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TOUCH - MAFIA! BTS OT7 X F! READER [ TWO ]

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summary: yoongi gets stuck in an awkward situation. and the next day, the gang is confronted with startling evidence that makes them rethink all they've known about their world over the last two decades and drives them to set out to investigate the truth.

pairings: mafia bts ot7 x experimented human female reader

warnings: mentions of guns, explosions, bone breaking, swearing, and violence.

word count: 8,094 (combined two chapters again)

masterpost | one | three

tag list: @juju-227592, @drunkzseok, @yourgirlcin, @babybunli, @xanny91, @bibetsa, @borahae-reads, @lalavione1309, @luvsbngtn, @tetehearts, @singukieee, @serendididy, @quixoticbittersweet, @iriaachan, @jksisbunntboy, @missseoulite, @xjiminsthighsx, @just-vaaalll, @chim-possible, @passionandsuga, @deadrose287, @kalala22, @bangtanxberm, @scuzmunkie, @sunoosult, @germ2001, @lovelgirl22, @thvkives, @kourtney-fairy-blog, @linlinlily, @getinthetardissammy-sh, @prakriti-j, @paramedicnerd004, @cuteipat, @iamkookiesforyou (the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

copyright © 2022 by kumiko. all rights reserved. my works or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from me except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

"Here's the room." Yoongi huffs, as he opens the door, revealing another extravagant room. And it's conveniently the farthest away from the rest of us, so we don't have to deal with you, he thought.

You remain in your place, unsure of what to do, causing him to turn to face you. "What are you waiting for? Go in and take a look, you might be staying here for a while anyway."

You then enter the elegantly designed room and instinctively turn your head to study the area. "This... mine?"

"No, it's simply a place for you to sleep for the time being. It isn't yours." He spat, desperate to get out of this predicament that had been forced upon him.

30 minutes ago

"Why me! Ask Jimin, Jungkook, or even Taehyung! They're the ones who are most interested in this problem." He argues.

"You were being an asshole to her, that's why. I understand that this is a strange and unfamiliar circumstance for all of us, but she still managed to heal me." Namjoon reasoned, but Yoongi's agitated expression stayed the same. "Hobi-hyung, Jin-hyung? A little help here?"

"Leave Hobi out of this." The man with the scar hissed.

The blonde-haired man sighed. "Well, I did vote for her to stay. And this is because, after observing her, she didn't appear to be a threat."

"Not yet at least." He scoffs.

"How about looking at it this way, she could be a useful asset to us." Jin pitched in.

Yoongi's brows furrowed at him. "How?"

"She did heal Namjoon. Those kinds of injuries normally take days to completely heal, but she did it in an instant." He explains. "You can't tell me something like that isn't advantageous."

Namjoon nods. "Jin is right. Perhaps having her stay will benefit all of us."

"Or it might prove to be problematic for us. You're all being overoptimistic."

"And you're being overly pessimistic." The leader snaps back.

Oranyan clenches his jaw. "Well, I'm sorry if I want to protect all of us, and the years of blood, sweat, and tears we invested in."

"That is not anything you should be concerned about. That is not your job; it is mine." Namjoon narrows his gaze.

The words of the leader leave him slightly stunned, rendering him speechless as he takes a step back. How could he go against it, knowing how right he was?

"Fine. I'll take care of that measly girl for you." He scoffs as he walks out of the room, the tension in the air never dissipating.

back to present

"—ank you," Yoongi is snapped out of his thoughts by an innocent tiny voice belonging to the nameless girl.

"What did you say?" He asks, startled.

You glance at him warily. "T-thank you. R-room is nice."

When he notices your demeanor towards him, a small twinge of guilt rushes through him. But he immediately ignores it, remembering that you're the cause of his and Namjoon's disagreement.

"Uh- Sure? It's the smallest room out of all the rooms, I really don't see what's great about it." He mutters the last sentence.

For a few minutes, there was an awkward silence between the two of you before he clears his throat. "Well, um- Jin hyung is going to make dinner tonight, so just wait for his call in here till then."

You nod quietly, but Yoongi had already left the room.

A few hours later, Jin serves two large platters of freshly cooked Mandu and Bossam, as well as a sautee pot of Kimchi Jjigae. "Hey, everyone! Dinners ready, come down!"

Within a minute, multiple pairs of footsteps sounded, as the group comes towards the dining room. They all took their seats and began loading their plates and bowls before devouring the mouthwatering feast their hyung had prepared.

Minutes passed, and Jin felt as though something had been forgotten until it suddenly dawned on him. "Hey, where's the girl?"

Everyone shrugs silently, completely focused on their food, causing the eldest to sigh and then turn to face Yoongi. "Where is she?"

The addressed man knew he was being spoken to even without looking. He slurps his bowl and mumbles. "She's in the white room."

"The what-?" The hacker scrunched his brows.

"The white room." He repeated while Jin's eyes bulge in response. "Yoongi, that's a long way from our rooms! Why is she all the way over there?!"

"Hey, all you said was show her a room to stay in. You didn't say which room." He defended himself.

Namjoon merely shook his head and continued to eat. "Quit being a smartass, Yoongi."

The master manipulator smirks condescendingly at his leader. "I'm not wrong, am I though?"

"Watch it." The younger glares at him.

Jin, frustrated with the quarrel, lets out an exasperated sigh, cutting them off. "That's enough. I'll just deliver the food to her."

But, just as the eldest is about to rise from his seat, Namjoon stops him. "It's alright, hyung. Since Yoongi wants to act like the smartass he is, he should deliver the girl the dinner. You've worked hard enough already."

Jin leans back hesitantly as the tension comes back, and the other four men watch them silently. Namjoon's eyes never left Yoongi as did Yoongi's. The staredown lasts for what seems like hours before Oranyan huffs, rolling his eyes, and rises from his seat. "Fine. This is the last time I'm doing something for that girl."

Yoongi grudgingly walks along the lengthy corridor until arriving at the white room's door. He knocks on the door with one hand, holding the silver tray, but is met with silence.

He pinched his brows and twists the doorknob, pushing the door open. He then notices the girl dressed in his dongsaeng's clothes standing in front of the absurdly high window. He draws her attention with a clear throat. 007 turns to face him, then notices the meal tray he's carrying.

You blink. "What is that?"

"Jin hyung made dinner. He called all of us, but you didn't hear."

You remained still. That was what you were trained to do all your life. That's all you know: talk only when spoken to. And do as they say or face the consequences. Though you were allowed to ask a few innocent questions, you were smart enough to know that you needed to be cautious with your remarks.

"Well come over here and eat." He speaks.

"O-okay." You squeak as you crossed the room to Yoongi and stop in front of him.

He places the dinner tray on a little white coffee table and motions for you to take a seat next to it. You take your seat, finally seeing the warm meal in front of you.

With a blank face, he says. "Go, eat."

You plunged right into the meal, having forgotten how hungry you were. You ate with your bare hands, ignoring the spoon and chopsticks on either side of the tray. You had no idea what those were as you never had the luxury of having a delicious meal in such a humane manner.

The master manipulator stands a bit flabbergasted but doesn't show it, as you shove the contents into your mouth with your hands. For a bit, he doesn't do anything, waiting if you'll use the utensils that are plainly in front of you, but obviously, you don't.

He lets out an annoyed sigh and hesitantly crouches next to you, making you pause with a mouthful of food. "You do realize you don't have to use your hands?"

You tilt your head, as you usually do when they say something completely new to you. Yoongi takes a spoon in one hand and metal chopsticks in the other. "This is a spoon—" Then he waves the chopsticks. "And these are chopsticks."

"These are here to help you eat cleaner. I'll show you." He takes a spoonful of rice and dips half of it into the Kimchi Jjigae. He then takes the chopsticks and demonstrates by picking up a piece of pork and placing it on the rice, then bringing it to you. "You then bring it to your mouth and eat it."

You suddenly lean forward, clamping your mouth around the spoon that he is still holding. Your actions catch him off guard, causing his eyes to widen slightly and resulting in him dropping the spoon onto the tray.

He leaps away from you, feeling completely flustered. "Y-ya! What are you doing?!"

"When I brought to you, I meant for you to take it yourself! Not-" He exclaims, leaving no time for you to respond.

He exhales sharply. "I'm gonna grab napkins. You, just try to use the utensils like a normal person."

He pivots around and walks to the connected bathroom. Taking a few minutes to locate the roll of paper towels. He finally finds the paper towel and rips two out before exiting the restroom.

As he steps out, he hears metal clattering. He sets his eyes on the weird girl who is desperately trying to pick up a piece of food with chopsticks, just as he had earlier demonstrated for you.

He remained there silently observing you as you tried, again and again, to pick up the piece of pork that continued to fall pathetically every time you gripped it. And every time it falls, he notices your frustrated look.

The crease between your brows and the slight pout formed by the corners of your lips curving downward. His gaze never leaves you as he stands only a few feet away from you. How innocent, what if... What? You dare to complete that thought Min Yoongi, he muses.

Was it a faint spark he felt when he saw your childlike expression? No. It cannot or should not be. There is no room for such feelings anyway.

She won't get any food in her system at this rate. She's completely helpless... He mentally scoffs, unable to believe this is you, the girl referred to by his hyung as a "useful" asset for their infamous formidable gang. They must be joking, he discreetly clicks his tongue. How can this nameless girl be useful to them when she couldn't even eat properly?

Then he did what he does best: he pushed any soft feelings aside and approached your struggling figure abruptly. "Here— take this. Wipe your hands. I'll just do it for you because you're incompetent at it."

You couldn't help but gaze at him before grabbing the paper towel. You watch him as he takes a nearby stool to sit alongside you before noticing you haven't yet cleaned your hands. "Didn't I tell you to wipe your hands?"

He sighs grumpily. "How could I forget... You seem clueless to everything as Jungkook says." He then grabs your napkin and starts wiping the food crumbs from your hands.

He picked up the utensils and put chunks of food on the spoon before giving it to you. And, understanding his gestures, you leaned forward, latching your mouth around the spoon as you had done previously.

He couldn't help but feel hot on his cheeks as he continued to feed you. Why is he even doing this in the first place? Right. He did it because that scoundrel of a leader ordered him to. And only him, because he decided it was best to be wary around a girl they'd only just met, who miraculously healed their leader.

Once you finished your meal, thanks to the scarred-face man, a sudden knock erupted at the door. Yoongi instantly rose from his position, unwilling to risk being caught for such an intimate act on his case.

"Is everything okay in there-? Did she eat her food? You didn't do anything, right Yoongi?" Jin nags from the other side of the door.

The younger just rolled his eyes, disregarding the fact that his hyung couldn't see him. "No, I didn't do anything. But, yeah, she finished her food."

"You can come in, I'm leaving anyway." He hurriedly collects the meal tray, without looking at the girl, and walks towards the door.

Jin flings open the door, startled at Yoongi's appearance. "What's got you in such a rush-?"

The cold-hearted man simply brushes by him and strides out of the room, leaving the latter to huff. "Ya! If you know any better, you ought to drop that attitude!"

"Aish, what a kid." He mutters as he sees his dongsaeng quietly proceed down the hall.

Jin shifts his attention to the petite figure seated on the large chair and staring at him.

He approached her with a tight smile. "Hello."

"H-Hi." You reply softly.

"How did the food taste?" He asks.

"Good. W-was good." You respond, making the man grin, which makes you smile back.

He faintly chuckles at your reaction but then switches to a playful stern expression. "I hope Yoongi wasn't too patronizing— was he nice to you?"

You hummed politely. "He was..." Then you mimic his dongsaeng feeding you, using cute gestures.

"Oh..?" He lifts his brows, musing. "He did that?"

Jin crosses his arms, and you nod. "How interesting..."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the food. I just came in to make sure you're okay." He clarifies.

Unlike the rest excluding Taehyung, Jin was arguably the one who exhibited more of a softer side for people; while being part of a merciless gang that might be regarded as heartless, he was still someone you could easily befriend. But the biggest warning anybody can provide about him is to never take advantage of his kindness; he's not the most forgiving person, and he'll show it to you.

Just as it is easy to be disgustingly greedy, the expert hacker will simply make you regret doing wrong. He'll make sure your sins come back to haunt you—and ruin you to the point where you're begging on your knees for that far-reaching forgiveness.

The next morning, at eight o'clock, a sudden pounding was heard as a sleeping cat lay dead still in his bed. "Min Yoongi, get your ass up! We have an emergency meeting now!"

As the banging continues, the second-oldest member groans and blinks his eyes open. "Alright! I'm awake!"

He sat up grudgingly, rubbing his eyes in annoyance and subconsciously plotting to kill the person who had dared to disrupt his precious sleep. But when an emergency meeting is called, he has no choice but to stop everything and hurry to meet the rest of the group.

After freshening up, he finally arrives at their conference room. He is greeted by the other six members, whilst their leader stands in the far front, with his back to them.

Namjoon turns around and faces them as soon as Yoongi takes a seat. "Good. Everyone is here."

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called this meeting so suddenly." He begins.

"And why so damn early too..." Mumbles the master manipulator.

The leader's gaze narrows on him. "Pardon?"

He responds with a sarcastic smile. "I said, why did you call so early?"

"Well, allow me to finish then, hm?" Namjoon grits his teeth.

The latter shrugged and he continued. "I gathered you today, and so early if you're bothered— because I received an anonymous tip, and it was a pretty major one."

Jin arches a brow. "A tip? That's the first- we've never gotten a tip before."

"Not to mention an anonymous one. It sounds suspicious." Hoseok adds.

Jimin leans forward, his hands folded on the table. "What exactly is the tip about?"

"Let me correct myself, I received two separate tips but was told they were linked." Namjoon replies.

"I'll start with the first one. The group that ambushed us is working on a large delivery today; I'm not sure what it is, but they want it done quickly and only today." He explains. "And I'm assuming whatever they're delivering must be very important and perhaps quite valuable."

"And the second tip I was given involves your guys' case." Namjoon points to Jungkook and Jimin.

"What do you mean?" Jungkook furrowed his brows.

"According to our source, that same gang was seen making a deal with a man dressed in a suit... In front of the medical facility you're both investigating." He answers.

"That's weird— why is a gang dealing with an owner of a medical building?" Taehyung inquires.

Namjoon shakes his head. "I'm not sure who that man is with whom they negotiated the deal, but it's certainly questionable."

"I think the greater question is, what is a man like him doing meeting with a gang of criminals for?" Yoongi voices out.

The leader merely shrugs. "I don't have an answer for that. Hoseok, what do you think?"

"Perhaps the package might contain useful equipment for the facility." He thinks with his jaw clenched. "But why would that man ask them? It makes no sense."

"Jimin and Jungkook, how about you? Were you both aware of this?" Namjoon addresses them.

Jimin shook his head. "No, we're just as confused as the rest of you."

"Maybe- Jimin might be right about this." Jungkook speculates.

"What do you mean?" Jin asks.

The youngest gives Jimin a brief glance before Jimin speaks for him. "I told him I had a bad feeling about the whole thing..."

"Is there something we should know about?" Namjoon crossed his arms.

"We only checked yesterday— but the medical supplies and equipment went missing so suddenly." Jimin elaborates.

Jin steps forward. "How much are we talking about?"

"Couple dozens... couple dozens of batches." Jungkook responded.

The eldest's eyes widen. "WHAT?!"

"Could that possibly be the delivery?" Taehyung proposes.

Namjoon unfolds his arms. "Given the timing of everything, that seems plausible. It seems to be perfectly aligned—"

"Almost too perfectly." Yoongi interrupts. "How do you know whether what this anonymous person says is true?"

"I received the evidence this morning in the mail."

"Let's see it."

The leader nods, pulling out a clasp envelope and takes a stack of photographs and a flash drive from it. "There is no return address on the mail."

"Obviously." Oranyan mutters.

Namjoon clears his throat audibly. "The package had images of the exchange in action, and the flash drive has data on all of the missing equipment and supplies that are allegedly being delivered today."

"Yes, these are photographs, but do you realize how easy it is these days to edit photos and print them out as if they are real?" Yoongi reacts cynically.

Jin examines the photos more closely and notices something that none of the others can see, which coincidentally contradicts Yoongi's claim. "But, you can't fabricate these types of photos."

Then everyone turned to look at him. "Look at the type of material these photos are. This is a type of camera film that can only be developed with diluted water."

"Which means, it can't be edited. When a photo is taken, it is taken at the exact moment it is intended to capture— So, to put your mind at ease, these are real, and that exchange did occur."

"How about the supplies and equipment on the flash drive." Jimin questioned.

"A separate note said that the data on the flash drive is encrypted. You can still access it right, Jin?" Namjoon refers to the eldest member.

Jin sneered arrogantly. "Do you really need to ask? Of course, I can."

The expert hacker takes the flash drive and sits down at the long table, bringing out his computer. He proceeds by inserting the drive on the side of the computer, and within the next second, his fingers begin hitting the keys at practically lightning speed, with his eyes never leaving the screen.

Soon after, a smug grin formed on his face. "I'll be honest—that was a tenacious firewall they installed, but don't worry, I bypassed it all."

Jin stood up and walked up to the front to connect his computer to the television. The television turns on and displays his computer screen. "All I have to do is press enter, and all the data will be shown to us."

Namjoon nods at him, and Jin returns his nod before hitting the enter key. And then the data is unleashed, with dozens of files popping in rapid sequence. As the electronic beeps of the files fill their ears continuously, the group remains dumbstruck. They were not expecting so much data containing missing supplies and equipment to be uncovered right in front of their eyes.

"Joon, I thought you said the flash drive only had supplies that were expected to be delivered today?" Jimin stares at the screen, baffled.

"These aren't just lists of missing supplies from yesterday; this is the entire history of it all." Jin comments. "Take a look at these dates; they go back almost nineteen years."

"So you're saying this covert operation has been going on all along right under our noses?" Yoongi implied.

Jin faces him. "It appears so."

"For an operation like this to last this long, someone higher must be pulling the strings." Hoseok says.

"Hoseok is right. Now that we have a fresh light—thanks to our anonymous tip—the agenda has been changed—rather than Jungkook and Jimin investigating the facility, it's going to be all hands on deck for this one." Namjoon places his palms on the table and turns to face Jin. "However, Jin, you will have an additional independent task."

Shadow hacker raises his brow, subconsciously urging his leader to carry on. "You need to get all of the information you can on the girl. Anything that can answer every question about her."

"But in the meantime, we have a delivery to catch." The leader smirks slyly.

≫ play track: yes boss - the revenge instrumental ≪

"So- the anonymous tip didn't happen to provide us the location of their base..." Yoongi jokes sarcastically.

"No, however, they did give us the route they're traveling on to the drop-off." Namjoon replies.

The master manipulator's face twisted in confusion. "The route? Why would they do that—" As it finally sinks in, he paused. "You can't be serious..."

Namjoon grins. "I see you caught on. And I am."

Taehyung shifts his eyes between the two. "Serious about what? What is your plan Namjoon?"

"Glad you asked, Taehyung. Here's the plan—" Namjoon types on the touchscreen table, which displays a grid map. "This is the route they intend to take-"

"It's a one-way road." Jungkook intercepts.

Namjoon nods. "Correct. I was initially confused as to why they would give me the route they were taking, but I now understand what they were attempting to convey."

Hoseok crosses his arms. "And just what is that?"

"We'll seize the delivery by striking them here." The leader expands on the touchscreen, zooming onto a selected spot on the map. "They'll be the most susceptible."

"Are you saying you want to stop them during the transport?" Jimin's mouth drops.

"Exactly. It's effective considering they won't expect it at all." The leader continues.

Jungkook exhales, leaning back in his chair. "First of all, why are they going that particular road?"

"Because no one, not even the cops, will be able to track them down there." Jin answers. "There are no cameras on the route, and computer GPS can't detect them. Even I won't be able to get visual— they're smart."

Namjoon tilts his head. "But there is another option. Radio satellite and thermal imaging."

"That may work, but..." Jin trails off.

Yoongi stares at his hyung. "But what?"

"I'd have to hack into the military mainframe." Jin mutters.

The younger scoffs. "That's crazy."

"But it is doable." Namjoon clarifies, and Jin begrudgingly nods.

"It is, but it will take some time if we don't want to be caught and traced."

"That's fine, and we won't." Their leader reassures.

Hoseok takes another look at the grid map of the marked route. "Alright, now that we have visual covered what's your plan on stopping the delivery there?"

"For starters, three trailer trucks will be on the road, one as backup protection and the first two carrying the cargo. So, we take out the third truck first." Namjoon begins. "We'll wait for them in the short tunnel right before the targeted spot. The only way this is going to work is if we all travel separately— which we will do via motorbikes."

He continues. "Jungkook, on the other hand, will be placed somewhere else. He'll serve as our element of surprise. Jungkook will be waiting on top of the tunnel for them to emerge. We won't be able to eliminate the third truck in the tunnel; Jungkook will have to do it."

"Hyung, I'm not sure how that will work." Jungkook comments.

He raises his finger. "I'll get to that— you'll fly the ultralight helicopter to the top of the tunnel, and Jin will act as your eyes and timer from there. Your objective is to set an explosive at the opposite end of the tunnel where they will exit. Before it explodes, you'll need to jump to the first truck. The idea is that the tunnel will collapse on the third truck, terminating it for us."

"What about the rest of us in the tunnel?" Yoongi questions.

"We'll follow them closely, in a single line, so we're out of their line of sight. Then, we'll split off and circle to the front and sides, surrounding the first two trucks." The fourth oldest member answers.

"And after Jungkook lands on the first truck, we'll have to help him in hijacking it, assuming they'll start a gunfight as they drive. Once he's in the truck, the one behind them will have no choice but to stop." He explains. "As soon as the men get out of the trucks, expect further gunplay. But I'm confident we'll all be fine."

"Any questions?" He glances around at his group for a moment before Hoseok starts chuckling.

"This might be one of the most daring plans you've ever conceived, Joonie."

Namjoon smiles cunningly as he shrugs. "We're the mafia, after all. Isn't it our job to be daring?"

"So are we all in agreement?"

Everyone nods and hums, prompting the leader to do the same. "Good, let's gear up then."

≫ stop track ≪

"Wait a minute—what about the girl?" Taehyung inquires.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "What about her? As long as she stays put here, she'll be fine."

"I can attest to that; from what I've experienced, she's quite obedient." Jimin confirms.

"And, given that we live in the middle of nowhere, I don't believe there's anything to worry about." Adds Jungkook.

"Sun-Woo will be here, so he can keep an eye on her. So, at least she won't be completely alone." Jin pitches in.

Namjoon clapped his hands. "Are we done with the babysitting debate? We don't have much time."

Everyone then exits the meeting room and begins preparing for their hijacking mission.

"I never got the chance to ask, but where will Jin hyung be?" Jungkook inquires as they all load their gear in the garage.

"I'll be stationed close to the road. Don't be concerned about me; you'll see how I'll save your asses again."

The maknae rolls his eyes at his hyung's words, causing the hacker to shrug. "Sorry, can't help myself, I'm both attractive and extraordinarily smart."

"Can you get any more narcissistic?" Jungkook sighs, dejected.

"You're just upset that you can't outwit me." Jin poked out his tongue.

The younger smirks evilly. "Sure, but I can outmuscle you and immobilize you from the neck down."

"Well, I—" Jin attempts to respond but is cut off.

"All right, enough of this. We're wasting time." Irritation clearly heard in Namjoon's tone before he turns around.

With their leader's back to him, it was the maknae's turn to stick his tongue out at the oldest. "Jungkook stop being a child."

Jungkook's expression quickly changes, slightly startled by Namjoon's awareness of his immature behavior without looking. Whereas Jin tries to hold back his laughter as his dongsaeng gets scolded. The youngest narrows his eyes before rolling them and mumbling under his breath.

An hour and three minutes. That's how long it took the five men to travel up the one-way road and hide inside the tunnels, awaiting the three semi-trucks transporting the stolen medical equipment or whatever- certainly for selfish motives, given they didn't do it legally.

As for the other two, Jungkook flew to the opposite end of the tunnel with the ultralight helicopter as planned, while Jin was stationed at a nearby local underground club.

"Jin how's the progress?" Namjoon spoke using their long-range micro earpiece, which allowed them to communicate over extended distances.

As he frantically types along his sixteen-inch, heavily encrypted computer keyboard, the hacker lets out a frustrated sigh. "This is a stateful inspection firewall, which means tons of packets, and tons of packets means many malicious codes, and those malicious codes translate to SSL encryption, which makes it more complicated than most we've encountered. One wrong code entry, anyone and everyone who has immediate access to the satellite imaging systems will be alerted exactly thirty seconds af—"

"Jin, you're rambling. Just say you need more time." Yoongi huffed. "I was utterly exhausted from listening to all of that information. Everything you said went in one ear and out the other."

"It's called a learning moment Yoongi, something you need more of. And if you're going to address me like that, you ought to put honorifics after my name." Jin responds harshly.

Their leader mentally shakes his head. "If you're finished bickering, Jin hyung, what's the status? Who knows how close they are."

"These bastards have three fucking walls. THREE! Although I cracked two of them, so one more down, but it may take a few minutes longer." He answered.

"Damn you, Jin hyung." Taehyung mutters quietly, which the eldest still managed to hear.

"Ya-! Didn't I tell you all that this is a military-grade security wall! And if you don't want to be caught, I said it would take time!" He was profoundly fed up with their pestering. The things I do for you impatient brats, he grumbles in his head.

Minutes later, the expert hacker miraculously breached the third firewall, just in time to locate their target using military satellite imaging. "GUYS! I got in, I have visual on the three trucks."

"Excellent-" comments Namjoon.

"We knew we could count on you, Jin hyung. Never doubt a second." Jungkook commended him.

"Yeah, yeah. It was whatever- anyway, they're close by. They should arrive in two minutes." Jin notifies them.

"Okay, engines hot everyone!" Namjoon orders and the others nod sagely with their black helmets on. "Did you set the detonator, Jungkook?"

The addressed man hums. "Yes. It's ready under Jin hyung's command."

"They're entering in... three... two... go after those sons of bitches." Shadow Hacker smirks smugly as he informs his team members.

The three semi-truck-looking vehicles entered the tunnel precisely on Jin's countdown, and the five men instantly formed a straight line, trailing just behind the third truck, completely hidden from the driver's side view mirrors.

"We need a headcount in each truck."

"On it." As usual, his lightning-fast fingers went to work, controlling access to the thermal imaging to peer through the trucks' metal.

"All right, the truck Jungkook is going to hijack has a dozen people inside, including the driver and one on the passenger side."

"And seven in the second truck—it's the third truck that's the issue."

"Why?"

"With sixteen people in that metal rectangle, you're obviously going to be outnumbered." Jin replies. "So smart move proposing to immediately eliminate the third truck."

"Thank our anonymous tip." Namjoon corrects.

Jin then turns his camera angle to the trucks traveling through the tunnels. "Jungkook, prepare to jump at my signal."

Tightening the utility harness that was around his hips and right upper thigh, Jungkook stands on the edge of the concrete tunnel and listens for his hyung's signal.

He cracks his knuckles and joints briefly before focusing his attention on the road below him, where he hears the faint sound of approaching vehicles. The first truck then appears. "Jump now!"

He leaps from the concrete and lands with a grunt on the top of the metal attached to the truck, rolling up on one knee. He glances behind him, over his shoulder, expecting the bomb he set to explode over the third vehicle under Jin's command.

The third vehicle was ready to depart the tunnel when the device failed to detonate. As a result, Jungkook's face was filled with confusion. Even the rest of the gang was bewildered. The man with the circle lens spectacles, on the other hand, begins to panic.

"Why didn't it go off, Jin?" Jungkook questioned.

Jin presses a button on a separate controller repeatedly; the button that was designed to remotely trigger the explosion, but it never did. Frustrated, he returns to his computer, pulling up satellite imagery to inspect the device Jungkook planted.

That was the moment he realized...

"YA! Jungkook, you took the wrong one!" Jin screeched through his headset.

"What?! But I wasn't the one who loaded it into the helicopter. When I walked in, it was already there." He defends himself. "I assumed you put it there."

"No, I did not! Whoever it was grabbed the wrong one!" Jin states.

"Fuck-" Someone murmured, but everyone heard, as the five men took their assigned positions. "Who said that? Was that you Namjoon?"

The leader mentally facepalms himself. "Shit- yeah. I was the one who left it in the helicopter."

Yoongi turns his head to glare at Namjoon for a fraction of a second. "What do we do now?!"

"I mean, didn't Jin say there's at least sixteen in that damn truck? We're going to be outnumbered and outgunned; please tell me you've got a backup plan!"

"I'm thinking alright! Try to take out their tires, first!" Namjoon shouts back.

Suddenly, the sides of the truck's metal piece begin to move, and a machine emerges, displaying a mini machine gun. Taehyung and Jimin, the two men designated on the sides, widened their eyes at this.

"OH SHIT, THAT'S NOT HAPPENING-"

"THEY GOT FUCKING MACHINE GUNS!"

"ACTIVATE SHIELDS NOW!" Namjoon commands audibly.

Fortunately, the two members activated their shields barely a millisecond before shots were fired at them. "If you have a backup plan, I suggest you say something now!" yells Taehyung.

"Since when did these bastards get their hands on machine guns!" Hoseok exclaimed.

"Worry about that later! We've got bullets fired at us right now!" Jimin screams.

"Pull out, for now, take cover in the rear." Namjoon instructs, and they quickly comply, applying their brakes and retreating behind the third truck.

"Jin, any ideas?!" Yoongi calls to him.

"I'm on it right now." Looks like he's about to save their asses once again.

He switches the screen on his computer and brings up a coding system that is concurrently linked to the ultralight helicopter Jungkook was once in. "I've taken control of the helicopter and am heading it toward you."

"You can remotely control the helicopter?!" Jungkook hung his mouth apart slightly. "That means I didn't need to fly up there myself!"

"That's not entirely true, we needed someone to plant the bomb." Namjoon replied.

Jungkook crossed his arms. "Yeah, one that was the wrong one."

"SORRY, OKAY-"

"Will you be able to take out the third truck?" The fourth oldest of the gang asks the eldest.

Jin hums. "Yes, I got an idea."

"Good, Taehyung and Jimin hang in there."

"It's not like we can go anywhere." Jimin rolled his eyes.

As if things couldn't get any worse, the rear hatch of the truck unexpectedly opens, showing all fourteen men inside, pointing weapons at the two. "JIN, GET YOUR ASS HERE FAST, THEY'RE AIMING AT US!"

"That's it, I'm heading over." The maknae announces, fed up.

"No, Jungkook, stick to the plan!" But he never listened, thinking, the plan that just backfired? Sure.

≫ play track: i like the way you die - black honey (on loop) ≪

He silently tched to himself as he sprinted over to jump across to the second vehicle, then did the same to land on the last truck, filled with the fourteen armed men.

As he approaches the open door, he takes an electrocution grenade, snaps the metal key off, and quickly throws it inside. Within a short moment, the grenade detonates, electrocuting three guys within the five-foot radius and paralyzing them for the next few hours.

Jungkook then swings into the truck, confronting the remaining ten men head-on. "Let's dance shall we." He grins cunningly at the men who are startled by his abrupt entrance.

The men soon shook off their surprise and began firing at him. However, Jungkook's superhuman-like reflexes allow him to activate his energy shield, emitted from his wrist device, and deflect the bullets, just like the others. When he was close to one, he deactivated the shield and threw a punch at the first man, followed by a brutal knee strike to the gut.

Taking advantage of the vulnerable state, he tightly grips the poor man's wrist that held the gun and pins it around his back. With the man's gun, he starts shooting at another, killing them.

Now with five people left standing, he slides along the ground, avoiding the aimed weapons above him, without thinking. He instantly leaps up, catching them off guard as he gets ahold of the next target's arm and throws him over his shoulder. The man's shoulder is dislocated when he hits the ground, causing him to cry out in pain.

He reactivates his shield instinctively, just as the last four attempt to shoot at him again. Never pausing and depriving Jungkook of the chance to draw his own weapon. And unfortunately, he slowly finds himself backing up into the corner, pinned down. "Shit, Jin hyung, where are you?! I'm pinned down!"

With no reply, the sounds of a helicopter flying overhead filled their ears, and the fire ceased, and the men started pointing at the helicopter. "I'll handle it from here; get out of there right now."

Jungkook dashes towards the open hatch where the men were standing, withdrawing two of his guns from his hips and hitting their legs, immobilizing them. He then hastily climbs over to the top and races to the next moving truck.

Jin controls the helicopter by typing on the keyboard of his computer, dropping a distinct piece of machinery below it.

"Is that a fucking missile attached to the helicopter?!!" Jimin screams, his eyes widening at the sight.

"A FUCKING WHAT-?!" Yoongi screams in disbelief, momentarily gazing behind him.

"I suggest you, Jimin and Tae increase your distance from the truck." Jin advises.

"You don't need to tell me twice." Taehyung responded as the two pulled away from the truck.

Before hitting the enter key to launch the missile, the expert hacker makes a snide remark. "Enjoy the light show boys."

The missile is deployed, and the third truck explodes, demolishing it completely. The impact of the explosion drives Jungkook backward, but the youngest swiftly regains his balance on top of the truck.

"Bullseye!" Jin laughs cheerfully.

"Holy fuck, hyung, a goddamn missile? You're a fucking lunatic, man." Hoseok says.

"You should be thanking me; didn't I say I'd save your asses again?" He huffed.

"Great, the third truck is out. Proceed with the rest of the plan, everyone—hopefully the other two don't have machine guns on the side as well." Namjoon instructs once more. "Hyung, stay on standby in case we need another trick of yours."

"Copy."

As gunshots roared in the air, presumably from the between the two gangs, Jungkook dashed forward to the semi-truck's cab, where the driver and passenger sat. He swings over the passenger seat, breaking through the window and all at once kicking the man in the passenger seat in the head. As he swoops in effortlessly, he pulls out his combat knife and stabs the man in the neck, giving neither of them time to react and killing him quickly.

The driver panics and friskily reaches for his gun to shoot him. However, with another lethal brute power of Jungkook's kick, the man flies out of the moving truck before he could harm Jungkook.

The master combatant then hops into the driver's seat. "I've gained control of the first truck."

"Good. You know what to do, the others and I will be ready right after." Namjoon says.

Jungkook nods and slams on the brakes, turning the steering wheel sharply to block off the truck behind him.

The tires screeched as the truck behind Jungkook came to a halt, almost colliding with him. The maknae exits the cab and walks menacingly towards the truck, his hands wrapped around his two guns strapped to his hips.

The cab doors open as the two men attempt to eliminate Jungkook. But as soon as their heads poked out, they both dropped dead.

The rest of the members join Jungkook, facing the back of the truck with their weapons drawn.

"Jin cover the other truck, will you be able to target all of them?" Namjoon inquired.

"I might or might not have installed a mini MIRV." He smirked evilly as he hovered the helicopter over the truck Jungkook had earlier hijacked. (Multiple Independently-targetable Reentry Vehicles)

"All right, then, let's bring these treasures home." Namjoon comments. "And let's take one."

≫ track stop ≪

The sun had set and the Bangtan Boys had returned home, they unloaded the dozens of batches of stolen equipment and supplies into their storage house on their property.

The seven members step into the quiet house, sweaty, slightly bloodied, and bruised from the anticipated gunfight with the other people in the trucks.

They surveyed the area as they entered the living room. "At least everything seems in place and clean. Looks like we had nothing to worry about."

"Sun-Woo!" Hoseok calls out.

Moments later, shuffling can be softly heard, and soon a figure emerged from the kitchen door. "Good evening, sirs, how did the mission go?"

"Everything went as planned." Namjoon responded, but the others snorted, making the leader groan. "Hey, at least we accomplished what we needed to do."

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "Yeah, barely, because somebody believed he was confident enough to know which exact explosive to take."

He puts his hands up defensively. "Excuse me- everything looked the same to me!"

Sun-woo shifts his gaze awkwardly between the '93 and '94 members. He hadn't expected them to start bickering.

"Sun-woo, where's the girl?" Jin asked.

Their butler turns to the oldest. "Oh, she's been inside the room since you all left."

"It appears she refuses to leave her spot, claiming you told her to 'stay here.'"

"So she didn't come out at all?" Hoseok arched his brow.

Their butler nods, leaving the gang rather surprised except for Jimin and Jungkook. Which Sun-Woo notices. "You both don't seem as surprised as the rest."

Both of them shrugged their shoulders. "She'd been acting like that since we met her, so we kind of expected it."

He lets out an 'ah' of understanding. "Do you want to see her? Shall I fetch her?"

"No, I'll get her—" Hoseok returns eye contact with the six other pairs of eyes now on him. "I'd like to make further observations on her."

"All right, go ahead." Namjoon gives a nod.

Hoseok then walked up their extravagant modern stairs and down the long corridor to the familiar white room that had not been used in a long time. He knocks on the door, respecting your privacy given that you're a lady, but it doesn't mean he would immediately be overly buddy-buddy with the girl they barely met less than twenty-four hours earlier.

He waits for a response but does not receive one, so he proceeds to push the door open. His gaze was drawn to your body fast asleep soundly across the bed.

Was she waiting for us this entire time, he wondered.

He approaches you quietly, taking in your sleeping form. That's when he noticed the dark circles under your eyes, which were partially hidden by your fluttery thick lashes. Your plump and slightly chapped lips, and your sunken cheeks, that showed signs of malnourishment.

Starting to think about it, he feels a little guilty knowing he needs to wake up the peaceful sleeping female who clearly needed the rest.

But he wants to know more about you, whether you're a threat to his family or innocent all along, but can you honestly call oneself innocent in this forsaken world? And to determine this stranger's true motives, he must present himself as 'friendly' and 'caring' towards you.

Nonetheless, he reached for you and gently shook you awake. "H-hey, wake up."

It takes a few moments, but you jolt up, terror etched across your face, thinking you're back in your ten-by-ten box from before.

"Woah woah woah- ease up, it's just me." He takes a step back, giving you space while calming you down.

As soon as you hear those words, your eyes focused on the man in front of you. 'It's just me,' the words echoed in your head, and security filled your body.

"Hi there, good morning sunshine." Says the masculine melodic voice.

"H-hi." You finally recognize him as one of the members you met the night previously. Ho-seon? Hosan? Hobi?

"How long have you slept?"

"I-I don't know."

He frowns slightly. "Hopefully you can sleep later on, it is pretty late. It's sunset already."

You tilt your head. "Sunset?"

"Yeah, sunset. Have you ever heard or seen a sunset?"

You shake your head, causing the older man to draw his lips together and then smile. "Well, let's meet the rest of the guys outside and I'll show you your first sunset."

"Okay." You said.

The pair of you finally join the rest of the group in the living room along with Sun-woo.

"Wow, she really did not leave the room." Taehyung stares in amazement.

"I presume she understands obedience very well." Sun-woo's eyes linger on you.

"I suppose so..."

Taehyung then approaches you, his boxy smile on his face. "Hey, cutie. Good job following orders."

You look at him with doe eyes, perplexed by his antics. He chuckles at this and raises his hand to pat you on the head, but as soon as you see his hand lift, your eyes flood with panic, and you pressed your eyelids shut, evidently waiting for impact.

Your reaction causes him to freeze and pull back almost immediately. "O-oh! I-I'm sorry!"

Hoseok watched their interaction. "I suppose she is sensitive to such actions... Perhaps, she suffered abuse before."

"Just reassure her that you won't hurt her, and she'll let you touch her." Jimin states.

Taehyung nods and returns his attention to you. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you. I-I was just commending you."

You carefully open your eyes, watching with caution as Taehyung repeats his earlier moves, but more slowly. He then gently pats your head while smiling, revealing his adorable bread cheeks.

Jin clears his throat. "So... 007, you really just stayed in your room as we told you?"

You turn to face him, nodding in response. "Y-yes."

Jin was going to ask you another question about if you had eaten when you spoke up. "Someone hurt."

Everyone looks at you in confusion, then exchanges glance with each other. "Hurt? Well, I mean we kind of got into a fight but it's merely scratches, we're fine."

"No, someone hurt bad."

"Well, as you can see, we're perfectly standing up, so I think we're fine." Yoongi spits.

Jimin furrows his brows. "Yo, Yoongi, relax. She's just trying to help, maybe she's right."

"No one said anything on the way home, which usually means we all survived and are fine." Yoongi fired back.

You, on the other hand, are focused on the energy that alerts you of an injury emanating from a specific person. You follow your superhuman senses, and your feet move toward the man who shielded you the first time you met.

Your eyes trail up to his face. "You hurt, bad."

"Jungkook?" All eyes are now on him, making the maknae nervous and anxiously laughing. "No, no- I'm f-fine."

Jin raised a brow. "Are you really?"

He weakly nods. "Y-yeah, I really a—"

Suddenly, the dongsaeng dropped forward, his head and upper torso collapsing against you, causing everyone to exclaim. "Jungkook!"

masterpost | one | three

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adaptacy · 9 months

Note

Also on the other post you posted there was a request for johnny to hang the reader up in the slaughter house to play with, and carve his name into and idk if you wrote it but I can’t find it if you did — if not would love to read that!

happy to oblige :)

"Ow- Johnny, down, please," you whined, trying to keep your squirming to a minimum, but it wasn't anywhere close to easy. It wasn't deep, only maybe a half inch, but he was doing it in the worst place.

"You can handle a tattoo. This ain't much different," Johnny replied, holding your leg with one arm as you hung in the small shed on his property, sweat beading on your stomach and legs where the sun hit. There was some on your forehead, too, the Texas heat seeping into the shelter even if you were more or less covered.

"Not when it's on my- Ow!" You winced, gritting your teeth as your leg flinched, twitching from it's place trapped under Johnny's arm. "Not when it's my thigh, please. Just- go a little lower, Johnny," you pleaded, but Johnny shook his head, only clamping down on your leg harder.

"Too late now, sweetpea. Already got the J down," he responded, and you groaned, resisting the urge to kick him despite your body's gut instinct.

"Can you go a little lighter, then?" You grunted, letting your head fall back as you took careful breaths in and out, trying to find a release for the pain.

"Nuh-uh," he responded, and you tensed up again when you felt his tongue run over the cut, causing it to sting even more. "It ain't gonna stay if I got lighter. Yer fine, darlin'. Besides, best to prepare you for the brand. If you think this is bad..." he chuckled, pausing his speech to focus as he sliced an O into your skin, and you blinked back tears.

"I thought you were... Ouch, joking about that?" You whispered, trying to subtly hint that you were preferring he was joking about that.

"Awh, that ain't any fun. I think you'd look real cute with a big ol' J.S. on yer hip. Plus, I think the heat seals the wound. Ain't gonna be as bad as ya think," he responded, licking your thigh once more when he finished the O. He started the H, which was quick, thankfully.

"God, you're going to kill me," you whined, closing your eyes. You gasped as he licked over the H, and when his knife pricked you for the start of the N, your leg flinched- though, this time it wasn't the one being held down.

Completely out of your control, your knee reflexively tensed, coming up and knocking him in the forehead as leaned forward to mark you. He was sitting on a small chair next to your hanging body, and he recoiled at the blunt attack, shaking it off rather easily. "What did I tell you?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I promise, Johnny. I'm so sorry- are you alright?" You asked, lifting your head to look down at you, but then you realized what he'd said, and you frantically shook your head. "Wait, waitwaitwait, Johnny, please, I promise it was an accident, I've-"

"Shame, ain't it? Strap in, sweetpea," he chuckled, and you released an exhausted groan. When he'd finished the letters of his name, and thoroughly licked the blood from your thigh, he shifted forward, wiping his blade clean.

"Johnny, it really wasn't on purpose, you know that," you whimpered, still trying your chance at winning him over.

"Oh, I know, pumpkin. But I still gotta teach you a lesson. Anyways, I think this oughta look mighty fine with a lil' clarification," he hummed, gently kissing your thigh.

You gave a guilty smile as you felt the knife puncture your skin again, carving in a perfect 'P'.

Johnny's Property.

#tcm game #tcm #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter tcm #adapting to johnny slaughter

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Kin Slayer [ part two ]

PICKS UP INSTANTLY FROM WHERE [ part one ] LEFT OFF [ alternate ending two: Sweetest Devotion ] [ series masterlist ]

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.4k+

note: two parts cause total word count was 12k+. also, this is the final, people!!

warnings: loose book spoilers - proceed at your own risk. cursing, spoilers, angst angst angst. ❗️SPOILERS

The Dance of Dragons was a bloody war that left families and towns splintered; burnt into nothing for wind to sweep away the ashes. Corlys had been named Hand of the Queen, and together, devised a plan to protect her remaining children. You were on bedrest at Dragonstone, so, you were accounted for. Joffrey was to be sent to the Vale with his dragon and a few eggs, as well as your step-sister, Rhaena, who visited you the most following Rhaenys' death.

Poor lass needed comforting, and you were happy to provide.

Your half-siblings, Viserys and Aegon (the Younger), were sent on a ship to Pentos - something you grew jealous of. Being on bedrest left no room for any other thought beside how you should have accepted, risked everything, and ran away with Aemond across the Narrow Sea.

This left Jace to step-up in your place, and after your advice, sent word for any Dragonseeds to attempt to master riderless dragons. Dragonseeds were Targaryen bastards and though very few ever got the right to ride a dragon, your brother offered an opportunity that only four could complete.

The ancient dragon Vermithor was claimed, as well as your father's dragon, Seasmoke, Silverwing, and the temperamental Sheepstealer.

However, at the same time, according to scouts, the Gullet of King's Landing had been overrun - and word reached you of your baby half-brother's demise. One captured, the other left to cling to his injured dragon and swim for Dragonstone's shore.

However, as your mother told you the news, there was a commotion from the courtyard that even Rhaenyra could not stop you from leaping to your feet to stare out the window.

"JACE!" You worried, hand to your cramping belly. "DON'T!"

But he was gone - away on Vermax, going to avenge his half-brothers in a fit of impulsive rage. In response to your stress, you gasped when your legs were covered in a sudden rush of slick, and before you were due, it was evident your child was coming. Your mother lead you back to the bed and called for the Maesters, never once leaving you alone through the bloody ordeal. It was the worst string of events you could recall - where Aegon was resting from his frightening ordeal, you were screaming in pain, and Jace was flying too low to the surface of Blackwater Bay - crashing.

Vermax did not survive the ordeal, and rumor had it, soldiers on the Green's ships fired at your helpless brother - spearing him to death. The pirates then made land-fall, and your father's home of Driftmark was set ablaze. Through the fire and smoke and pain and misery, you were no different.

The birth lasted two full days, and during the whole of it, you felt your emotional dam shatter. Through pain, sweat, and tears, you begged the room, "Please, please, someone find Aemond. Please, for the love of the Gods, get my husband. Please! Send for him! He should be here!"

"You know he cannot be here, love," Your mother tried to encourage, but you were sobbing harder.

"Please, fuck this war - fuck the succession. Fuck everything! J-Just let him be here, please! Please!" You sobbed, "Someone take Kasta - or just send Kasta herself! He will understand! Please, please, please, he should be here. I-I need him," you felt broken, "I need him here, please, get Aemond, find my husband, I need him, please, please."

Rhaenyra just held you tighter as you sobbed uncontrollably. With your dressing gown soaked all the way through with sweat and blood, you started to pace around the birthing chamber with your hand reached for your cunt periodically to feel for the diameter. You knew there was much time to go, but the pain was indescribable.

When the contractions were too powerful, you refused any aid - except your mother's. Rhaenyra was at your side as you squatted to the floor, using the stone wall to keep you upright as your hands tried to guide your babe from your bloodied cunt.

Still, you begged for Aemond because this was something you couldn't do alone and while you had your mother, you needed your husband. Your heart was broken, your stress tangible, and for the life of you, no matter how hard you screamed or begged, there was never any relief from pain - in head, body, and heart.

The darkness had only just set over your family.

As a messenger arrived to give news of Jacerys' death, you were pulling your still-born son out, sobbing at the sight of their his body. Your mother tried to remain strong but she was surrounded by death; both by a scroll detailing the demise of her first born son, and that of her first born child giving birth to twins who would never draw their first breaths. Rhaenyra held your son as you pulled your daughter out, soon slumping into the puddle of blood and fluid as you weakly held your babies.

"Spread your legs," your mother nodded, guiding your knees open as you only offered her a look of curiosity. "The afterbirth, my love," she explained, helping you in the final part of delivery - but you barely noticed. You didn't feel. How could you, when you were holding your heart in your arms? Your eyes were locked on the bloody babies, confusion and resentment circling your gut.

"Well," you whispered, glancing at your mother, "that's that, then."

She frowned deeply, gazing at the dead look in your eyes. "I'm so sorry, my girl."

You nodded slowly, only one question on your mind, "Do I tell him?"

Rhaenyra scoffed gently, "Give yourself time to grieve, my love. You need to mourn before you worry about anything else."

You sighed, head leaning back to the stone behind you as her hand reached out to pet sticky hair from your face. "Did I do this?" You whispered. "Did I push myself too far? Did... Did I kill my babies, Mumma? Is this my fault?"

She sighed with a frown, "In truth, you did not know about the ambush... I do not think the fault lies with you, my love. Sometimes, these things happen when the mother is under incredible stress."

You hummed as Aemond once did, unable to move. Even when she tried to coax you to your feet, you refused to get up as your body was drained of life, of purpose; of any energy or drive to continue forward. Yet, hours after giving birth, you were on your feet and wrapping both babies in cloth before presenting them to Kasta on a pyre of wood.

Your mother's hand remained in yours as your voice clearly rang out in the cold night, "Dracarys, Kasta."

She whined with steam leaking from her nose, waiting for you to give a second command before heaving a large inhale and upon exhale, let out of a stream of fire.

The light flickered in the night, and from that moment forward, you were never the same. Something in your heart snapped, something in your mind broke, and in your soul, shriveled into nothing. You were desperate to understand why your children had to suffer for someone else's war, and in your despair, forgot to pen a letter to Aemond.

Yet, perhaps that was good - for your anger bubbled as bright as Kasta's flames. You needed someone to blame and the stress of Rook's Rest seemed the most appropriate; leaving your mind set on the Greens. Your anger festered and showed in your fighting in the war, leaving nothing but smoldering ashes anywhere you were sent.

Time on Dragonstone became hectic following Jace's death. You were your parent's secret weapon and felt little ire for your actions; charging headfirst into danger without so much as a second thought towards consequences. With your babies gone, you felt little reason to be cautious - because being reckless seemed your speed now.

Word then reached your ear of Aemond marching armies and flying Vhagar into the Riverlands. Your spies told your mother, who had ensured to you that your step-father, Daemon, who was in Harrenhal still, also knew of the movements. You remained at Dragonstone with Kasta as your mother and Daemon flew to sack the Capital City, and soon enough, word reached you that the city fell in less than a day. You sent Rhaenyra's sons to her, but remained in the place you were to inherit.

Time passed still, and your heart never mended.

However, imagine your surprise when you came face-to-face with Aegon II in a darkened hall late one stormy night. "Aegon?" You questioned in earnest shock. "Am I seeing things? That really you?"

"It's me, sister," he snipped curtly, hands clasping before him.

"What're you doing here?"

"I've been here for a bit actually," he revealed. "I was smuggled from the capital before your mother took it."

"Hmm," you considered nervously, "I see. And you're here now, because...?"

He sighed, "If I ever owe my brother anything in this life, I will never again after this one curtesy. You can't win this war, Y/N, and there are Greens here to take the island."

"This is my home, Aegon, I cannot abandon it," you argued.

"I'm trying to give you time to go get your kid, get on your dragon and get the hell out of here," he snapped. "This is the one - the one curtesy I will grant my brother after all he's done."

"You owe him so much more," you sneered. "You do not deserve him."

"Did you, ever?" You steeled your jaw. "Now, go. Before I change my mind and instead send him your head."

"Where is he?" You decided not to mention the death of your children.

Aegon sighed, "The Riverlands, still. You might be able to find him."

You shook your head, "How'd it come to this, Aegon?"

"In truth?" He sighed. "I do not know anymore. But you need to go, get your kid, and get the Hells out of here. Do not try to alert the others," he nodded, and a guard stepped out. "My man here will ensure you do not stray from task."

Nodding, you whispered, "Thank you... Aegon."

He nodded in return, seemingly genuinely shocked by your words. You turned and rushed for your room, packing whatever you would need - whatever would fit for your trip. Aegon's man stayed true and saw you to Kasta, and you were left no choice in mounting and surging into the air. You had no choice but to abandon your home.

Aegon and Sunfyre watched you go.

You flew for days, no sign of any Black ally. You grew frustrated, and Kasta understood; taking control and turning to head a bit farther West. You were confused until you came across smoke, and through it, you made out the form of your husband's dragon burning the countryside. Fearing for the lives of those countrymen who lived here, Kasta located Vhagar in the air - but the great dragon saw her coming. It was a clash of flesh, teeth, and claws; yet neither you, nor Aemond, were willing to concede.

Fate worked in funny ways, and before you understood what was happening, you screamed when one of Vhagar's teeth pierced into the flesh of your calf when she latched onto Kasta's chest in a fatal bite.

You swore you heard Aemond telling Vhagar not to, but a moment later, you were thrown from the saddle as Vhagar had crushed your beast into the ground. You were momentarily knocked out before coming to again, noticing your armor had been ripped off in the crash, gazing around you as Vhagar took a victory lap in the air, and you saw your beloved mount... Laying unmoving.

"KASTA!" You screamed, half-crawling-half-limping your way to her in a rush, thinking you could save her. "Oh, Gods, no, no, fuck, fuck, fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen," you wept, letting her muzzle rest on your lap as you got a look at her injuries. Vhagar had all but gutted her, leaving thick spurts of blood to leak into the cratered ground around you. "Oh, my precious girl, not you... Not you," you sighed as you stroked her cheek and neck.

Behind you, Vhagar landed with a tremble, and your head whipped around with anger when you noted Aemond dismounting. Gritting your teeth, you stood to your unsteady feet and unsheathed your sword; turning to face Aemond as he came to a halt. "Love," he warned, hand held in caution, "it doesn't have to come to this."

"We're past that," you seethed. "What're you doing here? If your brother can't rule, you'll ensure there's not even a country to preside over?"

He shook his head, "I need to draw your step-father out."

"He's not so easily taunted," you argued, readjusting the weight of your sword, "but I know what will draw him to you."

"No," he refused, "I will not fight you."

"I did not say fight," you sighed, starting your approach and ignoring the pain through your legs. "You'll have to kill me today, Aemond. No more running, we finish this now."

"No," he backed up, but you did not stop. Taking a swing, he jerked back as his sword rose to the defense. "Sweetheart, no, just listen - "

"I'm done listening," another hack from your sword was blocked. "You've ruined everything," your tears surfaced as anger burst; channeling it through your movements that left Aemond shocked. "You had to kill my brother - and I have not known peace since!"

"It was an accident!"

"LIAR!" You raged, metal clanging together. "You wanted to torment him - you wanted to pursue! You could not let it go - and in turn, you ruined any future we could've had!" Your sword swung around, nearly catching his chest - forcing him to flinch backwards. "You did this - why!? Huh!? Why ruin what we had!? Fight me, Aemond! Show me the swordsman I know you to be and fucking fight me!"

"I cannot! I will not!"

"You must!" You heaved, and Aemond was forced to brandish his sword to fend you off. You grit your teeth, and for a moment, Aemond had no idea who you were. He's never fought you, he's never seen you fight, but he knew you father, Laenor, and step-father, Daemon, both trained you. They were incredible soldiers on their own, and in you, was all their skill. None of their distraction.

Aemond was losing this fight, and his temper was slipping.

"FIGHT ME!" You raged through angry tears, iron clanging against each other. "I am left with nothing, there is no more left for me to lose!" Another deafening clash of iron rang out around you. "You've taken everything with this stupid fucking war! I've lost it all! Everything! Because of YOU!" You fully sobbed, never relenting in your attack despite the exhaustion settling in. "My brothers! My dragon! My babies!"

"Wait! Wait, love, wait!" He barked, using both hands to hold his sword hilt against your swinging attack to simply pause in midair as you both panted heavily. "Wh-What're you talking about? What happened?"

Your eyes were dead but shining with tears, "They're dead."

"Who?"

You sniffled, "W-We should have a pair of beautiful twins. A little girl, who looks just like my Aunt Laena - and a little boy, you looked just as his father!" But the anger came back, making you swing the swords to break contact. You attacked again, making him block you, "They're both dead! Because of you and your attack on Rhaenys at Rook's Rest! You started this war - and I lost everything I've loved!"

"You weren't supposed to be there that day!" He insisted, still fending you off with his sword. "I thought with your pregnancy, your mother would not risk you!"

You laughed bitterly, "You weren't there to protect me, now were you? My mother needed me, I came back to her, and in return, I could not shy away from what she needed."

His breathing staggered, "You were sent to the frontlines."

"I was," you grit, pulling back before swinging again. "You weren't there! I needed you!" Another clash of swords. "I needed you with me, I was alone! I was alone, you let me be alone, I needed you, and you weren't there! I had to go through that birth with only my mother, and all I fucking wanted - all I fucking needed was you! You weren't there and I needed you!"

"That was not my doing - "

"You started this war when you killed my brother!" You raged. "Fight me, fucking Kin Slayer!"

Your hacking movements made him defensive and in a short moment, everything changed. Aemond, quick with his blade, but playing the evasive measure, had parried your attack before taking a wide, sharp swipe. But it was enough, and he froze the moment you did; eyes widening as shock passed between the short space between you.

Looking down, your tunic was blooming in bright red blood after the tip of his sword cut clean across your gut. Your hands, after months of pressing to the same area to hold your babies, now tried to hold your entails inside you as your sword clattered to the ground. You stumbled back a few steps, groaning as blood slowly coated your mouth, eyes cutting up to meet that of Aemond's fearful stare.

"A-Aemond?"

"Love?" He asked, dropping his blade to rush for you. You did not fight him, letting his hands take hold of you as he helped navigate you back towards a still-moaning, barely breathing Kasta. "Hey, hey, hey, no, no, no, no, no, no no, no," he whispered when you were lowered in your dragon's blood, leaning to her shoulder for support. "Oh, Gods, what have I done? No, please, no, fuck - Gods, no."

You smile ruefully, choking lightly on your blood; teeth lined with red as you whispered, "Now y-you cannot deny the title Kin Slayer."

"No, no, do not, don't do this, please," he argued. "Don't call me that, I-I'm your husband, I'm your love, your sweet husband, remember? Don't call me that, please. None of this should have happened - I'm so sorry - please. Just stay with me, okay? I-I'll fix this - I can fix this."

But you both knew he couldn't. Just like all those years ago when your hands had covered his injured eye, his pressed to your gut. Like those years ago, as your hands once had, now his were coating in your life's liquid.

It silent for a moment as all defenses of yours finally dropped and your tears suffocated you more than the internal bleeding you suffered through. "A-Aemond," you whispered, feeling one hand move to caress your cheek, "I-I'm so scared, love, please. I'm so scared. I don't want to do this alone, please, Aemond, don't make me do this alone. I-I need you, my love, please."

He sighed and moved beside you, not minding the wetness of the blood surrounding you both; lifting his arm to draw you into his warm embrace. You don't voice it, but you're starting to feel cold and the warmth he provided was something you cherished.

"I'm so scared, too, my love," he admits in a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too," you sobbed into his neck. "I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. Aemond, please, i-it hurts, my love, please. I-I don't want to die, I don't want to be without you, I-I can't do this next part alone. I hate how this war played out," you whimpered, his arm tightening as the other came around to cradle your head into his neck. "I wish I would've run away with you when we had the chance. So much would be different... W-We'd have our baby."

"Don't do that," he rushed, kissing your sweaty forehead. "It's okay we didn't run, it's okay, sweet girl. It's all going to be okay, I promise you."

"What if it's not?"

"It has to be," he promised, giving you a squeeze. "I'm not leaving, you're not alone. I'm here, I'm right here, my love. You're okay. You're going to be okay, I promise you, you're never alone."

"Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Show me all of you," you whispered. Aemond understood and all but ripped his eyepatch off, caressing your cheek again. You sighed in wonder, "There he is. My handsome husband."

Aemond smiled sadly, "I don't think I can let you go."

"At-At-At least, y-you'll get Daemon out here," you chuckled sadly, fully leaning into his embrace as your neck hurt trying to keep it upright; crashing to his shoulder. "You'll get what you want - an end to this, if you kill him."

Aemond shook his head and tried to press a hand to your wound, again - but it only made more blood seep over his fingers. "My love, please, let me get you out of here. Kasta's spent, sweetheart, and I'm so fucking sorry for that loss, but I can get you t-to Maesters on Vhagar. Please, let me try."

"'S too late for me," you chuckled dryly, patting one of his wrists as your energy was depleting.

"What have I done?" he whispered, looking more panicked than the night he told you about Luke.

"What was needed in wartime," you sniffled, using your energy to lift your gaze up to him, again. Weakly, you let go of your wound to reach for the neckline of your tunic, pulling it down some and leaving smears of bloody fingerprints. "Please," you whispered.

He let his brows furrow, gently reaching for what you referred to. He breathed out when he discovered the golden Warrior pendent you had gifted him for his first nameday as a married couple.

"Take it," you begged, "let it protect you while I'm gone."

"Love - "

"It was a gift," you insisted. "Take it back. Do not make a dying woman beg."

"All right," he whispered, readjusting slightly to unclasp the chain and remove the necklace.

You settled back into his side as you knew the end was nearing. With your hands holding your entrails in and his arms tight around you, you whispered, "Is it true that you took a lover?" Aemond stops breathing for a second. "Please do not lie to me."

He shudders a moment, "I did."

"What's her name?"

He doesn't want to respond, but he does, "Alys. Alys Rivers."

You hummed breathlessly, whispering, "Do you love her?"

"No," he answers instantly, "but... She is useful."

"Oh, Aemond, I do not wish to hear - "

"No, no, you misunderstand," he rushes. "She's unlike anyone I've met. She... Sees things in the flames, love. Like a sort of witchcraft."

You hummed, "Like across the Narrow Sea."

He nodded, lips pressing over your forehead, "Yes."

"Then she told you to come here, did she?"

Aemond pauses, tears falling faster, harder, "She did..."

"Hmm," you sighed, "now I see. She knew I'd be here and needed you to commit to her."

"What?"

"That's how these things work," you croak with a sad smile, letting a bit of blood spit from your mouth to splatter on the dirt. "She needs you: mind, body, and soul. Y-You can't be hers because y-you're mine. W-With me gone, s-she can finally have you, and service you better. J-Just promise me something, please," you felt your throat starting to close.

"Anything, my love. Anything you ask for, I will always give you," Aemond promised swiftly, bringing your forehead to his.

Through your tears, you manage to whisper, "Please don't forget about me. With no children, we've no legacy, but... But if you don't forget me, I cannot ask for much else."

Aemond holds his breath again. Then, he whispers, "I could never forget you, my sweet girl. We are bonded together, my love, and you will always be a part of me, my darling, sweet wife. I will never forget you because I could never love another because all my love is yours, and always will be." It's quiet for a moment before he admits, "You're it for me, my pretty girl, I won't ever love another, won't ever take another wife, and I'm so fucking sorry." His sobs become uncontrollable, holding onto you tightly, "I'm so sorry. This never should have come to pass, I'm so sorry."

You nod, "I forgive you... For all of it." You're dying and there's no use denying that, not wanting to take your anger to the grave. "Aemond, now I-I need to ask the impossible of you, my love."

"Anything," he promises.

But you sobbing through your request, "Kill me, pl-please. J-Just make it stop, love, it hurts so bad. So fucking bad. Please."

For the first time in his life, Aemond had to refuse you, "No, no, not in this lifetime, I cannot - please, do not ask that of me. Let me get you help - "

"It's too late for me, my love, and we both know it," you sniffled. "Please, Aemond. Ju-Just make it s-s-stop."

"I cannot," he whimpered, forehead to yours again. "I love you so much, more than reason and more than life. I cannot do this to you, I-I hate myself for where we are now. Please do not ask this of me."

"I-I don't want to go," you admitted, holding onto him so you were nearly pulled fully into his lap. "I'm so scared, Aemond, please. I don't want to do this alone, please, my love, I don't want to be alone. I just want to be with you, I can't go - I don't want to go. Please, I don't want to be alone."

"You'll never be alone," he tried to promise but his emotion was too thick to sound confident. "There's so many who love you who are waiting for you beyond this life. They're going to be with you, always, an-and soon, I will be there with you. You'll wait for me, right? Yes?"

You nodded against him, trying to hold your sobs in, "I'll wait for you, my love, yeah. As long as it takes, I'll wait for you."

"I'll miss you so much," he whispers. You smirk gently, lifting a bloody hand to pet over his cheek - staining any part of him you touched with blood. "I know it pains you, but I'm glad, in the end, it was you."

"Don't say that," he pleaded.

"I am, because I get to meet my end with you," you nodded. "But Aemond, yo-you've gotta finish it for me, love."

"No," he refused again.

"Please," you begged quietly. "Just do it, Aemond. I-I'm not surviving this, I'll only suffer worse."

"I cannot," he still refused. "I know it is a kindness, my sweet girl, but I cannot be the one who takes your life - not like this. Please, do not ask this of me."

Kasta gave a low groan.

"Would you do me a different kindness, then?" You whispered.

"I will try to," he nodded, tears falling down his soaked cheeks. Above, the sky slowly started to darken as a new storm brewed.

"Kiss me goodbye," your bottom lip trembled as you tried to smile at him but the action was near impossible. "Please, husband?"

"You need never ask me. I love you so much, my sweet girl," he swore, leaning in to press a last kiss to your bloodied lips. You hummed softly, keeping him close for a moment longer to savor this moment. But it was over far too soon.

"I love you, too," you sniffled when you pulled back and he started to shift onto his feet, but remained crouched to keep level with you. "Do not forget me, my love, please."

"Never in my life," he whispered, letting his tears flow as he took one final kiss. "I'll miss you beyond words, my pretty girl."

"Thank you," you whispered, unable to keep yourself upright and leaning dependently on Kasta.

"For what, my love?"

You smiled through your tears and pain, "For the love of a lifetime. I-I wish we had longer, too, because the time we had wasn't enough."

Aemond's jaw clenched as his tears would not stop; hearing you recall his words from months ago shattering his heart. Nodding, his lips pressed to your forehead, and with one last caress of your head and lingering promises of his love, he had to pull away. You grinned as you watched him, chuckling to yourself before coughing on your blood; letting it splatter uselessly across your lap while weakly holding your wound.

"Still with me, precious girl?" You asked Kasta in High Valyrian, who gave a low groan. You stiffly tried to sit up some, but only managed a half-shuffle. "Will you do something for me?" She purred. "L-Looks like neither of us are getting out of this, my gem... I-I need you to end it for me, my girl."

But she growled.

"Dracarys, Kasta," you sobbed through your pain. "Please, Kasta! Dracarys! Do not make me suffer, please, dracarys!"

But your dragon's head lowered to the bloody ground, belly and throat left slashed open from Vhagar, and as if in sync, you both breathed outward for a final time. Just as you came into this world with a bright, emerald green dragon egg, so you left this world with the soul of that very same dragon.

Exactly as it all started, it all ended.

Rumors swirled around the country regarding the demise of Rhaenyra's eldest child, Princess Y/N Velaryon, now Princess Y/N Targaryen - devoted and beloved wife of Prince Aemond. Some say she went mad with grief from losing her brothers and children, some say it was self-inflicted. But the thickest rumors reached Daemon's ears about how it was Vhagar and her own husband who killed the Jewel of Westeros and the Great Emerald.

Aemond could not deliver the final, fatal blow; leaving her there to bleed out from her wounds in a pool of Kasta's blood. Aemond refused to sit with the absolute, infinite knowledge that he killed his wife, and instead of manning up to help her from the pain he inflicted, he only turned away from her.

He left her.

He had prayed Kasta would end her suffering but rumors reached his own ears about how she was found - fully intact - in her dragon's cradle. Kasta's head was claimed for the Green's and sent to King's Landing for trophy-keeping, and years later, was one of the skulls Robert Baratheon smashed to dust during his Rebellion. Aemond did not know pain like this, and on Daemon's fourteenth day of waiting, Aemond arrived at Harrenhal. Both were enraged by their grief, both feeling the sting of loss...

Daemon, over his beloved step-daughter as his own seed, and Aemond, over his sweet wife; both mourning the same loss, but refusing to see eye-to-eye.

"Is it true?" Daemon demanded when Aemond faced him. "Is it true that you killed her? I deserve to know what became of my child."

"It was an accident," Aemond tried.

But Daemon snorted, "Then this is where it ends. You and me, nephew."

"To the death?" Aemond checked.

"To the death, Kin Slayer," Daemon growled - sending both men to mount their dragons and to the skies.

Yet, in the end, legend has it that neither survived. Historians know Aemond Targaryen died that day after discovering the bones of Vhagar in the lake's waters with her rider still chained to her saddle. The skull still had Dark Sister driven through an empty eye socket. Though, Caraxes was found dead on shore, her rider, Daemon, never was.

Nobody knows for sure what happened, but from your place in the Heavens, you watched with Aemond back in your arms as Nettles came to rescue your severely injured step-father. They stole away on Sheepstealer, and made a new life across the Narrow Sea - the life you and Aemond should have had, but fate never allowed.

But in the clouds, you were reunited with those you loved and lost; spending time with your eye on land, watching how the war ends as your husband's arm remained snug around you. When the end of the war finally reigned and (most) of your loved ones joined you in the Kingdom Above, you and Aemond stepped back from the clouds, and together, with your hands locked together, fell back into eternal rest.

🍒 fin

[ part one ]

[ alternate ending two: Sweetest Devotion ]

[ series masterlist ]

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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mrs-monaghan · 1 year

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Kinda funny how all those years Jikook dressed alike, matching almost head to toe or in exactly the same outfit, this whole fandom wrote it off, even after RM asked them point blank if they were a couple. Then to hear when JK was watching Suchwita, ask why YM were wearing similar clothes, even tho their clothes really were nothing alike, but triggered him enough for a response, really made me laugh. I saw YM & TK shippers saying its cause he knows about YM. LMAO idiots, their clothes weren't couple clothes or matching, they were just too similar for JK's liking. Hey Suga, go try to peel off JM's leaf for him, with JK watching. I just wanna see something for research purposes. We always tease JK & Minimoni, but he also gets high key annoyed with Yoonmin, too.

Anoooooooooon why do you think JK reacted to Suchwita in the first place?? Yes JK is a Minimoni anti. That's been established. But he is also a major Yoonmin anti. Like big time and it's been going on for a long ass time. He he hee. JK is not a fan of Yoonmin moments which is why we don't talk about Yoonmin so shh

But also let's talk about Yoonmin shall we? Only because JK's dislike for their moments is underrated. No other reason 🤭🤭

Before we begin. Here is a compilation of Suga checking out the Jibooty. Tbf he does check out other members as well but....this is about Yoonmin. He hee

So! Off the top of my head exhibit A) this BBMA 2017 Live. JK did not take his eyes off Suga until he got off Jimin

First of all, there is ALOT happening on this live. Like alot. Which is why I'm not clipping the exact moment because you should absolutely watch this entire live. JK has a stronger reaction to RM being on Jimin but he also kept an eye when Suga did it 👆🏽

Exhibit B) Is my own personal theory. Remember in winter package when JK went with Yoonmin for beer tasting and gave up zip lining?

In what world would thrill seeker JK give up zip lining so he can go beer tasting? Now don't get me wrong, JK loves his liquor much like the rest of them. But still, it was kinda sus to me, alright? Could it have been satellite Jeon wanting to be with his man? Maybe. Still, knowing Jimin was gonna spend all day with Suga getting tipsy... idk. I can see JK wanting to be around for that 🤭🤭🤭

Exhibit C) incase someone missed Suga drooling during this

(Put your phone on landscape and u can zoom in and take a closer look🤭)

Exhibit D) do we really need to talk about Suga Vs Blood sweat and tears Jimin?? I'm sure we've all seen this.

Exhibit E) this segment. Jimin's letter said everyone should tell Suga they love him. Everyone did except one person..can u guess who? Even Hobi called him out. Asked JK "why didn't u say it?" 🤭🤭🤭

Exhibit F) should I include this? Coz I'm not seeing the difference here. Btwn this

And this

Moving on.

Exhibit G) (watch Jimin) Suga touches Jimin's ear and what's the first thing Jimin's does?

Also don't think JK and his grandpa clothes is not watching that through his periphery. Mans always aware of what Jimin is doing at all times.

Exhibit H) They're discussing Jimin's armpit. JK is smiling, quite big. Then Jimin asks Suga if his armpit is sexy. JK's smile is no longer anywhere to be seen 👀

Exhibit I) this was a favourite of mine. Ngl. Listen. People can deny till the cows come home. But JK reacted the way he did here for a reason. Memories 2021. JK looked away as soon as Suga touched Jimin's chin. Not before. Not after. As soon as Suga touched Jimin, JK looks away so fast I got worried about his neck there for a second. It happened. Anyone who said it didn't well... idk what to tell ya. JK has been looking away for years when something that he doesn't want to see, is happening. Especially after he got a hold of his possessiveness he started to just look away instead of acting on it. It is what it is 🤷🏽‍♀️

Last one but definitely not least is Exhibit J) this was a popular Jikook moment after this run episode aired. The thing is though... yes we gushed and we "awwed" because JK's ears moved as soon as Jimin started dancing. But you know who else's ear moved?? And he was the only one apart from JK that was affected by that 😏😏😏😏

I could do this all day guys. 😂😂

If JK is staring... so is Suga. If JK is checking out the Jibooty, so is Suga. And we have not even started on how Jimin is clearly Suga's favourite. Be it vocals, be it in general; always choosing him no matter what. And we haven't even talked about how Suga isn't big on skinship but with Jimin that doesn't seem to be a problem???

You guys think JK doesn't see what we see? Doesn't know what we know? Huh? How can he not? I mean, this was right infront of his salad 😂😂 kinda makes me wonder if he blocked Suga on purpose 🤭🤭

What I'm I saying? Even though we will never see Jimin reciprocate whatever this is, (Mans only has eyes for JK. Always has, always will) Yoonminers are the only shippers allowed to try to argue with Jikookers. Them and them only. And genuine Yoonminers. Not tkkrs who ship Yoonmin coz they wanna shove Jimin somewhere to keep him away from their ship.

Bonus: everyone is looking at Jin except Yoonkook. JK its okay, coz that's his man. But i'mma need Suga to get his shit together. Fr fr

#we don't talk about Yoonmin #jikook #kookmin #minkook #ask shaz #yoonmin #jimin and jungkook #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jimin #jungkook #bts #jikook theories #jikook analysis #jikook bothered

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jjungkooksthighs · 2 years

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (12)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: abo/werewolf and fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 18,600 words

Summary: A bond borne before dreams only grows stronger as you and your alpha make real your love as it is drawn in blood, sweat and tears.

Warnings: mentions of breeding, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, alpha!Taehyung (he’s a bit of a cocky one this one), alpha!Jimin (best friends take after each other ig) sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, LOTS OF TEASING, dirty talk, (blood) marking, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scent marking, scenting, fingering, begging, praise kink, breeding/impreg kink, character injury (someone gets hurt, but it isn’t serious)

A/N: This chapter should have been out far before now. I had so much I wanted to fit into this chapter and I kept going back to look at it only to erase page after page because I wasn’t happy with it. I really wanted to pack the fight into this one as you guys have been requesting for so long now, but I just didn’t feel like the time was right yet. Needless to say that I have worked for weeks on this chapter and to make up for my lack of posts, it is MUCH longer than my usual chapters. I hope you guys like it. I know I did. :)

As always, please let me know what you thought about this! Your comments and feedback are like cool rain after a hot summer day!

Series Masterlist / Previous Chapter

Silence scatters over the throng of wolves in the grassland with only the crackling of the fiercely burning fires alight in bronzed braziers along the stage and in carved brass lanterns hanging from the thick boughs of the trees circling the plain.

The wind does not breathe and your own breaths become stifled in the way that your lungs reject it.

Involuntarily, your eyes shut and you turn your face into your alpha’s chest, your back curling inward and your fingers gripping into his shirt.

No, no, no, no, please. Not him. No, anything but him. Keep him away. Keep him away from me!

Your thoughts run rampant and if you weren’t already in your alpha’s arms, your legs would have already brought you far, far from here.

Your alpha responds by protectively wrapping his arms even tighter around you, a low rumble reverberating from his chest and rising through his throat at the arrival of the new threat.

Ahead, a tawny-furred wolf stands proud atop the knoll overlooking the prairie, his eyes set only on you.

You can’t see him, but you can feel the bite of that devouring stare from where you are nestled in your intended’s arms. You grab at your alpha’s shirt even tighter, your fingernails curving into your soft flesh of your palm as you shake your head against your alpha as if doing so will make this all go away.

Your lungs burn because air will not fill them and it is as if ice as begun to freeze over your very veins in the fear that chills you to the bone as the wolf beyond jumps from the knoll, the crunch of the grass beneath his paws growing louder as he stalks closer.

It’s as if with each step, a piece of hail strikes your insides and it’s all you can do to stutter, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, my love,” Your alpha nudges at the cheek you haven’t hidden in the folds of his blazer as he tells you, “I once told you that I used to watch over you. That means that I am aware of everything he tried to do to you,” his voice lowers and you do not see the way the shadows mar his features as he divulges, “And I shall you protect you from him now as I have for all these years. I will not let him near you and if he attempts to touch you, I shall make sure he knows just how sharp my fangs and claws really are. This, I promise to you.”

It takes a few moments for his oath to reach you with the frost that has seeped through your body and suspended proper blood flow that has numbed your very reactions. It is only the warmth of his words and the heat of his body that keep you from shutting down as your body wants to.

You try to open your one eye that peeks out from his blazer you’ve subconsciously buried your face in, but it’s as if your eye has been thawed shut and it takes some effort for you to wrench it open to stare up at him as you stammer again, “Y-you…what do you mean by ‘protect me as you have been?’ Does that mean…”

Your alpha nods before he descends to your temple and against your skin, he mouths, “Yes, my beloved. It is exactly what you are thinking,” his lips press against your brow, “all those times he tried to chase you through the forest when you would go there to be free from the responsibilities of being the one and only caretaker of the pack’s pups and in being the granddaughter of the Lead Elder who is charged with enforcing the rules and laws of our pack,” he brings his mouth to your right brow, his lips light as a bird’s wing as he admits, “It must have been so difficult for you, my love, to bear not only the task of nurturing the children, but also being the right-hand of the regulator of our ancient codes once your mother fell ill.”

He was right.

You’d barely turned eight before the first few litters of pups had been deposited on your doorstep and with your mother bed-ridden with the sickness that had driven your father into in incurable sadness, it had been left to you to care for the pups whose parents had needed someone to look after them while they went on hunts, harvests, heats or ruts. Any could go on for days at a time-and in the in latter cases, weeks at a time- and eventually, your den was too small to house you and the younglings, so you’d had to move to the schoolhouse that had been newly built by the compound’s skilled architects that had been tasked with creating an adjoining den amid the schoolhouse for all unpresented youth to stay in.

As you were the descendent of the Lead Elder and your mother had been the Keeper of Tomes- the ancient texts that proclaimed the history and edicts of the lupine- both had passed on their knowledge to you from the early age of four and it quickly became the expectation of both them and the rest of the pack that you would be their second voice. As the custodian of the young, it had been you that had been tasked with teaching the ways of the wolf upon the acclaim you’d earned as the devoted and kind watcher of the pups that had loved you as their second mother.

So much responsibility it had been for you, and every now and then when freedom called for you, you followed it’s beckoning song to the forest where you could stretch your limbs and feel the whistle of the wind against your fur whilst the greenery of the woodland streaked past you at the high speeds your paws brought you.

The forest all too quickly became a sanctum to you, but with each generation of pups that were brought under your care, it became harder and harder to heed the greenwood’s call. With the children constantly under your tutelage, you could scarcely have a moment of solitude. You gave everything you had to tending to those placed under your care and at the age of eleven, you became the schoolmaster, your well-versed practice in instruction and fostering the youth earning you the eyes of the compound as you became the talk of the pack.

It was not long after that many began to find their way to your old den with intent to arrange for bonding with you when you hadn’t even yet presented, but nonetheless, your parents received stacks of gifts left on your doorstep day after day as hopeful wolves attempted to get into the good graces of your family.

Per the laws that you yourself were tasked with teaching to the older pups, you could and did reject the furs the chests of jewelry that were left for you. The code had stipulated that should an omega deny another wolf’s articles of intent, they had to deliver such items back to them to affirm their sureness in their decision and make an official show of their rejection.

That regulation had almost changed because of you.

It had taken you all but one time to place the gifts he had left on the ground in front of his den before your scent had dripped like a philter from under the slot of his door and you’d only caught a glimpse of eyes darkened by delirium before your stomach had dropped to the pit of your body.

You never returned there again.

Words had not stopped him. Only your claws and your paws could in how quickly they had carried you from that place as fear plunged you into a chase that did not end until the silvery moonlight that reached for you from between the trees became golden and peeked down on you from atop the creek where your aching legs had given out, the tears falling in time with your hastened heartbeat that did not slow until hours had passed and relief coaxed away the fear.

He never reached you there. Once a month for years after, he pursued you into forest when you had a moment of respite from the pups and their parents. He’d never found you there.

And you’d never stopped to think about why.

You swallow around a dry throat and try to lick at your lips, but it’s as if your tongue is leaden in your mouth when you try, “It was you. It was you that kept him away from me,” your voice cracks as you prod, “It was always you that I felt watching me from afar when I could no longer move….it was you that I heard howling in the forest after you,” you attempt to clear your throat, “after you saved me from him.”

Your mate lowers his head until his cheek rests against yours and he rubs you back and forth there while he confirms, “Yes, my love. It’s always been me. That was the most I could do for you when you were so young,” his eyes become glassy in the pain that becomes them as he confides, “I thought that, since I was an alpha, I would only scare you off and so I could only watch from afar the first time to ensure you were alright. I went to your father shortly after because I could not stand to watch you shed tears. It broke my heart to see you so shackled by terror, my sweet girl,” he clutches you closer, his voice tinged with emotion, “I knew from the first time I saw you that you were my mate, but your father forbade me from entering any sort of relationship with you beyond serving as your nameless, faceless protector until you presented and I agreed to that because as long as I could make sure you were safe, that was enough for me.”

Warmness singes away the cold verglas that had rimed you over. It thaws like ice caps over the hills, the sun’s rays that are him bringing life back to your numbed body as you find your voice and lift your head from the folds of his blazer, one of your hands rising to lay along his cheek as your brows come together and fondness stares him back in the eyes as you say, “Jungkook, I…”

He lets you swipe your thumb along his cheekbone, his flesh hot from under your fingers and your heart swells with emotion that is like the tide in the way it flows and washes over you entirely unyielding and never ending.

You angle your head to the side and your alpha does the same as you place your other hand where his heart beats erratically in the same wild tempo as yours as you lean close and confess, “I love you, alpha. All this time, you never left my side, and now I vow I won’t ever leave yours. No matter what happens, I love you and only you.”

Your mate doesn’t cast his gaze away from you, his irises brightening until they shine like stars and your chest flutters with tenderness at that.

“I love you more than words can say, my sweet,” Jungkook hums when you dip your head to nuzzle at his mastoid with your nose, the oils along his scent glands coating you in his essence as you mark yourself on him. “Mmm, but you know that already, don’t you?”

You nod in answer, and, with his pheromones distracting you, you don’t hear the way the grasses are crushed under the approaching wolf’s feet.

“Yes, I know that, and I want to show you how much I love you,” you whisper, possession over your intended incensing you as you breathe him in and his essence clouds you to anything but him as your lips skim along the thick muscle that bulges out along his neck and when your alpha groans in satisfaction, you smile against his skin, “I wish to show how much I want you,” you close your lips over the gland, “and when you touch me, I want you and everyone else to see what you do to me."

“I’m going to do so much more than touch you when we are away from here, omega. Tell me what you want right now, my love, and it is yours,” he doesn’t bother to hide the way he bites his lip, “I will do anything you ask.”

“Kiss me again, alpha,” you let your tongue slide from your mouth, entirely oblivious to the other wolf that nears you both as you flatten it against his scent gland, the taste of blooming gardenia, black vanilla and freshly matured pear splaying seductively against your tastebuds as your tongue ascends up and down like he’d done to you when he’d eaten from your sex earlier. He shudders against you when you suckle the gland between your teeth as you utter, “Lick me like you did when you-ah…”

There’s a growl and then one hand slides down to your ass and suddenly you are sitting upright, your legs instinctively wrapping around his middle and then his lips are on yours, your arms encircling his neck and you need no prompting to part your mouth as his own tongue claims you. He runs it along the side of your mouth until it pushes against one of your cheeks and he when he shifts his weight, the hard length that cries for you under his trousers presses at your backside and you moan loudly at that, the hot length of him darting to your lips and when your tongue brushes his, he sucks it into his own mouth.

Your pre-heat fever flares fiercely in your belly, your words fueled by the need to be claimed by him as you tell him, “Take off my collar, my love, and take the offerings of my kiss and my body that I shall give entirely to you once you’ve won for me.”

Neck coverings were mandated to be worn by unmated, unpresented omegas. To be without one was to invite any alpha in the vicinity to sink their teeth into the soft skin and forever bind an omega to them whether they wanted it or not.

To ask an alpha to detach the neckband of an omega, the sole barrier between a mark and an irrevocable, irreversible bond…it was the ultimate display of consent to belong to that alpha in mind and in soul as a wolf can only bond once in their entire lifetime to a single mate.

For an omega to give permission to alpha to remove their neckband… it was a declaration of intent to mate with them. It was also a provocation to all whom the omega had denied.

By asking your alpha to withdraw your choker, you were accepting Jungkook as your lifelong counterpart and acknowledging him as your protector against those that would be tempted at the sight and scent of you that, once removed, your choker could no longer fully disperse.

A pureblood omega, the moonstone imbued in your choker was only able to mask half your scent, but once taken off, your uncovered glands would produce oils that, because of your untainted bloodline as one descended from the progenitors of your race, would make the alphas in the vicinity produce their own taint in want of you.

Your mate chuckles with your lip caught between his teeth, “You’ll make us all go feral, you little minx. Are you sure about this?”

That your alpha asks about your resolve only makes you want him more. You had heard stories of omegas far less fortunate in the compound who had not been given the chance to answer such a question.

It makes you burn all the more for him.

You press yourself close enough that your breasts push against his pectorals, one of your hands finding its place in his locks as you breathe in his musky scent, your own slick sliding down your thigh to join the dried blood he’d left there from scraping his fingernail over the bitemarks he’d put there in the forest.

You thank the gods your dress got bunched up in the flurry of earlier movements and that somehow one of his hands has managed to burrow under the fabric so that it rests against your skin. The skirt of your gown covers you from the watchful eyes around you, but that little decency can’t hide the way his palm slides down to hold the underside of your ass and when your slick drips down on his fingers, that’s when you bring your mouth behind his ear to say, “That is for you. You’ve already driven me over the edge just as you said you would,” you wriggle your hips, your core sliding against the tent in his pants and you both groan before you breathe, “now it’s time for you to lose control for your mate just like she has lost hers for you.”

When strong fingers twist into your hair and he pulls your head until it falls back, you arch your back in submission as he mutters, “Gods, you really were made for me,” his digits trail down until they clasp the metal securing your moonstone choker, “Once I take this off, I won’t be able to stop myself from falling prey to my primal urges that will be entirely your doing. I’ve done my best to keep it contained, but there will be nothing to inhibit me from you once I do,” he leans over you, one of his hands intertwining in your own in an impressive display of strength and devoted intimacy before he cautions, “I’m going to become colder and more aggressive than you’ve seen before, but believe me when I say that whatever I may do, it is all for you. We alphas become…territorial and possessive over our mates. So prepare yourself, little one.”

Your mind flashes to when he’d thrown Taehyung into a tree with so much force that it had broken in half. To when he’d spoken with a viciousness that exuded such unbreakable confidence.

Your core clenches at that. It had been hot to see him go feral over you. Because of you.

With the aphrodisiac of his pheromones that make your mind hazy to anything but him, you keep your eyes on him as you lift the fingers of your free hand and in one swift movement, the metalwork and strings attaching the furs he’d given you fall to his feet as you entreat him, “Nothing will change the fact that I am in love with you, Jeon Jungkook,” you squeeze his hand in reassurance, “Come, my alpha. Let me present to you what has always been yours and exhibit to all that question us just how besotted you are for your omega.”

He smirks, “As you wish, my lady. I accept your gracious offerings. And I will fight for the desires of us both with everything I have. And with everything that I am.”

With that, he brings your chest closer to his, his head tilting before lowering until his teeth close over the fastenings of your choker on each side of the nape of your neck. The chromium around the edges pushes into your skin as he pulls against it, and with a series of clicks, one side opens for him.

The first sliver of your flesh exposed, he licks his lips and, slowly, he ascends as you confide, “I know you will, alpha,” he descends again to the other side, his teeth latching onto the other clasp and tugging to the side.

Shockingly little was left in the tomes about what happened to one of the lupi antiquis when the alpha was exposed to the temptation of their omegean soulmate whose pheromones only activated fully in the receival of their alpha to them.

Those pages had been ripped out long, long ago.

The only leaflet that remained had foretold that the alpha’s own impulses would be released and unrestrained to the point that he would go into a frenzy of carnality over his omega and that a desperate, ferocious mania would overwhelm him were his mate to be separated or taken from him.

The moment the smooth material is dislodged from you, your scent gland expands along the side of your mastoid with the moonstone no longer constricting it and, with your pores exposed to the alpha before them, they salivate for him. Their sweet, succulent smell dances erotically under his nostrils and undulates along his tongue until the tang has his eyes rolling back as he curses, “Fuck…”

“Is it that strong?” You cock your head to the side.

He breathes in deeply, his throat cloying in the thick, heady quintessence of you that is lathered down his throat. “You,” he inhales again, his teeth pulling his lower lip under, “your musk has gotten so much stronger since the first time I smelled this neck of yours without anything covering it,” his head falls, his fangs enlarging and growing in size with his member as your essence fondles him, “I was…hardly able to get within a mile from you in the forest where I left you before the hunt. I could not resist you any longer than that and could not bring myself to stop when I took myself into my own hand for over three hours until I was too sensitive and had milked myself dry… because of you.”

You purr at the thought.

He growls.

“Please, alpha.“

His eyes narrow on your lips, “Look at that…you’re already begging for me. I’ve been training you well, little one,” dark irises tread down your own flushed chest, “I thought about this when I was running my hands down my cock earlier and wishing it was you. I pictured and played around with naughty, naughty scenarios of you reacting to me when I told you what you had done to me.”

You whine, your fingers rising up his chest and the moment you let your nails drag over the pounding gland along the side of his neck, large and long fingers encircle your wrist, his chest heaving under the pheromones of you that thrust away oxygen and fill his mind with nothing but you.

Somehow the speed and strength with which he acted upon has your legs wanting to bring him deeper between them.

“Don’t move,” your mate orders, “Don’t,” he swallows with effort, “if you do, I do not think I shall be able to keep myself here. I will chase you.”

Long ago, you would have been struck by fear at the thought, but you knew that if the wolf tailing you were that of the male in front of you, well…

That fear would be crushed under his paws until only excitement’s print was left in its wake.

Your expression cracks and he knows it when your voice softens, “You know that I would have no qualms with you running after me,” you place your lips along the freckle under his lower lip to mouth, “Because I trust you,” your tongue flattens along his chin as you lick up, “and you would never harm me unless I asked you to.”

You had oozed the aroma of sex before, but now…now you were drowning him it.

Your choker that had served its purpose in containing the concoction of your sweet spice joins his furs on the grass, his mouth parting as his incisors elongate even more from his throbbing gums in an entirely instinctual reaction as he stares hotly at your exposed neck and husks, “I can’t keep my fangs in anymore, my mate. You smell too good,” he brings a hand up until his knuckles glide along the oily flesh of the column of your throat, his digits gliding down and down until they sweep between the ‘v’ of your bodice and you don’t silence yourself from whining when his nail runs along the side of your breast that peeks from between your gown as he lowers his voice, “Good enough to eat again and again and again.” His mouth inches closer to your now bare neck, your scent gland pulsating enticingly for him as you let your free hand coast along his chest while he’s deluged in your pheromones that empty the world of anything beyond you and when he blows warm air against your jugular, you squirm only for him to croon, “You sounded so pretty with my tongue in your wet little pussy, omega…I wonder how you’d sound with my teeth right here,” a sharp fang glissades along your gland glinting sinfully in the bloodred moonlight, your core clenching as the fingers on your ass curl inward before he goes, “this is such a good spot for marking, you know. I bet you’ll moan for me when my teeth are buried here while my cock fills you to the brim. You’ll know nothing but my name when you whimper from all the pleasure only your soulmate can give you.”

A tsunami of desire has dragged him under its current and you can see in his eyes the waters of desire that eddy back and forth, your own cascading over you as he sniffs you and stutters your name. With each breath he takes, the control he’d had over himself sinks until only the smallest bit remains.

Your own control had slumbered over your instinct the first time you’d really breathed in his scent.

It had made you a pining, whining mess of slick and drool and your impulses of craving for him had been so strong that you had come all over the furs he’d given you.

“I could fuck you right here,” Jungkook’s hand slides dangerously close to where your body sobs in the absence of him, your own preheat spell hooking you into your own instincts as you close your legs tighter around his middle, “it would be so easy with how wet you are for me. Do you want me to get you off right here before I go battle for you? Is that why you won’t let me go from between your legs?”

“Alpha,” your breath hitches when his index finger teasingly delves between your sodden folds, your cheeks filling with blood as you blush, “You must…must try to-”

“What, my love? Try to control myself?” His digit lazily slews back and forth, your thighs constricting around him, “I didn’t hear you saying that when you were rutting against my leg, nor when you rode my face in the forest.” His cock twitches when you shudder at his words, “I wanted to take you so badly and the denial of you for so long hurts, little one. It hurts to just stand here while your pretty cunt sobs for me.”

“Jungkook,” you shakily reply, his finger swirls around your sex, “I know it’s hard, but you’re going to make me lose what little collar I have around my own want for you .”

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting when he took off your neckband, but you’d been so caught up in instinct that you hadn’t considered the repercussions of baring yourself for him with his purebred impulses. The urges that raged in you and your mate as purebred descendants of the lupi antiquis, the progenitors of the werewolf species, were increased a hundredfold over the mixed race of wolves sired in bloodlines that had been diluted by excessive mating between different partners in the uncontrollable ruts and heats that drove them to couple with any wolf in the vicinity under the influence purely of instinct to breed and be bred.

Your own pre-heat is beginning to cause muscle spasms of your sex that you have no control over and they are only exacerbated in the presence of your mate when he lowers your ass against his enlarged member and you bite your tongue when his length pushes against you as he says, “You shouldn’t be giving me ideas right now, little one. I’m so hard for you. Don’t you feel me? Don’t you see how badly I need you?”

You moan when the tip of his digit prods your hole and the wolves behind you gnarr at the sound.

“I feel you, my love, but the other wolves, they will chain and restrain you if they realize y-“

“Meager chains cannot contain me if you are at the end of them. No elder nor alpha stopped me from fucking you senseless before. ” His fangs drag along the flesh of your neck, your wolf bowing its head in submission and you can’t help yourself from tilting your head to the side to give him access as he eyes the gland that pounds for him, “You loved it, my beautiful mate. You wanted it and you want me still. I can smell it on you. I can feel it in the way you wet my fingers in your delicious slick that is making my mouth water and my cock cry.”

Neither of you notice the way the air itself becomes heavier as it becomes pregnant with the seed of slick and taint; your own makes every alpha of breed-able age leak with pre-ejaculate fluid and your mate’s sudden increased flow of his own that your scent all but milks him of induces the slick of all omegas that have reached maturity.

His mind is clouded by your pheromones and his eyes are hazy with lust by now as he slurs, “Let me deflower you more, omega. I know how to make you come,” he slides his index finger up into your sex to the knuckle, your eyelashes flittering as you tighten around him and a hitched breath leaves you as his other hand grips at your waist to support you when you buck against him, “You’re naughty, my love, for letting me take you with my fingers while all these people are around. Tell me, what do you think all these wolves will make of you getting off on your alpha when they stand only a few feet away?”

“Gods,” you plead in a hushed tone, “My love,” you put one hand on each side of his face so that he can look nowhere but into your eyes, your brows coming together in concern that he carefully wrap around each word as you offer, “You’re falling so deep into your urges,” you have to swallow the moan that nearly leaves you when he withdraws his finger only to thrust it inside you as you continue, “I want you, gods, I do. But you promised to fight for the desires of us both with your body,” you furtively glance upward to where, a few feet away, your grandmother and the assembly of elders stand on the edge of the stage before you peer to the side, the line of alphas and their omegas standing and drooling at the sight of you and you don’t dare glance backwards at the three alphas with matching looks of disdain on their countenances despite the engorged members that stand to attention from beneath their pants as you remind your alpha, “And you cannot very well fight for me if your fingers are inside of me.”

“I’ve always excelled at doing multiple things at once,” his finger curls in a come hither motion and then he’s grinning as he stares at the whites of your eyes, the pupils disappearing beneath your lidded lashes, “I let you suck me off like a good little omega and I made you come all over my foot that I watched you rut on,” his digit is propelled into you once more, a whimper loosing itself from your lips as his eyes narrow, “that you cannot even go more than a few moments without me only proves that I managed to not only seduce you, but addict you to me,” his eyes grow darker when you clench around him in answer and then another finger is being slid inside you as he says, “You cannot even deny it, for your body will only betray you if you do.”

And he’s right, you can’t. To deny that would be to lie, and you could not lie to your alpha.

You bury your face in his neck, the tip of your ears red as a cherry.

“I cannot help that, alpha,” you gasp when he curves both digits against your silken walls as you admit, “The moon above knows that I tried.”

“And try as I have to curb my cravings for you, omega,” he draws out his digits only to impel them back inside you, your slick glazing him in your quintessence, “I need to taste your sweet juices again,” you mewl when his hand moves smoothly down until the fingers of his other hand wrap around your thigh and he squeezes at the same time that his fingers churn your insides, “and you must let me make you cum once more, beautiful mate of mine. The urge to fuck will not leave me until I have thoroughly satisfied my omega.”

“Here?” You bite at his blazer, the thick material masking your wanton sound, “Now? Is there,” you can’t stop your fingers from knotting into his shirt when another of his digits finds its place along the engorged bud planted between your legs and then your mouth is parting, “Is there no other way to quell your urges, my love?”

“None that will leave you clothed or quiet.”

His words leave your taint spilling over him and his pupils dilate until the black of them swallows the color from them, his fingers arcing within you whilst his thumb circles your clit and you’re too far gone to notice the sound of fabric tearing as your teeth shred the ashen cloth between them.

“You just had…we just-“

“It’s not enough, my love. I will never get enough of you,” his digits recede and before you can whimper, you’re being filled with not two, but three fingers that are slid slowly into you as he utters, “It matters not that I had you in the forest. The wolf in me is famished for only you,” his hand leaves your thigh and his red-streaked fingers that he’d rubbed along the bitemarks down there are slow to take your chin between them, his blown pupils catching on the black fabric of his blazer nestled between your lips and that sight has him twitch below you before he’s husking, “And if you want me to return to some semblance of sanity, hard as that is when you look, taste and smell so delectable,” he tilts your head back and you, heady with need for him, let him as his long tongue reaches for you and when it writhes against your bare neck, that’s when you keen as he tells you, “you’ll just have to fuck that into me.”

Even in the haze of lust that has taken him over, you see the creature you have fallen in love with. And you could no sooner deny him of you than the moon could reject the embrace of the night sky she coupled with every night.

“Do you need your omega, Pack Alpha?” You breathe.

“Fuck, yes, my mate. Need you so much. Give me permission to have my way with you before I start rutting into the nearest tree with your ruined panties in my mouth.”

Your walls close around his fingers that pump in and out of you at that.

He had not hesitated to take care of you when you’d become lost to your desires because of him. You had made him wait long enough. It was time you returned the favor.

Even if that meant that all eyes were attached to the both of you. As long as your alpha was sated, that was all that mattered to you.

You open your mouth, the thin scrap of fabric falling from your lips as you entreat, “Come, alpha, and indulge in your mate. Feed off me now and after, I shall let you feast on me to your heart’s content.”

“Gods, so you’re so good to me, my love,” he propels his digits inside of you and bends them at the same time his thumb swirls around the cluster of nerves arranged at the apex between your thighs, “So fucking good for me.”

You close your eyes as his tongue dips down between your collarbones and flicks against the sensitive skin there while he holds your chin between the fingers of his other hand.

“Look at me, little one. I want to see you while I please you,” he breathes before he nicks your tender skin with his fang, his tongue quick to fondle the wound as a small, sharp slice of pain has your eyelids fluttering open in silent submission.

Strangely, that sensation is pleasurable to you, but you don’t have time to think much on it before he’s plunging a fourth finger within you and that has your eyelids open as you make a sound of sheer desperation for him, your sight attracted immediately to his and it’s clear that he’s just as gone for you as you are for him with one of his pupils glazed over and swollen with lust while the other is bulbously clear with love for you.

“You’re swallowing my fingers whole right now, my omega,” he “You take four fingers so well for me… I could put my cock into you right now with how ready you are for me, little one,” he groans when your walls constrict around him, his tongue laving at the other side of your neck until you’re drenched in him as he arches a brow, “Aroused, aren’t you?” he pushes every finger knuckle-deep, your back bowing inward as you claw at his shirt while he rubs at your clit as he teases, “Does it get you going when you think about me shoving my knot into you over and over again until all you know is your alpha and how good it will feel to be pounded by me?”

“Yes, alpha, please-“

“That’s right, omega, beg,” he stares hotly at you, his fingers easily stretching you open and hitting the clump of nerves deep within you as you clamp your legs around him whilst he thrusts his digits inside you faster and faster each time before he says, “You make your alpha even hungrier for you when you plead for him.”

“Please, Jungkook. I thought I could last longer for you, but,” You swallow around a scratchy throat from all the noises you’ve been making, your thighs beginning to shake with how tightly you press him between them, “I’m close already with how you use me,” you confess, “with how you screw me.”

There is no filter to halt your vulgarity now. It has since dissipated with your oncoming heat that you can feel slipping into you with each impetus of your mate’s wonderfully long, perfect fingers.

“Damn it all, omega,” He curses, his pace quickening as he sucks harshly on the spot nestled between your neck and shoulder until a reddened petal blossoms there, “Your heat is upon you, isn’t it? Is that why you are falling apart for me so soon?”

“Ngh,” you attempt to find words, but he is relentless in the continual sheathing of his fingers into you. “y-yes. A-almost there, Jungkook. I’m almost there.”

“You look so irresistible while you’re getting fucked,” he tells you while he drives his digits into you, “and when that heat of yours demands you to be spread those legs and take your alpha’s knot, I’ll ravish you until you are a drooling, moaning mess on the bed I have lain with no other in,” he laps at the veins protruding along the other side of your neck and doesn’t stop until he’s laving it along the shell of your ear, “Now say my name, omega. Call it out for all to hear so that no one may question your need of me. After you do, I’ll make everyone watch me drink up your delicious nectar. And I,” he extracts all four digits only to insert them all in one fluid motion, the tip of each finger hitting your g-spot and your nails puncture the shirt of his that has been knotted in your palm as he growls into your ear, “I shall relish every single drop that pours forth for me from that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your core is instantly set aflame in the ire of desire at that.

“Alpha,” you cry out as you both swim in the sea of temptation, “Please, give me my release.”

“Louder, my love,” he brings his mouth forth until it hovers near your own, his eyes roving down and then back as his pace intensifies, a grunt releasing itself from him when you contract your walls around him, “Give me more and more of you.” Thoughts elude you in favor of the fingers that intrude you, your mouth falling open in an ‘o’ when his thumb pushes and whorls itself over the bundle of nerves that flower your sex as he pummels you with his fingers, “Give me everything.”

And honestly, how could you refuse him?

“Jungkook,” his name reaches wantonly for the ears of all wolves in the valley as you whimper it out, and no sooner have you heeded him than he plunges all four digits within you, his thumb fatally pressing down as he gyrates it along your clit.

It takes only his tongue to make you fall apart after that.

“I believe it’s just about time to feed your alpha again, omega,” his tongue dances along the edge of your lips before twisting into your mouth as he collects your saliva and he hums in satisfaction, “Mmm, good as that was, I want you to feed me more, my love. I want your juices to join your spit in my mouth,” he shoves his fingers into you once, twice, and then he pulls you down over the member that wails for you just as you do for him and then he orders, “Finish for me, omega, and let me have another taste of you.”

Your sex spasms around his digits on his command and your slick slides down his hand as he glides his digits in and out of you to help you ride your orgasm as he coasts his lips over your own to drink in your sounds of pleasure.

When he detaches from you, he heaves with the air he’d stolen from you, “Good girl.”

You hardly can respond beyond blushing.

Your alpha withdraws his soddened hand from between your legs and, to support you, he plants his other along your ass before bringing his soiled palm to his lips and laying his tongue along the base of where his hand meets his wrist before it is dragged upward toward his fingers, your thick essence collecting on his tongue, You watch, entranced by the way he closes his eyes to savor your flavor as he groans, “Fuck, I could get drunk off of this. So tangy and sweet,” he pops his index finger in his mouth, “and,” he’s sticking his middle finger in next, “all,” his ring finger disappears between his lips, “for,” his pinky is the last to be dipped within his mouth, “me.”

You lick your lips in answer.

He smiles smugly, his usual mischievousness returning to fleck an iris as familiar playfulness rings around his other pupil before he offers,” Can you stand? I do believe that people will begin to think some rather obscene things if I hold you like this for much longer.”

You laugh and tell him yes and he lowers you gingerly to the ground, but it’s too much to be that far from him, so you take a step into him, but your thighs seem to have other plans as numbness greys your movement and you stumble.

To anyone else, it looks like your alpha simply closed what little distance was between you, each of his hands gripping the underside of your forearm as a knowing look passes over his features before he’s cocking his head, “Still tripping all over yourself for me, huh? How precious,” he simpers, “I’ll make sure you know the many other ways I can bring you to your knees for me, pretty girl.”

You cheeks burn hotter at that. Someone clears their throat and then-

“Well, that was quite the display, Pack Alpha,” the tawny furred wolf drags out the name in obvious disdain whilst he shifts, his furs stripping themselves away from him as he rises on his hind legs until his skin is tanned as the desert sands and eyes brown like tree bark glare at him from behind your back as he speaks, “And here I was thinking that I’d made a grand enough entrance to distract you enough that you wouldn’t even think about doing to her what you just did.”

To everyone else, it had simply looked as if your alpha had been holding you tenderly. Your increased production of pheromones could easily be explained by the loss of your neckband and your alpha had been safe to act the way he had with you given he could use such an easy explanation to answer to such questionings since it was forbidden for an unmated alpha to touch an omega.

It seemed, however, that you could not fool him, the wolf that had chased you into the forest and wracked you with fear while your mate had stood guard over you then as he does now.

“And what did I do, Min Yoongi? As far as I can tell,” golden eyes sear into brown ones whilst he challenges, “It is only natural that my omega produces the taint of longing for her alpha. I have done no wrong and you would be wise to avoid accusations.”

“Oh, but you have, Jeon Jungkook. I know what you’ve done with her. I saw you in the forest,” he jerks his chin to the side to the two wolves that leer lecherously at you, though you do not see them, “Taehyung has never been very good at keeping his mouth shut, you see.”

The same fear that had frozen you in place before begins to turn your blood cold and your mate gently lets you down, his free hand ushering you behind his back as a low, dangerous growl reverberates through the air. “Is that a threat, Min Yoongi? Be careful about what your next words are. They may be your last.”

Yoongi laughs mirthlessly, “Of course it is a threat, Pack Alpha, “ he spits the words with disgust, “Word carries fast among us alphas. Surely you know this, or have you been too busy between her legs to notice?”

Before the elders can question anything, your grandmother intervenes as the whispers spread like wildfire among the wolves.

“Pack Alpha Jungkook has already been chosen by Omega Y/N, Min Yoongi. Whatever claim to her you attempt to make, you may only do so now by challenging the alpha she has selected to be her intended,” she holds her head high when she proclaims, “Per our code, there is but one exception where an alpha may touch an unmated omega prior to mating, but only if the gods have bestowed on them a divine bond that could no sooner keep them apart than the stars from the moon in the night sky.” She does not pause when the other male wrinkles his nose while she asserts, “Should you wish to challenge your Pack Alpha, you go against the judgement of the gods as the two wolves beside you have chosen to do.”

She’s hardly finished and already the male before you is speaking, “I challenge he who has been chosen by the omega and all that challenge him,” Yoongi gives an unimpressed look to your alpha as Jungkook glowers, a deep rumbling sounding from his throat in warning as the male goes on, “I offer all the gifts I have left on her doorstep for the past ten years that have been returned to me,” the tawny-haired wolf makes to step forward toward you, but your mate’s back hunches over in warning, his claws retracting from the skin between his fingers as danger flashes in his eyes while Yoongi picks an invisible fleck of dust off his shoulder.

Uneasiness has you trembling behind your mate, but you are not left to dwell on it for long. Your mate slides one arm behind his back to offer you his hand, tuned to you as ever with the melody of your breathing becoming irregular and hastened in the emotion that clogs your lungs.

You take it without a second thought, your fingers twining around his as he puts his other arm out in a protective stance over you before he furtively glances back to check on you. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

“I used to wonder about something,” the other male starts and Jungkook waits to avert his concerned gaze away from you until you’ve nodded with a fondness that saturates your eyes that is suffocating for the other male to watch as he sighs, “the jewelry, dresses, trinkets and baubles that I used to leave for her,” Yoongi pauses, the dots connecting when Jungkook’s lips rise, his expression hardening as he bares his teeth, “they always used to reek of something absolutely putrid. Would you happen to have something to do with that, Pack Alpha?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, Min Yoongi,” Jungkook taunts, “It was an absolute pleasure to leave traces of my scent all over everything I was tasked by her very father to bring back to you so that you would think not of her, but of the dangerous creature you’d unleash if you thought of trying anything with she who would become my mate.” Yoongi barks in annoyance and Jungkook doesn’t even flinch, “After all, her father did leave it to me to guard her after your first and failed pursuit of her,” your mate’s fingers squeeze your own and then he provokes the other male with the flick of a brow, “You didn’t think I hunted you down in the forest and left you a mess of tattered fur, broken claws and chipped teeth every month after she first bled was all just for sport, now did you?”

Fire rages in the other male’s expression and he seethes, “You’re going to lose not only your rank, but your bitch, Pack Alpha,” the male leches you, a maniacal look contorting his features and your gut twists uncomfortably when he decides, “and when you’re bleeding out on the ground out here by yourself, I’ll make sure I make her scream so loud that you’ll hear her,” he protracts his claws, your mate’s eyes narrowing as he threatens, “I’ll ensure you never forget how she sounds when a real alpha takes what is his and pumps seed into her until she’s full of his pups.”

Your mate��s lips part to bare his teeth and were your legs not trembling both out of fear and weakness your mate had wracked on them, you’d have already ripped the other male’s tongue out.

“It seems you do not know what it is to be an alpha, then, boy. A true alpha respects and dotes on his mate. You would make her your broodmare, which I cannot allow,” he turns his back to the alpha and his attention to you, “I would worship her as my goddess…and as my queen. Try and insult me all you wish,” Jungkook’s expression folds when you lean down, your lips finding the skin along his pectoral that is no longer covered with the way your nails had ripped it and he’s gentle when his knuckles brush along the side of your cheek as you do and when his visage falls back on the male, it hardens as he forewarns, “but I will rip you to shreds should you so much as look at her in a way I do not condone. You will find I am not merciful to those who do not revere her like the deity she is.”

“Your cock has made you soft, Jeon,” Yoongi crosses his arms, “perhaps that shall be the first thing I’ll claw off of you. I’ll make sure to stare your beloved in her eyes while I do it, too. Then she’ll have nothing to suck or fuck anymore.”

Your alpha bristles, fury scorching him with the intensity of one hundred fires as spins on his heel, his hand leaving yours as he snarls, “Disrespect my mate again and I’ll break every bone in your body for every word that I do not like,” he rounds on the smaller wolf, “She’s not something to be filled. She’s a living, breathing being and you will not speak of her in such a demeaning way lest you wish to face my wrath. Do you understand me?”

The other male doesn’t get to say anything else, for another voice interrupts him before he can.

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” the gnarled voice of your grandmother shouts, “You have been chosen by Omega Y/N out of the three other wolves proclaiming intent to mate her. Before battle rights are given to you, you are entitled to partake in the Smearing. None of the other combatants may speak, act or do anything during it, but should you lose in the throes of combat,” she is not phased when there’s a deep growl from your mate and continues, “These marks shall be removed so that the winning alpha may give her more permanent marks as he sees fit.” Her visage flicks to the three other wolves that have made their place behind you, “Pack Alpha Jungkook, do you wish to assert your favor and your promise to her and receive hers of you?”

A common practice decades ago that had died out in the recent years, Smearing was only performed by wolves that were fated as soulmates and had not survived with the near extinction of the lupi antiquis.

In the days that the lupi antiquis roamed the earth in great population, two wolves completely taken by each other stained themselves in the blood of the other that, when the bond between them was tried and true, the gods of the moon blessed their joining together and the designs the two enraptured wolves had painted on each other marked the flesh of their human forms so that they would always be able to recognize each other- wolf or no.

As blood inevitably would draw the attention of predators and prey alike, it became the alpha’s duty to protect his mate while he carried the trace of a young, nubile omega with him. Until the omega was ready to mate, they bore the paint of their alpha’s blood and once the omega was ready, the alpha solidified the bond and gave his omega the bite of bonding that can only be given by an alpha once in his lifetime and received by an omega once in their lifetime.

While the omega carried the blood of their alpha on them, they were faced with the temptations by witches, sirens and faeries, for the alpha’s scent was indeed a fine enough lure for them in their conniving attempts to manipulate and seize the omega’s heart only to turn it black with malice so that they could eat away at the pain both of she and the mate who loved her until death did them part.

The tradition has not been performed for many a decade and the elders passively glance your direction in wait of your alpha’s answer.

“Alpha,” you beckon him and a breath hasn’t left you before he’s upon you, both hands possessively splaying on your hips as you whisper, “I want it,” you look up at him with pleading eyes, “And I want you to be the one to give it to me.”

“I would have no one else painted in designs left by my own hand, my mate, but…”

Anger has made his eyes dusky, but with a few words from you, that is dispelled completely.

“You are enraged by him, I know,” you reassure, “but think of how furious it will make him to watch you leave your trace on me when there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

“Vindicative, aren’t you, you little vixen?”

“Only because of you. I can feel your emotions just as much as you can sense mine and you are being very loud with yours right now,” you giggle.

Your laughter is the beacon in the dark that guides him out of his own fury and he lowers his lips to the bridge of your nose to kiss you there before considering, “I do apologize for such unscrupulous behavior, my beloved. How unseemly I become for you.”

“Do not apologize, alpha. On the contrary,” you turn your face so that his mouth falls upon the apple of your red cheek, “I find it quite attractive that you get aggressive over me.”

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” The elders voice in unison, “We await your decision on if you wish to commence with the Smearing of your intended mate. We cannot proceed without it.”

His dark hair has become tousled and you can’t help but to run your fingers through the thickened strands before sweeping to the side the tendrils of it that had fallen in front of his beautiful eyes.

Honesty clears his irises and when he speaks, his words are as sincere as the summer song that your kind sings to summon the summer rains.

“Without question, the answer is yes. It always has been,” he declares, his fingertips stroking their way down your right arm until he’s weaved his digits around yours, “She is beautiful as a rose and sharp as a dagger,” his hand detaches from your left arm and you watch with baited breath as he brings the base of his thumb to his fangs that had receded slightly so that they only protrude from under his top lip, a grimace shifting his countenance as his teeth easily puncture the flesh there to voice, “it is only she who has the power to tame me,” he turns his palm to the other side, the edge of fangs curving over the skin there, “and only she who holds my heart,” he closes his mouth over the self-inflicted wound only to lift it off, his lips painted red with his own blood as opens his palm and sinks his teeth down into the middle of it. His teeth break the skin there, blood gushing from under his lips before he rises to his full height as he says, “for her I would cross the seas, the sky, and the earth if they would bring me to her,” his fingers curl inward and with a fist over his heart, and it’s as if small rubies trickle down his appendage onto the freshly dewed blades of grass as he vows, “This mark is temporary, but I give it with the founded faith that she is my anima salit, that she is my destined love, and I shall protect she whom I will worship like a goddess and treat as my queen.”

The edges of your eyes warm with tears, and the seedlings of emotion you’d been growing for him blossom all through your chest as the elders, all at once, ask you, “Omega Y/N, do you accept the pact this alpha makes through his own blood? Do you, in turn, consent to the Smearing that will endanger you to alphas in the pack and beyond in addition to the creatures that preyed on our ancestors all for the sake of dedicating your very being to him and presenting yourself as the one true mate of Pack Alpha Jungkook?”

Like your intended, you leave not even a shadow of a doubt in your decision. Perhaps you’d known from the moment you’d caught his comforting scent that relaxed your tired muscles before being coaxed into a pleasant slumber when the breeze had carried it his essence to you in the forest years ago even before you’d begun to dream of the wolf with fur black as night.

“I consent to it all in the trust I have in my alpha to defend the desires we both have for each other,” you speak aloud, your words unwavering in the earnestness that fills them as your own hand is lifted to your mouth and you bite down on the tip of your thumb using your shorter, pointier canines that can elongate into fangs on command. You bite hard enough to draw blood before moving to the next finger, your attention affixed to no one but your alpha as you confess, “he is my light,” your index is next to be brought under your maw, “he is the savior that has finally brought himself through to my sights,” you bring your next digit between your teeth wince for the third time before saying, “and it is he who is my solace day and night,” you prick your ring finger as you go on, “for it is only he who can make me run wild,” your teeth penetrate your last digit before you open your palm and penetrate the malleable flesh until two large crescents run red along the outer corners of each side as you say, “and it is for him that I would cross the stars to be with.”

Your mate kneels on one knee as if to accept your vocalizations and something akin to wings flutter through your chest at that.

I may have been playing around with you earlier about going to your knees for me, sweetling, but make no mistake that I will kneel for no one but my woman.

You can’t help the rising of the edges of your lips at that.

Your mouth, like your alpha’s, is stained with the paint of your lifeblood as you cross your now injured arm over your chest, your marred hand turned sideways over your breast where your heart beats to the same sprightly speed as your alpha’s.

He extends his arm out, his fingers opening in offering to you. A river of red has trailed across his outstretched palm and the sudden urge to lick him clean roots itself in you, your omegean instinct to tend to your alpha burrowing into your psyche.

Your mate senses the shift in your thoughts and a playful, bounding sensation is quick to leap from him to you across the invisible cords of your bond that tie tighter together with each passing minute that you spend in each other’s company.

You can lick me all you wish, omega, but wait a little longer for me. Much as I adore your mouth, there is something you’re going to do for me first, aren’t you?

Somehow your lower lip finds itself spread under your teeth at that one.

You lower your chin to him while his eyes beseech you, your own legs bending until you too are on your knees in front of him and you sit back on your heels in a gesture of deference as you repeat what he had.

“This mark is temporary, but I give it with the founded faith that he is my anima salit, that he is my destined love,” you hold out your bloodied palm up to him, the rivulets of crimson along each finger drifting down along the banks of blood pooling in the middle as you say, “and I vow that shall remain by my alpha’s side for as long as he will have me, for I shall revere him like a deity and attend to him as my king.”

With your alpha’s attention latched onto to you, you slide your fingers along his and, responsive as always, he soon furls his digits inward so that your palm is lain against the backs of his fingers while the other side covets your own like a long lost treasure.

Your heart pounds as he brings your blood-laden hand towards his mouth, his lips pressing against the flesh along the back of your hand.

“A king does not serve one, but is served by many,” his stained lips part for you, “and I shall attend you forever and always, for I am but your servant, my lady,” the pink of his tongue supplies its warmth and wetness along the reddened web of flesh between your thumb and index where your blood had dripped before he trailing further downward, your breath catching whilst he accumulates your essence on his tongue that had run all the way down your wrist before he swallows, “my love.”

He unfurls his fingers just enough for your blood to drizzle between his digits and merge with his own so that your essences can come together as one while his own quintessence flows along the open wounds you’d left on each of your fingers that is lain against the flesh of his palm.

As his blood joins yours and yours does with his, you can feel the crackling of something kindling beneath your flesh and when Jungkook opens his hand, it’s as if that which pulses through your veins stops at the thought of his touch receding.

Panic surges and so strong is it that your mate is all but swept forth in its tow before his free hand is anchoring itself to your thigh and eyes awash in care for you sink that emotion away as he promises, “I am not going anywhere, my mate,” his thumb sweeps itself along your knuckles, “But I want to paint you in marks that are as beautiful as you are. I have to release you to do that with this hand, but this one,” he compresses his fingers along your leg, the soft ache of the bitemark he’d left there assuaged in his touch as he tells you, “this one you can keep on you if it so pleases you.”

You nod your head in affirmation, “It does please me. You please me.”

“When did you become so vocal about such things?”

You shrug, “Maybe I have an alpha that demands that of me.”

“And demand it of you I shall continue to do,” he flips your joined hands over and guides the back of yours to the bed grass of beneath before his fingers depart from yours and he watches with interest the way your digits follow him as he utters, “I like knowing how satisfied I make you.”

“You always satisfy me,” you answer in earnest.

“Would it satisfy you to sit on the ground or on a pedestal where you belong while I paint you?”

Your body moves of its own accord when he pats his leg in invitation you don’t think twice before you’re seated atop him with each of your knees facing inward towards him while he remains knelt on the floor in front of you.

“Close your eyes for me, pretty girl. I want you to feel what I do to you before I let you see it,” he instructs.

You cock your head to the side, but do as he says because he is your alpha do not wish to displease him.

“I wish you could look upon yourself and view what I do, my love.” The pad of his thumb is dipped in the river of red along his palm before he daubs it along your inner eye and traces the skin around it before applying another wet application there and then he’s doing the same to your other eye as he confesses, “You really are the most beautiful creature the gods could have created.”

You preen at that.

You can’t see the way he takes his unmarred hand and uses the brush of his clean fingers to swirl the crimson paint along the palette of his other, his middle finger gentle as a dove’s tail as he draws a curving line from your cheekbone to the edge of your jawline, “You grew into you these,” he begins to paint down your cheekbone once again, “I remember you used to be self-conscious about them after the older omegas belittled you about them.” He adds another coat of crimson with a newly wetted digit that curves in the opposite direction he’d gone previously as he admits, “It took so much restraint to stay hidden under the cover of the trees when you went to that backroom of the schoolhouse with that little window that the sun could barely reach through. You huddled in that dark corner with your arms covering that pretty face of yours and how I longed to wipe those tears away and tell you how perfect you were.” A long finger completes the filigree of blood on the left edge of your cheek meant to appear as twisting vines as he lets you know, “Somedays I caved and got a little closer than your father would have liked, but I doubt he knew you were being mistreated by the females for having such different qualities about you that you made so wonderfully different.”

That treatment had lasted for only a week before the females that used to laugh at you silenced themselves in your presence, none of them daring to speak a harsh word of you in your vicinity or even out of it.

It had never occurred to you to wonder why, but you have an idea of who was likely behind the sudden change in their behavior.

“What did you do to them?” You question.

Your alpha’s ministrations pause for a moment and you wait patiently for his answer before he simply puts it, “Nothing they did not deserve. You’d be surprised how very persuasive I can be.”

“Oh,” you affectionately raise your free hand to entwine around a lock of his hair and though you do not have your sight to guide you, you easily find the dark strands to play with them as you say, “I know very well how you can be.”

Your alpha soon streaks his middle finger along the other side of your face in a motion mirroring what he’d just done seconds before.

“Needless to say that you were,” his digit finishes its descent before he’s soaking his ring and index fingers in his blood to supply, “You are the prettiest of them all,” one finger swirls while the other twirls around it just under your hairline, “and you always will be.” He follows the natural shape around your forehead all the way to your temples as he illustrates a braided pattern along your flesh before he finishes, “To me.”

His hand returns to the other debased in the deluge of blood that he holds out, his pointer finger dabbing into the sea of it coasting his palm before the miry texture of his essence is being spread horizontally in a spiral starting along the bone at the edge of your jaw and ending with his digit turning so that the soft pad of his finger strokes the corner of your mouth.

You nearly purr at the action.

“Surely I do not deserve such praise, alpha,” you start, but then he’s chuckling and you don’t need your sight to know that his irises brighten at your words.

“Ah, but you do, omega,” he finishes for you while the opposite side of your jawline is swept in the paint of his blood in the same pattern. “You deny that you are an exquisite creature,” his finger flows toward your mouth once again, “but allure becomes you well, my love,” his crimson colored digit glides along your lower lip to rouge it in red before it dips with his voice, “and I will make certain that you accept that just as you accept my cock, tongue and fingers within your body.”

You cross your thighs over each other and then they’re rubbing against each other in a response far beyond your fading control.

“Don’t do that,” your alpha commands, “Or I’ll push you down to your knees and have you take me between these,” his finger slots itself between your lips, “pretty little things of yours.”

You whine when his finger slips down the middle of your chin, his sight stuck on the way a drop of your saliva dribbles in descent with his digit as it drifts like a red stream along the bend of your throat.

A ripple travels down your spine as two fingers are swept, freshly dewed in the puddle of his blood, along either side of your neck from the tender underside of your chin all the way down to the sensitive notch between your collarbones in winding markings and when you release a shaky breath, he breathes it in.

“This neck of yours…it is so perfect for marking. You’ve done such a good job keeping it untouched and untainted for me, but I know it will look even lovelier with my fangs ingrained here,” he leans in and when something hot rolls around the blood cooling on your skin, you shudder as his tongue taints you. “And it is here that I will have you branded by the shades of purple, pink and red in the collar I shall leave on you with my mouth every morning, evening and night so that everyone knows you are mine.”

“Alpha,” you plead, “Let me look upon you.”

His tongue oscillates to and fro against your flesh before:

“No. I’m not done with you yet. You may look when I say you can. I want to admire you while I paint you. Now, obey me and sit atop of me until I’m finished.”

It’s as if your very blood responds to his order, for your body stills, your unbitten hand that had been playing in his hair untangling from the strands that you’d been carding it through to rest it on your lap.

You don’t see it, but he smirks as he pulls away and watches your own hand twitch in the loss of him.

His own fingers are gone for a moment, but it feels like an eternity before they are on you again. This time, his index and middle finger are joined side by side when they are laid along the bed of your flesh between your collarbones as he asks, “You want to touch me, don’t you?”

“So badly. Please let me,” you beg whilst his slippery, sticky digits descend down the exposed ‘v’ of your chest that your gown bears to him as he smears crimson along your flushed flesh.

He laughs deeply, and familiar heat stirs below your abdomen as the sound lowers with his fingers as the both of them veer around the side of your breast that peeks out from your bodice, his sharp nails grazing the underside of your mound before ascending back the way they came.

“Good, good… keep begging. Just like that, little one.”

You gasp and air isn’t necessary when his hand disappears under the bodice of your dress and, all at once, all five digits close around your tit, the thick fluid of his essence spread all over you as he utters, “I love everything about you, omega, but these breasts of yours,” he squeezes your mound and you squirm, “these are so fucking sexy. They fit perfectly in my hands like they were made just for me,” his other palm delves under the thin material that covers your chest and it, too, has been smeared in his blood as he palms at your other breast, your flesh pebbling under his touch as he says, “they are so round and firm. I can’t wait to take them into my mouth, to use them as a cocksleeve,” his fingers constrict around you and he groans when your hips buck against him, “And when you are ready to give me children,” each of his thumbs circles each of your nipples, your back arching at the action and your mate’s eyes scintillate darkly, “I shall enjoy lapping at these when they grow full of delicious milk that you’ll make because I got you pregnant. These beautiful breasts of yours are going to be so sore from how much I will suckle all the milk you have from them, little one.”

Your sex contracts around nothing and you cry out yet again.

“Jungkook,” you throw your head back when his nail pushes into your areola,” I c-can’t take much m-“

“You know,” his hands mercifully fall away from your tits, but not before he leaves a trail of blood and faint claw marks along your breasts, “And I know that you can take more because you were designed for me. You just need to get used to me, to this. And I plan on doing this,” His palms slew toward your sex even when they are still tucked under your gown and they don’t halt their descent as he utters, “On doing you very, very often.” His wrists knock against each other along the base of your loosely-fitting bodice in the slanted, angled course they’d made along your body.

“I’m, hah…” you are silenced when each thumb is crossed over the other to slather your exposed navel in his blood before each ascend where one retraces the curving, arcing designs he’s drawn along the left side of your upper half while his other hand adds its mate to the right part of your chest he’d left bare, your flesh prickling in his wake. “I am still sensitive, alpha.”

“You shall learn to like it, little one. Hedonism, you will find, makes you quite the insatiable little creature,” he flexes the thick muscle of his leg beneath you and you press your legs together, your sex contracting yet again around nothing as his hands part from you only for him to souse each of his fingertips in the blood pouring forth from the puckered flesh of his palm.

Five fingertips, each arranged in the shape of a paw, are pressed into the underpart of your wrists. “You are not used to being touched,” his digits don’t diverge from you, but instead converge closer together as he presses them to the underside of your elbow, “You are not used to being pleasured,” his fingers spread open as they slink upward along your shoulder, his lips claiming the tender spot behind your ear and suckling there as he mouths, “you are not familiar with being mounted and taken,” you moan at the thought and then a hot, wet tongue is on you as he sucks your flesh between his teeth until it is blushing in pink and purple, your cheeks turning fuchsia as he mutters, “but you will feel my body against yours so often,” his bitten, bloodied hand covers your ankle in a circlet of blood as he grabs it and in one quick movement, throws it around his waist, “and be brought to such satisfaction that you will not even be able to fathom what it was like to have gone without for so long.”

“Gods,” you whisper as he gently gnaws at your skin.

“Again you have said that name,” he clucks his tongue, “I believe I have already told you that the gods will not answer to you,” his ministrations halt and you whine when his mouth abandons you.

Dominance darkens his words, “You should not call for them, for they will not come for you. I will. Say it. Say my name.”

Your wolf lowers its head in submission.

“Jungkook,” you comply, “Alpha.”

“That’s correct,” His eyes follow his fingers when he reaches behind his back to slowly push your skirts up with one hand while one freshly wetted finger is pulled upward along your shin. “Only I can answer to your pleas and prayers now.”

He strokes your shinbone all the way up before veering sideways in a downward and arced motion along the left side of your shin and then the right with the brush that is his digit until he gets to your knee and traces the outside of it in crimson, a shudder shaking you when his hand is lost to the layers of fabric and then three digits wander astray along the soiled skin of your thigh.

Your alpha groans, “The gods cannot do this to you,” his crimson covered fingers glide easily along the slick that has entirely coated your flesh, “No other mortal man could do this to you.” His digits curve and curl upward as he draws nearer to where he’d had them minutes ago and you really can’t help yourself when you dig the heel of your foot against his back. “But I can.”

Your slick clings to his fingers until the tips of them are clad in your essence and when he drags them along the lips of your sex, you sigh shakily, “There, alpha, there-“

“Demanding, aren’t you?” He questions, his digits winding around your womanhood once, twice and then he streaks them over and across the flesh of your other thigh, your skirts hiding the lewd action for all but him as his tone darkens, “How does it feel to have my spit and blood right here, but not my cum?”

Your cheeks go aflame in the same heat that smolders your sex and you start to shift your position so you can bury your head in his neck, but you don’t make it far.

His hand is swift in grabbing at the hair along the back of your head and then pulling it, your back bending for him as he chides, “Ah, ah, ah, little one. You’ll ruin your pretty marks that I put on you. Once they dry, you may move.”

You whimper yet again.

Jungkook gives a wolfish grin, his fingers swathing your thigh in his blood in three downward slashes before his digits make their rounds around your knee. As he’d done with your other, his ministrations don’t stop until your shin is lined in red.

When his fingers desert you once more, his voice is there to embrace you.

“I’m almost done with you, omega.” One callused, bloodied finger is pressed into the notch along the base of your spine your open-backed gown has left bare for him. It is slow in its descent as it is dragged along each of your vertebrae as he says, “There is no part of you now that I have not touched or seen. What say you to that?”

“I’ve loved every second of it, but right now, I want your permission, alpha,” you suspire, his digit swaying once it reaches the tip of your spine in a spiraling motion that spans the entirety of the left side of your back.

“Permission for what?” He smirks knowingly.

His finger continues its dance along your back before it follows the bloodied path from which it came.

“Permission to look at you. To touch you.”

His finger doesn’t still as the same sensation is left upon you on the other side of your back as he asks, “What do you plan to do once I give you permission, omega?”

You lick at your lips.

“I suppose that is answer enough, but remember,” he’s careful not to mar you in any more blood when he takes your chin between his fingers to breathe, “You will tell me what you want with your words, omega.”

Your fingers find the lapels of his blazer and you urge it open even though your eyes are still closed, your preheat spell singing away your usual shyness as your entire being burns for him and you hardly even recognize your own voice when you tell him, “I should like to tear the rest of this shirt of yours off, alpha.”

His digits fall away from you and then the scent of iron is pungent in your nostrils as he brings his soiled hand inches from your lips as he orders, “Lick me, omega, and close these wounds of mine. Show me how good you are at obeying me and I will allow you to do what you wish.”

You stick your tongue out and your alpha growls when you flatten it against the palm of his hand and leave it there, your omegean saliva coating his wounds and closing them instantly.

“So compliant you are for me,” he praises as you let your tongue lift until it wraps around the longest of his fingers, “And so fucking tempting.” He pulls his hand from you, but even your saliva strings itself around his finger as if unwilling to let go as he commands, “Open your eyes, omega, and do what you will to me. You have earned it.”

Golden irises are the first to find you when your body, entirely without thought, responds to him.

The leg of yours that he’s wound around his waist instinctively closes tighter around him as you take him in, the dark tendrils of his hair arched seductively along his brows, his jawline sharp in the crimson moonlight as he stares wantonly at you.

Pure possession takes hold of you then.

“Alpha,” your hands ball the fabric of his blazer between them and you pull at them, “My alpha.”

“My omega,” he releases your chin and brings his arms down so that they hang loosely at his sides and you easily slide the blazer down his shoulders so that it joins your furs and neckband on the grassy floor in a heap.

“Your order to remain sightless this whole time…did you know what it would do to me?” You ask, your impulse to do unsightly things to the man in front of you overwhelming as the summer rain.

“Perhaps I did…Perhaps I didn’t,” he flicks a brow, “Maybe I just wanted to see how feral you’d become for me if any of your senses were denied of me.”

Headiness pumps through your very veins as you gaze up and down his form, desire latching onto you and nipping away at your better judgement as you take your index finger and bring it between both of you and both of you watch your nail sharpen and grow before you tell him, “I want you to take my wrist in your hand, alpha, and drag it down your chest until you’ve ripped your shirt in two using my hand to do it.”

“How risqué of you, my love,” his grins haughtily, his fingers closing around your wrist once more, “I love it.”

He does as you ask and is gentle in the way he coaxes your hand down, his fingers moving upward along your hand until he’s taken your index finger between two of his own and guides it down, the sheer ashen garment he’d been wearing easily shearing into two from his collarbone all the way down his abdomen.

“Take it off, alpha,” you demand.

“What if I say no?” He releases your hand, an amused expression lifting one of his lips.

“Then I’ll do it myself,” you decide, your other draping around his waist as if to keep him there.

You clutch the thin black material between each hand and it takes no effort at all to yank each side away from him so that it rolls down his arms and falls to the ground.

“Finally,” you whisper, your hands laying themselves over each defined, firm pectoral to leave a bloodied handprint and then there are five streaks that drip forth from that as you drag your digits down, down, down over corded muscle that is has been built over every inch of his body, your mouth watering at the feel of him and then your hands are sliding up along his waist, your fingers catching on the mountain of muscles that bedeck the landscape of his smooth skin even there and soon you are running your fingertips along his back-

“Slow down, my love.” He deeply directs, “I didn’t realize leaving you without visage of me for so long would afflict you the way it has. You’ve become needier. Not that I mind that, though. Matter of fact, I think it’s adorable.”

You whimper in answer.

“Whimper for me all you wish, my love, but you have become impatient,” his hand seizes both of your own and he holds them in front of you only to lean close, “and you know what happens when you let impatience take over you. You get disciplined.”

You whine in anticipation.

“You’re lucky that my marks have dried, love, or else I’d have turned you over on my knee and given them to you another way.” He utters, his fingers squeezing yours between them. Like this, your digits press against one another until all are smattered in red whilst even more of your own blood trickles along your mate’s wrist and branches along the protruding veins that bulge in his ministrations.

“I-I…I’m sorry, alpha, please forgive me,” you look up at him from under a fan of dark lashes, your instincts harking you to submit to the male.

He hums, “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear,” he releases you and sits back on his haunches, the new position affording you both of his thighs to sit back on instead of his one as he plants his hands on your hips to say, “Go on, then, omega. I shall forgive this since you are nearing your first heat. It is hard to control one’s urges as powerful as those are during your first time.”

“Thank you, alpha,” you lower your head in submission.

“Of course, omega,” his thumbs sweep themselves along your hips,” Now take your time marking me as I did you. I want you to remember this,” he resituates you until you are sat astride his clothed length, “Remember what it was like to see at what I did to you, omega, while you feel what you did to me. Now look at yourself, my love. Look at what I did to you.”

You do as you are told, a gasp leaving you as you look down at your chest, legs and arms. All over you is an impressively drawn scarlet filigree that reminds you of vines that stretch all across and over your skin.

The fingerprints he’d left on your arms resemble leaves that had fallen gracefully from the autumn boughs of oak trees you had loved to rest under during the latter, cooler months of the year when a howl had drawn you out of your den during the night and out into the woodland for hours at a time in your search to find its owner before peaceful sleep took you by your favorite creek while golden irises had looked after you from under the canopy of the oaken trees.

The very same trees you always used to meet him under in your dreams.

He’d never approached you until you were ready. Until the gods had decided you were ready.

He'd been your silent, yet watchful protector all this time and the shadows had been his home while he’d waited within them to ensure you were safe always.

Mischievousness slumbers and sincerity awakens within him when he says, “I never could tell you before, but the first time I saw you sleeping under that oak tree in the woodland when you were younger…I thought you must have been a goddess that had been sent from above. I never believed in love at first sight, but ever since that day, Y/N, I was hopelessly and utterly gone for you.” He confesses. “What you feel underneath you right now…that has never happened when I thought about anyone else. And I surely could never be with anyone else when my thoughts were only ever of you.”

His attention was warm as the sun, yet his touch could be gentle as a spring shower or hot as a winter fire. And his words…they were like the ocean tide that swept fluidly over your dried skin that could only be quenched in its wake.

Upon fate bringing you to him, you had never known happiness such as it was when you were with him and leapt through your chest while your heart danced with love for him.

Tears well up at the edges of your eyes, but it is fondness for him that draws them down and as the haze of lust is cleared away.

“Jungkook, you,” you try again, “I’m no goddess. I can’t sing or dance as you do… I cannot paint or hunt like-“

“Enough,” he puts a finger to your mouth, “I will not hear it. You are perfect the way you are. You may not realize it, but you are good at a great many things,” he shakes his head before your lips can move, “and I will remind you of that as often as I have to if that is what it takes for you to believe that. You were mistreated, if only briefly, by other omegas when you were smaller simply because they could never hope to possess what you have,” he kisses the tip of your nose as you bring your hands to his shoulders, your fingers closing around the thick muscle there as you peer up at him with vulnerability that tries to hide in your eyes as he asserts, “beauty,” he tucks some of your fallen strands from around your face behind your ear, “power,” his knuckles trail along your jaw, “intelligence, “his fingertips trace along your lip, “and of course, kindness, compassion and loyalty to your people. It is these things, among many others, that drew me to you, my love.”

You smile at him, love’s roots seeping even deeper within your being as your hands leave trails of red down his arms as you admit, “I love you, alpha. I wish I could show you how much I do with my marks, but I’ve never been very skilled with drawing things.”

Your mate croons, “I used to watch you try, you know. When you went to the forest and you had that sketchbook tucked inside that black cow hide bag that I asked your father to give to you in my stead.”

Tenderness buds within you as you ask, “You saw even that, huh?”

“They were very good stick figures, my love. I liked them very much. Just like I like you very much.”

“Could you…” you swallow, your cheeks turning even fiercer a red, “when this is all over, could you teach me to draw like this?” You let your eyeline follow the designs on you that your alpha had made before they return to your mate, your own hands lathering the underside of his arms in linear streaks of four like you’d done to the other side, “I want to paint on you like this one day.”

“I could never deny you, my love. You know that.”

You relish the sound he makes when your fingers drag down the back of his shoulders, each of your ring fingers marrying each other as they are joined along the cleft of his spine that dips in the middle as your hands descend while your other digits leave claw-like blotches down his back.

“I like the way that feels, my omega,” he rumbles out, the vibrations thrumming against your fingers as they bear down on his flesh to leave four thin scarlet lines slewing his skin on each side of his back, a thick one lining his vertebrae.

“It…probably doesn’t feel as good for you as did for me,” you blurt, your hands abandoning him before you press them against dried, dark trail of blood decorating his pectoral muscles and bring them upward, your digits opening wider as they ascend his neck, “I do not know very well how to please you, but you told me you would show me.”

“You are a natural, my love. You made me cum so hard earlier when you took me into your mouth for the first time,” his eyes close and he lets his head fall back when you spread your digits, each of your index fingers staining the column of his neck scarlet, his Adam’s apple bobbling as you pass over it, “ and even when you are not sucking me off like a dutiful little omega, you do make me feel nice. And these marks that you are giving me,” he pauses, his teeth coming down onto his tongue when your hands separate and each of your middle fingers rubs along the oily gland pulsing along his mastoid, “I am more than satisfied with them all because it is you that is drawing them.”

You realize what you’ve done and a sudden spurt of possessiveness has you smearing them entirely in crimson, your digits daubing at each gland that leaks of a secretion made entirely for you just as your own do for him as he groans, “Watch what you are doing, omega. I shall not be responsible for what happens to your gown if you keep doing that.”

His words are like liquid confidence and you drink them greedily.

You leave bloody remnants in your wake as your fingers tread onward along his chin while you quietly prod, “Is it my fingers you like or the promise of what they will do under your instruction, alpha?” your digits climb along the angular slopes along his cheeks as you whisper so small that even the wind has trouble hearing you as you admit, “because under your direction, I would do whatever you told me to.”

He tilts his head to the side, a lilt rising along both edges of his lips as he chuckles, the sound causing heat to churn in your core as your digits each etch crimson under his eyes that darken at your promise.

“Do not get me ruminating on what those fingers of yours could do, omega,” he says as your fingertips brush along his brows in their ascent only for your bloodied nails to lightly graze his temples as he utters, “I have had more than enough time to conjure up many, many fantasies and you can make a few of them a reality within the next few minutes.”

Your breath hitches and your sex clenches around nothing.

Your alpha knows. He can smell it. Can hear your shallow breaths.

He slants his head even further to the side, his teeth taking your lip between them as he teases, “You are becoming quite the lascivious little thing, aren’t you, little one? You just had my fingers inside you and all over you and yet,” his teeth burrow into the soft pillow of your lip until iron bursts all over his lip and eagerly, he laps at it, “yet you yearn for something else, do you not?”

There’s an unamused scoff behind you.

Someone else snorts.

It is Taehyung that jeers, “As revolting as this is to watch, I’ve had about all I can take. Can we get the battle for the omega started already? She stinks of the Pack Alpha and it is making me sick.”

Your alpha rises from his knees with you still held against his chest, his expression one of cockiness as taunts, “What, are you jealous, boy? I must say, I am enjoying this very much.”

“Prick,” Taehyung mutters.

“Say that again,” Jungkook sets you down carefully and holds one arm behind for you to grasp onto so that you can steady your weakened legs as he lifts his chin, “Be a little louder this time, boy, so that we might all hear what you have to say. Surely you would not have the gall to call me such a name when I nearly tore your arm from its socket a few hours ago.”

Taehyung remains silent. Jimin says nothing, but snickers behind the other wolf.

It is Yoongi that speaks next, though his eyes do not leave you as he gibes, “You really are quite shameless, aren’t you, Jeon? Would you care to tell us where you marked her? Surely you did not just play around with her skirts for the past few minutes, did you?”

Your alpha peers back at you, warmth seeping through your chest as he licks at his fangs and stares hotly at you as he goads, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Your cheeks burn like a wildfire and suddenly your soiled thighs ache all the more.

There’s the banging of heavy canes and staffs against the wooden stage as the elders call out the young wolves before you and then your grandmother steps forward, the brown furs around her shoulders swishing in the movement as her arms stretch out towards you while she asks, “Omega Y/N, it appears you have finished with the Smearing of your alpha and he, too, has concluded the second of his mating rites with you following the Offering he has bestowed upon you. The third and final part of these rites would be the Duels of the Chosen,” she looks to Jungkook and a silent understanding is met between them as his irises leave you for a second before they return to you before she continues, “As it stands, the Pack Alpha remains your champion that you have selected to fight for you so that he may join your side after a test of his strength with the other wolves that would try to win you from him. Am I correct in this assumption?”

You grip hard onto your alpha’s forearm and, at the tightening of your fingers around him, his eyes flit all over your form as they flounder with worry before they soften to gaze down upon you.

You look up at him and affection whirls within you as you say, “You are correct, Lead Elder. In all things you have said, you are right. My decision is and will always be Jeon Jungkook. There could not possibly be any other.”

Your grandmother gestures to another elder with greyed locks and a hunched stature before she hobbles back, a line of aged wolves following her down each side of the stage while the lone female elder speaks from atop it.

“Pack Omega Y/N, as you are the reason for these trials being held, you must now be restrained so that you do not interfere with the battles per the rulings of our ancestors in the tomes passed down to us on the ways of the wolf.”

The words are barely out before a loud, violent hiss rattles the very air into timid silence.

You don’t realize it is you that had been making it until your alpha’s lips latch onto yours and he swallows the sound until you’re purring.

He’s slow in the way he slides his tongue between the lips that you part easily for him and your breath ebbs into him as he strokes the cavern of you that he could spend all his days exploring.

The wet undulations of his tongue and smacking of his lips against yours deafen you to the footsteps that approach you and when you close your eyes and suck his tongue into your mouth, that’s when he growls, his mouth detaching from yours as he pants, “You do not wish to be separated from me.”

It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No,” you heave, “anything but that. I cannot just sit while you-“

“You said you wanted to please me earlier.” He reminds, “you would please me greatly if you listened to me and let the elders do what they must with you.”

You pout, “I don’t want anyone to touch me but you.”

Your alpha utters lowly, “That can be arranged, omega,” he slants his head to the side as he nears your neck only to inhale, “because I am averse to anything beyond myself laying a hand on you.” He respires and draws out his breath, warm air caressing the tender spot behind your ear as he says, “You exude, emit and emanate entirely the essence of your alpha from every bit of you with my spit and blood all over you,” his tongue flicks against your earlobe, “That body of yours belongs to me now, omega. And I will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

The cluster of aged female wolves led by your grandmother surround you, but before anyone can lay a hand on you, there’s a guttural snarl as your mate’s bloodied lips lift over sharp teeth, “As pack alpha,” his eyes flash,” I order you all to keep your hands off of my mate. You cannot contain her,” his long fingers to find their place on your waist before he draws one up along the side of your body, up your neck and finally settling on your cheek and you lean into his touch, your lips pressing against his palm as he stares only at you with golden irises, “For she will respond only to the one she recognizes as her alpha."

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” your grandmother concedes, “You know what you have to do. I have kept these as you requested,” she holds her arms up, your alpha’s attention falling onto the small, ornately carved wooden boxes that the elders each carry past him. “Now it is time for you to give them to her.”

You cock your head at them.

The elders amble toward the foot of the thick tree trunk that rises from the ground for three feet before winding back and around in a timbered throne the first omegas sat upon to bear witness to the trials their alphas would go through for them.

Jungkook’s voice sets your blood alight, his touch warming your flesh as he swipes his thumb along your cheek to quietly utter, “You must be good for your alpha now, my love,” he nearly groans when he watches your tongue slip from between your lips to lick at the dried blood streaking his thumb when he makes the mistake of dragging it too close to your lips, his hand tightening on your waist as he tilts your head up, your mouth hovering far too close to his as he parts his lips to mutter, “Bear it for me, my mate. Be a good little omega and obey me when I say that you will sit there and watch me battle for you. Heed my order,” he slots his lips over yours yet never touches them to your own and when you try to connect them, his hand falls from your cheek, one index finger pressed against your mouth while his other digits grip your jaw in an obvious show of possession as he leans close, “And after this is over, I will take you in my bed, against the wall, over the table, on the fucking floor,” his tongue pushes against his cheek when you wrap yours around his digit, his fingers folding even tighter into your jaw in warning, “You’ll succumb every single time and I’ll fuck that heat out of you until you cannot even hold yourself up to present to me. But that can only come if you submit to my will. If you yield to me.”

“I want to stay with you,” you whimper as he backs you up.

“You will stay where I command you to, my love,” his voice ripples with authority as he leans close, “do as I tell you. Remember the oath I made to you, omega. I’ll give everything I have to come back to you.”

“I cannot just leave you, alpha-“ your voice is devoured by his lips that he slams against yours when he pushes you back, your spine hitting the curved edge of the wood as his hands find themselves on your hips to pull them against him.

“You can and you will. Your alpha demands it and my omega will do as I say.”

“But-“

“Careful, little one,” He’s rough with you and nips at the spot he’d bitten earlier along your lip as one of his hands rises to grasp the nape of your neck and in one quick movement, he’s yanked your head back to expose your neck in a show of possession as he growls,” you wouldn’t want to disobey me in front of all these other wolves, now, would you? I can promise that I will ensure you are reprimanded and punished later if you choose to undermine me here, my love.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes narrow heatedly and he utters low with his lips prey upon your scent gland that juts out along the side of your throat,” I should discipline you now for such insubordination,” his lips lock themselves around your scent gland and he dares to suck your skin between his teeth, his tongue flicking against your flesh as you moan aloud for all the wolves around you to hear whilst your eyes fall closed in surrender to him as he mutters,” Or shall I show you what happens when you misbehave and make you listen to me? And make you submit to me?”

His earthen scent spreads more insistently under your nostrils, your muscles releasing as his pheromones filter through and permeate you until the tenseness that had been tautening you is drawn out of you as golden eyes stare fixatedly down at you.

“Do it,” you cave, “Make me. If you do not, I will only cry out for you until you return to my side. I won’t be able to help it,” your cheeks warm under the heat of his gaze as you admit, “the bond…it has grown too strong and my heat…it will soon take me over. I need you, alpha.”

The chuckle that fills the air is dripping in dominance.

“Then I command you to sit before me, omega.”

Your very blood stops to listen to his words. It’s as if it flows to a different heart in the way your body responds and but a second passes before you are sat atop the timbered perch in front of him.

He’d given you orders before, but none like this. None where his eyes were turned black as the sky and his voice became dark as the shadows that wound around him like he was the very god of the night.

Your alpha stands tall, his eyes drifting down your shorter frame while you stare up at him.

“I command you to remain in this spot,” his hand retreats from you and you whine when he crouches, your eyes following him in his descent as he peers at the largest of the carved wooden boxes before glancing with interest at you. “And I command you not to resist me while I chain you to this oaken throne using silver forged by own hand.”

It is as if his voice shackles itself to your very bones that lock into place, your heart pounding in your chest when each of his arms shoot out so that both cage you into him as his tone deepens, “Do not worry, little one,” his pink tongue slides along his lips as dark eyes trap you. “I’ll be gentle. For now,” he makes a sound of consideration, “though, you do seem to like it rough.”

#jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #dom!jungkook #werewolf!jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts #alpha!jungkook #bts abo #jungkook hot #alpha omega bts #alpha jungkook x omega reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader

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colormepurplex2 · 12 hours

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Okay I did not expect that many 😵

And so many read hot af that I don't know where to start!!

Number 11 + 17 + 18 (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) + 5 😋

💜

My Lucy! You know, I didn't expect that many either...it wasn't until I sat down and started going through them that I realized it, I could have sworn it was only at like 25 last time I checked 😂

Okay, so...this is going to be a long one and so all the good stuff is below the cut! I'm going to include the graphics I've made for some of these as well 💜 5. Bounce/JHS 11. FF10: Dare Me To Eat You 17. PULSE/Maknaevamp 18. On Blades of Amethyst & Echoes

ALSO, please be aware there ARE spoilers below as well, esp for FF10: Dare Me To Eat You.

5. Bounce/JHS

This is part of my Heartbeat Melodies series (where I am writing 1 fic based on a song for each BTS member. So far, I've gotten Jin's and Yoongi's done and posted).

The song for this fic is Bounce by Timbaland. StreetDancer!Hoseok x StreetDancer!f.Reader Rivals to Lovers, Street Dance Competition

In the underground dance scene, it's all about the crew you move with; body, mind, soul...no room for the heart. That is, until you find yourself dancing to the tune of someone else's beat.

The cardboard under your foot grew wet, soaking up the sleuth of water from the sudden downpour a moment ago. It was as if the sky opened up to remind you just how quickly it can all be washed away—the blood, sweat, and tears—so you're left with a clean slate. You watched as water dripped from the tip of J's nose. He was standing across the pit from you, hands on his narrow hips, and chest heaving from the exertion of the performance he put on before the sky took its turn. J was new to the scene, a fresh face trying to find his place—trying to find a crew. He's good—too good. Maybe if you had known that day, how things would go in the end, you would never have walked away. As it is, you gave him one more once over before turning on your heel and doing just that. Not because you didn't want him to join your crew, but because you were scared that he'd be the catalyst for you losing it all. Little did you know, that would happen anyway.

11. FF10: Dare Me To Eat You

The graphic for this one is already available on the Master Post. This is chapter 10 of my ongoing fic Fickle Flame and it's currently over a year behind in being posted, oops 😂😅

OT7 x FemOC & OT7 x OT7 Vampire/Werewolf/A/B/O Dystopian AU, Enemies/Lovers

“You want me to speak plainly?” Namjoon bites out, the words caustic behind clamped teeth. “I’m going to pump you so full of vampire venom you won’t have a choice but to turn into one! Satisfied?” There is a ringing in Shayne’s ears. It’s so loud she’s not sure she heard Namjoon correctly. She opens her mouth, intent on asking him to repeat his words, but saliva pools under her tongue, and the muscle seems far too thick to fit around her teeth. If it wasn’t for the air whistling down her throat, she’d almost believe she was choking. The words won’t form. They refuse to slip from between her lips. A vampire. He wants to turn her into a vampire. “No.” Finally, a word slithers out. She repeats it, letting it pour out in a stringed litany of denial. “No, no, no, no, no—" Her world rocks alarmingly as Namjoon jerks her around to face him, his hand still tight on her upper arm and the other closing over her mouth, cutting off her tirade. He towers over her, a formidable presence of sheer power. There is a flash of yellow in his eyes, the irises taking on a tinge of red as it passes. “You are the first inkling of hope we’ve had in nearly three decades.” He takes a slow, deep breath. “You will not fight me.”

17. PULSE/Maknaevamps

Vampire!MaknaeLine x Human!f.Reader Futuristic Urban Fantasy Thriller, Vampires

This is what I have down in my notes "It’s a futuristic sci fi setting, imagine like cyberpunk 2077 or a bit of Tron. But the underbelly of the city is dark and insidious, as one would guess. The maknae’s are like mercenaries of a sort, meting out their own taste of justice to people pushing a drug called Pulse that’s like vampire cocaine that’s turning vampires feral. The FMC gets caught up in the drug trading and ends up being caught by them."

There is a lot more to it, but that would give away the entire plot altogether 😂 I've honestly been frothing at the mouth of wanting to get started on this. I don't even have a snippet to share because all I have so far are my outline notes and bulleted plot points.

18. On Blades of Amethyst & Echoes

Dragon Rider!Yoongi x Psion!f.Reader Strangers to Lovers, High Fantasy Summary: The horizon blazes the color of amethyst, an ode to a coming death that will sweep the land if you don’t stop it. Secrets long hidden are revealed, but they come at a steep cost, as you have no choice but to follow the echoes of things long since past.

This, of course, is a follow-up to JK's story, On Wings of Mist & Memories.

I don't have a lot of finished content for this, just mostly giant walls of text/notes from my frantic brainstorming when I finished JK's story 😂 But, I can share a little of the notes, even if it won't make sense at all. Be aware that I have named JK's FMC from his story for the sake of story writing but have removed her name from this snippet of notes 👀

JK’s Psion travels with JK and Yoongi, who is now the captain of the guard, to go and investigate the mountain range border and figure out why reports have stopped coming from the outposts. They find all manner of soldiers frozen/suspended in time, the only indicator or trace of what happened is a distinct purple dust that clings to everything. Yoongi's FMC is another Psion, one with a secret and a past she is trying to run from. She's also the only person they find NOT frozen by the mysterious purple dust. Yoongi has so many questions, like 'Where did she come from? Why is she here at a military outpost when no Psion has been assigned to this quadrant?' And he's going to get the answers...no matter what it takes.

#wip tag game #bts tag game #colormepurplex2writings

11 notes · View notes

kay-jaye · 1 month

Text

apology dance (1650's version)

for my dear @lillioba. thanks for inspiring me to write this! 6k words of blood, sweat, tears, two mental breakdowns, and tons of historical research. i might be starting the whole "i was wrong dance" series. i've got plans.

we could have lived this dance forever by kayjaye (T)

“You know,” Aziraphale said, hushed tone drawing the demon’s gaze, “in regards to forbidden things, well, there’s always the…underground scene.” “Underground,” repeated Crowley. “Sounds hellish.” “No, not like—” Aziraphale glanced around them, aware of his voice resuming normal volume, then fell back into a whisper. “Not like Hell.” “Aziraphale, are you enlisting me to engage in an illegal theatrical gathering?” “I was simply asking if you’d care to join me for a show, dear.” * Or 1650 presents...Underground theater, the Adultery Act, and an apology dance. Starring: - Aziraphale “the Puritans made me do it” Fell AND - Anthony J“who said lust was my specialty?” Crowley

read on ao3 or here!

*****

“Are you even listening to me, Crowley?”

Crowley took a swig of his drink—or it could’ve been Aziraphale’s drink for all he knew. It was alcoholic (that was what mattered), tasting distinctly of fruit, but unlike any wine or sherry he’d known Aziraphale to frequent.

He scolded the smile off his face, hiding its stubborn remains behind the rim of the beaker. “By default, certainly not the one doing the talking right now.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a disapproving glare before folding, unfolding, and folding his hands on the table. The pub was at half capacity, but no one paid much attention to the copious number of beverages served in their direction.

Crowley didn’t plan on running into Aziraphale in London. In fact, Crowley tried very hard not to make a habit of planning on the angel at all, but the shreds of hope were tolerable and, more importantly, excusable. He wouldn’t be too let down, and they wouldn’t have to recognize the blatant defiance against their respective sides that came with scheduling meetings. Coincidence was safer.

Poetic, even.

“Those damn Puritans,” mumbled Aziraphale.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Rather blasphemous,” he mused. “Are they? Damned?”

“You— I mean, theaters, Crowley, really? What’s the point in shutting down entertainment? And during war? Sometimes, it’s as if they want to be as miserable as humanly possible.” Aziraphale searched the table for a moment, spotted the cup in Crowley’s hands, and slumped forward. “It’s not—”

“Fair?”

Aziraphale sighed. “What’s not fair is you polishing off the rest of my drink.”

“It was on me anyway,” Crowley said. “I’ll get you another.”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

Staring at the being in front of him, Crowley pointedly set the cup down. “Seems you’ve got plenty of dramatics to make up for the lack thereof,” he said, not as successful at hiding his amusement this time.

Crowley knew Aziraphale’s grievances were partly rooted in the simple pleasure of having someone to tell them to. As soon as he received news about the Puritan ban on public stage plays, the likelihood of a vexed angel appearing increased tenfold. Not that he kept track of the events he was sure Aziraphale would have words for, but when they did happen to run into each other, he was extremely pleased with the accuracy of his subconscious guesses to the real thing. Wasn’t very demonic of him to take pride in how well he knew an angel, but he could blame the snake in him for wanting to see just how unangelic he could make said angel as he registered his complaints.

“It’s been years!” Aziraphale threw his hands up, finally attracting the eyes of a few patrons across the pub.

“No need to lose your head about it, angel. Would hate to see you end up like ex-King Charlie,” Crowley said as he stretched his arms and collapsed back against the chair. “And it’s been eight years. We’ve been around for—”

“So you’re counting too.”

A snort escaped him as he lounged deeper. “Only because in 1642, you stormed in to fuss about good ol’ Willy’s forced retirement.”

“I did not storm—”

“Oh, it was a great storm. Plenty of lightning.”

“Or fuss—”

“I would’ve argued he stepped down in 1616, you know, when he—”

“Good Lord.”

“Careful,” warned Crowley. “She might actually answer you one day.”

He was afraid he’d taken it too far when Aziraphale didn’t respond with some version of quick-witted chastisement. If Crowley blinked more often, he would’ve missed the once-over from Aziraphale, as though the angel were just now realizing they were in each other’s company. He was about to say something—not of any comprehensive language, maybe an indecipherable noise caught in the back of his throat he could play off as a change in conversation—but Aziraphale wore this loaded expression on his face, and Crowley refrained from interrupting, keen on hearing whatever thought had Aziraphale’s jaw set in such a way.

Then he shook his head. “You are insufferable,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nudged the empty cup lightly across the table, humming, “You must be fond of suffering, then.”

…And that was his cue, a sign that he’d had too much and needed to call it a day—a night—how long had they been here? The sun dipped lower without him noticing, light collecting in a slim orange line at the bottom of the nearest window. Thank Someone, Crowley had yet to reach the point of drunkenness that loosened his tongue and left him completely oblivious to it. So far, just the former, and he could work with that.

“Not of suffering, no,” came Aziraphale’s rebuttal.

Crowley’s mouth twitched at the carefully placed denial, and he wondered if it had been purposefully crafted to sound more like a confession instead. With that statement, Aziraphale seemed to lay something out on the table, but when Crowley looked down, there was nothing except the angel’s hands, still folded far too prim and proper for someone who’d drunk his fair share tonight.

But like every time Aziraphale waved this olive branch in front of him, doubt swallowed Crowley. He could be mistaken. It could be any other plant-based stem. He was undeniably selfish when it came to this particular temptation, and even so, Crowley could not bring himself to reach out and take it, in diametric contradiction to his nature, concerned with doing the “right” thing (not by Her standards, mind you; by a mostly rule-following bastard, if anyone) and remaining complacent in speaking with words capable of passing undetected.

If not that, angel, what are you fond of?

It was a question that could not receive an answer, he knew that.

Hesitant to end the night but equally at a loss for excuses to prolong it, Crowley sat up and gestured for their cups to be retrieved. By the time the table was cleared and Crowley had slipped back into his jacket, Aziraphale worked up the nerve to say what he’d conceivably been trying to say all evening.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, hushed tone drawing the demon’s gaze, “in regards to forbidden things, well, there’s always the…underground scene.”

“Underground,” repeated Crowley. “Sounds hellish.”

“No, not like—” Aziraphale glanced around them, aware of his voice resuming normal volume, then fell back into a whisper. “Not like Hell.”

Crowley took his time inhaling, well-practiced at feigning impassivity, for the sake of testing whether Aziraphale had it in him to address a request directly. He leaned forward, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand, and cocked his head, fully committed to just as much dramatic flair as his counterpart.

“Aziraphale, are you enlisting me to engage in an illegal theatrical gathering?”

Aziraphale smiled, and his hands finally unclasped. “I was simply asking if you’d care to join me for a show, dear.”

Thank Someone for his glasses; Crowley didn’t want to think about how his eyes lit up at the mere suggestion. His reply was the same as it had been since Rome, even if Crowley tacked on, “Because it’d be a shame to miss an angel partaking in unlawful activity,” in the interest of saving some face.

Following Aziraphale out, Crowley nodded his thanks as he ducked past the angel holding the door for him. They walked in step, the evening quiet blurring into the background.

With an excited, tipsy lilt, though sober enough to avoid stumbling when he walked, Aziraphale recounted how he knew the venue host. A noise of acknowledgement forced itself from the demon’s throat, but he couldn’t recite the name of the English nobleman funding the illicit show or explain how Aziraphale obtained access to such private affairs if prompted. Crowley’s attention waned in favor of watching Aziraphale slip his fingers beneath his shirt collar, tugging the fabric to rub his neck. Crowley swallowed, told himself it was the stitching that was admirable and nothing else.

The outside certainly didn’t look like any theater Crowley had ever attended, granted he didn’t usually note the architecture of the places Aziraphale coerced him into. Unlike the Globe, this one promised a complete roof. Initially mistaken for any regular tavern or pub, a brick arch preceded the pillar-lined entryway suitable for a respectable manor. Aziraphale led them through a maze of hallways, and Crowley blankly surrendered to either requiring Aziraphale’s assistance or a literal miracle if he intended to leave this labyrinth. Finally, they came across a young man standing guard outside a pair of ajar ballroom doors.

If you considered his thin frame and fidgety disposition guard-worthy characteristics, that is.

“Mr. Fell, glad to see you could make it,” he addressed the angel.

“As am I, Walter,” said Aziraphale, cheery as ever.

The man turned to Crowley, suddenly apprehensive. “And you, sir…?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale cut in, leaning forward as if to tell a secret. Crowley half expected to see the angel’s giddy wiggle at anything remotely sneaky. “He’s with me.”

That, though…that was not what he was expecting.

Despite his best efforts, Crowley fought a losing battle in the struggle to maintain a stoically cool expression. Shock? Or satisfying pride? At least his jaw didn’t hit the floor. It was strikingly far from He’s not my friend. We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.

And it was altogether so easy to misconstrue:

He’s with me. We’re together. How silly to think otherwise.

A pregnant pause before Crowley noticed Aziraphale looking at him, waiting for…ah, yes. He extended a hand blindly in Walter’s direction and forcibly dragged his heavy gaze away from the angel.

Not quick enough to avoid narrowing blue.

“A friend of Mr. Fell’s,” he said matter-of-factly, and perhaps a bit indulgently. “Anonymity is essential at these types of things, is it not?”

Walter smiled and shook his hand. Something about that little human gesture always tickled Crowley when he was on the other end of it. A deal with…well, not the devil, but by association, sure. His returning smile was more amused than pleased to meet, and Aziraphale knew exactly why. If the admonishing eye-roll, accompanied by a soft laugh, pivoting into a muffled cough, and then an attempt to clear his throat, was any indication.

While Aziraphale exchanged pleasantries with Walter, Crowley took the opportunity to peek into what he assumed was the house, surprised to find a large audience already sitting. A candle-lit chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting overhead light along with the sconces on the walls, punctuating each row of seats. The stage itself appeared brighter, most likely the work of reflectors.

Crowley was impressed, not only with the set design but also with the number of people willing to face fines for attending clandestine performances.

Hell probably loved all the rule-breaking.

Likewise, Heaven probably loved the Puritan devotion to having no fun.

The ghost of Aziraphale’s hand appeared, hovering just above the small of Crowley’s back, not touching but burning all the same. “Ready?” Aziraphale whispered behind him.

Crowley bit down, his focus solely on resisting the urge to lean back and close the distance, forgo dancing flames and feel the fire firsthand. Such an effort required utmost concentration, so if the noise Crowley made sounded strained, it was purely because he’d forgotten to breathe.

As they settled in their seats, the ambient murmur of conversation gradually tapered off, drowned out by the resonant thud of the closing doors echoing through the theater. Crowley folded his glasses into his pocket, now concealed in dim darkness where attention would undoubtedly be centered on the stage. An anticipatory silence enveloped the room, broken as an actor dashed into view, waving a letter in his hands and declaring word from Don Pedro.

One of the funny ones, then. Crowley was just relieved it wasn’t a tragedy.

The play progressed smoothly into its second act with practiced precision, succeeding yet again at impressing the demon. Periodically, he observed Aziraphale’s reactions to the parts that elicited laughter from the crowd, and he was met with the same angel delight present during the premiere some 40 years ago.

That is, until the abrupt scene change. He’d heard of improv before, but introducing a completely new character seemed like a stretch.

“Oi, Thomas!”

A man emerged on stage.

Crowley leaned forward for a better look at the newcomer striding across the floor, and next to him, Aziraphale straightened as well.

“Is there a Thomas in this one?” Crowley whispered, glancing at Aziraphale, but the confusion was obvious in creased white-blond eyebrows, too. He could’ve sworn this was Much Ado About Nothing. Like the actor evidently named Thomas, Aziraphale shook his head in puzzled bewilderment.

Benedick-now-Thomas took a step back, managing a shaky, “Henry?” before the advancing man reached his target and responded with a rough shove against the actor’s shoulders.

“You knave! You slept with Catherine.”

A murmur rippled through the audience.

“I don’t remember this part,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley spared another glimpse at the angel focused on the unfolding scene, an uncertain crowd waiting for things to make sense. It was a familiar feeling—trouble brewing, boiling under the surface; he was used to being the cause of it, however. Crowley crossed his arms and relaxed back into his seat.

They came for a show. A show it would be.

“Catherine?” Thomas said. “Your wife? By God, Henry, I didn’t—”

“You may be on a stage, but don’t act daft,” said Henry. Balled fists were enough of a threat to send Thomas knocking into props. “Just last night, I saw you and that bedswerver enter the Star Inn together.”

The other actors stood awkwardly, some peeking offstage for further instruction but ultimately conflicted on how to react to the sudden intrusion. Crowley saw several audience members whispering to each other.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Thomas insisted.

Henry glared at the man with a curled lip so ugly, Crowley could make out the sneer from where he was sitting. “I ought to have this place shut down,” said Henry, “but I’m sure you’re aware of the price of adultery these days, fitting as it is.”

Commotion buzzed through the audience again.

“You’d have them execute your own wife?!”

“She ceased to be that the moment you had her.”

“I haven’t, Henry, I wouldn’t—”

Crowley turned toward Aziraphale, ready to make a comment about drama writing itself, a callback to the world being a stage or the world being an oyster (oysters were a touchy subject for Crowley…as in they kindled a stifling desire for touch), but the angel had gone stock-still. No more craning his neck for a better view, just frozen silence pulling the ends of his mouth down.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale stared straight ahead, but Crowley suspected he wasn’t actually looking at anything anymore, rather thinking with his eyes open. “It was me,” Aziraphale said, barely audible.

“What was you?”

“I was the one who met with her.”

Crowley blanched. Snakes are cold-blooded creatures, but the ice flowing through his veins was an entirely new sensation.

“You” —think of a different word, think of a better word, there are so many other words— “fucked her?”

It was almost comical, the seconds between the time it took Aziraphale to register Crowley’s question. His distracted stupor morphed into panic as he zeroed in on the demon, and Crowley received a pair of wide eyes mirroring his own. He witnessed the angel’s frantic grapple for words that hit a blockade and went down the wrong pipe. Even in the low lighting, the rosy hue of flushed cheeks and burnt ears stood out as Aziraphale choked on his reply.

Meanwhile, Crowley was busy trying to wrap his head around the image of Aziraphale engaging in…ngk, let’s not go there.

To Aziraphale’s mouth, currently agape in alarm, but reminiscent of what else those lips might part for. To Aziraphale’s fingers slithering farther than just his shirt collar. To Aziraphale’s hands and their branding heat. To Aziraphale’s insatiable hunger for food that must surely translate to other mortal appetites.

And even worse, the softer fantasies. The love wafting off in waves. The “my dear” pressed into bare skin. The assurance of never hitting the ground again. Arms so safe they could make a demon forget what falling feels like.

Had he ever really stopped? Was he still plummeting through layers of ozone and dirt? Did the stomach-sinking, wings-burning, halo-shattering ache ever disappear, or was he merely used to the eternal descent?

Used to being dropped.

And there it was at its core—yearning to be held. Crowley didn’t know how he knew, but unforgivable as he was, damned and disowned, he knew.

Aziraphale would hold and hold and hold.

He was probably that kind of lover; he was an angel, after all.

An angel.

Holy fuck. He was an angel who made an effort—

“No!” hissed Aziraphale.

Most of the audience had resorted to shifting in their seats, peering around the room and filling the space with growing chatter after Henry marched off stage and Thomas darted in the other direction. The remaining actors floundered until someone announced a brief interlude.

Aziraphale floundered too before grabbing Crowley’s wrist. “Come on,” he said, and they filed out of the theater with a few other deserters.

Crowley kept his thoughts to himself as Aziraphale hauled them outside where the temperature had noticeably dipped. The angel halted, surveyed the area, too paranoid to be inconspicuous, then walked farther down the street to turn the corner with Crowley in tow.

Now alone, the atmosphere felt as surreptitious as public stage plays.

“I didn’t—” Aziraphale said, finally releasing his grip on Crowley.

The demon waited.

Aziraphale crumbled into a pout. “...with her. I didn’t—We didn’t do that.”

“So you didn’t fuck her?”

“Really, there’s no need to be crass.” Aziraphale took a breath. “Mrs. Beckford and I met at the Star Inn to talk about the play. Like I told you before” —when Crowley was definitely paying attention; the pinnacle of an avid listener at all times, him, obviously— “her husband affords the theater. He makes the whole thing possible.” Suddenly, the brick wall behind Crowley became curiously fascinating as Aziraphale averted his eyes and said, “I wanted—well, you liked this one back in 1612, so I just asked if…”

Without the weight of his glasses, Crowley couldn’t discern how successful he was at disguising the toss-and-turn in his head. Shock expired, spoiling into bitterness, soon replaced by awe. He couldn’t decide which was more embarrassing: that he only enjoyed Much Ado About Nothing because Aziraphale loved it so much, or that Aziraphale took it upon himself to request a show he thought Crowley would appreciate.

“So I suppose it’s my fault for the misunderstanding?” Crowley quipped, prepared to brush past the admission.

“Well, isn’t it?”

Crowley frowned. “I was joking.”

“It won’t be funny when Catherine gets killed for something she didn’t do,” Aziraphale said. “And Thomas, wrongly accused.”

“So what? You’ll tell them it was you instead?” Aziraphale seemed to actually consider it, which made Crowley groan, “Mr. Beckford—Henry, or whatever—sounded pretty convinced of what went down.” Satan knows they never believe the women. Witches, all of them. “Angel, you’d be ki—discorporated. You know they execute the woman AND her lover, right?”

Aziraphale started to place his hands on his hips, then thought better of it and crossed them over his chest. “Yes, well, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

Crowley’s frustration narrowed into a glare. “What’s that mean?”

“You’re the reason for this awful adultery law, aren’t you?” said Aziraphale, assertive even in his flustered state.

“Sorry?”

“Did you want me to forgive you?”

Crowley almost flinched. “I meant, what are you on about? I didn’t start the law,” he said. “Adultery is one of your side’s Big Ten.”

“Not killing people is also a commandment,” Aziraphale stated.

Crowley bristled at the angel’s disdainful tone. “She’s always been rather hypocritical when it comes to violence. Bit of an oxymoron, holy war,” he said hotly.

“Either Hell assigned the Adultery Act to you,” Aziraphale said, steering back to the original point, “or you just…”

“I just what?”

“Or you’re just the Serpent of Eden!”

The fight knocked clean out of him.

Aziraphale shrugged in exasperated defeat, and all Crowley could do was stare. “Tempted Eve and doomed them both,” he continued. “A test of faith and irrevocable punishment sounds right up your alley.”

Crowley refused to call it betrayal, so he chalked it up to the consequences of mixing low expectations with hope. Aziraphale felt guilty about Catherine and Thomas, he knew that, but Crowley had been labeled guilty for a long time.

“Test of faith and irrevocable punishment,” Crowley echoed. “I think you’ve got it wrong, Aziraphale. You know who that does sound like?”

He looked up at the sky.

Aziraphale didn’t respond.

“And I am the serpent,” said Crowley, forcefully venomous. Then softer, “You were there, remember?”

Neither of them spoke, but the demon offered a single lingering opening that went untouched. He turned and walked away.

The angel let him.

———————

Crowley woke up hungover, something he didn’t usually allow. The light pouring through the inn window was far too bright, but no matter how hard he tried to miracle the shutters closed, he couldn’t escape the splitting headache of being awake. He reluctantly sobered up, exerting most of his energy toward the endeavor and rolling his eyes at the realization he’d no doubt get plastered again in a few hours. It was already late afternoon when he coaxed himself out of bed.

At least he’d been too drunk to dream. He did not need to see the angel anytime soon.

Serpent of Eden.

Her book loved to paint him as some vile creature instigating the fall. Every translation since man managed to hold a pen, the depiction of deceit.

True, he did tempt Eve. He liked Eve, though. She never quite forgave him outright for the apple, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d stuck around after the garden, known her as they lived out their separate retributions. In his opinion, he reckoned knowledge made her all the more likable. Except for that infuriating habit of pointing out when a certain guardian of the general eastern direction was looking. She’d teased him until his face was redder than forbidden fruit, and then she’d teased him about that, too.

Crowley’s aforementioned statement turned out to be false; he hadn’t expected to see Aziraphale, but when he set foot in the pub that evening to find the angel waiting for him, it was definitely something close to need. Godawful hope ruining his stony front yet again.

He should’ve picked a different pub. He should’ve started drinking earlier. He was too sober for another argument. And damn it all, he should’ve left London last night, but he couldn’t. Not when the angel would’ve turned himself in, the absolute martyr. Could give Her son a run for His money.

Of course, Crowley couldn’t step in for Him, but he could do something about the angel. He’d be damned (again) before he let Aziraphale ridiculously, needlessly, discorporate himself. Even if he was mad.

Once Crowley begrudgingly made his way to their table, and let it be known the idea of hightailing it out of the establishment did cross his mind, Aziraphale wasted no time asking the question awaiting its exhaled release.

“What did you do?”

Crowley practically fell into his seat. “Can I get drunk first?”

Aziraphale shook his head incredulously but didn’t stop Crowley from ordering a dram of whiskey. “I went by the Beckford estate this morning to speak to Catherine—to confess to her husband,” Aziraphale said, “and she told me the strangest thing.”

Crowley threw back his drink and willed the alcohol to kick in sooner.

“She said the accusation of adultery wouldn’t hold up in court because, miraculously, no record of her marriage to a Mr. Henry Beckford existed.”

“Well, you know the courts,” said Crowley. “Dreadfully hesitant to rule irrevocable punishment without proof. Funny isn’t it, how most marriages in England are unregistered?”

“Crowley.”

He aimed for indifference— “I do believe I fixed your problem” —and landed somewhere between smug and stressed.

Aziraphale’s expression softened. Crowley debated a refill.

“Don’t,” the demon said. “I performed a slew of demonic miracles last night. Can’t be held responsible for what I may or may not have miracled. Did you know they were out of whiskey here?” He waved his cup in distracted demonstration. “Restocked the whole town.”

Like the prior night, the pub was relatively vacant. An absence of clinking silverware and subdued tavern talk saddled the air with uncomfortable tension.

For Crowley, anyhow. Aziraphale seemed content to tough it out.

“Ok,” Crowley conceded impatiently, “so I made a couple documents disappear. Big deal. Call it wily, angel. Were you or were you not on your way to untimely discorporation?”

Aziraphale looked relieved and somehow even more guilty. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “Thank you.”

Politeness was second nature for an angel, but they both grasped the absurdity of it directed at a demon.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Crowley corrected. “‘M a demon. Can do whatever I want.” He pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose for good measure. “You think I haven’t been twisting the fine print of that law since they wrote it? I was the one who added the bloody clause about not including women whose husbands were absent for three or more years. They wanted to start chopping off heads left and right.”

As if Aziraphale encountered a new version of Crowley every time he opened his mouth, the angel looked on the cusp of several routes to take. Crowley almost wanted the angel to pick up where he left last night, call him a snake, and remind him how foolish this entire arrangement had been. Not the Arrangement, but the messy web spun full of unspoken-rules and uncrossable-lines. Though he’d been privy to their creation and placement, Crowley was prone to forgetting the location of these silk strand glue droplets and stepping on them like landmines, unraveling the whole thing. He could never seem to find his footing without setting off explosive repercussions.

Crowley wasn’t sure if he was a spider caught in a web of its own making, or a fly in Aziraphale’s.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

Perhaps it was the famine of the word that made Crowley go slack, but the apology dropped into the pit of his stomach and rubbed in the starvation he’d so skillfully ignored.

“I shouldn’t have assumed you were behind the act,” Aziraphale said. “I actually, uh, checked in with Gabriel and the others.” Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale cast his gaze on the ground. “Turns out they sanctioned it. For the noble cause of Puritanism.”

“I take it they were also fans of putting a pause on ‘lascivious mirth and levity’?”

Aziraphale pulled a face. “They see value in banning the plays as well, yes.”

“Yeah, well, for what it’s worth,” Crowley said, words slightly bitter with a burned edge, probably from the whiskey, “Hell enjoys the blatant sexism of the Adultery Act, too.” He tilted his cup and watched the last few drops pool to one side of the bottom. “Heaven. Hell. Two sides of the same coin.”

If Aziraphale disagreed, he held his tongue, opting for a pinched expression of pain or worry that Crowley figured was due to something more. “But I should’ve— Hell is one thing,” Aziraphale huffed. “What I’m trying to say is I know you.”

You do not know me, a faint memory of Crowley’s objected. Something doused in suspicion, mixed with a hint of a challenge, and drowned out by bleating goats. Something he would’ve said back then, and something he couldn’t bring himself to say now.

“Do you?” he asked. Because it wasn’t total denial, and temptation did happen to be his job, and maybe he just wanted to feel less unknown.

Aziraphale looked at him, saw straight through the act, and with such conviction, spoke more words than what he actually said.

“Yes.”

Crowley stared back, as though Aziraphale might rescind his statement, but the angel’s determination never faltered. Upstairs and Downstairs might read it as Yes, I know you well enough to thwart any wiles you may throw my way. But Crowley, well-versed in silent tongues, saw it for what it was:

Yes, I know you’re doing this on purpose. Asking questions to see if they’ll get you in trouble once more because everything is a test of faith with us, isn’t it? I know you miss the unicorns. I know you have a tendency to criticize living things—those poor, terrified plants—but you like to see them grow anyhow. I know you in spite of whatever lead balloon comes crashing down, and yes, I know you well enough to also know the Serpent of Eden was just as shy as he was sly. Because I was there.

If the public ever found out that Crowley could never stay mad at Aziraphale for long, it would surely ruin his demonic reputation. He hummed in thoughtful acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said again.

Though he wasn’t mad, he could still make the angel squirm. “Did you want me to forgive you?” Crowley mimicked in his best posh accent.

Aziraphale cringed. “I suppose that would be nice, yes,” he said, equal parts hopeful and sheepish.

“Demon. Not nice,” Crowley growled, this time setting his glass down to point a finger between the two of them. “And forgiveness from me would just cancel out or something.”

Aziraphale considered this, shoulders sagging and hands unsure of what else to do other than grab onto each other. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the disappointment bled right through.

A merciful demon? No, Crowley just couldn’t stand to see Aziraphale sad for very long either.

“I’ll tell you what you could do, though,” he said.

Aziraphale perked up.

“Dance.”

A furrowed brow lifted into pink surprise as the angel tilted his head. “Uh, with you?”

Yes. “No,” Crowley said a bit too fast. “Give us a little jig, y’know, a song and dance. You like the theater. They say emotion is best expressed through art.” He attempted to reason his way out of this one. “Show me how sorry you are, angel.”

“I…don’t dance.”

“And I’m not nice,” Crowley said, but he was smiling now. “Unorthodox apology for unorthodox forgiveness sounds like a fair trade to me.”

A beat passed between them, and Crowley almost thought Aziraphale wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t exactly serious about it either; it was just the first thing that popped into his head and out of his mouth.

But then Aziraphale stopped chewing on his lip, made a decisive noise, and stood up from the table. Crowley’s speechlessness was remedied only by the screaming voice in his head that this might be the best accidental idea he’d ever had.

Aziraphale took a small step backward, looking over his shoulder once before realizing he’d rather not make eye contact with anyone, which was an unheard prayer because Crowley slid his glasses down far enough to peer over them, settling yellow eyes right on him.

“Go on,” said Crowley. “Really sell it.”

Aziraphale shook his head at the demon, but took a deep breath to fuel his singsong tone.

One hand on his hip, the other palm up, “You were right,” both arms outstretched, “you were right,” a graceless spin, “I was wrong,” and a clumsy curtsy to top it all off, “you were right.”

Aziraphale lifted his chin but stayed stiff in his pose, waiting for approval.

A dancing angel, Crowley figured, would be something along the lines of embarrassing. Like watching a child try to take its first steps. The never-before-seen aspect completely captivated him, and it suddenly hit him that this was for his eyes only. It was embarrassingly silly. Turns out, silly really does it for him.

Or maybe that was just Aziraphale.

“Right, then.” Crowley nodded with a coughed-out laugh. “That’ll do it.”

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale exhaled in exhausted relief and straightened finally. He plopped back down into his seat with a forest fire ravaging his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” Crowley practically purred.

Aziraphale’s frown failed to be anything less than fond, and then switched to contemplative. The blush didn’t seem to be dying down anytime soon. Not that Crowley was complaining, but he grew more concerned with each shade of red that he’d have to find a water bucket to cool the angel off.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “It’s certainly not an excuse for blaming you, and obviously I know you didn’t do it,” Aziraphale said, “but truthfully, I just figured you would’ve had something to do with a law dealing with lust.”

Crowley squinted at him from behind his glasses.

Aziraphale fretted in the silence, then tried to clarify, “Adultery is often associated with lust, as I understand it.”

“Aziraphale,” began Crowley, and he couldn’t believe he was about to say this, “I’m not an incubus.”

“Of course, I know that,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “I just thought because you’re so…you know. I thought—” He gestured to all of Crowley, wildly searching for the correct term. “You and lust,” he said, like it was clear as day.

The pieces weren’t clicking. Crowley let out a punched, “Wot?”

“Nevermind it,” Aziraphale said, waving off the conversation. “It’s over now. I appreciate what you did, despite what I said that night.”

Crowley grunted, positive his face was just as flushed now. “Would’ve been unfortunate if that Thomas lad got dragged into something he wasn’t involved in, let alone sentenced for it.”

“Ah, yes, well,” and Aziraphale spoke the next part very slowly, “they are in love.”

“Who?”

“Thomas and Catherine.”

“But I thought—”

“Yes, I know you organized the document mishap,” Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows in a little nod that usually meant Crowley was supposed to listen carefully, “but a nonexistent marriage might as well be the case. Catherine was so unhappy—had been for a long while. Frankly, I was surprised her husband made such an outburst, especially considering the rumors of his own infidelity.” He looked as though he wanted to say more about Mr. Beckford’s trysts, but did not. “During my conversation with Catherine, we discussed the theater, but she also confessed she’d fallen in love with Sir Thomas. Nothing like an arrangement— I mean, her arranged marriage. Something real, Crowley. But she was afraid of what might happen. The Adultery Act was the reason they never… Thomas isn’t a liar. Catherine wouldn’t lay with him because she couldn’t bring herself to condemn them both, I suppose.” Aziraphale paused, suddenly remembering himself, then added, “At least, that’s what she told me.”

Crowley was silent. The risk of spouting idiocy, loaded like bullets on his tongue, waiting for the slightest tremble to set off his hair-trigger self-control—that was too much, even though he was fairly certain the alcohol hadn’t taken effect yet.

Did she want to though?

I think I’ve heard this story before.

Oh, now you’re not even trying, angel.

You know I’m already condemned.

So he clamped his mouth shut because the recoil would’ve sent him reeling, and it could only ever end in someone bleeding out.

“Well,” Crowley said, “drink, then?” Before Aziraphale could even nod in agreement, the demon was already in the process of flagging down the tavern keeper. “What’d you have last night, angel?”

Aziraphale broke into a grin. “You drank mine, and you didn’t even know what it was?”

“Obviously wasn’t whiskey,” Crowley grumbled, but he was immensely glad to hear the angel laugh.

Don’t stare too long. There’ll be stars in his eyes when he opens them.

But Crowley was not a saint by any means; he couldn’t deny himself the view. And there were. Stars. A twinkle in shining blue that sent a thrill up Crowley’s spine. A relic of a past life and what it meant to create entire galaxies all wrapped up in a celestial being’s eyes.

“Cider, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I thought you would’ve known.”

Crowley could’ve sworn he was going blind as the angel had the audacity to fucking beam.

“There’s just something so remarkably alluring about apples, wouldn’t you say?”

*****

i now know too much about the Adultery Act of 1650, theater terminology, the Little Ice Age and alcoholic cider, 17th century lighting and candle reflectors, and the Anglo-Scottish wars.

i’m not kidding, i watched an entire 30-minute YouTube video recapping the English Civil Wars.

well, there’s my take on 1650, hope i did it justice, and thanks for reading!

#good omens #good omens fic #writing #my fic #ineffable husbands #apology dance #i was wrong dance #1650 #kayjaye writes

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