you a nervous chuckle and waving off your concern. “Oh, nothing, wifey. Don’t worry.” His eyes flicker over your form, stuttering around your chest before they meet your worried ones.

You notice, of course you would notice. He knows you’ll think he’s a pervert for sure now, even though he most definitely was and you most definitely already knew that about your husband after the years of marriage and dating. You gasp once you see the dark wet stains in your top.

“Shit–I’m sorry, that’s been happening here recently—I think it’s a good thing but uh, I’ll go get changed, I’m sorry—”

He grabs your wrist before you can spin around and head back to the bedroom. His brow is furrowed, and his other hand comes to hold your chin. He seems even more upset than before.

“Don’t ever apologize to me…that’s what’s gonna feed our son, I never wanna hear that again.” He mumbles, eyes darkening again as they fixate on the damp markings. His hand lets your wrist go, coming up to brush his thumb across the fabric. It gives you a chill, your nipples have always been far too sensitive to his touch, now more than ever. You breathe in sharply at the feeling, and he bites down on his lower lip.

He, as always, is far too sensitive to you as a whole, now more than ever. Your little gasp encourages him to keep going, maybe the idea wasn’t so horrible after all. He brushes his thumb against your hardened nipple now, watching your face closely. The moment is so quiet and delicate, he doesn’t know if he should speak, to excuse or explain himself for this. You look down at his touch and then back up at him, and his pupils expand. He likes it, he wants to see more of your leaking tits, you realize.

“Ohhhh…” You grin as you understand his earlier strange behavior. “So Daddy likes Mama’s leaky boobs, huh?” You tease, a cute little smirk displayed on your face. God, sometimes you were too much for him. He was trying to stifle these urges, to respect the mother of his unborn child more than this—but you’re making it impossible. His breathing gets a little shakier with your taunts, and he ashamedly nods his head yes.

“Don’t be shy, Satoru.” You purr his name like always, pushing his big hand harder against your chest. “It’s cute…you love everything about makin’ me a mother.” You coo, your other hand reaching for his cheek now. He leans his face into your hold, tremendously vulnerable now that you’ve caught him. Though, you don’t seem disgusted by him, so maybe there’s hope. Especially at your last sentence, it seems you understand him in a way he didn’t even quite get. Why would he be craving the taste of your milk right now, the sight of your pretty chest dripping with the nutrients his son would soon need? Because he caused all of it? Yeah, he understands now. His cloudy blue eyes finally meet yours again, and he nods.

“Mhm, can’t help it, angel. You just look so hot like this, and I just wanna make you feel good..” He says, tunnel visioning back to your chest. He slips his hand out of your grip, opting to slide them under your shirt instead. You nod slowly, your breath catching in your throat when his warm palms cup your heavy tits. It’s so sensitive, they feel so weighty and full, you can’t help but moan a little bit as he massages them. He gently pushes you back into the couch, helping you get comfortable on the broad cushions. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fuck you the right way, but that was the least of his worries right now. He wouldn’t be able to carry on unless he saw you, unless he tasted the food that would help his son grow big and strong like him.

You’re blissed out immediately, just from the relief of his touch. He supports your heavy tits in his hands, softly stroking over your wet nipples with his thumbs. His cock jumps with your every moan. He thinks its hot, the way you move your hips still, wishing he could fuck into you and do this at the same time. It makes him smile, how needy you became within seconds, and he wonders if you had thought about this too. He regretfully lets go of your chest, supporting them carefully until they rested against you. He didn’t want to cause any pain, no no. His only job was to bring relief and pleasure.

He didn’t even understand how good it felt to be fondled and worshiped like this. He kneels between your legs on the floor, looking over your gorgeous pregnant body leaning perfectly against the couch. He pushes your shirt up–one that actually belonged to him–but god it worked perfectly on you now. The shirt rests above your engorged breasts, revealing your fully naked form to him. He shivers. He knows with your size as of late, it’s hard enough to put on the t-shirt. Pregnancy was such a gift. Here you are, your belly huge and perfect, the veins on your chest more pronounced, your nipples more pink than usual and dripping with liquid. He moans aloud, just from the sight of you.

You giggle at the sound, heat licking up your body. As ugly as you thought you looked these days, your husband never thought you looked better. You reach around blindly for him, unable to see him from the way you were leaning combined with the massive bump in between you two. He hums, leaning up a bit so you could grab a gentle fistful of his hair. When he leans up enough to make eye contact, you nearly laugh again. He’s under a spell, his eyes frenzied with desire. He looks at your chest again, slick and sheeny and your nipples just aching for some relief.

“You want me to suck on you, Mama?” He asks with a smirk, his hands rubbing circles into your stomach as he eagerly awaits your response.

“Please Daddy, miss your mouth so much, everywhere.” You huff, tugging on his hair to pull him closer to your needy breasts. He won’t make you beg. That’s the least he could do for his gorgeous baby mama. He hums, his tongue parting his lips and his eyes focused on yours. He leans in and licks the wetness around your nipples, groaning at the sweet taste of your milk. His large hand gently massages the fullness of your neglected breast, his tongue flicking over your pebbled bud for more of your essence. You moan and whimper, wiggling around helplessly. He was amazed by your sensitivity, your back arching off the couch when he wraps his lips around your nipple.

He moans, your milk falling in drops in his mouth. His eyes flutter shut, your moans were impossibly sexy and his cock was starting to hurt. He knew he couldn’t use you like that, so he just ruts against the bottom of the couch, suckling on your tits like he was the one who needed the nutrients.

It felt amazing, the wet and warm relief of his mouth sucking out some of the pressure was too much, you could feel your pussy leaking your normal fluids all over the couch cover. “Oh Daddy, you’re makin’ me feel s’much better~”

He nods, swallowing everything he’d collected thus far to swap to your neglected one. He sees you reach for your pussy, though with the size of your stomach, you can’t reach. He chuckles softly, taking it as a sign of your permission before he swats your hand away and replaces it with his own fingers. He circles your clit, making you gasp and part your legs even more for him. His mouth closes around your unused bud, and your whines are like a symphony. He knows you’re going to cum soon, and from the way he ruts against the couch…he will too.

You’ve done your research, you know that orgasms and nipple stimulation can lead to your water breaking but with everything else you had tried to induce your labor lately, you didn’t think this one would work. You tried the exercise ball, you ate dates, you even tried eating spicy foods but all for naught—your son seemed to be as stubborn as his father.

So when you’re screaming and cumming hard just from Satoru suckling your chest and his minimal pressure to your clit, the extra rush of water is hardly noticed. Innocently, Satoru thinks maybe you squirted from such a naughty act. He’s brainless for the moment anyway, his vision blackened as he busts in his pants, all from the pleasure he brought to you and getting to indulge in one of his fantasies. He’s panting, laughing at himself for cumming untouched. He stands and kisses your forehead, letting you get your breath back as he steps off into your bedroom to change and bring you a towel.

“I hope that made you feel good, angel, you’re out here embarrassing me.” He chuckles, crouching to wipe you up.

You go to respond, giggling, when the sharp pain cuts you off. It felt like a period cramp, but much more intense. You had had these all day, convincing yourself it was another Braxton-Hicks instance, but you knew. In your heart of hearts, it was time.

“Satoru–”

“What’s that look for babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost–”

“Haru–he’s coming.” You blurt out, eyes wide and face paling several shades. He does the same, hands flying to his hair in shock.

“Right now? Oh my god—” He’s running around immediately, calling Megumi to come watch the cats and calling Shoko to meet you at the hospital and sprinting to the nursery for the hospital bag before he’s back with clothes for you, dressing you with shaky hands. “It’s really time!”

You nod, checking the bag while he puts your pants on, sliding your feet into sandals. “It’s really time. Oh my god, Sato..our baby is coming!” You squeal in between bouts of contractions.

He gives you a broad smile, gently helping you to your feet. He slings the hospital bag on his shoulder, the plan for Haru’s arrival having been in place for weeks. He’s a mess of nerves as he tucks you into the car, making sure for the fifteen-hundredth time that the car seat was installed correctly before he finally gets in the driver's side. He keeps a protective hand over your stomach the whole time, frowning in sympathy every time you endure a contraction.

Part of these nerves are his excitement, his relief that his strange inclination ended up inducing your labor, and his overwhelming desire to meet his son. “Our baby is coming.” He echoes, a whisper as the hospital comes into view.

8 hours later, little Haru Gojo makes his first appearance into the world. He’s beautiful, and strong, and certainly makes his presence known with his loud cries and haughty grip on his father’s thumb once he’s been cleaned up and given back.

Satoru is in awe. His son, this tiny little bundle of blankets laying in his arms, the creation of him and the woman he loves so dearly. Eyes of the same shade of blue look up at him, smiling. The boy coos loudly too, babbling and reaching for his father’s face. Satoru sits next to you on your bed, utterly in love. “He’s perfect. Thank you, my angel.” He says, carefully leaning over to kiss your temple.

You smile softly, exhausted but thrilled at the same time. You love the tamed look in your husband’s eyes, a new kind of softness invented specifically for his child. He cuddles the boy close, holding you in his other arm. His family, just the start. His heart is so full, and once again he’s surprised that he could feel so intensely. He watches you rest against him, your eyes tired and full of love for your son—the Gojo family.

“Thank you. You gave him to me.” You remind, reaching your hand out to smooth the white peach fuzz sprouting on Haru’s head. He scoffs at you, and the baby starts to writhe towards his mother.

“Oh gag, that’s the easiest job in the world. You’ve gone through so much just to give me this little boy, hush and let me worship the ground you walk on, please.” He insists, letting his fingers trace the tiny nose and lips of his little son. He smiles at Haru's puckers and squirms, knowing he was probably hungry. He gently places him in your arms, his strong chest helping you sit upright. He smiles, watching the magic that is you feeding his child. “Looks like I’ve got some competition..”

You slap his shoulder and roll your eyes, giggling at the first of many dad jokes that Satoru had no doubt researched as well. He just sighs lovingly, wrapping his arms around you and supporting all your weight, keen to wait on you hand and foot until you are fully recovered—and even then. He’s beyond grateful for this life. Maybe all the pain and heartache was worth it. He gets to call himself a husband and now a father, a future he had never imagined for himself. He owes it all to you, the woman who quite literally birthed his dreams.

“I’ve got more where that comes from so…stay on your toes, Mama.”

#gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #kyleewritesjjk #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo #gojo saturo

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 months

Note

Can you do Rook, Malleus and Lillia trying to give period pain relief the old fashioned way

Period Pain Relief~The Old-Fashioned Way | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

They realize that pain is a natural predecessor of the period. Now Twisted Wonderland is not devoid of painkillers and magic meant to sooth your laboring body. But would you know that? No. And the ones dangerously tipping on the edge of their sanity would much rather ease the pain themselves. The old fashioned way:

Lilia Vanrouge

“C’mon love. Let’s do it my way! I’ll make it better I promise.”

While he may not have had a lot of sexual partners he’s already seen so much

Lived for so long

He’s bound to know the perfect spot to rub and the perfect pace to have you reeling

Blood is no obstacle

He’s a former general!

Though your blood is the only kind he’s interested in he doesn’t mind it or eating through it

He’s sure it will help those pesky cramps of yours

No pain killers needed

Or at the very least distract from it

“Is this better my love? To fill your pain with the pleasure I give you? Want to see if it works all throughout the week?”

“L-il-ah~stop talking!”

“Oh yeah! I agree! It’s a great idea! All week let’s not stop!”

He’s focusing on your pain right now and getting rid of it

Whether your together or not soothing you is his goal

And that’s almost enough to get him off on his own

He doesn’t even think about the true and core cause of your period

“Hm a baby…that would be nice. To be a papa again….what would you say about that Mama?”

“Forget it Lilia! This is a one time thing.”

“Sure sure until next month! And the rest of your life.”

Malleus Draconia

“Soothing your pain is a necessity but the root of the problem still remains!”

“I..don’t follow.”

“Your body burdens you because of your empty womb. Naturally the best way to resolve it is to fill it.”

He doesn’t believe in simply plugging the leak he prefers to drain the lake

Aiming to impregnate you once he gets a hold of your cycle’s schedule

Obliterating Your pain aside he’s binding you with him forever

No mirror or pesky pest that takes your attention away can take his place as your child’s father as his wife

The period is a sugarcoated excuse to do it

He’ll take your refusal and delegation as human-fear

Are you worried he won’t fit

That you won’t be prepared

About the future

No worries he’s Malleus Draconia

Your Tsunotarou

He’ll prep you properly, he’ll fund everything, he’ll even put a ring on your finger to make it official

In the end he’s here for you him

“M-Malle~hmm we can’t…it won’t~ah~”

“Shhh hush my child of man! Hng~our child is the true solution to keeping you beside me forever.”

He doesn’t quit care that it will return after the pregnancy but if your smart you’ll know his exact solution

“Then I guess we’ll just have another.”

“What?! I can’t handle that! I can barely handle one!”

“Fear not my treasure! My magic will soothe your pain.”

“You have magic that can do that…?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you use it before!?”

“I wanted a child with you and the period that plagues you would have ceased. This is what you would call a ‘win win situation.’”

Rook Hunt

“Oh mon Dieu! Please my ma beauté ultime! Ma délicatesse magnifique, let me bring you comfort!”

If you relent or are in so much pain you can’t explicitly refuse him he’s giving his aide

Blood is nothing to him

That’s not true

Its everything to him

he delights in the carnal satisfaction he has when his mouth is drenched in it

Like the predator he aspires to be he stalked you, warded off interested parties, and has finally pounced

Free to indulge in your flavor

The forbidden that only comes once a month

“Mmm parfaite!”

“Rook~Don’t talk just~eek”

“Ah I understand! Smeck~ <3 Forgive my neglect.”

Hours upon hours

He’ll happily stay between your legs

Sending a second of a glare before he lets up

You’ll regret interrupting his feast

Studying your biology to know you inside and out

He realizes he could stop your period for 9 months

He plays with the idea

But ultimately decides he has more work to do

Your cage isn’t quite ready yet

“Rook I’m tired and I’m not in pain so can we stop?”

“Non non! This hunter’s got a ways to go before I tire my amour!”

“But I want to sleep!”

“Go ahead! When you awake I’ll be right here with you!”

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serenescribe · 3 months

Text

the once (and many) prince(s) Twisted Wonderland | 3.3k Summary: Silver is, has always been, and will always be, the crown prince of his kingdom. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54424864 Collaboration with @ohsleepie | Potential spoilers for elements of Chapter 7

Hi everyone! @ohsleepie and I are back at it again with another collaboration based on his wonderful "The Prince and his Physician" AU! This fic is meant to act as a companion story of sorts to the Malleus-focused "the prince's physician," this time focusing on Silver within the AU! Once again, this fic features incredibly beautiful and amazing art drawn by Sleepie; please check him out and follow him, if you haven't already!

I hope you all enjoy!

The worst part of reincarnation, Silver thinks, is the constant cycle of relearning everything all over again.

Okay, perhaps it would be a bit of a stretch to call it the worst part. There are many negatives, many downsides, far too many to count, to being stuck in a loop of constantly dying and reincarnating. But this particular aspect is, in Silver’s honest opinion, one of the worst out of them all.

There is a bookshelf carved from expensive ebony that sits in his chambers, nestled against one side of the wall. There are several bookshelves in his room, but this is the only one that Silver ever uses, filled from top to bottom with centuries worth of journals — leather-bound books gilded with gold and silver, every detail immaculately painted and carved, the cover opening to expensive parchment made from calves. He tends to absentmindedly run a hand along the spines, eyes glazing over the muted leather colours, before plucking out a book, and reading it through.

Silver only lives a good seventeen years at best, always dying before crossing the pinnacle into adulthood. How much of those seventeen years consist of just… reading? There are, of course, his early years, where he is much too infantile to read and write. But he barely has a few years of reading simple children’s stories before the latest journal is pressed into his hands, and he is briefly explained about the details of his curse.

He pores over the words of those who came before him — the Silvers who came before him, his previous iterations, all dying to form the next one. Their handwriting ghost his own, not just similar but straight up identical, and if he stresses his brain hard enough, he can almost conjure up wispy, fading memories of putting a quill to paper, ink curling across the page in the same, sweeping cursive.

And yet, it is a necessity to read all of it, all over again. Because Silver remembers — but not enough.

His memories are shattered, like an ancient mirror that has been cracked right through the middle, fractured into thousands of tiny, individual pieces. It is akin to a kaleidoscope of lifetimes; when he gazes into this metaphorical mirror, a thousand Silvers stare back, each one reflecting his exact appearance, yet distinct and different in their own ways. And yet each piece is but a shard; Silver remembers only the smallest bits of each past life, the pieces coming together to form a jumbled jigsaw of sharp-edged recollections.

He has lived far too many lifetimes as Silver — the crown prince of his kingdom, the only living heir of their royal family. He has lived far too many lifetimes as a Silver — distinctly different with each rebirth, living a short number of years until the day he inevitably dies.

Silver is immortal, and yet he is not. He lives on as the royal, the prince, a beacon of hope—

But Silver the person changes, with each new looping cycle.

(And so he reads through their journals, no matter how much it exhausts him.)

Many a time, his gaze wanders to his bedroom window.

As the sole heir to the royal family, Silver resides in the largest chambers of the castle, a sprawling set of multiple rooms, from a drawing room to receive guests, to his private bedroom where he slumbers at night. What this also means is that he is privy to the best views of everything within his kingdom, from the area stretching across the castle grounds, to the rest of the kingdom beyond tall and guarded stone walls.

There are many things for him to peer at, but today, he is gazing at the soldiers’ barracks again. They have their own section of the castle, tucked out of the way, but Silver can view them from the sanctity of his study, a room where he pens his thoughts in his journal and reads through old ones.

The emotion that dwells within him is nigh imperceptible, difficult to describe. It feels as though someone has tied a rope around his ribcage, double-knotting it and pulling it tight before tugging at it, and pulling him forward. There are twinges and pangs that cross his heart, a hollow cavern yawning as his soul collapses into itself.

He feels this as he stares out the window at the soldiers training in their courtyard. His eyes fixate on the swords in their hands, at the way they slash and thwack their weapons against straw-stuffed training dummies. Occasionally, he will spot the soldiers gathering together, jumping and yelling as two of them spar with wooden swords, all of them oblivious to his peeping.

He wants this. He longs for this. He—

“Your majesty?”

Silver blinks. It takes him a split second, pulling himself out of his thoughts, shoving away the deep desires that permeate his heart, but he quickly turns around, eyes fixating on the familiar figure in the doorway.

“Malleus,” Silver greets, shoulders relaxing as a smile slips onto his face. Of course it is Malleus; there are few who have his explicit permission to enter without needing to knock, and his physician is one of them. He waves his hand, ushering him in. “How long have you been standing there? Come on in, take a seat wherever you’d like. And what have I said about the formalities?”

Malleus is here for another check-up, and Silver gladly acquiesces. He can think of no other person he trusts more with his very life and soul than Malleus himself. He allows the man to lead him through familiar routines, magic permeating his body as he searches for something Silver cannot see, before shifting to more physical methods of testing Silver’s health.

Still, as Malleus works in a near-silence, preferring to focus and get his duties done before they can relax and spend some time together, Silver cannot help his thoughts from wandering off again. His desires are not new; he has seen them expressed across multiple journals, scrawled in identical, curling scripts across expensive parchment. The desire to pick up a weapon, to learn to fight and defend, to learn how to wield a blade like a true prince — that is what he so desires.

But he is frail, and the council insists that he stays in, that he can learn to fight once they break the curse. So never, Silver thinks bitterly, eyelids slipping shut as he feels cold claws brush against his forehead. Never in this lifetime, and not while I’m alive.

Malleus is many things.

To the populace, he has many names, many signifiers, viewed in many different ways. He is a blessing and a curse, for his magic is by far the only thing that can cure their prince, but all of it comes at the cost of his very existence itself: A fae; a deplorable, wicked creature; a monster that is the very scum of the earth itself. The history of their kingdom is written in the blood of their ancestors, shed through grievous wounds inflicted by the sharp claws and gleaming maws of the fae that slaughtered them all.

To the nobles, the members of the council who govern over the kingdom in Silver’s stead, making decisions on his behest, Malleus is something they tolerate. They do not speak of what will happen after the curse is broken and Silver is cured, but Silver knows, from their whispers and sly glances, from the words penned by the others who came before him, that they wish for nothing more than to rid the world of the last of the wicked — not, and never, fair — fae.

Humans gaze upon Malleus with distrust, wariness, abject hatred.

But for Silver, Malleus is one simple thing alone.

To him, Malleus is his friend.

There are two distinct points in the history of Silver’s incarnations: Before Malleus, and After Malleus.

The difference is like night and day. The journals of before are dismal and depressing, imbued with a bone-deep loneliness that carried all the way through into the parchment pages, stained in the very ink used to scrawl thoughts across the pages. The Silvers of that time tried — truly, they did — to cling to hope, to believe in what their people believed: that one day, their prince would be freed from the shackles of his horrific curse.

But with the passing decades, the many years, the many Silvers that lived and died, they all seemed to suffer from the same truth: there was no cure in sight.

And then there was Malleus.

The guards found a young fae child today, lurking in the borders between what remains of the valley and the kingdom, his own handwriting reads, the parchment yellowed with age, the ink long-since dried. This, Silver knows, is the first point at which Malleus is mentioned, though not yet by name, tucked away in a notebook he recognises by the distinct fern-green colour of its cover. Even now, as I write this, I still cannot believe the abysmal state he was in upon meeting him. No child, whether human or otherwise, should have that many injuries on their body, and though I have had a stern word with those who found him, I fear for his safety.

He shall remain with me for the time being.

Though Silver does not have favourite journals — for such a concept is lost on him when all the journals are such a drag to read, recounting the day-to-day experiences of his past selves, a depressing fog seeming to permeate every page of words — this one is perhaps the closest one to such a concept. Because this journal is different — he clings to every word, phantom feelings of a fierce protectiveness flaring within him, as though this particular incarnation has stirred somewhere deep within him and seized his soul.

It is so painfully obvious how much his past self had cared for Malleus — taking care of him, granting him such patience and endless kindness, spending time with him teaching him the human tongue, of how to read and write. There is a page filled with endless delight upon learning the fae’s name, ink smudged together where the page reads Malleus. Their activities did not end at the crude essentials; there are sweeping recounts of games played together, of crayon drawings and delicious platters of sweet treats — and Silver aches when he reads every word of it, possessed by a longing to return to those simpler times, when Malleus was not his physician, and was merely his friend.

And this care is made so apparent by the last few pages, the cursive made shaky by the cold, approaching winds of Death. To the next Silver, it reads, take care of Malleus. If there is any hope of breaking this curse that ails me, it lies within the powers of the fair folk. And yet, the rest of the page is filled with sentiments, rather than explaining how Malleus is the key to breaking the curse:

I wish this could last forever, these sweet days of playing together. For much of my life, I have been haunted by a bleak loneliness, isolated by my circumstances, and haunted by the weight of all our pasts. I have never had any companions my age, and I know from my readings that all of my predecessors shared the same lonely fate. To indulge in such fleeting luxuries, to have someone to speak to as though we were on the same level, intimately so— it is a happiness unlike anything I have ever felt before.

Blotchy circles stain the pages, the ink smeared in places.

Things may be different from now on. I understand that the council wishes for him to begin his work when the next cycle begins. And it is with that knowledge that I must remind the next Silver: Malleus may be our physician, and he may be tasked with breaking our curse—

But before that, before any of that, he is our friend.

Never forget that, for as long as we may live.

“Thank you for joining me today.”

Wispy trails of steam rise from two cups of tea, sitting in elegant saucers. Before Silver, and in the middle of the round tea table, is a small spread of sweet delicacies: scones accompanied by small glass jars of jam; finger sandwiches, some filled with goat’s cheese and roasted pepper, others filled with cucumber and salmon; and a small, round cake, tiny enough that it’s perfect for just the two of them.

“Of course,” Malleus replies, his voice smooth as usual. He raises his head slightly, slitted-eyes roaming over the tea-time spread before them, before he dips his head. “I thank you for the invitation, your majesty.”

“We have been over this many times, Malleus,” Silver says, unable to hide the exhaustion that spills into his voice. “You need not refer to me by such formalities.”

He knows why Malleus does so, of course. The answer is written across several different journals — It is difficult for him to reacquaint himself with us in each new cycle, and I truly cannot blame him. How alienating must it be, to witness someone you grow close to, time and time again, look upon you with no familiarity in his eyes? There is another reason too, though one of mere speculation, for Malleus has never confessed the truth by his own tongue — Earlier today, I witnessed a council member chide Malleus for regarding me with such familiarity during our meeting. I do wonder if this may be another factor into those needless formalities.

Thankfully, Malleus always obliges whenever Silver asks this of him — though whether it is because Silver is his prince, or because Silver is his friend, he never knows. “Is there any occasion for this meeting, Prince Silver?” Malleus asks, as Silver beckons for him to help himself, unwilling to dig in first when the fae’s eyes are flickering over the food, glinting with hunger. I wonder if he has forgotten to eat again, Silver thinks. Malleus carries over a scone and a sandwich with his utensils, leaving the cake intact. “Not that I mind it, by any means; it is always a pleasure to spend time with you.”

“There is no special occasion,” Silver answers, finally reaching for the spread as Malleus cuts into his meal. “I… only wished to spend time with my friend.”

Their relationship is a strange, tenuous thing. There is undoubtedly a bond there, from the way that Silver always feels so safe and secure in Malleus’ presence, and the gentle way that Malleus treats him, always appearing whenever Silver calls for him. There are even some rare occasions where the facade of dutiful physician slips, a careful veneer crafted for the sake of survival in the court, and Silver relishes those times, watching as Malleus’ expression sours, the stinging barbs that spit from his mouth more endearing than his usual regal elegance.

But all the same, compared to the earlier journals after Malleus’ appearance, filled with much more warmth and life — even as he learnt his role, Malleus would still happily chat with those Silvers, accept his offers to play games, spend the night with him on many occasions — there is a gap between them now. Driven by age, driven by time, and driven by the eternal, scathing judgement of the many humans of this kingdom, who cycle in and out of life and death, but are all fuelled by the same spiteful hatred and prejudice, taking it out on the only fae they know.

Still, Silver tries his best. He knows Malleus does too.

He sees it in the way the fae’s shoulders relax, expression smoothing out at the edges. “In that case,” Malleus says, after a moment’s pause, “let us indulge. How have you been lately… Silver?”

It is a good day for the two of them, Silver reflects. They drink their cups of tea and drain the pot of its excess drink, and the tray of delicacies are filled with nothing but crumbs by the time they’re done.

Even the cake, a dessert regarded with conflicting feelings by Malleus, is finished by the end of it. For once, Malleus eats his slices with a small smile, both their forks scraping the bottom of the plate as they help themselves to their fill.

Death no longer scares him, unlike everyone else. Death, in its own way, is a comfort, an inevitability: Silver knows he will reach his demise at the same time, at the same age. Very few people can ever be privy to such knowledge, going through their lives not knowing if they will pass on at age fifteen or fifty.

In that vein, what does it matter if Silver chooses to speed up the process?

He is not allowed proper access to weaponry. The council states that it is because there is no need for him to pick up a blade when he has guardsmen patrolling the halls around his room at all times, but Silver knows better. This is not the first time he has longed to die earlier than he usually does; he can count the other occasions on two of his hands, based on cryptic journal endings dated months earlier than they usually do.

To an extent, a part of him wonders what the point of it is. He will die, inevitably; why inflict such pain and suffering if he knows he’s going to come back? What is the point of it all?

The point, Silver tells himself, is that there isn’t one. He’ll always come back. He’ll always return — and so why should he languish and rot in his bed as his body slowly gives out on him? Why waste those months feeling his muscles weaken and his grasp on reality slip?

Why not do everyone the honour of ending it early, ending it now?

(The silver blade of the dagger, requested from some rookie soldier who knows no better than to deny this particular request from the prince, is cold against the flesh covering his heart.)

Silver is so, so tired. His life is stagnant, unchanging; he lives and he dies the same person, the same name, the same cursed prince of the same bloody kingdom, every childhood filled with days of reading the same handwritten journals signed with the same, stupid name.

When will he be allowed to rest? The weight of a legacy, the weight of his people’s hopes and dreams, drag him down, like impossibly heavy weights that are shackled to his limbs, pulling and pulling until he’s flat against the ground. He never asked for this — and god, it’s so selfish to even think of that, but it’s true.

Nobody ever thinks about him, Silver the person. They are only ever concerned with Silver the prince, Silver their saviour.

Except—

A memory flashes to mind, unbidden — of twisting, dark horns and raven-spun hair, and slitted green eyes that crinkle at the corners as he smiles at him.

(His hands tremble.)

Malleus.

The name fills him with an ache. If there is anything Silver can take comfort in as he straddles the line between life and death, it is simply that Malleus will always be there. Malleus is a constant throughline throughout Silver’s life, and while Silver may ebb and flow, weaving in and out of the many, many years of a fae’s long lifespan, Malleus will always be there.

And though the thought of that face, rendered a child once more in its shock and sadness, causes his chest to knot itself with hesitance and reluctance, Silver steadies himself.

The humans may come and go, live and die, but Malleus will always remain.

(And the blade plunges down.)

#my writing tag #writing collaborations #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #malleus draconia #twst silver #the prince and his physician au #once again it was an absolute delight to be able to collab w sleepie on this!#i really do love this au so i'm so happy to get to write something for it

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itsjaywalkers · 3 months

Text

a lil smth under the cut for u guys (part 2) <3

part 1 part 3

Regulus gives himself one last look at the mirror in the locker room, cheeks tinted pink and brows furrowed.

James’ clothes look ridiculously big on him; the black t-shirt reaches his mid-thighs, and the collar is so low on him his collarbones are on full display. He had to tie the basketball shorts quite tightly, and they still feel a bit loose, even if not at risk of leaving him exposed.

And really, the point of this is being comfortable, not looking pretty, but Regulus is used to always wearing outfits that fit him like a glove, that don’t have a single crinkle and are perfectly pristine. He feels too out of his element like this.

There’s also the fact that he’s not very sure about how to deal with the fact that he’s wearing James’ clothes, his scent cloaking his senses and making him dizzy, but he refuses to focus on that side of things. Regulus is already feeling restless enough as it is.

With a tiny sigh, he sets his shoulders and makes his way out of the locker room, raising his chin slightly as soon as James appears in his sight. He’s leaning against the side of the ring, lazily checking something on his phone with his lips pulled up in half a smile.

Regulus hates the little flip his stomach gives. Despite how very little he can stand to be around the other man, it’s impossible to deny how attractive he looks. Regulus especially likes him right now, away from the spotlight and without all those flashes lighting up his face. No shirt, still a little sweaty after today’s training, dark hair even messier than usual and shorts riding low on his hips. The laces of his right trainer half undone, and that little golden ring he only takes off during fights shining in his ear.

He does miss the glasses, though. James barely wears them, because he’s vain like that, and also because boxing isn’t the best place for them, but Regulus has caught him with them a couple times. He doesn’t think James is very fond of them, but Regulus thinks they suit him, even though he’d rather die than let the other man know.

They make him look more real. Tangible. Less like a character created to please the masses, and more like a normal man. The kind of bloke you’d cross paths with at Tesco while doing some last minute shopping before it closes, instead of an internationally famous boxer that hasn’t lost a single match since he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, a little over a year ago.

Regulus doesn’t like James, regardless of the version of himself he chooses to show, but at least one of them doesn’t feel scripted.

James raises his head all of a sudden, and Regulus isn’t quick enough to avert his gaze before he’s caught staring. Heat climbs up his neck just as a scowl twists his features, a couple of excuses and snarky responses appearing inside his brain, already ready at the tip of his tongue to argue against whatever arrogant bullshit James decides to spout this time.

However, it never comes.

The other man seems to have frozen in place, watching Regulus with parted lips and wide eyes. The blatant gaping makes him want to squirm, but he refuses to give him a single reaction, so he opts for arching an eyebrow and closing his arms over his chest, waiting patiently for James to make the first move.

“Fuck,” James murmurs, the word sounding almost like it’s been punched out of him. “Come here.”

Regulus considers refusing, or being difficult about it, or even demand that James comes there himself, but it wouldn’t make much sense, considering he needs to get in the ring for what they’re about to do.

Arguing with James, disagreeing with everything that comes out of his mouth, it’s second-nature to Regulus at this point. Sometimes, he has to take a moment to turn that side of his brain off. Not like he has the necessity of doing so often.

He huffs a little, but Regulus still does as he’s told, walking slowly and with some wariness in his step, but never faltering. It doesn’t take him long to reach the ring, but he keeps a little distance between his body and James’.

This has nothing to do with the way James’ gaze follows every single one of his movements, or the way his pupils dilate when his eyes fall onto his exposed legs. Regulus’ hands twitch with the need of pulling the hem of the shorts down. He can only hope that the heat he can feel climbing up his neck isn’t showing in his face.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Regulus grumbles, after a few more seconds of complete staring and a lot of intense staring.

James’ eyebrows shoot up and he blinks at him. “Can I?”

Regulus sputters a bit, losing his proud stance and even taking a step back. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he’s unable to look away from James’ sparkling gaze.

“What? No!” he exclaims, hugging himself tightly. “I was teasing! Why would you even want a picture in the first place?”

James blinks a bit more, as if he’s waking up from a daze, and then he grins widely at Regulus, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, like that explains everything.

“And?” Regulus questions, incredulous.

“And I want to fucking devour you,” James responds without missing a beat, tone calm as if he’s merely commenting on the weather.

Regulus chokes on his own spit, and he opens his mouth, ready to curse the other man out, but his voice refuses to cooperate.

“Shut up,” he ends up mumbling, too aware of the red that must be covering his whole face. Even his ears feel hot. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to punch.”

James snorts, shaking his head softly, but he turns around to grab the ropes of the ring and pull himself up, slipping inside with an ease that Regulus refuses to find attractive.

Every single boxer gets in and out of the ring the same way, with the same naturality that can only be born from habit. If he doesn’t get affected by watching Barty doing it, he shouldn’t feel anything when it’s James, either.

If only his brain could get with the program.

James offers him a hand, the other one holding onto the ropes to keep his balance, even though he can probably lift Regulus without breaking a sweat. Regulus stares at his palm for a couple of seconds, lips pursed, before he takes it with a sigh, barely repressing a yelp when James pulls him up with a harsh tug.

He stumbles forward, and the only things that keep him from falling onto his ass are the ropes he crashes into and James’ hand grabbing him by the waist. Regulus is too dazed to appreciate the other man’s raw strength, the way he holds him up easily even after letting go of the ropes himself. Regulus is still trying to make his heart slow down while James helps him inside the ring, not letting go of him for a second until he’s sure that he can stand on his own, and he's far away from the ring’s edge.

“Careful,” James murmurs, squeezing his waist before he finally steps back and stops touching him.

Regulus can’t help but send a glare his way. “A bit late for that, isn’t it? And it was your fault, anyway.”

“How was it my fault?” James questions, a disbelieving laugh slipping between his words.

“You pulled me too hard!” Regulus retorts, pointing an accusatory finger at him, uncertain if his embarrassment is due to almost falling in front of James or to having had him so close, manhandling him with such ease. “None of it would've happened if it weren’t for you!”

James rolls his eyes, a smile already pulling at his mouth. “I was just trying to help you, love. But I didn’t expect you to weigh so little.”

Regulus scoffs, pointedly ignoring the urge of rubbing at his very warm cheeks. “I weigh a perfectly average amount for my age,” he hisses, eyes never focusing on James, always jumping from the floor, to the ropes, to the door that leads to the locker rooms. “It’s you who’s—”

“I’m… what?” James cuts him off, shit-eating grin already in place. Regulus can’t wait to be able to wipe it off his face with his fists. “Incredibly strong? Insanely fit?”

“Desperately trying to overcompensate,” Regulus finishes drily.

James huffs, but it sounds amused, and instead of responding with something snarky of his own, he shakes his head a little and begins rolling his shoulders. It takes Regulus a beat too long to realise that James is stretching.

He rushes to do the same after the other man arches an eyebrow at him, still doing his best to keep their gazes from meeting. Regulus focuses on James’ movements, on the way he rolls his ankles and how tightly he pulls his arms over his head.

They both work in silence, and despite it not being uncomfortable, it does feel a bit heavy. Tense. Like there’s a sword swinging over their heads, waiting for the right time to be dropped down.

Regulus isn’t sure if that’d be a good or a bad thing.

By the time James finally starts to slow down, shaking his limbs to loosen them up, Regulus is already feeling some soreness in his muscles. James’ stretching wasn’t exhaustive, or even that intense; Regulus has seen what his actual routine looks like, as well as his daily training, and this was nothing in comparison.

But, well. James is a professional athlete, while Regulus sits behind a computer to write his articles. He likes to think he’s in decent shape, despite having what’s mostly an office job, but this is making him start to doubt it.

“Okay, love,” James begins, and his voice startles Regulus a little. This might be the longest they’ve been silent in each other’s presence. “The first thing you need to understand about punching is that you don’t do it with your arms, you do it—”

“With your whole body,” Regulus intervenes, grinning a bit smugly. “I already knew that. Sirius told me ages ago.”

James rolls his eyes so hard he even tilts his head back, and Regulus has to make an active effort to repress a snort.

“Good. I see he’s not completely useless,” James sighs, and Regulus narrows his eyes at him.

“I also know that you shouldn’t tuck your thumb inside, unless you wanna end up breaking it, and that your lead foot should be forward for jabs and crosses.”

James sighs, his smile slowly becoming less genuine and more strained. “Fine, then. Since you’re such an expert, I’ll skip the basics. Show me your stance.”

Regulus lets out a quiet exhale and nods, a furrow setting between his eyebrows as he tries to remember Sirius’ lessons back when they were teens. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t remember that much, because they were quite young, and his brother wasn’t even half as good back then, but he’s too proud to admit this to James.

He spreads his legs slightly, always making sure that his right foot remains forward. Regulus pushes his shoulders back and crouches slightly, raising his arms enough to adopt a defensive position.

When he’s satisfied, he raises his head, sneaking a glance at James, who’s looking at him with an unreadable face.

“So?” Regulus questions after a moment.

“Wrong,” is all that James says, his tone neutral.

Regulus does a double take. “Excuse me?”

“Wrong,” James barks again, his focus shifting from his body to his gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“How is it wrong?” Regulus demands, losing his stance just so he can properly scowl at James.

“It just is.” James shrugs, always so nonchalant it makes Regulus sick. “Spread your legs a little wider.”

Regulus scoffs, but he listens, even if a bit begrudgingly.

“Wider,” James instructs again, and Regulus huffs loudly, but he still does as he’s told. “Okay, no, that’s too wide.”

He throws his arms up in the air, already more than done with James’ stupid lesson. He’s about to let him know what he thinks of his shitty teaching skills when James closes the distance between them with two long strides. Regulus snaps his mouth shut even before the first syllable has left his parted lips.

It takes him a lot of effort to keep his body from taking a step back.

James’ eyes slide down his body, slow and careful, and Regulus bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. There’s none of the usual interest in James’ expression; he’s focused on the task at hand, looking for flaws and ready to correct Regulus’ form like a surprisingly stern teacher.

That doesn’t mean he can’t feel the weight of James’ gaze on him like a brand, Regulus’ skin burning in every zone where the other man’s eyes stop.

“Close your legs, we’re starting again,” James instructs, and Regulus hesitates momentarily, trying to blink himself out of his daze.

He does, rolling his eyes for good measure, and then waits for James’ next order with the most deadpan face he can muster.

James walks around him, deep in thought.

“Open,” he murmurs, frowning slightly. “Like you did the first time.”

Regulus gives him a very pointed look over his shoulder, but he complies, and this time, he doesn’t try as hard to get it right. He’s had enough judgement for the day.

When he stops, James squints his eyes. “Open more,” he presses, attention never leaving Regulus’ legs.

“How much more?” Regulus asks, with a bite in his tone. “Because I also did that last time, and apparently it was wrong.”

“Just a little bit, Reg,” James sighs, and he has no business sounding so exasperated when Regulus is the one dealing with that attitude of his. “It’s not rocket science.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too, until you started to criticise my stance as if we’re doing something actually complicated, instead of just throwing a stupid—”

James interrupts him with a groan, and before Regulus can tell him to fuck off, the other man is moving forward, extending his hands and making Regulus go completely stiff.

Noticing the sudden tension, he stops right before his fingers wrap around his waist, so very close Regulus can already feel their warmth.

“Can I?” James wonders gently, and Regulus swallows thickly.

He considers refusing, kind of curious to see what James will do, how will he react, especially considering that he’s a master of casual touches, and he usually never asks before wrapping an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, or patting him on the back and letting his hand linger for a few seconds too long.

In the end, though, he’s also too tired of arguing.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking away from James’ hovering hands.

James seems to doubt for a second, before he finally grips Regulus’ tightly, squeezing for a moment and dragging a tiny gasp out of Regulus. It earns him another squeeze, this time, longer than the other one.

The other man sneaks a leg between Regulus’ thighs, and he kicks softly at his feet until he opens the slightest bit wider, murmuring a breathy “good” when he likes the width.

Regulus is helpless to the shiver that racks his frame. He’s sort of expecting James to make a teasing comment about it, or maybe just laugh a little, but he stays silent, still holding onto Regulus.

Somehow, that’s even worse.

#here it isssss #3rd part with the actual fun (and a lil bit of spice) coming very soon #in a few hours hopefully #but like always . we'll see #it's so long lmao im sorry #i need to learn how to shut up #whatever im actually having so much fun with this #boxer james agenda

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tinycozycomfort · 9 months

Text

rest in the cup of my palms (part three)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter three: compromise

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: joel helps you work through your doubts.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> sad thoughts about fatherhood, idolization!!, oral sex (f receiving), edging

word count: 5k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: thank you for your patience and thank you as always for reading! and special thank you to @pascalisbaby for bearing with me as i cried my way through this i love u

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“For the first time, I could clearly perceive the nature of feelings and emotions—I physically felt their consistency… the surge of a wave, the crumbling of a cliff… I understood the necessity of comparisons and metaphors using water and fire.”

Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion

───────

Minutes go by, but sluggishly, painfully—a dull crawl that mimics the cinematic use of slow-motion. The fracturing feels pre-climactic and almost momentous, too-long strides of seconds that pave the way for something grand.

In reality, you’re just waiting; in this barely-lit, one shot hallway, aptly partnered by a life-sized amount of discomfort. You feel like a piece of something sprouted up from cement, forced into a mold not made with you in mind—love and like and candy-sweet, feverish feelings—unable to be removed now that you’ve grown in over the lip. Reaching for the sun. And he’s beautiful above you, radiant enough to burn behind closed eyelids—the image that shines there a carefully chosen snapshot that only adds height to where he hangs in the sky.

You’ve become so tired already, from the work-up and the frustration and the effort to stop it—like being outside all day with no reprieve until sunset; he’s that strong. It’s been restraint, followed by actions that negate it, followed by reinstating restraint, and still it doesn’t stop daylight from happening. Morning and high noon and six-o-clock oranges will never stop happening, so why not free yourself of the excessive rumination and the fighting? You’d much rather try to brave him—sunscreen and shade and a flat hand above your brow. Trying is good, easy, uncomplicated. Tonight, you can try. This is a good idea.

He’ll be here soon to prove it, too—on his way to come collect you, confirmed by the oblong rectangle of text on the brick clutched in your fist.

You move enough that it wakes up again, ’Fifteen minutes.’ flashing across its face, burning under the pad of your thumb. The thing is overheating now, somehow having absorbed some of the furious twisting of your excitement, and you shove it deep into your bag to let it cool—too honest of a mirror.

You will your body to restart, moving back out onto the yard in search of Ian, to warn him of your exit—the only courtesy you have enough patience to give—frantic to get to the good part.

You find him out by the flame, one foot resting on the brick-lined ledge of the pit, a still-full beer bottle tight in his grip. It’s tepid, too, if the lack of condensation is any indication. You curl your nose and he tips the top towards you, a waft of sour citrus pouring out.

“What happened? My friend came back very upset that you were gone,” he teases, cocking a smile and rolling his neck over in question, languid and unserious.

“I’m leaving, actually. Didn’t want to go without saying.” You knock the bottle with the back of your hand until it threatens to spill over in the other direction. It’s unoffending, really, a nervous reaction, but it has him visibly questioning what ten minutes out of view had done to make you so taut.

He straightens up minutely at your unrest, only enough to reel back his exaggerated demeanor without drawing looks, “Are you good to drive? I haven’t had any of this yet—I can take you home.”

“I’m not driving. I’ve got a ride.”

“With?”

“Joel’s going to come get me.”

His eyes widen, mouth spreading with what you’re sure are five too many questions, so you stop him before he can continue—afraid to mar his night with what you imagine would be too much to navigate right now, “I’ll explain tomorrow. Text me when you get home. I love you. I’m fine.”

Part of you—a part that has no say right now—feels guilty for doing this to him a second time, for putting your friend through another half-witnessed, poorly justified fit of emotional anguish. He was the one who brought you here, to get away from this very thing, but somewhere in your bag there’s a faint stir, hard vibration jostling the contents, and you fail to think Ian through, again.

He’s barely even started to nod before you turn, slipping through the side gate and out onto the lawn.

It only takes another handful of stretched-out moments—time lost completely on you now—before opaque beams cast across the curve of the street from the top of the cul-de-sac. They drop off into low-lights once the driver registers your presence and you push forward on shaky legs, knees locking—blood having gathered in your chest from anticipation, sloshing around your heart and cutting off circulation to your limbs.

The vehicle—a truck—passes you, hitting the end of the block and returning up the drive, passenger door addressing you when it stops, your reflection warped in its convex surface. The window rolls down with a whir, and Joel’s face appears in the slit, eyes tired and hair flattened unintentionally—you absolutely woke him up.

You let yourself in, hiking up a static-logged leg to settle in the seat before he pulls off back onto the street. It’s silent for too long, and you’re returning to a familiar feeling of acceptance, just like all the nights in your past where you’d admitted to yourself that you were going home with someone, driven by fuzzy feelings of instant connection and promise. It makes him easier to grasp—more human-like.

“You were asleep,” you mumble sheepishly, acknowledging his unpreparedness in an attempt to forgive your own.

“‘Wasn’t supposed to be. I was waiting up for Ellie. I—uh, I thought you were her when you called.”

He sounds just as level as he had on the phone, fingers rapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, “She texted a few hours ago to let me know she was out for the night. I fell asleep before I could see it.”

Joel tucks the corner of his elbow in the window, laying his cheek on curled knuckles, and you chance a real glance at him for the first time.

His dark blue t-shirt is wrinkled where it had been bunched at the torso, hanging limply now over a pair of rumpled jeans. Creases of sofa or pillow-case run up like tendrils on the skin of his arm, pressed in at various degrees of depth—restless enough to continue to pivot, even in repose.

He looks homey, spun out of flesh-colored wool thread and plush, unlike the fatigue you’d seen on him in the classroom, or the buzz of anxious tension on the side of the school a few days ago. Here he’s just Joel, free of the idea of him or his actions; just-awake Joel with nothing to say except the truth. Pressure sits weighted on your shoulders, lingering guilt from choosing to savor, even if within the safety of emotional distance. It’s okay to look, isn’t it? Although looking isn’t all you had in mind.

“Can we go to your house?”

“Did you drink?”

Joel peers over his shoulder at you, and he looks meek but not small, like the question itself isn’t embarrassing but the act of asking it is. Oh. You remember your last encounter, how you’d blamed your exit on the wine, and your heart constricts at the idea that he’s asking because he’s afraid you’ll leave again. In all honesty, you wish you could leave, be strong-willed enough to have him let you out a block from your front door, never to be seen again. But you’re weak, at the mercy of your need to test your limits, your brain dipping into its reserve while your body fights to feign presence, hands rolling into fists in your lap.

“No. I haven't gone out much since the break started. Decided against getting fucked up.”

He hums, satisfied, eyes falling ahead. The tires grind under you, lulling you into another tense quiet until he’s pulling up to the front of a well-kept, stone-faced home at the end of a short street. You lean forward to see more of it beyond the curve of the windshield, lined in copper trim with fender-shaped dents bruising the cover of the garage. It’s a call-back to grade school—what limited experience you had traversing the suburbs as a child—visiting friends in large, traditional houses with pretty concrete fountains and security-alarm signs forced into panels of fresh grass.

Joel steps out and comes around the car to open your door before you have the chance to do it yourself, popping open the handle and stilling for a second before just stepping out of your way, perhaps in the sake of not being overly cliche. You try to appear unaffected by the notion, climbing down with a smile and sealing the door behind you, but you inwardly relish in his considered movements—he’s taming himself for you.

He leads you into the house—as quaint as it seemed to be—smelling warm and peppery like heat-soaked wood. It’s very much lived in, riddled with evidence of use—scuff marks at the threshold and smudged fingerprints in the dark paint on the walls where boots were taken off with the assistance of a grip. A side table brackets one side of the entrance, littered with bobbles and keys and a few other store-bought treasures. At its closest foot are several pairs of little sneakers, piled tall and wide on a wedge of rug, too narrow to be Joel’s.

Ellie.

There are signs of her everywhere, this faceless extension of him, her name scribbled on a few papers on the table and in the corners of framed drawings in the hallway; gorgeous hand, she has—all of the figures looking as true to life as they could, even when confined to paper cages. She lines the edges of their domicile, a path of lovingly curated representations of her, right down to a monogrammed leather sketchbook that sits on the dining table.

And everywhere she is, he follows. Parts of him loom over her place-holders—guitar picks marked J in a dish with a box of charcoal nubs, a rolled up wad of button-up laid over a dark green backpack, a men’s watch sharing space on the counter with two tiny drops of backed silver. He watches over her within the borders of every container, open and solidly present behind her like a tough-knit net—ready to catch.

You step out of your shoes and he walks further in the house with haste, knocking around in what you assume is the kitchen when he returns with a glass of water.

“For you,” as he passes it, “Just in case.”

“Thank you.”

He curls a thumb into a belt loop at his waist, body teetering awkwardly as he watches you drink. You note the more-than-safe distance he’s put between you, the same kind he had implemented last week between his heart-wrenching confession and the point where this entanglement had escalated.

“Okay, so. I’m going to change. Do you want something too?”

You can’t help but smile, a nervous laugh held tight in your throat, “Yes, we can go to your room.”

Even in the dark, you don’t miss the flush of red along his jaw, the same shade he’d worn in the gallery, wine-soaked and unpracticed.

You flinch inwardly. How is it that you are remembering so much about him when he’s existed in your world for less time than should be notable? Only two interactions, now three, but they’ve earned their slot in your fondest of memories; nothing substantial provided still, and he casts your sunrises and warms your earth. You fear what touching him again will do to you.

Joel smiles something shy back, walking past you and motioning for you to do the same. He leads you back through the display, minding the little shoes as he climbs up the steps.

There are photos lining the staircase, less symbolic than the downstairs decorations, but just as revealing. A few of Joel and another man, similar in stature with a full smile and thick, slicked back hair, clasping shoulders or standing pin-straight side by side at different ages in mall-kiosk, christmas card style. Another of a young girl, all teeth and sparse freckles and pale cheeks. She’s wearing a cap and gown, shiny polyester catching in the flash, edges hazy with blur.

That’s her. His daughter. You’ve seen her, you realize, from a few modeling sessions you’d done when you offered to cover for the younger students. You already knew her, too, floating around more than a few hellos on the days you’d sat for her like a silent idol. It feels odd to be in her home now, the two of you connected in a way she hasn’t come to partake in quite yet. She’s been at the head of your conversations with Joel until now—in this moment when she’s here but not here—and you wonder how much he’s considered her place in all this. You should at least thank her, you suppose; nod at her picture in prayer or cross your fingers that you might actually get to meet her—see her again, rather—and get to say it to her face.

Joel walks ahead of you as you linger, unbothered by your interest. You’re glad he does when you reach the last row.

A larger frame bookends the slideshow, standing alone in its unique appearance. It’s hand-made, a thin string of painted ferns on the edges, the wings of something like a butterfly or moth wrapping over the right-hand corner, precise and niche enough to be nothing other than a gift. The picture inside is of the two of them together, happy and puffy-cheeked with their arms wrapped around each other, back-lit in front of some kind of museum display.

Pure joy. His comfort.

A swell of pain lodges in your ribs, eyes drawing wet. He’s losing her, you think, in a way he hasn’t even begun to realize. He's missed so much of her life—at no fault of their own—and will pursue her future as a bystander. You long to give him some kind of relief in that, maybe out of pity or maybe out of need. You wanted to be on your own, you wanted to be separated from everyone else out of spite for letting your family and your ex tower over you, heavy-handing their influence in false gestures of kindness. Not loving. Never loving—only present in best interests and helpful advice. Things that gave you purpose and points. Who was tallying? What have you to show for it now?

You only ever wanted acceptance from them, to be recognized as a person instead of as a student or a daughter or a girlfriend—to be able to transcend role and become an active participant.

It’s too perfect, this thing you each individually lack; what comes of someone who cares and someone who needs caring?

“Hey.” Joel calls from the end of the room, pulling you out of your dissection of his life, voice soft like he’s seeing an apparition he’s unsure is there.

“Hi.” You whisper, walking towards him, ignoring his tentative boundary, “You know, I did everything in my power to not call you.” There’s no point in keeping secrets now, from him or yourself.

He crowds you in the doorway, body slumping on the line of his spine so he can entrap you more securely, u-shaped shoulders and outward facing palms, “Why did you call?”

“I couldn’t help it,” and before he can interrupt, “Joel, I need you to know that this isn’t going to end well.”

“End? Have we started?”

“We were doing this before we both knew it, I think. That’s what you were talking about, right—like we’ve met before?”

“That’s right.” He’s breathing shallowly, unable to hide his desire for proximity now that you’ve allowed him more than he started with, chest moving back and forth like the breeze of the heater is enough to push his tide, “And I meant it.”

“So did I.”

“Then what are you so scared of? If it’s familiar?” His knee knocks into the slice of thigh above yours. He’s getting closer.

“Just because I want you now doesn’t mean I should have you.”

“What if I want you to have me?”

“Even worse.” The heat of his face leaks out onto yours and you open yourself to it—the hot sun in July, the boiling rain of mid-summer, all encompassing and working hard to bring you up to temperature so you can burn along with it. Setting you ablaze.

You lean up, the tip of your nose catching on the stubble lining his jaw, careful to not break eye contact for longer than the briefest moment, nudging him in short taps.

“I do, though, honey. I think you know I do.” His knee pushes between yours, digging into the joint of your leg to unfold you, the rough denim over his zipper dragging across the knob of your hip.

You curl a hand around the fabric covering his stomach, wrinkling it past the point of correction as it folds under the damp of your fist. He’s far from at length now, both nothing of what you intended and exactly what you wanted. He’s thrilled about it too, seemingly—the muscle under his torso fluttering when your nails drag against him.

He’s everything again, everywhere, soft tanned skin and jeans he came up here to ‘change out of’, the invisible halo around him swallowing you, coaxing you into his orbit. You want all of it, piece by piece and for all he’s worth.

“I don’t want to waste you,” you murmur, and there’s that unashamed boldness again, honesty rushing out like an unsupervised beast. Joel wraps his thick fingers around the side of your neck, thumb pushing into soft cheek, between rows of teeth and over skin, pushing them apart.

His eyes are glossy, like he’s just gotten up from a long sleep, gauzy and sloppy and sticky. His mouth hangs open to mimic yours as he speaks, “You couldn’t. I have an endless amount to give,” and then he’s licking the outline of your open lips, slipping his tongue in to press along the roof of your mouth and up up up to the back of your teeth. He’s puffing hard out of his nose, dipping in and out of your split, licking even the pad of his thumb where it pokes through the hollow, touching himself inside you.

His free hand grips the top of your ribs, leading you backwards towards the bed until you’re seated at the edge of it, his back curved harshly to continue to taste you.

You’re kissing him back, you know that, but your thoughts float up to cloud your pleasure and you’re getting ahead of yourself all over again. What does he want? Why does he want it? Would he be upset to learn you’re trying to give him less? You flip the hem of his shirt between your forefinger and thumb, toes curling against the carpet—walking that line of self-doubt.

He breaks away, so careful again even with no clear need to be, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just nervous.”

“About now? Or about me?”

“Both.”

“Just talk to me, then. Tell me why we shouldn’t—we can work through it together. Let me take some of that worry off of you.”

Joel braces a knee on the corner of the mattress to hold himself steady, gripping you under the joints of your shoulders and pulling you towards the center of the bed. He deposits your body like nothing, kneeling at the apex of your thighs.

Your voice shakes, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He works at the buttons on your shirt with long fingers, drawing it over the hills of your shoulders until your collar rolls in on itself from the force, falling away. Joel wraps the layer over the panel of your jacket and pulls, undressing you like he has to memorize how to be able to put you back together. He does the same with your bra, achingly slow, but you can feel tiny tremors in his wrist as it runs against your back.

You just watch for a minute, unable to link what he’s doing to reality, arms feeling weak like the dull ache of a full-body cold, akin to sickness.

“Go on, honey. Only gonna keep going as long as you do.”

“I— I feel connected to you. I don’t want to.”

He closes his eyes and bobs his head, I understand, and your body starts to feel numb at your core, pulsing so violently it prompts you to roll your ankle to make sure you haven’t left it behind.

“More,” he pants, running fully-spread hands over every piece of bare skin, your nipples pulling tight as the motions move from gentle to greedy, passing to tugging.

“I can’t do this again. I have a hard time letting go. What if you want me for the wrong reason and I can’t hate you for it?”

He pops the button of your pants, lifting you up off the bed to take the garment down and off, dipping his fingers into the rim of each of your socks on the way to remove them at the same time.

You push your forefingers into the band of your underwear, but Joel meets your hand as you start, winding a finger around the lace and pulling opposite so they catch—leave these on.

You comply, but you know you’re already wet through them, know that he can see it, and you can’t decide if you want him to know his effect on you, legs buckling in no clear direction; but he feels so good, and he’s almost where you want him, and he’s waiting for you to keep talking, so you lean into the heat. You spread.

“It’s easy to tell myself you’re different once I’m in it. But it never works out right. I get too attached.”

Joel settles in, shouldering the left side of his body under your thigh to bring you open further, wrapping his arm around it and letting a hand situate against your belly. He turns his right palm away from himself, flattening it like a warning sign before he pushes it against the crease of your cunt, rubbing in slow circles with the curve of his fingers, right under the points. You thrash, trying to force him just an inch up to where you’re throbbing, but he doesn’t budge—he’s making you earn it.

“What if you just want me because you think you need someone to take care of? What if you find out you feel better alone?”

He dips two fingers into your cunt through the film of your underwear, shallow but firm—more than just curious. You feel like you might just come from this, from just the suggestion of him.

He uses his forearm to butt against the underside of your thigh, prompting you to lift it towards your chest, and he leans down to cup your clit into his mouth, fabric and all. His mouth is searing with the aid of the material, a tight suction that insulates the heat he’s expelling.

You’re heaving now, light-headed and loose as broad strokes of his tongue soak the already tainted cloth, the extra stimulation from its drag enough to make your head spin. You’re sure that if you breathe any harder your chest will cave in.

“Hm?” He asks against you, demanding, the vibration of it setting your skin alight, and you force your nails into the dip of your hand to keep your mind in the room. You’re stuttering, but it’s not enough of a response, so he leans back—cruel and merciless.

“What did I say?” he coos, left hand pinching into the swell of flesh at your side.

It stings but you gasp, eager to take, even if the attention so so far away from where it should be, and you have to count your breaths out in groups of five to come back into focus.

“What if I’m willing to take what you give me? Does that ruin the safety I’ve built for myself?” you whisper, and finally he peels back the curtain of fabric, only enough to present your entrance, rough fingers greeting your opening with no resistance, twisting and hooking them so just the tips are fixed inside. He positions himself above his hand, spitting onto your still-covered clit, watching it slide down and gather where you join. It’s unnecessary, with how much slick you know is pooled there, trailing down onto the sheets under you, but you chalk it up to just having another piece of him inside of you—you’ll gladly accept it.

You’re so very close, and he can tell, maybe from the shake in your hoisted leg or the lack of time in between airy cries, and he just slides in, right to the first knuckle. No room to be ready.

The sound of blood rushing in your ears is so loud you don’t hear yourself when you start begging. You writhe under the hold he has on you, relieved and overwhelmed and a few inches from your soul pouring right out of your body.

And then he’s not moving again, lessening the recovery time he’s willing to allow you, and you try to dig through the fog of arousal to find real words, but your mind can only conjure up a single-syllable sentence as you beg him to relent.

He frees himself from the clutch of your leg, shimmying out so he can use his unsodden hand to cradle your head, the weight of your skull limp in his palm, “You can do it. Get it all off your chest.”

Joel presses his thumb up under your cheek, pulling at the crease of your lips like he can will you to speak with force alone.

“I can’t. Please. Just finish.”

“You have something else you want to say. I don’t take kindly to giving up. C’mon.”

He gives you a half-step, reminding you part of him is still within you, fingers curling up against the soft muscle and you skip over a hard inhale.

“How am I supposed to know what I’m up against if you won’t tell me?” He says it like it’s obvious, like this is some very common step in relationship-building—finger-fucking you as a reward for confessing your skepticism.

You’re tense, holding the whole of your body in one, tiny scrap of you and it feels like you’ve entered some kind of limbo, suspended in the place between tension and relief, so close to falling that you’re not sure you want either of them.

He angles himself again, pushing his entire heft into your hip with a wide hand so he can fit himself flat against the bed, mouth hovering over your cunt again. He exhales hard over you, the fingers still tucked in your cunt moving as he adjusts.

“Please?” He begs sweetly, high enough on the end that you know he’s mocking you, “You can do better than please.”

You huff hard, swallowing thickly—trying again, “What if you—What if—,” you manage, and the lead-up must be convincing enough because he bows again, body fully flat so he can latch on to your clit with his mouth, lips closing tight around the bud through cotton and sucking hard, the hand inside you stirring to life, his twisted positive reinforcement serving you well.

“Fuck, Joel. Fuck—What if you make me love you, just to leave me?”

Your ankle drifts down to find purchase against his waist, and you can feel him moving, working himself into the mattress. In the chaos, you’d forgotten about his want, and being reminded of his ability to take makes your sweat run cold. He could fuck you now, and instead he’s fucking the bed thinking about you—even bringing you to completion is enough to make him chase release. You lean your head back behind your shoulders, your orgasm overtaking you one harsh wave at a time, stomach filling with thick, hot syrup. You push your teeth so deep into your lip there has to be blood but you can’t taste it, all of your senses honed onto where he’s unraveling you, shrinking in on itself in preparation to violently burst.

He weighs in, now that you’re already cresting, “I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Not now that I know what you need.”

His admission, his promise, is enough to make you see white, pushing your peak into overstimulation far too soon, and you have to be crying or begging or something because he immediately slows, winding you down in an organic way—taking his time leading you past bliss.

He pulls his hand free of you, sliding his grip over the damp, half-mounted fabric and peeling it away, hand circling your calf to maneuver you gently.

You’re fully naked now, and when he rolls over to stand at the foot of the bed, you remember he’s still clothed. There he is, above you again like he brings the dawn, bent shirt and uneven waistband and shiny slip over his lips.

It looks different from your memory though, here he looks inexplicably pained, face wrinkled, and then settles another reminder—he hadn’t come.

“Wait, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer, just recedes to another part of the room you can’t see over your heap of arms and legs.

You’re still swallowing ragged mouthfuls of air, not quite normal, when he reappears, the feeling of hot cloth against your still fragile cunt makes you writhe.

“Joel.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t get to… finish,” you mutter, and how you’re too embarrassed to address his arousal even after what just transpired is beyond you.

“No need to rush anything. I can take care of myself for now, plenty of time to get to that point.”

“What now, then?”

“Sleep with me. I can take you home if you want, or to your car, but I would much rather if you stayed.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

Text

Shades of Green

Summary:

Warnings: Cursing, jealous relationship, some sexual hints at the start but it's barely there

Author's Note: Tried to make this a little more fluffy because I've been writing so many sad stories recently aha !! I hope you like it <3 Thank you so much for your request and for your lovely words x

---

"Babe are you ready to leave?" Drew calls out from downstairs, where he's tugging his shoes on.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," You say, throwing your necessities into your bag and slinging the small strap over your shoulder.

You grab your heels and hurry towards the stairs.

"We're going to be la-" He turns around to see you at the top of the stairwell, "Holy shit."

"Good shit or bad shit?" You laugh, hurrying down the steps and rushing to tug your shoes on at the bottom.

"Like the best shit," He smiles, "You look incredible."

You were wearing a burgundy red dress with a square neckline and a fitted bodice, the skirt with a high split on one side, with black heels and a black purse to match.

"Very sexy," He wiggles his brows as you stand up from getting your shoes on, smoothing a hand over your dress.

"Keep it in your pants, Starkey," You taunt, "We're going to be late."

You head out of the house and he follows behind you, opening the car door for you before you can get to it as you get into the passenger seat. He looked smart too, a grey suit that made his shoulders look broad and brought out the colour of his eyes.

"So, how do we know these people?" You ask him, checking over your makeup in the rearview mirror.

"I went to school with the groom, we were all in like one big group of friends," He explains, "Well, they were technically Freya's friends first but then I got to know them all obviously."

"Freya?" You frown a little, turning your attention towards him.

"Yeah," He nods, switching the car into drive and putting his hand on the back of your chair to start reversing off the driveway.

"Wait, hang on a second," You wipe your hands on the seat, "You didn't tell me your ex was going to be there."

Drew stops the car and looks at you, as if taken aback, "What are you talking about? You knew we still had the same friends."

You can already feel the lump in your throat, the way it seems to constrict against your attempt at any words, "I just... I don't know."

"Relax, (Y/N), believe me, we wouldn't be going if you had anything to worry about," He scoffs and starts reversing the car once again, one hand moving to find the aux cable that he reaches out for you to take.

You weren't sure why your chest still felt so tight.

~~~

The ceremony was a success and, of course, you cried - you couldn't remember the last time you got through a wedding without crying. Drew had sat through the entire ceremony with his arm around your shoulders on the back of the chairs, his fingers running over the curve of your shoulder aimlessly. You were now all mingling outside before the reception, both with a cocktail in your hand and Drew's eyes scanning everywhere to find food now that he was complaining about his stomach grumbling.

"Well, look who it is!" The voice seems to ring through you before you've even turned to see who it is.

You instead watch the way that Drew smiles at the sight, outstretching his arms, "Long time no see!"

A petite blonde hurries into his arms, her hair in big curls around her face and flowing down her back. She's wearing a blue dress that hugs her in all of the right places, shaping her curves like something you'd see as a Facetune final product.

"Oh its so good to see you Drew," She grins as she pulls away, "And you must be the famous (Y/N)!"

You force yourself to smile but you know it doesn't look natural, "Hi, it's nice to meet you."

"I'm Freya, but I'm guessing you've heard about all of us from Drew already."

"No, I don't think he's mentioned you," You shake your head, "Are you friends from school?"

Freya looks between you and Drew for a second and you can feel his eyes on you, a raise in his eyebrows like he's waiting for you to look at him.

"Yeah, me and Drew go way back," Freya continues, "You look gorgeous, I love this dress!"

"Thanks," You nod, taking a sip of your drink so you don't have to say anything else.

Freya takes a deep breath and turns to squeeze Drew's arm, "Well I need to go and find the happy couple, and do the rounds so I don't miss anyone. I'll see you two later, okay?"

She dismisses herself and Drew tilts his head to look down at you until your gaze catches him.

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows, less in surprise and more in irritation, "Are you kidding?"

"What are you talking about?" You shrug nonchalantly, moving your straw to your lips to take a sip of your drink again.

"Alright, not here," He glances around at the crowd before placing a hand around your forearm, pulling you with him as he weaves his way around the bodies.

The two of you break into a clearing just outside of the crowd, where you're out of earshot of the other guests.

"What the hell was that?" He questions, nothing but severity in his voice.

"Oh come on Drew," You scoff, "She was practically all over you. Well, look who it is," You mock her tone.

"Don't be like that, (Y/N)," Drew rolls his eyes at you, "You know we're friends, and she even told you that I mention you a load so what do you have to be worried about?"

"You don't have to deal with this, though, I don't speak to any of my exes, you wouldn't see them at weddings," You point out, "It's just weird."

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, (Y/N)," He shakes his head, "I'm going to get another drink."

With that, he disappears back into the crowd of mingling people. You sip down the rest of your drink and take a deep breath, wanting nothing more than for the hours to tick down until you could leave.

~~~

You speak to a few of Drew's friends that you did know, and speak to the bride when you congratulate her on the day, doing whatever you can to avoid going over to where Drew was chatting to his other friends from school and a couple of the groomsmen. It was obvious that he kept looking over to you, his protective streak needing to keep an eye on you despite what he'd said. You find yourself looking at him too, willing for your eyes to catch onto each other at the same time.

Eventually, the two of you are sat down next to each other at one of the tables, surrounded by a group of people you didn't know. You sit down silently and watch as Drew does the same beside you.

"Hi, I don't think we've met before," The guy next to you starts, a man about your age with the typical features of tall, dark and handsome, "I'm Josh."

"I'm (Y/N)," You offer him a smile in return.

"How do you know the couple?"

You try to avoid looking over at Drew, "Just friends, you?"

"Yeah, I work with the groom," Josh explains, "You know, finance and all that boring shit."

You laugh and he turns around a little so that he is more centred towards you. Almost as soon as the movement happens, Drew reaches out an arm around the back of your chair.

"Do you want a glass of wine, babe?" He asks, leaning forward and towards you on the table as if making certain that Josh could see him.

You turn and glance at him momentarily, "I'll have a white wine please."

He smiles and presses a kiss to your shoulder, "Okay, honey."

Josh glances at the two of you and clears his throat, "I'm going to run to the bathroom before the food comes out."

You turn your head back towards Drew as he pours out the bottle of wine into your waiting glass.

"Really?" You try to fight back a smirk, "You know jealousy really doesn't look good on you, Starkey."

He doesn't look at you, but you see him clench and unclench his jaw, "That's not the same thing, that guy was all over you."

"Is Freya single? I'm sure they'd make a great couple, they have a lot in common," You taunt and he sets the bottle back down into the middle of the table.

He can't help but smile at your comment, leaning back into his chair.

"You're lucky you're cute," You mention, leaning to him to press a kiss to his jaw.

He smiles brighter at the touch, leaning into you just a little.

When you pull away, he brings up a hand to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flicking between each of your eyes as if searching for confirmation that you are listening to him, "You know you have nothing to worry about with Freya, right? She's just a bit full on but we're friends, we just stayed friends because it was easier than trying to split the entire group when things ended. I don't know why I didn't tell you, I should've done. I just didn't think it would matter because you should know how crazy I am about you."

"Crazy, huh?" You fight back the smile tugging at your lips.

He runs his thumb down the side of your jaw, his fingers hooked behind the back of your head as his other hand brings your fingers up to his lips, "Something like that," He presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"Nothing to worry about?" You say and he draws his eyes back up to yours.

"Not with her, not with anyone. Not now, not ever, okay?"

"Okay," It comes out as a whisper as you smile at him, your cheeks heating up.

He leans in and kisses you firmly, longingly, as if solidifying his erasing of every worry you'd ever had, his confirmation that you were his and he was yours.

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metalmusingmoments · 11 months

Text

@lonelycupcakelol bare with me lol

Bayverse Optimus prime x Human reader.

Takes place during the forth movie where reader and Optimus reunite after each of them went into hiding.

Xxxx

The aftermath of Chicago had left a bitter taste on the human race. The Autobots had defeated the Decepticons but at the cost of thousands of lives and a city. That’s how the world saw it anyway.

The government was quick to react and NEST was disbanded. Only a select few would remain to act as liaisons. Any known human collaborators would be put on house arrest and Autobots would be restricted to a remote base in Nevada.

A year and a half after the battle, the Whitwicky family broke probation and couldn’t be found. Sam, his wife and new born son had escaped. The government was quick to pin it on Bumblebee but he and every other bot had been confined to the base. Y/N never saw Sam again.

When Lennox started to become distant Y/N began to worry. Acting as one of the liaisons between the Autobots and the government constant contact was a necessity, and above that they were friends. Or so Y/N thought.

The last conversation Y/N had with Lennox he had told them he “had to put his family first”. His last attempt to give them all a warning. An hour later the President declared all Cybertronians a threat to the world and the base descended into chaos.

Optimus had given orders to just get out and to keep contact to a minimum. Y/N had refused to leave his side and so you left together. That was two years ago.

At a truck stop somewhere in Tennessee you hastily stuffed your bag back full of your belongings. Grateful for the shower but wary of the time, you made your way back to Optimus. He was sporting a simple red and blue paint job without his traditional flames.

As you climbed back into the cab you stuffed your bag into the back and pulled out a map.

“We’ll have to get off 75 soon. We can’t go through Knoxville… I’m worried they’ll have sensors outside the city that could break through the shields.”

He didn’t respond as he watched you flip your map over and then back over again in frustration.

“Maybe we should backtrack and get on 27 then 40. Should we go south or north again?” You asked more to yourself.

“Y/N you cannot ignore this conversation” his deep voice filled the cabin.

“I heard you the first time and the answer is still no. I’m not leaving.” You refused to look into rear view mirror as you tried to figure out the next move. “Alright. We back track and hit 27 then we can figure out if we want to take 40” folding up the map you placed it back in your bag and reached for the seatbelt. It didn’t budge.

“Optimus” you pleaded as you tried pulling the seatbelt again.

“No.” The finality of that one word made you feel hollow. “The attack we suffered on the road last week was the end of this. I can not keep you safe…” he whispered

“And you think I‘ll be safer without you!” you snapped “I’ll end up just like Sam and-“

“We don’t know what happened to him and his family. They could be-“

“He’s dead Optimus!” you screeched “Cemetery Wind wants all of us dead and you want me to just fuck off to some remote cabin!? They’ll find me there and us separating will have been for nothing! Why are you doing this!?” You sobbed.

“Because I do not know what else to do!” His angered shout had you sinking into the seat. In all the time you had been together you had never once seen him raise his voice, and now it was at you. “They are more concerned with finding me. You will go to this location and you will stay there. If you believe it’s been compromised you will go to the next location I’ve chosen” he threw himself into reverse and started heading south. “They will not think to look for you on city outskirts.”

“I’m not your soldier” you hissed back through your tears.

“No…no you are not” he said quietly as they drove.

You rode in silence as the sky began to darken. Optimus soon pulled over onto the shoulder and parked.

“You need to head west into these woods for about a mile. You will find the location marked on this map.” The glove box popped open with a manila envelope. “They keys are in there as well as an Identification card and currency.”

“You’ve had this planned” you breathed taking the envelope in a shaky hand.

“…Yes” the admission sounded like he was in physical pain as he opened the door.

“I don’t want to leave you. I love you” the tears were now streaming down your face again as grabbed your bags.

“I know… I know as I love you, but this is not forever” he soothed. “Once it is safe I will come back for you and if your are not here I will find you. I promise you that.”

You slid out of the seat onto the ground and closed the door softly pressing your head against the door.

“Please” you tried in one last vain attempt.

“My spark… you must go.”

You pushed away from the door letting your hand rest there for a second longer as you stared at Optimus for what could be the last time.

With a sharp inhale you hiked your bags further up onto your shoulders and turned to hike up the steep incline into the woods.

When you could no longer see the road you heard the roar of his engine take off.

Xxxx

Optimus would send status updates to you and the other bots as often as he could through the secure channels.

Three months after arriving at your new home they had stopped.

Xxxx

3 years and 5 impromptu make shift homes later you found yourself in Wyoming of all places.

You had to ditch the planned route of homes Optimus had given you after you had shown up to the second one already turned upside down in a search. Destroying the small radio you had used to keep tabs on the other Autobots had been one of the most difficult decisions you had had to make over the past 3 years.

You had secluded yourself in a tiny off grid cabin with no internet or tv on a lake in the hopes that Optimus would indeed find you like he promised.

Working in your small garden you heard the sound of car engine. Not impossible for someone to be driving by but also highly unusual. You darted back into your house to grab your rifle and hid along the wall.

You couldn’t see where the car was but someone was getting out and skipping up the stairs onto your porch.

Clicking off the safety you waited.

A knock followed by a man’s voice.

“Hello? Uh… is there a Y/N L/N here? Hello!?” He pounded on the door this time.

Slowly you slid your way over to the front door placing your hand on the door knob and quickly throwing it open. You pointed the rifle into the man’s face.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! What the hell man!?” The guy shouted as he stumbled back on the porch. You only advanced.

“Who the hell are you?” Voice hoarse from disuse.

“Cade! My names Cade Yeager! Bee said you would be friendly! Get that gun outta my face!” He said swatting aimlessly.

Moving your eyes behind the man you saw the the yellow camaro begin to shift as you let out a strangled gasp dropping your gun.

You pushed past Cade as you ran down the steps to Bumblebee’s kneeling form arms outstretched.

A/N/ - part 2 tomorrow it’s 2am 😭 I do head cannon that at-least Sam got whacked between 3-4. Cemetery wind was out for blood… also I’m making the reunion movie 5 cause Optimus had no time for nothing in 4 and you’ll see why in part 2😘

#transformers #bayverse #optimus prime #optimus x reader #another long post #send help and booze

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pengweng-quack · 2 months

Text

Bloodbound

Carlisle Cullen x Human!OC

Summary: Place Carlisle in the Edward situation of falling in love with a human, and see what happens

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Notes:

This is on Ao3 under the same title and username if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/54527830)

Posting (just like before) is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Much much longer than Being a Witch with Vampires by the way, so we're in a long ride (or you are, because I already know the story)

Word Count: 2047 words

General warning: I used some religious references in this story so read with caution if you're not so keen into reading that

TW for this chapter: None

PM or Comment to be added on the taglist for this one!

Masterlist

Pulling over at Celine's house, Carlisle spotted her walking out of her front door, clad in a light blue top paired with a khaki skirt. Without hesitation, he hurried out of his car, eager to escort her to the passenger seat beside him.

“Why are there so many cars behind us?” Celine asked, looking behind them, where Rosalie and Emmett’s cars are behind his

“They heard that I asked you out on a date.” Carlisle answered, having prepared the answer in his mind already “Wanted to be in support. I got them to not follow us where I had planned to bring you though, I think you’d want the privacy.”

“That’s cute.” Celine said with a grin on her face. Carlisle moved faster, reaching for the seatbelt on her end and buckling it, the faintest of their skins touching sending electric shocks on his body

“It was a shock, receiving your call.” Celine said as Carlisle started driving, Rosalie and Emmett’s car getting smaller from his rear mirror “I mean, I’ve gotten hints that you were into me, both from your actions and to what everyone at the hospital told me, so like, I wasn’t shocked shocked but that doesn’t mean that I was like expecting you to ask me out or some—

“You’re cute.” Carlisle could only say, looking at her briefly before focusing his eyes on the road

“How long have you liked me anyways?” Celine asked curiously

“I wish I knew the answer to that, believe me.” Carlisle said, a fond smile growing on his face “I’ve just always…liked you in that way.”

He wanted to bare his soul, to confess that she held his entire being in her hands from the moment they met. That she had reminded him the long-forgotten sensation of having a heart. But he held back, a harsh reminder echoing in his mind that their date had been born of necessity, to protect her from the looming threat of a vampire like himself.

They were pulling up in a nearby bar, Carlisle couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that this wasn't how he had envisioned their first date. Nevertheless, he reminded himself that this moment, imperfect as it may be, was still a precious opportunity to get the chance to be with Celine. He got out of the car, making his way to her side to open the door for her.

“Always the gentleman.” Celine chuckled, following him in the bar and to the bar area so they were nearer to the bartender

"Of course, only the best behavior with the best girl." Carlisle flirted, sitting on the chair next to her "Know what you want?"

"Oh yeah, one Sangria please." Celine ordered to the bartender "You?"

"Just beer." Carlisle answered, thinking of how he'll make it look like he was drinking. He didn't especially like beer in general, having remembered his past when he was still human

"Oh, so the doctor does drink." Celine teased, admiring the doctor out of his coat

'He looked marvelous' She noted, the navy-blue polo shirt seemed to be tailored perfectly fit for him. Its snug fit hinted at the dedication he put into maintaining a healthy lifestyle, even amidst his demanding schedule. His biceps were subtly flexing as he reaches for his wallet, showing to Celine that even if he's older, his physique says otherwise.

"Open a tab under Cullen." Carlisle said to the bartender, giving him his card, as he gives their drinks to them

"I will admit, it has been a while since I've been on a date." Celine said, taking a sip of her Sangria "So, I apologize if I get a bit too awkward for your liking."

"Don't even think of it. I've been single myself for quite a while now." Carlisle replied, fake drinking his beer, the fizzy effect of his drink resting on his tongue. He carefully spat the beer back in the glass, disgusted with the feeling

"How long?" Celine asked

"Since I adopted Edward, Emmett, and Alice which is roughly 20 to 21 years ago, I think?" He lied effortlessly. He felt bad lying to her, knowing that she sincerely liked him enough to go out on a date with him

"Why'd you adopt if you're alone?" She asked again. Now Carlisle was caught off guard, what story will he say that won't sound creepy for her?

"It was an ex-girlfriend's request." He came up with, looking at Celine so she won't get suspicious. She had a gentle smile, nodding at him to continue

'Now I feel twice as bad' He thought. She was so genuine, listening to his story, when most of it was filled with nothing but lies

"Told me that if I wanted to propose, I would have to give her 3 children." He continued, fake drinking again as he thinks of what to add "I adopted them all at once, Edward technically being my oldest, followed by Emmett, then with Alice being my youngest. But they're all near each other's age, so sometimes I accidentally say that they're triplets."

"What happened?" Celine asked, genuine curiosity on her face

"Turned down the proposal. Said that I wasn't enough for her. Now, my sister helps me in taking care of them." He answered quietly, looking away from her in shame. Shame for making such a fabricated story to her.

"Do you regret doing it?" She asked quietly, her hand resting on his cheek and softly making her face him, almost flinching with how cold he was "Do you regret adopting them?"

"Oh no." Carlisle answered, her eyes captivating him "Among the thousands of things that I've done wrong in my life, they are the only things that I've done right."

"You must really love being a father then." Celine said. Carlisle noticed how her smile faltered for a bit, before making it wider again

"Of course, it makes me feel fulfilled." Carlisle answered, smiling back at her "How about you?"

"How about me?" Celine asked, ordering another glass of Sangria for her to drink, having finished the first one "I'm not a parent, I can't be really."

"Why'd you say so?" Carlisle asked, now curious. He watched Celine finish her second glass of Sangria before ordering another one, it was easy to figure out that she was stalling.

"You don't have to tell me; I'll understand if it isn't something you want to talk about."

"I really can't conceive kids. Got tested multiple times already, all results had the same answer, that I'm infertile." Celine revealed in a low tone, feeling ashamed of it

"Well, don't you think that makes us a perfect pair?" Carlisle asked her, not wanting her to think that having kids was something he still wanted "If you ever want to be a mom of some sort, obviously. You don't owe them in being their parent."

"I mean, what if you want to have kids of your own one day?" Celine asked back, nervousness lingering in her tone

As Carlisle observed Celine's vulnerability and anxiety during their conversation, he couldn't help but empathize with her underlying fears and insecurities.

He understood her reasoning in revealing personal information on their first date, recognizing her desire to prevent him from becoming too emotionally invested if she couldn't meet his expectations. Though the nervousness and anxiety lingering in her at the conversation of having children still made his heart break

"A child of my own isn't something that I would worry about." Carlisle answered her "I'm contented with my three children already. I think any more will just make me look like a womanizer, don't you think?"

"I think I like you a little deeper now." Celine blurted out, having just finished her third glass. She was turning red now, the alcohol taking effect on her “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—

"Alcohol talking now?" Carlisle teased her, feeling her lighten up from the deep discussion that they had

“Are you feeling alright? Do you want some water?” He asked again, not being able to help but worry for her reddened face

"Always the doctor. I’m just not really good with alcohol." Celine murmured; her eyes rested on him. She didn’t voice anything out but it was obvious that she wanted something

And Carlisle needed to give it to her.

“Everything alright?” Carlisle asked, looking at her with concern

"Dance with me?” She murmured quietly; an alluring twinkle in her eyes

"Of course." Carlisle answered lowly, willing to entertain her every request

'This was what Alice meant when she asked if I could deny her' He realized quietly, staring as she asks the bartender for a glass of water to soothe her temperature.

She stood up and pulled him to the dance floor, a particularly sexy song playing. Initially feeling awkward beside her, Carlisle couldn't shake the sensation that someone as extraordinary as her was merely taking pity on him.

But amidst the uncertainty, there was an undeniable sense of rightness, as if they were two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place to complete the picture.

Carlisle decided to let loose, following how Celine moved her body. He was wary to touch her, scared that he'll crave more of the temptation.

But Celine took over, gently coaxing his hands to rest on her waist. As she drew herself closer to him, her hands finding their place on his shoulders.

Her scent was intoxicating, she was intoxicating.

Soon, their bodies were close from touching. Carlisle's hands found a comfortable place on Celine's waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled her nearer to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, he could feel the magnetic pull between them, her eyes beckoning to him with unspoken desire, her every touch a silent invitation.

“May I?” Carlisle asked quietly, moving his face closer to hers. They felt alone right now, everything and everyone becoming a blur.

Celine didn’t answer by words, but her pulling him down and kissing him on the lips was an answer that was more than enough for him. Every fiber of his being screamed for restraint, urging him to resist the allure of his primal instincts.

But in the heat of the moment, her kiss felt too irresistible, too perfect to deny himself of.

With a sense of surrender, Carlisle allowed himself to be consumed by the passion that enveloped them, losing himself in the intoxicating rhythm of their kiss.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared, a bond that transcended words and defied logic.

For in that moment, Carlisle sensed a flutter in his chest, his cheeks tingling with warmth, as the essence of his vampiric nature ebbed away. He felt remarkably human, enveloped in the tender emotions evoked by their kiss, granting him a precious taste of humanity after 359 years his of vampiric existence.

In that moment, he knew without a doubt that he was exactly where he was meant to be, and who he was meant to be with.

Carlisle pulled his hand from her waist, placing it softly on her cheek, pulling away from what had been his taste of temptation. A smile grew on his face, having just kissed the woman who had unexpectedly entered his life, bringing with her a sense of joy and fulfillment that he had never before experienced in his 382 years of existence

“Let’s go somewhere…private.” Celine whispered, looking at him with fake innocence in her eyes

“You’ve had something to drink.” Carlisle whispered back, resting his hands back on her waist out of habit “And as tempting as you are right now, I do not wish to bed you while you have alcohol in your system.”

“The alcohol leaves my body very quickly so I’ll feel like I didn’t drink before we get home.” She replied knowingly, looking at him, her eyes screaming nothing but desire

“Please indulge me in this.”

Carlisle knew what she wanted, and he wanted it too, but he could hear Edward and Rosalie in his head. They were screaming for him to stop, for him to be rational, for him to think. But he couldn’t, he wanted her.

He needed her.

And she wanted him too.

And what would that make him if he didn’t give her everything that she wants?

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barelytolerabled · 1 year

Text

Unexpected Connections

Rick Grimes x fem Dixon!Reader

Summary: You’re daryl and merle’s little sister and can’t help but feel something for the leader of the group, Rick Grimes

Warnings: cheating, smut(not detailed)

WC: 1.956

The world had changed, and with it, so had your life. As the younger sister of Merle and Daryl Dixon, you had always been tough and independent. The apocalypse had only hardened those qualities within you. Surviving was all that mattered now.

Rick Grimes, the group's leader, had caught your eye from the beginning. There was something about him, a strength and determination, that drew you in. But you knew better than to act on your feelings. Rick was married to Lori, and your respect for Daryl, as well as the significant age difference between you and Rick, kept you from making a move.

However, circumstances had a funny way of changing things.

Late at night, when the rest of the group had settled down, you found yourself sitting outside the campfire, deep in thought. The crackling flames mirrored the turmoil within you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of restlessness. It was during one of these moments that Maggie, sensing your unease, came and sat down beside you.

The flickering firelight danced across Maggie's face as she studied your expression. She had always been perceptive, and you knew that she could sense the weight of your thoughts. Without a word, she reached out and gently squeezed your hand, offering a silent reassurance.

You sighed, feeling the weight of your unspoken emotions pressing down on you. Finally, you found the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maggie, I... I can't help but feel something for Rick," you admitted, your voice filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty.

Maggie's eyes widened slightly, but she maintained her comforting grip on your hand. She understood the complexity of emotions that lingered between you and Rick, knowing the boundaries that you had set for yourself. "I've noticed," she replied softly, her voice carrying understanding and empathy.

You looked into Maggie's eyes, searching for guidance or perhaps a word of caution. "But he's married to Lori, and I can't betray Daryl like that," you said, the weight of loyalty evident in your voice. "And the age difference... it just feels impossible."

Maggie nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I understand your reservations, and they're valid. But love, attraction, they're not always logical or convenient," she said, her voice carrying a hint of wisdom. "Sometimes, you have to trust your heart and follow where it leads."

You pondered her words, contemplating the risk of allowing your feelings to bloom. "What if it all goes wrong? What if it ruins everything?" you asked, voicing the fears that had held you back.

Maggie smiled gently, her gaze steady and reassuring. "Love is never without risk, my friend. But it's also what keeps us going in this world. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you have to hold on to those moments of happiness and connection when they come. They're rare, and they're worth fighting for."

As the night grew darker, the weight of your decision settled upon you. You knew that Maggie was right. Love was a gamble, but it was also a source of strength and resilience. The flame of hope flickered within you, and with Maggie's support, you felt a newfound determination to navigate the uncertain path ahead.

A few days later, you and Rick found yourselves on a run for much-needed supplies. The world outside was desolate and unforgiving, but you were determined to secure the necessities for your group's survival. As you both navigated through abandoned buildings and darkened alleyways, a sense of camaraderie began to grow between you.

Underneath the layers of sweat and grime, you could see the exhaustion etched on Rick's face. His eyes reflected the weight of the responsibility he carried. You admired his strength, both physical and emotional, and felt a desire to provide him with a momentary escape from the harsh reality.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you and Rick found yourselves trudging through the desolate streets. The weight of the day's challenges and the constant danger lurking around every corner were etched on both of your faces.

Rick's steps had become heavier, his usually unwavering determination visibly strained. You could see the exhaustion etched in the lines on his forehead and the weariness in his eyes. Deep down, you knew that he needed a respite from the constant demands of leadership, a moment to gather his strength for the battles that lay ahead.

As you rounded a corner, your gaze fell upon an abandoned house. Its windows were shattered, its exterior worn by the elements, but it offered the promise of shelter from the unforgiving night. You turned to Rick, your eyes conveying both concern and a suggestion.

"Rick," you called out softly, your voice laced with empathy. "I think we should take shelter in that house. You need a break, some rest."

Rick's gaze met yours, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between you. It was as if he recognized the genuine concern in your eyes, acknowledging the toll that the world had taken on him. He nodded, the lines of fatigue on his face easing ever so slightly.

"Alright," Rick agreed, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Lead the way."

Silently, you approached the dilapidated house, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant moans of the undead. The wind whispered through broken windows, carrying a haunting melody that echoed the desolation of the world outside.

As you stepped through the threshold, the darkness engulfed you, the only source of light being the faint glow from the moon filtering through the cracks. The air was stale, and the scent of decay mingled with dust, a reminder of the life that had once thrived within these walls.

You found a relatively intact room, its walls still standing despite the ravages of time. A thin layer of dust coated the surfaces, and you brushed your hand across a forgotten piece of furniture, leaving a temporary trail in its wake. You turned to Rick, who had entered behind you, and a small smile played at the corners of your lips.

"Here," you said softly, gesturing toward the room. "We can rest here for the night."

You stepped closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest. The world had changed, and the rules that once governed your actions no longer seemed as relevant. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out to touch his arm, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through your body.

Rick looked down at your hand, surprise mingled with a hint of longing in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cup your cheek, his touch both gentle and electric. The weight of the world seemed to lift as his fingers brushed against your skin.

Without a word, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting in a tentative kiss. Time seemed to stand still as your bodies pressed together, finding solace in each other's touch. In that fleeting moment, you forgot about the dangers lurking outside, the pain and suffering that had become commonplace.

The kiss deepened, and the world around you faded into insignificance. Every touch, every whisper of breath against your skin, ignited a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you both together in this brief respite from the chaos.

Clothing was shed, discarded in a haphazard trail that led to the bed in the corner of the room. The intensity between you grew, fueled by a combination of raw desire and the need for human connection in a world gone mad.

As your bodies intertwined, every movement was filled with a sense of urgency and desperation. It was a release—a moment of escape from the horrors that surrounded you. In that room, you were just two souls seeking solace, finding a connection that defied all logic and reason.

When it was over, you lay there, your bodies tangled together, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was filled with heavy breaths and the sound of your heartbeats gradually returning to normal. It was a moment of vulnerability and intimacy that neither of you had anticipated.

The realization of the consequences and the potential damage it could cause to your relationships with Lori and Daryl loomed heavily in the air.

Rick's breathing was labored, his eyes clouded with a cocktail of desire, guilt, and regret. The weight of his commitment to his marriage and the bond he shared with Daryl pressed upon him, tainting the aftermath of your intimate connection. His hand trembled as he gently traced the contours of your face, seeking solace and forgiveness.

"I can't believe we let this happen," Rick murmured, his voice tinged with remorse. "Lori and Daryl... they trust us. We've betrayed that trust."

You turned your gaze towards Rick, your eyes softening with empathy and understanding. Taking his hand in yours, you intertwined your fingers, offering a comforting touch amidst the turmoil of emotions.

"Rick, what transpired between us was a moment of vulnerability, a temporary escape from the relentless horrors of this world," you spoke, your voice steady but filled with compassion. "We both understand the depth of our commitments, the loyalty we owe to Lori and Daryl. This doesn't change that."

Rick's eyes searched yours, yearning for absolution and guidance. His voice quivered as he whispered, "But how can we go on like nothing happened? How can we face them knowing what we've done?"

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Rick, what happened here will remain our secret. We won't let it destroy the trust and love we have for Lori and Daryl, or the bonds that tie us to our group. It was a moment of weakness, but it doesn't define us."

You squeezed Rick's hand gently, a silent reassurance passing between you. "We must remember that we're only human, Rick. We're allowed moments of vulnerability, of seeking solace and connection amidst the chaos. But it's crucial that we acknowledge the consequences of our actions and make a solemn commitment to never let it happen again."

Rick's gaze held a mix of gratitude and relief as he nodded in agreement. "You're right. We can't undo what's been done, but we can control how we move forward. Our secret will remain locked away, and we'll carry the weight of this responsibility together."

You leaned in, placing a tender kiss on Rick's forehead, an act of reassurance and solidarity. "We made a mistake, Rick, but it's in acknowledging our mistakes and learning from them that we grow stronger. We'll focus on our roles within the group, on protecting our loved ones, and never letting this moment of weakness compromise what truly matters."

With the dawn came the harsh reality of the world outside. The weight of your actions settled upon you, bringing a mix of guilt and longing. You dressed silently, stealing glances at each other, but neither of you dared to speak.

As you left the abandoned house and returned to the group, you carried the memory of that night with you. It would forever be etched in your mind—a secret connection shared between two lost souls in a broken world.

Time passed, and the memory of that night remained a secret, buried deep within your hearts. The world continued to be unforgiving, demanding your attention and survival skills. But amidst the chaos, you both knew that the bond forged between you would forever hold a special place in your lives—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love and connection could still be found.

#the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #twd rick #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fic #daryl dixon #andrew lincoln

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starlazergazer · 1 year

Text

Trapped

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: The reader is a prisoner of war when Anakin and the other jedi find them and saves them ending up falling in love

Warnings: descriptions of claustrophobia

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Okay so I may have taken this in a rather different direction following more the spirit of the request than anything else so if anyone wants me to write this again staying more true to the request let me know!! I may do it anyways because I had so many ideas on how to do this and had so much fun writing it lol. But if anyone has any other requests please send them my way I would love to write them!!! Thanks y’all and happy holidays!!

You had done a lot of stupid stuff in your time here but this had to take the cake.

Stealing food, blankets, clothing? Sure that made sense, people needed basic necessities and the prison guards liked to hoard them.

Sneaking around to scout any possible escape routes? How else are you supposed to stand any chance at breaking out?

But breaking into the commander’s office? That didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

You weren’t even sure what you were looking for, all you knew was something was calling to you here, an invisible string tying you to the locked office and you weren’t sure you could ignore the connection for much longer.

And because of that when the door slid open and you were met with an empty office you had to pause, had to give yourself a second to decide where to start looking, and what to start looking for.

But the pull hadn’t gone away like you had expected it to when you walked in, it got stronger if anything, more precise. The desk.

You followed the pull without question, feet carrying you quickly across the room to the desk on the other side of it, facing the door. And your hand knew what to do, on instinct going to the third drawer at the bottom, softly pulling it open.

And inside sat a glowing cube, something unlike anything you had ever seen before. You hesitated at first, thoughts running briefly through your head wondering if it was dangerous, and yet something seemed to quiet them, to assure you that it wasn’t, that you were meant to have it.

The cube seemed to hum softly as you picked it up, holding it up to the light hoping to discover anything more about it, though there was nothing. Nothing but intricate metal work backlit by light.

Close your eyes.

The words seemed to come into your mind as if they were placed there by someone else. But that didn’t really scare you, instead you listened, closing your eyes, picturing the cube in your mind.

From there it all seemed so natural, a twist of this corner, slide of a panel, unfolding of the figure, the cube seemed to undo itself in your head.

Then you opened your eyes to see the cube in your hands doing the same, now lying flat before you, then a hologram appeared.

You nearly dropped the cube in surprise, jumping back slightly as a man appeared in your hands staring up at you.

Then the door opened.

You froze on the spot, eyes going wide as you stared at the tall man standing in the doorway now, all thoughts of the hologram immediately gone from your mind.

But his expression nearly mirrored yours, eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly, gaze jumping between you and the cube in your hands.

And almost on queue it snapped shut, jumping slightly in the air before landing back in your hands, perfectly resembling the same cube you had found in the desk just minutes before.

“How did you-?” the man was asking you a question though all you could focus on was the way he got closer, very aware of the wall just behind your back limiting your own range of movement.

Instinctively you pulled the cube back towards you, ushering it behind your back, not missing the way the man’s hands came up in front of him at the sight of it disappearing from his view. So he was here for the same thing you were.

“Look-“ Again he was speaking but you paid little mind to his words, using the corners of your eyes to scan the room, just barely catching a door to your left in your peripheral vision.

The man had slowed his pace towards you as you hid the cube, giving you the perfect opportunity.

With the briefest look into the strangers blue eyes you broke for that door, ignoring the man’s calls to wait as the door to what turned out to be a bedroom shut behind you.

You didn’t give yourself an opportunity to take in the commander’s room as you would have liked, instead you broke for the door across the way, every instinct within you telling you to protect the cube.

You heard the door to the office slide open just as you went through the next one into the hallway, not taking the time to think about where you were going, just picking a direction and sticking to it.

You skidded around corners, bumping into walls as you didn’t take the time to slow down but threw your gaze over your shoulder periodically, catching glimpses of the stranger following you.

You came to another T in the hallway and picked left on a whim, eyes darting down the next hallway as you ran, not expecting the flash of yellow you caught as you did so, feet coming to a halt when you came face to face with an entire battalion of battle droids.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, each taking time to fully process the situation before you, you struggling to comprehend just how deep of shit you were in.

“The prisoner is escaping!” You heard a single robotic voice call out. And to your horror you watched as each droid raise its blaster, dozens of barrels pointed directly at you.

And you found that you couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t do anything but stand there and brace yourself, eyes instinctively going shut.

Then you felt something crash into the side of you, sending you down onto your shoulder just beyond the corner just as a dozen blasters sounded.

Your eyes shot open to see the stranger hovering just above you, nose mere inches from your own as he stared down at you, a hint of a smile on his lips as you heaved, trying to catch his breath from the chase “Oh now you decide to stop running”

“I-uh” You weren’t sure where you were going with the sentence, relieved to see he wasn’t waiting for it either. Pushing himself to his feet he offered his hand out to you, not really giving you time to grab it before he was pulling you up to your feet and further down the hallway.

“You got me lost” he groaned as he took the first turn, never slowing down as he barreled down the hallway with you in tow, his hand still firmly grasped around your own, scared you were going to break away with the cube.

And mentally you were glad your earlier scouting of the facility served you well “go left”

He didn’t question you, didn’t think twice about trusting you before he banked hard, turning left just as you had told him, not bothering to ask for further directions, knowing you would provide them.

“Right” you told him quickly, and again he obeyed, taking the next right, getting not more than a few steps before he screeched to a halt.

You slammed into his back as he did so, your shoulder hitting his hard as you fell forward, the stranger pulling you back to him with your hand, pulling you into his chest briefly to steady you before letting go.

And you were ready to rear on him, demand what was that about, when you heard it, footsteps, dozens of footfalls too well timed to be anything but droids, headed right for you.

You swore under your breath, looking desperately back at the stranger only to see him one step ahead of you, hand out before him pointed at a grate on the wall near the floor.

The grate flew off the wall and towards his hand and he tossed it aside, giving you little time to process what had just happened before he was gesturing you through the new hole in the wall.

Without thinking you took his hand that he held out to you, letting him help you down into the vent, the reality of your situation only hitting you once you were fully inside of the vent, unable to stretch out your arms or legs.

The man filed into the vent after you, pulling the grate back over the hole to hide your exit just in time for the droids to round the corner.

“Ok we just need to wait-“ the man was whispering to you but you couldn’t focus fully on his words, the only thing registering right now was the tightness of the space around you, the feeling of the walls of the duct closing in around you making it hard to breathe, your arms and legs immediately becoming uncomfortably sore for being unable to stretch out.

“Tight spaces” you managed to get out, trying to assure yourself that the space was big enough, that you weren’t stuck.

But still you could hear the echoes of your breath bouncing back at you, each one coming faster and faster as you could feel the nearness of the vent walls on each side.

You heard the man swear softly, a hand coming up to clench yours, another coming to your chin to pull your gaze to him.

“I need you to take a deep breath for me okay?” He asked softly but all you could do was shake your head, breath coming out in short, ragged bursts as you struggled to control it, struggled to feel like your lungs could ever hold enough air.

“I need you to try” he shook his head back, giving your hand a soft squeeze as he dropped the one from your chin “With me okay” And slowly he took a deep breath, in through the nose out through the mouth, waiting patiently for you to join him.

And despite every thought screaming at you to do otherwise you forced a long exhale, syncing your next inhale up with his, waiting until you heard him exhale to do the same.

“Good” he whispered back to you after a few breaths “You’re doing good, you’re going to be okay”

And though you could do no more than nod at the moment, too focused on your own breathing you knew he could feel your appreciation, the shift in your panic, as he turned back to the grate, ducking down slightly to look out of it.

“Looks like we may be clear” he whispered back to you, looking back out of the corner of his eyes though you could see the hint of a smile on his lips “ready to go”

“Please get me out of here” you said it on an exhale, already scooching closer to him, ready to crawl back through the gate.

He laughed softly under his breath, taking care this time to gingerly take the grate off the wall and softly set it down, climbing up to his feet and glancing around before extending his hand to you, helping you up to your own feet.

As soon as you were back in the hallway you took an even deeper breath, giving yourself a brief moment to fully stretch out your limbs, feeling the space around you.

You saw the stranger watching you out the corner of your eye, not in an impatient or pitying way but almost a curious one, his head slightly cocked as he watched you stretch out.

“Sorry” you whispered, starting to move further down the hallway close behind him “I don’t do well in tight spaces”

“don’t worry about it” he brushed it off quickly with the shake of his head “sorry I couldn’t find a better place to hide”

“Believe me you never have to apologize for saving my life” you laughed quietly before calling out your next instruction “left”

Again the man followed with no questions, turning down the next hall before asking you “where are you taking us?”

You couldn’t help but let the hint of a smile crawl up your face, looking at him through the side of your eye “you’ll see”

And despite everything he laughed a little at that, shaking his head slightly but following your directions nonetheless, you leading the both of you through the twisting hallways until you started to be able to hear the rush of water, knowing you were close.

The stranger didn’t say anything as you led him through the last door, darkness creeping over the two of you as nothing but the end of the wide mouthed cave was lit, the two of you taking little time to run to the end of it and look out over the massive waterfall plunging into the ocean 60 ft below.

“That is your plan?” You heard him yell at you over the rushing water just beneath you, his expression not at all perturbed by the height but almost elated, a loud laugh escaping him as he peered down over the edge.

“Yeah” you responded with a small shrug, walking slightly back further into the cave, just barely able to make out the sounds of droids rushing in the hallway just behind you, the prison mere seconds from going red alert “can you swim?”

“Yeah I can-“ and the rest of his sentence died in his throat as he turned to look back at you, his eyes growing wide as he watched you square up.

“No wait!” it was all he could get out before you came sprinting directly at him, crashing your body roughly into his sending both of you over into the abyss.

You hadn’t regretted the decision to escape via the ocean until the moment.

Before you were so caught up in the feeling of the air rushing through your hair as you crashed down, the cold shock of water as it enveloped you, the soft sand that stuck to you on the opposite bank. It was feelings that after your 2 years of imprisonment had become ubiquitous with freedom, so far from the harsh cold of stone walls, metal shackles, and confinement.

But now standing in the center of the jedi council chambers, 12 sets of eyes staring down at you as you could hear the water smacking the floor as it dripped from your hair, you wished you had chosen a drier escape route.

“So you were the one who got the holocron from star’s end” you could hear to monotony in the man’s voice as the one in the center addressed you, clearly as confused as to why you were here before them as you were.

“Yes sir” you answered meekly, stealing glances back towards your rescuer, Anakin you had learned his name to be, who just look on with a smug smile, the glowing cube you’d taken from the wardens desk clutched causally in one hand.

“Yes” Ankain echoed you, never breaking eye contact with the man before you, a sort of game occurring between their hard stares sent back and forth you couldn’t quite crack “but that’s not all” and with no warning he tossed the cube to you.

You caught it no problem, the jedi council collectively sitting up in their seats as their gaze anxiously followed the arc of the cubes path through the air, visibly relaxing when it landed safely in your hands.

“Open it”

You raised a brow at his command, eyes never leaving Anakin’s as you silently questioned. You’d only opened it the once, by mistake, you had no idea how you had done it.

“Skywalker what is the meaning of this?” the man in the center asked with a dejected sigh, clearly with as much faith in your abilities to open the cube as you had.

Anakin, however, didn’t respond, his eyes cutting to meet yours, a soft smile and an encouraging nod sent your way before he spoke “just do what you did back in his office”

“I don’t know what I did in his office” you whispered the words back, as if you had any chance of concealing them from the council sitting before you.

“Close your eyes, focus on the cube” Anakin instructed you softly, words spoken only for your benefit “you can do it”

You looked up to see the council eyeing you expectantly before looking down at the cube with doubt. There was no way to tell if it was even you that opened the cube before, but Anakin hardly gave you any way out. So you closed your eyes.

You formed the cube in the mind, feeling its weight anchored in your hand, concentrating on as much detail as you could until you felt the weight of it slowly leave you, hovering in the air just above your hand, because though you couldn’t see it you could feel it do so, could sense it.

A twist of the corner, that was what instinct told you, the cube In your mind obeying obediently before showing you the next move, then the next, the puzzle cube unfolding within your mind until it was nothing but a flat plane.

Then there was a voice, the same voice you’d heard before in that office, greeting you.

You opened your eyes to the same hologram, speaking directly to you from the now flat cube hovering inches above your hand, and you were so caught up in your own awe that the next voice to speak startled you.

“how did you do that?”

You jumped at the sound, the cube tumbling from it’s spot in the air and crashing to the ground, hologram gone, cube now a 3D shape once again, 12 sets of eyes eagerly on you as they sat on the edge of their seats.

“I-I” you stuttered at first, unsure where you were going with the sentence before it came out “I don’t know. I just…felt…it”

The man in the middle shifted back in his seat, hand coming to his chin in thought as he just stared at you at first. “A child this force sensitive could not have gone unnoticed”

Your eyes cut back to Anakin with a raised brow, “Force sensitive? I’m not-“

“You are” Anakin cut you off with an eager nod, eyes darting between yours and the man in the center’s “You have to be, it’s the only way to open the holocron”

Your brows bunched together as you looked down at the cube, almost afraid to touch it again “I can’t- I would’ve- I would’ve known if I was”

“The question is no longer if” the man in the center boomed, drawing your attention back up to him “but how. How did you escape our detection, how do you still have such sensitivity without formal training”

“I want to train her” Anakin piped up at that moment drawing your attention back to him, your head spinning just trying to keep up. “I’m ready to take on my own padawan”

“No” the man’s answer was quick and final, the man giving the idea barely any consideration before answering, “she is too old, it is too dangerous to teach her our ways now”

“It’s too dangerous not to” Anakin countered quickly, clearly already ready for this objection “her abilities clearly aren’t going to fade, our best option is to teach her the path of the light side”

And this seemed to catch the man off guard for a moment, his eyes casting to the other jedi around him as a silent conversation took place before you, too many quick glances for you to ever hope to try and follow along before he was speaking again.

“On that part you are right” it seemed painful for the man to admit this to Anakin though Anakin’s smile grew at the words, “you may train her, however this does not make her a padawan nor you a master, this is nothing more than a side project and you are to do no more than teach her what will keep her from the dark side”

Anakin seemed to deflate slightly at the words, clearly this answer not entirely what he had wanted but the smug smile still remained, he clearly felt he had still won this time.

“Thank you master” At this Anakin bowed to the man and you instinctively did the same, following wordlessly behind Anakin out of the chambers, completely unaware of just how radically your life was about to change.

“You can do this” Anakin spoke to you in a soft, encouraging tone “just close your eyes and try again” and a part of you hated him for that tone, for how easy he made it seem, for how easy the task seems, lift the rock from his hand. You had opened a holocron, twice, why was lifting a rock so much harder?

But deep down you knew why it was that way, why it had to be this way.

You’d come to understand the force as an essence, existing all around you, and using it to your advantage was as easy as opening yourself up to it, lifting an invisible barrier that existed between you and it. And little things, small intuitions, sensing presences or people, that required the barrier to lift just a little, but actual telekinesis? That required a lot more, and you didn’t like what came with completely opening that barrier.

Not that Anakin knew that.

But as you looked at him you felt your resolve start to break, large blue puppydog eyes looking at you with complete encouragement and belief in your ability, and you just couldn’t let him down.

So you convinced yourself this time it would be different, it would be better, and with a deep breath you closed your eyes and slowly opened the barrier.

For a brief moment there was nothing but the force, as if invisible strings pulled you to the rock in Anakin’s hand, a simple pull on one of them and the rock was floating. You heard his cheer in the back of your mind and felt your lips turn up at the sound.

Then there was a flash across your vision, an electric whip flying through the air, a woman’s scream, a dark cell, then a small child huddled into the dirty corner of a room. You felt your breath hitch within you as you recognized the room, recognized your cell, and again part of you felt trapped, like you were back there, locked behind bars, little hope of ever escaping, of ever seeing the sun again. Then the child’s eyes snapped to you. All thoughts left your mind immediately as you met her gaze, unsure of how she could see you, unsure of how you could see her.

“You won’t leave us right?”

And you didn’t have an answer to that, because you had already left them, had already gotten out, had already left another person to occupy your empty cell.

“I-“ the words died in your throat before they could escape as you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure if you could say anything.

The sound of the door opening snapped her attention from you immediately, a set of armed droids waiting on the other side of it.

The girl was already shaking her head, trying desperately to pull herself further into the corner, tears welling in her eyes as she repeated “no” over and over again.

The droids ignored her cries completely, only stating their orders to her as if she were listening “it is your time for questioning”

The girl screamed, tried to kick back at them as they approached, tried to keep them off of her but she was just a little kid, there was only so much she could do.

You were rooted on the spot, unable to move even as she tried to reach for you, even as she called your name as they dragged her out of the room. You watched her disappear around the corner, given barely any time to wonder where they were taking her before you were slammed back into your body, again on the floor on the jedi training room, desperately gasping for breath, eyes rapidly scanning the room trying to ground yourself.

Then you felt a hand on your shoulder, another on your chin pulling your gaze to meet his, Anakin knelt down in front of you forcing out deep slow breaths, showing you what to do. And you were back in that air vent, not in a bad claustrophobic way but in a comforting one, a grounding one, again Anakin was there when you were drowning teaching you how to breathe.

You forced out the slow breaths in time with his, Anakin’s eyes never breaking from yours as he continued with the unnatural rhythm, waiting till you seemed to calm, waiting until you were ready. Then he carefully brought his legs in front of him to sit down, crossing them so that his knees touched your softly, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his thighs. “What happened?”

Your posture collapsed on the spot, your head going into your hands as you took a second to remember, to process what had just happened, how you had felt so out of your own body and yet still you.

“I-I was back in the prison” you started hesitantly, not daring to meet Anakin’s gaze as you spoke “They were torturing people I think and there was this girl. She could see me, she begged me for help as they dragged her out of her cell for questioning and I just sat there”

It was silent for a moment as your mind reeled, trying desperately to remember if there was any more to it before Anakin spoke in a sad, soft tone “They’re called force visions” he took a deep breath “they’re known for being unreliable”

You shook your head, gaze snapping to his as you straighter slightly “no this felt real, too real to be a vision, it felt like this was happening right now, real time and I couldn’t-“

You let the words hang in the air and Anakin knew what you meant, not stepping in to say anything as you thought, as you spiraled a bit more. “I left them there”

“you got out” Anakin’s rebuttal came quick but you didn’t let it hang in the air for too long.

“I left them there” You repeated, looking up at him with a small shake of your head “I had a jedi on my side and basically run of the place and I was so caught up in my own escape I didn’t even think about helping any of them get out. Who does that?”

“A survivor” Anakin’s answer again came quick but you were already shaking your head, gaze casted across the room as you refused to look at him.

“A coward”

His hand came to your knee immediately, pulling your gaze back to him as he leaned a little more forward, urging you to listen to him. “you are not a coward”

“I left children and elderly people, innocent people, to rot in a cell while I escaped. What right did I have to get out over any of them?”

“There was just two of us” Anakin objected sadly “we couldn’t have gotten them out if we had tried”

And it was like something had clicked within you, your posture straightening back up as your gaze cast back to his, a ghost of a smile playing on your face “so we need to bring backup next time”

Anakin’s eyebrows scrunched as he looked back at you, hesitantly retracting the hand from your knee as he spoke “next time?”

You nodded eagerly, already pushing yourself up to your feet “I need to speak to the jedi council”

“I want to free the people of star’s end”

The words didn’t seem to shock the council, you were under the impression that not much did, but still a silence fell over them, each member taking a moment to look at one another, sending silent messages between one another before master windu addressed you.

“You are not a jedi, you can do as you please miss L/N”

And though a part of you felt deflated, the council was playing obtuse on purpose, wanting to force you to ask out loud for their help, you saw Anakin from the corner of your eye, his tall proud stance just behind you, always having your back, and instead tried to mirror him.

“I am asking for jedi assistance with this master Windu”

Again the council shared a look, a silent discussion taking place before your eyes, before slowly each gaze returned to you, each’s expression as stony and serious as before.

“Star’s end is a separatist stronghold far too expansive for the jedi even with the clone army at it’s side to take it without many casualties”

You could see Anakin adjust his stance ever so slightly at his words, physically switching from offensive to defensive, and a part of you got angry at that, angry that you were having to prove to the jedi why the people unjustly locked in cages deserved to be free, angry that Anakin already seemed to feel this was a losing battle.

“Those people in star’s end are republic citizens, loyal to the republic in every way, the very people you all are sworn to serve and you are just going to leave them to die?”

You tried to control the anger in your voice, tried to bite it down knowing yelling at the council would get you nowhere, but couldn’t help yourself as your voice grew louder, your words coming out in rapid succession.

“We cannot serve the people of this republic if our army is dead” you could hear master windu’s own anger in his voice but you knew it wasn’t anger for his supposed forced inaction or anger in the loss of innocent lives, but rather in you, for daring to counterriot him, to argue with him in front of the council “we have a war to win miss L/N, that supersedes all else”

“The people in those cells were prisoners of war” you could hear the desperation in your own voice but in that moment didn’t care “soldiers in your war, they will gladly fight with you again all you need to do is unlock the cells. Give them a chance to help you free them”

“The answer is no”

“What if I went back in undercover”

You could see Anakin’s posture go rigid on the spot, for the first time his head snapping to you, his gaze fully falling on you as you spoke.

But in that moment you couldn’t take a second to focus on anything but master Windu’s face, the way it crinkled ever so slightly in thought, and you knew that was your chance.

“I know the schedule, the layout, how to fit in seamlessly-“

“Wait” Anakin’s voice was barely more than a whisper, his body coming inches closer as he took a step towards you, hand outstretched to grab you by the arm as if to physically stop you, but you just stepped forward, out of his reach, and continued on as if you had heard nothing.

“I still have the uniform, friends on the inside, I even know how to get in without being noticed-“

Anakin quickly gave up on trying to stop you, turning directly to the council this time, taking a step in front of you as if to shield you from them. “Master windu please excuse-“

The master silenced Anakin with a simple look, Anakin’s own words dying in his throat on the spot as he stared up at the council, gaze breaking desperately to his master’s silently begging him to do something.

Obi-wan, however, could do nothing as Master Windu turned to you, giving you a small nod before speaking “what do you propose miss L/N”

And you took a second to step away from Anakin, taking care to not meet his eye contact as you did so, your gaze never breaking from master Windu’s as you continued carefully, continued with a plan you hadn’t even realized you had formulated.

“I sneak in, unlock all the cells and the front gates giving a clone army not only unfettered access to the grounds but an entire army already within the prison” and you could see the hesitation on his face, the hesitation on all of their faces “the clone army needn’t do anything until the gates are open, and if I fail you can simply turn around. No harm no foul”

The council shared another look amongst themselves and you could see Anain’s eyes desperately scanning the room, clinging to every bit of silent conversation he could make out.

“If you are caught-“ Master Windu spoke again and you could see Anakin flinch ever so slightly at the words, his gaze whipping around to you once again as he slowly backed up to the edge of the circle, acknowledging finally he had no say in this decision, on either side. “You cannot disclose the location of this clone army should this be the plan. You cannot give any indication of the jedi’s involvement”

“If I am caught” you repeated back to him, trying your best to keep the triumphant smile off your face “well, master Windu, you said it yourself I’m not a jedi. Just a prisoner trying to escape”

You’d been sitting crossed legged on the floor for over an hour at this point, no longer even pretending to try and practice his exercise.

He’d hardly spoken a word to you since the council meeting this morning, no more than leading you to a training room and telling you to sit down and lift the rock in front of you while he paced.

Back and forth in front of you, none of the usual “good job” when you did it or light instruction when you failed to, just pacing.

At first you had prepared yourself for his blow up, waiting for him to yell at you, to lecture you for being irresponsible, for not talking to him before bringing your plan to the council. Instead you got silence, an impending doom hanging relentlessly over your head as you waited for the inevitable.

But a person could only wait so long.

So you had abandoned the rock lifting half an hour ago, doing nothing but sitting on the floor watching him go back and forth. And you weren’t sure if he even noticed. And quite honestly you were sick of waiting.

So one last time you closed your eyes and concentrated, easily using the force to pick up the fist sized rock in front of you, and hurling it directly at Anakin.

Anakin spun on the spot and lifted his hand effortlessly, the rock halting midair in front of him, floating there for just a second as his gaze snapped from the rock to you on the ground before it fell to the floor, hitting the hard stone with a soft thunk.

And it was only then, beneath that glare, did you start to question if that was a good idea.

“Really?” It was more demand than question “After what you pulled this morning you think throwing rocks at me is a good idea?”

You just shrugged, pushing as much nonchalance into your expression as possible “you haven’t talked to me in an hour”

Anakin sighed in complete exasperation, a hand running through his hair before coming up to pinch the bridge of this nose “And what do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice too soft for comfort “yell at you? Tell you how dumb and reckless of a plan this is because you already seem to know that considering you didn’t bother to fill me in before addressing the council”

“I didn’t know I was going to propose that” you were quick to defend yourself, pushing yourself up to your feet, feeling at a slight disadvantage on the ground “I was desperate! I just needed them to work with me so I offered the only think I could think would help”

“Offering yourself up as bait” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at you completely unimpressed “You went in with a complete plan and points to back up that plan that doesn’t happen on the spot”

“So if I had just filled you in beforehand you’d be okay with it?” you asked him with raised brow, already knowing his answer.

He took a second to just glare at you, knowing what you were doing, that you were baiting him “of course not” he sighed “but we could’ve come up with something better”

“We couldn’t have” you shook your head, noting his softer tone by this point, daring a step forward “this is the only plan the council would have approved”

And he did nothing but shake his head softly for a moment, big eyes staring back at you telling you that he knew you were right, just not ready to admit it right. “I could go with you” he tried

And you had to laugh softly at his expression, taking yet another step closer until you were right in front of him, a hand coming up to cup his cheek softly, Anakin not yet giving in, refusing to drop his arms from in front of his chest “you couldn’t”

He sighed dejectively, finally dropping his arms, one hand coming up to grab the one cupping his cheek, giving it a soft squeeze before pulling it away, never letting it go “you know you don’t have to”

“Ani-“ you started to object before he cut you off

“I mean it” his eyes bounced back and forth between your own “You got out, you don’t have to go back to that place”

“I left them there” you replied softly, retracting your hands from his “I got distracted, didn’t think, just wanted to get out and I left them all there, I have to go back”

And you could see him wanting to object again, to repeat that it wasn’t up to you to save them but you were prepared to stand your ground and you think he saw that too. So all he said as he stared back at you was “are you sure”

And you nodded, a soft smile rising to your lips “I’m sure. I can do this Ani”

And he chuckled softly at you, nodding reluctantly “I know you can. But you get into trouble I don’t care what the council says I will come for you”

“I know you will” you laughed again at him, taking both of his hands in yours, giving them a soft squeeze “you got me out once, I trust you could do it again”

“But nothing is going to go wrong” he persisted though you could see the smile reluctantly growing on his lips as he tried to remain serious “you’re going to release the prisoners and open all the gates”

“then I’ll come find you” you nodded.

“Good” he whispered before pulling on your arms, crashing you into his chest as he wrapped them around you securely “I’ll see you at the gates” he whispered softly into your hair.

“I’ll see you at the gates”

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