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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 11 months

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One Day, I’ll Say Hello

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: It keeps happening. Whenever he goes, Dean seems to bump into the same girl. Every time, he finds himself unable to speak to her. When he meets her again at the beach, everything finally makes sense.

Warning: Mention of grief, a bit of angst, crying, car accident, but also fluff, crack, and lots of sun bathing

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word Count: 2869

A/n: Hello everyone! So this is the first fic I’m posting after my long hiatus! This is for @smellingofpoetry writing challenge, with the prompt “Feeling the warmth on your naked skin”. Big thank you to @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior for helping with correction, the title, and cheering me up!

"I'm starting to believe you're following me."

The voice startled him instantly, and his first instinct was to put his hand on his belt. But he found it empty, he left his gun in the car. Regardless, he didn't need it, not after he recognized who the voice belonged to.

"Well," a smirk drew across his face as he walked over to the source of the voice. "Looks like even fate wants us to stay together." Giving a wink he thought was devastating, Dean quickly lost his smile when he noticed the girl's expression. It clearly wasn’t the time to bother her, not again. "Oh, uhm, sorry, I think my flirting skills are rusty, I'll leave you be."

"No!" She sounded rushed, scared, even, of being left alone. "You're not bothering me. Stay, I'd love to have some company.”

The big, seductive smile back on his face, Dean took a few steps towards the girl. The sand was warm under his bare feet, and he accepted the feel of the grains sliding between his toes with joy. With each step, he felt like he was sinking deeper into the sand. But the closer he got to her, the warmer he felt.

Close enough but leaving a respectable distance between them, he dropped down to the ground, and set his shoes next to him. Then, in silence, they just enjoyed the moment.

It was very nice. The sun was beating down hard on their heads, but neither of them minded. It was a feeling he craved, and he laid on his back in the sand to let the warm rays settle on to the bit of exposed skin he offered up. The sounds of the waves moving in the distance, brought a calm sensation in his body.

“You know,” her voice finally broke the silence. “You would enjoy the sun a lot more if you were in a swimsuit.”

At these words, Dean smiled. "If you wanna see me naked, you can just say."

A laugh followed his comment. "Of course. My first desire when I meet someone is to see them naked. Nice try."

"For the record," he turned his head towards her, ignoring her last statement, "you're not really dressed for the beach either.”

The girl turned her head to stare at him, then lifted her sunglasses up to contemplate what she was wearing. Her shorts ended a little above the knee, and she had her tank top pulled up a bit, so she could feel the heat of the sun on her stomach.

"At least I'm getting more sun than you, with all those clothes and layers you've got on," she smiled, then rolled back into position, lying on her back with both arms extended to either side of her body. She sighed, content.

Dean couldn't help but study her; he didn't usually stare at people like that, but something about her made him curious in a way he hadn't been in a while. There was something special about her, and it wasn't only her stunning beauty.

He didn't know her that well, but…

As he continued to stare at her, the memories of their first meeting came flooding back to him.

Before

“Coffee for Y/n!”

Distracted by the current hunt he was dealing with - the apocalypse coming just around the corner, and his brother off god knew where - Dean wasn’t paying attention to the name being called flby the barista, or to the name written on the cup. Completely absorbed in his thoughts, he grabbed the coffee and headed for the exit, sipping on it.

“Blerg!” He immediately spat out the much too sweet drink. “Disgusting!”

"Uhm, sorry."

Too busy trying to come up with a stronger word than "disgusting" for the sugary concoction, Dean wasn't paying attention to the voice that spoke behind him; he simply continued on his way towards a trash can, ready to throw away the foul liquid.

“Hey!”

Suddenly, a hand entered his sight to grab the cup before he could throw it away.

"What's wrong with you!" He exclaimed, turning to the person who had just interrupted him. A multitude of insults were ready to cross his lips, but he forgot them all when he saw the person in front of him.

"What's wrong with me? Well, tell me - what's your name?"

He couldn't believe his eyes or ears. Not only had they made a mistake on his order, but now a stranger, who was far too charming, was stealing it from him when he was about to put it in the garbage? And now she was asking his name?

“Funny way to flirt, but okay, I'll bite. It’s Dean.” The hunter crossed his arms over his chest, puffing it out in an attempt to look more buff. But that only made the girl laugh as she took a sip of the sweet coffee. "Hey, that's mine!" he chastised.

“Next time you order a coffee, Dean, make sure it’s your name on the cup.”

Completely taken aback, Dean didn't have time to react or reply before the stranger was leaving. He only caught a quick glimpse of the name written on the cup before she was gone.

It definitely wasn’t Dean.

“Son of a bitch.”

It was not the only time he crossed paths with the woman. The same day, a few hours later, he was back at the motel doing research on his computer for the current hunt when suddenly everything went black.

The power was out.

“Son of a bitch!!!”

It really wasn't his day.

Dean ran his hands over his face, sighing. Usually it was Sam who did the research on hunts. But after what he told him… Sam was gone. A simple fight had quickly turned into a shouting mess, and although he was still angry with his brother, Dean regretted some of the things he said.

Sighing once again, Dean got up and left his room. As it was late at night, it was dark and it took him a while to find the front desk of the motel.

There was no one.

"Of course."

Dean jumped over the counter. Since he didn’t have the key or the permission to be there, he had to act quickly. Luckily, he knew where the breaker was, all he had to do was open the door to his right, walk a little in the hallway, and then, the electrical room was there. After turning the power back on, Dean walked back to the counter again and on the other side...

“You’re kidding right, you’re telling me you work here?”

The girl from the cafe was in front of him, her arms folded across her chest. Taken aback, Dean didn't know how to react, once again. It was twice in one day that he ran into her, and both times he was at a loss for words.

When he didn't answer, the girl turned to leave, but luckily the hunter's body worked faster than his mouth. “Wait!”

He eventually caught up with her as she stopped in front of a door. Raising an eyebrow, she waited for him to speak.

Come on Dean, say something! Speak, why can't you say anything to her!

"They are all the same," she mumbled to herself as she turned to the door to unlock it. It was her room.

"I don't work here."

Stopping in her tracks, she turned her head to signal she heard him. “Okay. But I think I would have preferred you did. Because now, explaining your presence there is suddenly very complicated.”

There was a simple, easy-to-share explanation for his presence there. But yet, when he tried to say it, Dean once again found himself unable to form a coherent sentence. Why was he having so much trouble talking to this girl?

“Anyway, not my business, just glad the lights are on again.” She opened the door and took a step inside, then another, and as he finally found his voice, the door closed right in his face.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

And it was like that every time they met. And they seemed to meet all the time and everywhere. At the grocery store. On the sidewalk, walking the same direction. Even at a red light where she crossed the street. Wherever he went in the days following their first meeting, Dean seemed to bump into her.

A few days later, the hunt was over and the bones burned. The ghost turned out to be a girl that died in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. She was targeting drivers who exceeded the speed limit on the city's main street, causing fatal accidents. One victim died, the others only suffered injuries.

And luckily for Dean, both him and Baby came out of this hunt without a scratch.

But that was just from the outside. Because inside of him, the wounds didn’t want to heal.

Now

Lying on this beach, next to the girl he had spent the last couple of days constantly walking into, Dean's thoughts were lost again.

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice pulled him out of his head, and he noticed he was still staring at her. After clearing his throat, Dean turned his attention back to the sky and the blinding sun.

"Just… Um…" A sudden shadow soothed the burning rays of the sun in his eyes, and he blinked a few times to see the girl sitting beside him, one hand placed perfectly in front of him to shade his eyes. He swallowed with difficulty, like there was a ball in his throat and got up on his elbows.

“I didn't pay attention back at the café, that’s why I picked up the wrong order. I don't work at the motel, I just wanted the power to be back on, but since there was no one there, I fixed it myself. And I swear, I wasn't following you. It was all just weird coincidences that I can't explain."

Finally, he managed to say all the things he'd wanted to tell her every time he ran into her. It felt good to finally have control over his voice again.

"Mm hmm," she nodded, and Dean wished she didn't have her sunglasses on so he could admire her eyes. "I noticed you didn't seem very focused. Want to talk about it?"

Since he was unable to see her eyes, Dean focused on her lips. "Why would I want to talk about my problems to someone whose name I don't even know?" He replied, hoping it would prompt her to reveal her identity.

A smile tugged at her perfect lips. “Oh, but you know my name. It was written on my coffee.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Also, after all our encounters, don't you think fate would like us to get to know each other?”

At her words, Dean sat up completely. It didn't matter if he was covered in sand or that now, the sun was beating down on his face again. He liked the warmth it gave to his skin. “Fate is a bitch.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused, then took off her glasses. “Fuck fate, then. Why were you stealing other people's coffee, Dean?"

A small laugh escaped him as he thought for a moment. "My brother."

The words then seemed to come out all on their own. One after the other. He told her everything, well, apart from the supernatural aspect of his life. He told her about his fight with his brother, the only family he had left. How hard his job was, that he hadn't taken a moment for himself in so long; he couldn't even remember the last time he just laid down to feel the heat of the sun on his skin. And he told her about the regrets he had for some of the things he'd said and done.

She listened carefully without interruption. And when he was done telling her everything that was on his mind, he waited nervously for her to call him crazy and selfish. After all, it was the truth.

But that didn't happen.

“I’m sorry life sucks so much right now.” Her gaze wandered to the horizon. “You seem to really love your brother.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You should call him,” she turned her head towards him. As the sun went down, leaving with its warmth and light, he could see all the sadness of the world shining in her eyes. “Don't add more regrets to the ones you already have.”

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

She laughed softly. It was the saddest laugh Dean had ever heard, like she was accepting the truth, and the truth was that she'd never be happy again. One of her hands wiped her cheeks and left small grains of sand on her skin.

“That's the worst that could happen if you call him; what's the worst that could happen if you don't?”

Dean nodded. It made a lot of sense. Sam could refuse to talk to him…hang…never forgive him. But if he didn’t try… He had no idea how much worse it could get.

“And you," he asked, "why are you here?”

She was likely expecting that question from him, because her gaze once again fell on the vast ocean before them. “Regrets, just like you.”

Her body language changed then. She started playing with her hair, her feet sinking into the sand as though to feel something, anything, other than the pain she was feeling right now as memories flooded back into her head. "But for me, it's too late."

She had listened to him and been there for him, so obviously Dean wanted to do the same. "I'm sure it's not."

Shaking her head, she sighed. “It is. She passed away last month. A month already…” The sun was almost completely gone and the cold had settled onto the beach. Dean had no idea if she was shaking because she was cold or because she was in pain.

“We had a fight. You know, even best friends can disagree on things. I said mean things to her, the only person that ever stayed by my side… She was my everything. And I ruined everything.” Passing her hand over her cheeks again, Dean noticed the silent tears that had started to flow a while ago.“It was about speeding. I told her she was driving too fast. Well, I was right in the end.”

A sob broke her words.

And Dean understood.

The ghost he had to take care of… Was her best friend. Even after death, she remembered what they talked about, and wanted to do good. In the worst possible way. Causing people that were speeding to crash on that same road where she lost her life.

His heart sank as the pain she was feeling mingled with his own. And without noticing, he had his arms around her shoulders, holding her against him while she cried. Her body was shaking so much, her warm tears quickly soaking through his shirt. But he didn’t mind.

They stayed like that until the sun disappeared completely, and then, they stayed longer. Finally, he drove them back to the motel and walked her to her room.

“I don’t need your number,” she said as she stepped backwards into her room. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.”

“You bet,” Dean winked, a smile stretching his lips. They said goodnight, and he walked back to his own room. The conversations they'd had wouldn’t leave his mind. So he got his phone out, scrolled through his contacts, and stopped at the letter S, staring at Sam's name.

It wasn’t too late. But it could be if he didn’t do anything.

Without further hesitation, Dean pressed the call button.

It took a day for Sam to come back. When he finally arrived at the motel Dean was staying in, he was expecting a lot of things. Apologies from his big brother, hugs, anger, and probably more fighting. But he definitely hadn't expected to walk in on the scene he did.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch!”

“Hello?” Sam pushed the door open, looking everywhere but not finding his brother. “Dean?”

“Bathroom,” Dean answered and Sam followed his voice. What he found there was definitely more than unexpected.

Sam couldn’t help bursting into laughter as he was met with a very red faced Dean.

“What happened? Did you forget protection?”

His brother's whole face was burnt, and when Sam looked down, he could see that Dean's feet had suffered the same fate.

“Ha. Ha.” Dean laughed sarcastically as he looked at himself in the mirror again. It was bound to happen, spending the day outside, under the sun, with no sunscreen on…

He looked like a tomato.

But it was worth it.

“I’m glad you came back, little brother,” Dean said as he met Sam’s eyes in the mirror.

Sam stopped laughing and nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m glad you called. But I need to know, what did you do while I was gone?”

To that, Dean just smiled. “I ran into someone. More than once.”

Forever taglist: @nitnat6245 @eevvvaa @wickedinspirations @fictional-affairs @awkward-and-indecisive @peachyaliien @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Supernatural Tag List: @peachyaliien @sexyvixen7 @stixnstripesworld @charred-angelwings @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @lyarr24 @fiftyshadesgrl @this-is-me19

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @siospins2 @kazsrm67 @wtrpxrks @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies @charred-angelwings @jensendreamland @deanswaywardgirl @happyt0exist @waynes-multiverse @djs8891@mimaria420 @this-is-me19 @syrma-sensei

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welldonekhushi · 7 months

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Under My Spell | Part 9

Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 of Under My Spell!

Note: I deeply apologize for the sudden hiatus of this series! Now that I'm back on track, here's another part. Finally.

Enjoy, amigos! <3

Previously..

You two were bound by the beasts, and being ready to attack, until the wolves whimpered and flopped their ears, bowing down gently as they back off and slowly found an opportunity to run away. It confused you and Valeria on the fact that what could have pushed them back in fear.

Turning around, you see through the darkness, a figure walking out from the shadows, holding a flaming torch as it makes its way into the light. Your eyes widened when you realised who the individual who was approaching its way towards them.

It was Rodolfo.

Feeling relieved, you were glad that after his reluctance about going with you two, he finally made up his mind to follow you. He couldn't leave you alone in this danger and he knew it.

"Rudy!" You ran towards the man and hugged him tight. ".. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been stubborn but, I needed answers.."

"It's okay, Y/N. I know.. I also need the answers like you all, as well. Walking away from the battle feels like I'm being a coward." Rudy replied, furrowing his eyebrows. "I need the people of Las Almas to be free from this threat, too. And this is why.. I came back for you."

You smiled, feeling glad that Rudy was able to convince himself.

"I'm happy that you're back on track, Rodolfo." Valeria nods her head. "Seems like the amulets drove us here. To this cave."

Rudy looked towards the huge entrance, analysing it. "This cave seems ancient.. as if it stayed here for generations."

"It was the same cave I saw when the demon caught me! This whole place.. it feels so similar.. I think this is where we can find all our answers." You said, in hope.

"But, Y/N.. currently I can sense whatever is in there, it's not friendly. It's going to kill us.. I'm not doing this because I am preventing you from finding the answers, but you well know the demon is doing this from reaching our goal late."

"I know.. but I wouldn't let El Charro Negro stop us.. he knows it's the end of his wrath, so he's doing his best to stop us. But if we can do this together, I'm sure we'll be unstoppable." You walk towards Rudy, and extend your hand so that you can grab the torch.

Rudy blinked his eyes a few times, but then gently handed you the flaming torch, walking inside the cave. Rudy and Valeria look at each other for a while, and then agreed to follow you as well. You delve deeper into the cave, seeing the dark habitat present around the interior.. bats, dead plants.. strange noises.. and the eerie atmosphere. You made sure Rudy and Valeria followed you from behind, while looking around the place.

"We need to be careful as well, amigos. Make sure nothing attacks us out of nowhere."

"Got it." Valeria responds, and as the three walk further for a couple of minutes, you could realise things were getting shadier and obvious once you go deeper into the darkness. There were strange writings on the wall.. mostly Spanish but they were impossible to read, having the texts ragged and withered, with the strange drawings on the wall.

You wanted to make sure that no one gets lost again. "Hope whatever is beyond this darkness.. we can find out the solution.. guys.. guys—" You turn around to see Rudy and Valeria.. gone in thin air. You widened your eyes, realising you were talking to yourself all this time.

"Rodolfo? Valeria?" You called the two but you could only hear your voice echoing through the walls of the cave. "Shit.. what do I do now?" You try to muster up your courage, and walk further into the cave, trying to find the two as well. Maybe they lost track in the middle of nowhere, or..

You grew a little panicked, and held your torch tighter, while you walked further through the darkness. Mustering up the courage, you tried calling for the two but your head started to ache. You were getting strong visions of a powerful entity, with a skull face and wide-brimmed hat. You tried to hold onto yourself, and clenched your eyes, but as soon you opened them.. you found something which you couldn't believe.

The light of the torch illuminated the texts on the walls, which were now clearer, and readable. You carefully observed the words, though you weren't really trained in Spanish, but you made sure to remember the sentence.

"Dicen.. que si viene a tu casa.." You carefully read the texts. "Se come.. almas para mantenerse con.. vida? I don't get it.. but it seems to have a connection with this area." You then keep on exploring further, reaching the center of the cave. The texts turned into carvings, scriptures, paintings.. something that looked more like the El Charro Negro. Did people worship the devil here too?

As everything was now revealed, you saw.. a huge rock in front of you, with a scripture. It felt more like a chanting prayer, something which you pray for. It looked like some ancient language, but you couldn't find anything special.

All of a sudden, your mind started to show blurry images about a lifeless forest, damp and dark, with a man in a brimmed hat while he's on its horse. It was the other time where you faced a flashback like that, and you gasped, sweating profusely. The vision looked really horrifying, and then you faced the ancient rock again. The texts on the rough surface started to glow green in color, with an orb of light hitting your eyes. It seems like the amulet had brought the rock back alive from the dead.

Your body shivered, and goosebumps arose from your skin, and you had a headache again, experiencing another flashback. You saw a figure, who was getting its neck grabbed, by a mysterious presence, with a wide brimmed hat and glowing green eyes.

It must be the demon.

You thought it must be Rudy getting choked, but the face was blurry, making it impossible to recognise. As another scene flashed in your head, the figure getting choked passes down on the ground, while the demon brought his horse back and prepared to take him away with it. appearance becoming more visible to reveal the one who was getting taken away by the strange figure, on it's horse.

That face.. looked so familiar.

"Alejandro?" You opened your eyes, and widened them, seeing your amulet glow brighter, feeling a presence behind your back. You could only try to look behind yourself, slightly, as the demon roars and you push him back with your amulet powers with brute force.

The El Charro Negro groaned, and cried in anger. You held your flaming torch tighter, being prepared for the impact. It was a trap. The demon's trap, to capture you. "I know you want this, you monster." The demon roars and then pulls its attack towards you, and you bash the flaming torch over its head, making it cry out demonically. The demon growled, and destroyed the torch in your hand. But, knowing you had your powers from the amulet, you whirl your hands, and brought your attack to hit the beast with it. But, the devil was trying to take control of the fight, making you powerless in the process, though you aren't giving up this easily.

One attack of the devil pushed you behind, and you took hold of yourself, till the devil disappeared from your eyes. You looked around everywhere, finding a trace of him, but with nothing to see. You immediately flinched in instinct and saw the demon behind you, your hands charging the energy and creating a force field so its attack wouldn't reach you. But, knowing how strong the demon is, you were losing balance.

You used all of your force, to be able to make it walk back towards the rock, the demon still protesting.

It was dragging you through it's veil, as it tries to pull you back so it can seal you permanently. So with the help of your amulet powers, you were slowly burning its hands, making them evaporate. The demon's eyes glow brighter, and more violently, pushing you towards the rock.

But midway, before you could bring a more powerful wave, he suddenly vanishes with a demonic screech when someone attacks it from the back. You were shocked but saw that the one who saved you.. was none other than, the cloaked man again. It came running towards you, seeing if you're alright.

"Oh dios mío.. are you okay?" The man checked to see if you were injured, but forgot the injuries, you were more shocked about his sudden arrival.

"Wait a second! Are you following us all the time?!" You cried.

"I came here because I knew it was going to happen, querida!" The cloaked man replied. "The truth is coming closer.. and the devil El Charro Negro will do anything in it's power to stop you."

"I think this was the place where the spirit of the El Charro Negro existed.. and through these writings.. I can't believe there were people who worshipped him too."

"People do find a particular entity divine. Especially when they're supernaturally powered." The cloaked man spoke while he treated your wounds. "And it was enough to drive humanity into its trap so it can find itself a way to survive through human souls."

After it finishes healing you, he gets up and takes a look around the carvings of the devil, while talking to you. "The melody from its guitar.. could make anybody admire him in a matter of seconds, and then, you're a goner. You don't even have a way back. Let it be for falling in love.. or worship him. Only a few.. possess such power where they don't fall for both options. More like, individuals who know the true intentions of the devil, and its plans to threaten human civilization."

The cloaked man turned around, facing you back with a concerned look. "The devil knows you're his ultimate end. And you're going to stop it, once and for all, Y/N."

Hearing the man's words, you sure had many questions in your head, but you wanted to ask him that one doubt. "Do you think.. that Alejandro Vargas is the vessel for the El Charro Negro? Or it's—"

"Y/N!" A voice echoed in the area, hearing arriving footsteps to see Valeria, panting for air, looking absolutely panicked and terrified, with her face and clothes covered in slight dirt.

"Valeria? What happened?"

"We need to get going! Rudy is in trouble!" Valeria said, with her eyebrows furrowed. "If we didn't save him, it'll be too late!"

"But where did you go last time when I saw you both disappear?"

"I don't know.. all I remember is following you, but we unexpectedly lost track all of a sudden and I fell into a large pit. Rudy said that he was going to rescue me, but I heard him scream.. I'm scared that something might have happened to him!" Valeria explained the events that happened to her, feeling worried for what's beyond. "Thank God, I was able to get myself out of the pit and came looking for you."

"I'm glad you're still okay, Valeria." You sighed in relief.

".. but, who is he?" Valeria's attention diverted towards the individual next to you.

"This is the cloaked man, that I used to talk about. I don't know his name, but.. he wears a cloak. That's all." You cleared your throat. "But he knows a way on how to stop the devil."

Valeria came rushing towards him. "Please.. you got to help us."

"I always waited for this moment to come, mujer joven." The cloaked man smiled underneath his shaded appearance. "I'll do whatever it takes to seal the pendejo from hurting anymore people."

"Don't worry, Valeria.. we're going to save him. All this time, he had been saving our lives. But now, we'll return the favor." You smiled, and gave a determined nod, so does the woman in return, and the cloaked man closing his eyes, preparing himself for the moment, as they continue their journey further into the cave.

The camera then switches to a cave painting of the El Charro Negro, in it's full, demonic form, where the rest kept worshipping him.

During the quest, you, Valeria and the cloaked man continued their journey to locate Rudy. For a brief moment, Valeria started to look a little unsettled, that the man with the cloak noticed. "You seem tensed, mi señora."

"Huh? No. I'm just.. not feeling very good. Whatever this is going on.. it's just, messed up. I don't know but, my mind is getting more puzzled and fuzzier." Valeria said in concern. "Alejandro being possessed.. Rudy getting kidnapped. This.. is too much."

"I'm very sure we'll find your friend, señora. The devil won't stand a chance in front of us." The cloaked man tried to encourage Valeria, giving her hope. She held the amulet more closely, gripping it tighter with her hand.

You were listening to Valeria, but your mind kept on constantly flashing over that one scene of Alejandro Vargas getting taken away by the El Charro Negro. You felt a deep pit in your stomach, realising something was wrong. If Rudy is the victim, why would they show Alejandro? And if Alejandro is the real victim.. where is he now?

No.. I think this is just a way to distract or weaken your aim for defeating the devil. But what kept you divided.. was it a way to divert you from the truth.. or was it actually the truth?

Is Alejandro really the El Charro Negro or—

You were brought back to reality when you heard Valeria scream, seeing someone through the distance, who was passed out on the ground. You could sense who it was even being far away..

"Rudy.."

#cod #call of duty #cod mw #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty fanfic #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #rodoflo parra #valeria garza #call of duty x reader #under my spell

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insurrection-if · 5 months

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Hiatus Ended

I am very sorry, truly. I cannot stress my apologies enough.

I'm back.

I am, honestly, somewhat scared to be returning after so much silence. Every day without a peep from me on this blog just seemed to compress this sense of guilt and unworthiness I felt towards the idea of returning at all.

My hiatus was not announced. It had not been planned. It was unfair of me to let it drag on so long without any notification that it was occurring. Everyone who has ever shown interest or kindness towards this story deserves far, far better than what I have provided.

I was not confident about this story, or my conveyance of these characters. I despised my writing. I toyed with some other projects behind the scenes. I experimented with Twine - and I have declared Twine to be my latest technological enemy (as I am horrible with it). It is very suitable to other stories I have in mind, but my effort with those stories and my taming of Twine are heavily scaled back for now.

My efforts at present have also largely been focused on my financial situation and future. Thankfully, my current circumstances have eased much of the financial stress I faced earlier this year. Though my current employment does not provide a very liberating schedule to work creatively, I do feel much more secure in my continued ability to write as a means of recreational enjoyment and fulfillment.

In my absence, it has come to my attention that this community has not given up on Insurrection.

This is an unbelievable wonder worthy of a good cry.

I cannot emphasize enough how meaningful this is to me. I do not deserve all the support shown to this story thus far. The IF community is overflowing with passion, creativity, and talent that I could never hope to match. And so, to have this much gracious interest extended to this story, I am helplessly and forever thankful.

Your time, your interest, and your presence hold a value far greater than a number on a screen could ever tell.

But, goodness, that number is quite something to behold!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, each and every one of you! I would like to celebrate such a momentous milestone in following but, alas, I am not the most creative of 'party planners' . . . nor am I even a decent one at that! (；´∀｀)

If anyone has any ideas, suggestions, or wishes for something to mark this occasion, please let me know! Otherwise, I simply wish to extend my gratitude as sincerely and deeply as possible to everyone who has taken the time to read this, or just about anything on this blog. It is a privilege for me to be able to share my ideas and writing with so many in a way I never could, or can, in my life beyond the screen.

Thank you! For your patience, your grace, and your belief in this story! Thank you everyone!

#personal

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jjungkooksthighs · 2 hours

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked.

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head. So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions. Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering, you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t.

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left, the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega. An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do. You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic. Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished. “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does.

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him.

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines, remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture.

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature.

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh.

How he had fucking ruined you.

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down, “I…I-“

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you.

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.”

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck.

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You, the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #jungkook bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #alpha!jungkook #alpha!jungkook x reader #dom!jungkook #sub!reader

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thurio-edau · 10 days

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Hi, do you have any recommendations for other webtoons to read because I think that sbg's hiatus just got extended again...😭🙏

hey :DD i like homesick that's similar to sbg- it's an apocalyptic thriller and the creators of both sbg and homesick are friends but it can be a bit violent at times, there are trigger warnings on those kinds of episodes. it's a really great read, it's also on hiatus but there's 90 eps for now so i think you can get through it. if you're saying "i'm dying because of thrillers :pensive:" i'd recommend acception. it's main tag is drama but that's only some of the beginning, then it turns into pure comedy with drama at times lol. if you want to just laugh at a cringe lesbian you can read mage and demon queen, if you want to cry at futuristic lesbians you can read always human✨there's horror/comedy clinic of horrors but it turns into a pretty cool plot later on! and modern mogal is a comedy slice of life about monsters living in modern life, it's usually just comic strips but there's returning characters. axel if you haven't read it already, it's pretty hilarious about a monster slayer trying to find a job after monsters and humans made peace and the same creator has another series called zomcom that's also about monsters comedy- basically it :D sorry if it's long lol--

#sbg #sbg (webtoon)#school bus graveyard #homesick #mage and demon queen #webtoon

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mellybabbles · 17 days

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Masterpost?! Me?! Never

so anyways have a masterpost

Hello! A masterpost has been due for a long time- but I've finally gotten around to making one!

Dreamscape - Chapter 1/Prologue (multi-sanses x fem reader) Misplaced Royalty - Chapter 1/Prologue (bad sanses x nonbinary reader) Just Add Water - Chapter 1/Prologue (Dust + Killer x Siren!reader) From Me To You (Hiatus) - Chapter 1/Prologue (error x fem reader) Ao3 acc Several other fics on my acc! (mainly dust💀)

Tag List! #melly's silly talks - basically any post that isn't a reblog #melly's silly reblogs - reblogs #melly's reblogs - serious reblogs #my art - my art/drawings/sketches #my animations - my animatics/animations #my writing/my fanfics - writing Tags may differ, I'm really bad at sorting tags LOL

1K FOLLOWERS DITYS HERE!!

Do's and Don'ts!

DNI: Incest, pedophiles, proshippers, dreammare or frans shippers, homophobes, etc

This is a SAFE PLACE. Adults and minors alike are welcome, but please do not make it weird.

Requests are: Open!!

Please refer to this post if you're interested!

Boundaries!

I'm open to talking with anyone, followers mutuals or randoms. My discord is mellybabbles, alt is melatonindepicts, and you can also message me on here! I'm a-okay with being pinged in posts! Tag games, art, etc. Tag me in it all! If I don't respond, don't take it personally, it means I forgot or already have seen it/did it Sexual jokes/flirty jokes are okay! I tend to make them, so please let me know if it makes you uncomfortable. Okay, so this one is a bit weird, but if you are an rp account or impersonate a sans (THAT'S COMPLETELY OKAY, i do it as well), please do not say "guys it's me!" or things along those lines to my art/writing. Especially if it's implied sexual/flirty! This makes me extremely uncomfortable, especially if I don't know your age. Unless you're a friend of mine, then go ham, cause chances are I've already flirted with you relentlessly lol

A lil about me!

Hello! You may call me Melly, Mel, Jynx, or Sharpie! Friends call me whatever hehe I'm pansexual, genderfluid and extremely fuckin flirty and chaotic. I have ADHD and heavily struggle with understanding tones and stuff. I have a small emotion range, so I'm sorry if I'm constantly hyper and happy and that bothers you. I'll be constantly cracking jokes, and if it offends you, please let me know! I'm just mapping you out to figure out what's best for the both of us. I don't tend to approach people first, so if you wanna chill and be broskis, sadly you'll have to extend the olive branch. Then I'll probably cling to it like a desperate bird idfk I swear. A lot. Sorry if that scares you I'm Korean-american! Fuck yea, I'mma come eat your dog- /j /j Anyways, so yea, feel free to come poke me whenever :D I'll be happy to breakdance for you hehe

I HAVE A DISCORD SERVER!!! COME POP IN AND SAY HI!! we're almost at 100 members !! HEEUHUHEUHE

#melly's silly talks #masterpost #this has been due for a while

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stagefoureddiediaz · 1 year

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Costume meta 6x18

Wow I can’t believe I actually managed to write one of these (with all the additional mini metas) for every episode this season!!! if you’ve read, liked or reblogged and any all of my metas throughout this series then I just want to take a moment to say a massive thank you - it really means so much to me that you do take the time to read the epics I post, that you interact with them and that you ask me questions and seem to learn from what I say - sorry to everyone who now sees check pattern clothing out in the wild and gets worried 😬 it happens to me too - its good to have your company!

I’m so sorry that this has taken me far longer to get out that I had intended - my internet died on Thursday night and still hasn’t come back up (it has not been fun - who knew how internet dependant I’d become11!0 so I’ve had to find a cafe on my day of to actually get this posted (I live in a 4g dead spot too just to add to the fun!) Not going to lie - I am in need of a little break because these posts are a lot of work (you don’t want to know some of the side quests some of these posts have taken me on!!), but I love writing them so I plan to continue in season 7. I do have some fun stuff planned for the extended hiatus so while I might not post as much, I will still be around - making art and providing some costume related (and non costume related) things for you to enjoy - I have breakdowns for each character which includes spreadsheets and graphs (don’t get too excited - but they are actually interesting I promise!) in the pipeline as well as sorting out my pinned post as I’ve hit the link limit!!!.

Back to the costumes for this episode - it sure was an interesting one (when are they not tbh) with plenty going on for me to talk about! Apologies for the photos - it was really hard to get decent stills this week - everyone and the camera constantly moving!! As always the rest is below the cut to save your dash!

Athena

Athena has just the one costume this week - heading off on the cruise! I very much enjoyed her being in yellow and saying that she might not tell anyone about them actually being on said cruise! There are a couple of reasons why - firstly its yellow - the colour of communication - which means that her character is telling us something which is important. So Athena suggesting that they don’t tell anyone they are off on this cruise is the key point we need to take away from this scene - what that could mean - well its a throw back to when they attempted to go on the cruise the first time - they were communicating their departure then by being on the phone with Beatrice as they were leaving the Grant-Nash house so by not communicating they’ve gone on their cruise they are preventing another interruption from occurring. The other thing its communicating is that the lack of communication between Bobby and Athena and their family and friends could actually be a bad thing - its a bit of preempting costume design - if the show does indeed choose to go with some form of cruise ship disaster to open season 7 (less likely now that they have delayed the show until midseason, but it depends on how they choose to play the time jump!) then this line comes back into play - the 118 being sent to help with the disaster not knowing Bobby and Athena are on board would make for some very interesting storytelling and potentially parallel with the tsunami very nicely!

The other thing about this costume is the fact that we have bold block colour wearing Athena in a pattern - and a floral pattern at that. Athena doesn’t wear patterns - we saw her in a patterned shirt in 6x10 - when she was undercover and therefore it doesn’t count as actually being something Athena would wear

Bobby

Again the only costume we see Bobby wearing outside of uniform is when he is leaving for the cruise, this is the same costume he was wearing when they made the first attempt at their honeymoon cruise . From a personal perspective this was done to provide continuity between the two scenes as Bobby shirt is the loudest and most obvious thing to carry that thread through for a general audience.

Denny

Denny continues to wear muted tones post reconnecting with his biological father and we also have check on this outfit. The fact that the check is only worn down the sides could indicate either approaching trouble or trouble passing, for me it’s more likely that it is a sense of foreshadowing and will be connected to the Wilsons season 7 storyline revolving around the new baby that they will be bringing home as Denny will become a full blown big brother rather than the role he currently fills with the foster kids – that hovers somewhere between brother and friend. This costume is a bit blink and you’ll miss it and so it’s hard to get more of a read on it than the very basics.

Karen

Karen is wearing her typical large print florals for both her costumes this week and we have the contrast of red - a colour of anger, passion and love with t he yellow of communication, happiness and optimism. the use of the two colours to bookend the episode perfectly play into Karens mini arc for this episode - from the love tinged with disappointment and anger (broken hearted rather than fury) over fostering - the constantly having to hand children back, to the happiness and optimism surrounding the baby girl they may very likely get to adopt. the colours rather than the prints are the things conveying messages for Karen in this episode. they also contrast her very well with Hen in her black and white and then orange.

Hen

It’s really interesting that we have hen in this black-and-white check cardigan which is a parallel to the one she wore in 6×10 that one was red with larger neutral face emoji is and foreshadowed her anger over Denny contacting his biological father. This new one is more confused and the smaller design with the variety of boxes lines and neutral face emoji is creates a sense of confusion and also feels like it is chaotic in an organised manner it plays into both check theory and striped theory to a certain extent/theory foreshadowing the news of the baby they may potentially get to adopt and the cheque foreshadowing the upcoming disaster we see in the episode. the black and white also plays into the idea of Hen being settled into the black and white nature of fostering children - accepting the reality and highlighting the difference between now and when they had Nia - this is deliberate as it shows emotional progress, but it is also about emphasising the joy they experience later in the episode when told they will be getting a baby girl - its more impactful because we’ve seen Hens acceptance of their situation.

Hen’s other costume for the episode is this orangey red shirt which both contrasts and matches Karen’s yellow floral print shirt it also fits nicely with the oranges and lemons we see on the kitchen countertop next to her. Orange is an optimistic and energetic colour, it provides emotional strength and joy in its positive outlooks however is -ones are connected with superficiality in patients and domination. I think in this scene we can take the positive traits of the colour as opposed to the negative as we get to see Hen and Karen achieve something they’d given up on – the possible permanent expansion of their family – and brings them both full-circle after their disappointment surrounding Nia.

Chimney

Chimney is wearing a brown shirt with a black check pattern, brown is a colour of stability and reliability, it’s a grounding colour and chimney wearing it here indicates that where he is in his life is grounded in stable, his relationship and impending nuptials with Maddie are built on solid ground and overall this colour bodes well for their marriage. We do need to consider the cheque pattern as being foreshadowing for the potential exploration of Chimney storyline next season, whether that involves Madney actually making it down the aisle without problems arising, or if the show will explore some of chimney’s trauma in more detail remains to be seen however it does appear season 7 May begin a little bumpy for Chimney.

Kameron

Kameron wearing both the light and Navy blues that we’ve seen Buck wearing throughout this season whilst struggling to open a jar of pickles was a direct reference to Bucks struggles with who he is and who he wants to be. The props and costume work together to hint at Buck getting himself in a pickle and struggling to successfully deal with his issues, the fact that Kameron needed someone else to open the jar is a reference to Buck needing somebody else to help him with his struggles whilst the pickles in both this episode and the previous episode are a reference to Buck dealing with one issue but not his others. The use of blue costume in this scenario tells us the viewer should associate that struggle with buck specifically as the show has taken great pains to show us buck in a huge amount of blue costuming this season. The blue costuming also refers to water and water finding its level this has dual meaning in that it is foreshadowing Kameron’s water breaking later in the episode as well as continuing water theme surrounding buck story arc. The costume (and props) parallel Kameron and Buck and tell us to relate their stories to one another - Kameron being in a pickle with her life - her relationship with Connor - paralleled with Bucks own romantic storyline - both of them looking for support in the wrong place - from the wrong person, instead of with their respective partners - Kameron seeking help from Buck instead of Connor and and Buck seeking answers to being seen from Natalia instead of Eddie.

Cameron second costume one she’s wearing when she goes into labour continues the blue theme but also plays into the grey black-and-white theme increase seen in the scenes that appear to be re-shoots. The choice of daisies as appropriate for this dress as they symbolise innocence new beginnings and purity, they are also the symbol of fertility and childbirth.

Maddie

Ok so unusually I am going to talk about Maddie in connection with both Marisol and Natalia because their costumes are all connected by stars!

Maddie is wearing black with a lot of stars in white, while Marisol and Natalia have sparkly stars in fewer numbers on their costumes. the difference is the sparkly nature of said stars whilst the stars make perfect sense on all three of them for their respective scenes, they have different meanings attached to them - both Marisol and Natalia’s stars are a play on the concept of fantasy and dreaming and reaching for the unattainable, there are fewer stars and the glitteriness is a play on the idea of all that glitters is not gold - that the seemingly attractive external appearance is not a reliable indication of its true nature - that it is superficial. That meaning does not work for Maddie, her stars are not glittery or sparkly, they are matt and there are lots of them - there is more substance to her and Chimneys relationship and it is a direct and deliberate contradiction to the relationships of Eddie and Marisol and Buck and Natalia - we are meant to see the contrast - the building of something which has had to be fought for versus the untested and insubstantial nature of both of the other relationships - it all comes back to what bobby told Eddie - Maddie and Chim have sat with each other, taken a moment and stepped into the mess - they are fully aware of the reality where as Marisol and Natalia are both untested and fit much more into the fantasy concept the show has explored this season and the fantasy rarely holds up when exposed to reality.

Natalia

Aside from the stars that I’ve spoken about above, it was an interesting choice to remove nearly all colour from Natalia’s costume for scenes where she is present when life is brought into the world. When not in her ‘work’ role, we’ve seen her wearing a fair amount of colour, even if black is nearly always present - lots or red and oranges and whites and greens, however she was all in black for the living funeral and here again we have her in predominately black, with a little bit of navy thrown into the mix the choice to use very dark colours is intentional and these dark colours play into her role as harbinger of death - she is representing death as life is brought into the world. I wrote a post about that scene and her presence in it and how it plays into the fact that death has haunted Buck since he was brought into the world. Natalia’s presence was necessary precisely because of what she represents and because death is still hovering in Bucks life - the fact that Natalia and Buck get together while she is still dressed in this way is very telling about her position in Bucks world - he is still focused on death and its being a part of who he is rather than seeing/ focusing on other things. It all plays back into the ‘she really sees me’ of it all - Buck wants to be seen beyond his death/ beyond the death that has shadowed his life, but he is still falling back into the safety of being seen for death rather than the life he is living. Natalia is a representation of Buck falling back on these safe behaviours and thoughts because he is fundamentally scared of being seen for who he really is and Natalia’s transition from the orange of their ‘first’ date to increasing levels of black in her subsequent outfits shows that representation in Bucks life perfectly.

Interestingly though we get a direct contrast to all that black in the ‘morning after’ scene with Natalia in white shirt which is meant to be one of Bucks. Honestly - fascinated by this choice! Putting her in a shirt that is meant to be one of Bucks makes total sense, but they could’ve chosen any colour they wanted - Buck wears a lot of colour, but they chose a white shirt. A. White. Shirt. a white shirt that is supposed to be one of Bucks. We all know how things go for Buck when it comes to white shirts - it doesn’t end well - it leads to bad things! Natalia isn’t going to end well for Buck - the white shirt has spoken!.

The other thing with the white shirt is its contrast to Buck being in blue/grey because it puts her in opposition to Eddie who wore black when on the balcony. The balcony is a place that puts her on the outside of things, she isn’t inside with the mess (the couch) and the colour white is considered both a colour of innocence and purity, whilst at the same tie being seen as cold, uncaring and bland. When placed in contrast to Eddies black- a colour of power, strength security and protection, things don’t look great for Natalia’s future, or her ability to understand and support Buck.

We have to have a quick talk about Jo and Mallory for the simple reason that they are dressed in Buck and Eddies colours, despite essentially being representations of Christopher and Buck, the implication being that Christopher would retain a lot of the traits etc he has gained from Eddie, even if Eddie were no longer a physical presence in his life, and that Buck would’ve nurtured those aspects of who he is.

Chris

Christopher in grey as a neutral tone is an interesting choice. The green, specifically khaki green hidden underneath is a nod towards Eddie and, the fact it’s hidden under the grey to me is a reference to Christopher accepting things because he thinks they’re what his father does. But also towards Eddie once again, doing things that he thinks is right for Christopher.

Eddie

We can’t not talk about the St. Christopher being brought out at this moment! We haven’t seen this necklace since 4x14 when Eddie got home and its use here is so very intentional in a camper van that is essentially a microcosm of the will arc - all of the elements of Buck, Eddie and Christopher’s relationship is shown here in the camper - the will, the fridge, the couch, the coffee , the risk of explosion, and the earth mover van crashing into it, we even get similar camera angles and injuries. the entire thing is supposed to direct us to what that St. Christopher means, what it already represents and it is setting up next season - there is no other reason to include it otherwise.

Eddie in blue and in check – blue being connected to Eddie and his family suggests that the check is foreshadowing rocky times for that family dynamic and hints that this new relationship will end poorly whether that’s by fizzling out or in some other way remains to be seen. The other thing about this blue plaid check shirt is that it also ties in with a couple of other things - Eddie rarely wears plaid check - only 4 times before now and generally these are tied with when he’s been having family issues - we see it in the flashback scene in Eddie begins that show family conflict, conversely he doesn’t wear check in flashback scenes where is mind and intention is clear (such as when he argues with his parents and stands up for himself before going outside and asking Chris if he wants to move to LA.) The only other times we see him wearing check and not in a flashback is very much connected with his struggles with Christopher - and being able to support him - feeling like a failure as a father (which he isn’t) such as when he is at Bucks taking about Christopher’s skateboard accident and wanting his kid to feel normal. The only other time we see him in plaid is when he helps Buck move Maddie’s sofa into her new apartment - this is the only scene we have Eddie in non uniform before he goes to visit Durrand and is told he’ll need to get back in touch with Shannon - its kind of foreshadowing the conflict of the school visit when they couldn’t very easily put him in plaid.

I therefore really intrigued by this choice to have him in plaid for this scene when we don’t see any family conflict - so its either foreshadowing upcoming family conflict, or its playing on the idea that he’s internally conflicted - doing what his family wants (dating a woman) rathe than what he actually wants, or if the conflict is going to arise from him including Chris in this new venture into dating (we all saw how well that went last time!)

The other thing this plaid shirt is comparable with is Eddies Poker suit. Which has me all kinds of intrigued because it really does actually imply that the poker game was in fact going to be played as a ‘date’ (which would’ve likely played into the family conflict theme and thus been in keeping with all the other times Eddie has worn plaid) before they changed tack due to getting renewal and therefore didn’t follow through on whatever direction they had intended to take the Buck and Eddie storyline they had planned when they thought this might be the final season of the show.

Buck

Buck in brown with a vertical stripe, the brown suggests solid ground or in a stable place - so Buck is being presented as having made peace with the sperm donation, as well as being a stable place from which to try and help Connor and Kameron sort out their problems. The vertical stripes also play into the theme of vertical stripes we’ve see non him this season. Interestingly, we haven’t seen Buck wearing these vertical stripes around Natalia, which I would expect to see if their relationship was meant to last as the vertical stripes are very much connected with Bucks search for himself, in particular, connected to couch theory (this is the second time we’ve seen vertical stripes in connection with couches/ armchairs) - Bucks version of couch theory, not the second couch theory that he as a character isn’t aware of.

We have this grey marl tee, which is green tinted - perfect choice for Buck delivering the baby he helped create in a scene that heavily played into Bucks own birth. The grey and green tones have been associated with Bucks arcs this season - either in relation to the sperm donation (the green tones) or the family he has been searching for and is on his way to finding/ fully comprehending (why he wears grey around Bobby and Christopher in their one on one scenes - its the father son relationships being more deeply established). so for him to have both on when he gets to be the one who delivers the child he helped to create is a great choice and plays into both themes - especially when he tells Connor to love that child at the hospital.

The addition of the check shirt is solely about Buck starting a relationship with Natalia, and them getting together in a moment not that dissimilar to how Buck and Taylor got together - at a moment of Buck reckoning with something important - the trauma of nearly loosing Eddie with Taylor and now with Natalia his reckoning with the sperm donation and having delivered the baby he helped to create. This is a deliberate choice by the show to parallel the two moments, but the use of check is highlighting it further and telling me that this relationship with Natalia isn’t going to be as ling and drawn out as his relationship with Taylor was. Buck doesn’t actually wear check patterns all that often considering the amount of danger and trouble he gets himself into and we’ve seen him wear it in most cases in relation to mental health struggles (the Equestrian centre is a prime example - Buck trying to raise the shooting with Eddie and being unsuccessful because Eddie wasn’t ready - and its parrallel with the grave scene from this season when Buck isn’t ready in return) so for him to be wearing it a second time is short succession and both connected with Natalia (and thinking he’s finally being seen) doesn’t bode well for anything related to their new relationship.

Buck wearing his watch for the balcony scene is very telling because the scene is meant to imply buck and Natalia spent the night together and this is the following morning when they address down and comfortable and she is wearing one of his shirts, however him wearing his watch suggests that there is already a countdown/ that there is a time limit on their relationship.

Buck grey blue tee parallel with hoodie from the Eddie balcony scene - buck not understanding or seeing things clearly. The new one is darker and less blue, which not only plays into the previously stated concept of not understanding, but also suggests that Buck is currently in a less receptive state than during his previous times wearing the blue/grey colourway. The other thing to bear in mind is that Buck wearing a dark grey plays back into his costuming around Taylor in last season - he wore a lot of grey, but there was a distinct difference between the lighter shades we saw him wearing around Eddie and Christopher (which was the building blocks his grey wearing this season was built off of) and the darker greys we saw him wear around Taylor.

And there we have it - one very late but finished costume meta! I’m off to pray to the internet gods that my home internet will be fixed very soon (current date I’m being given is the 5 June) as I can’t survive much longer without being able to do the things I need and want to! if you want to send up a prayer for me then please feel free to help a girl out 😁

Thank you to all of you that have read one, several or all of my metas for this season. I hope this one was worth the read and I look forward to getting to write metas for whatever they throw at us in seasonn 7!!

As always and for the final time this season, tag list below! 💜💜💜

@mistmarauder @theladyyavilee @leothil @girldadbuddie @kitkatpancakestack @buckscurls @lemotmo @trashendence @elishareads @clipboardsandstethoscopes @comfortbuddie @fiona-fififi @callanee @calyssmarviss @pbandjeremiah @batgrldes @spotsandsocks @livingwherethesidewalkends @idontshitpostbuttheolympicpark @diazboysbuckley @sweettsubaki @shortsighted-owl @sherlocking-out-loud @wh0rebehavi0r @favouritealias @hearteyesdiaz @ktinastrikesback @princesschez75 @bucksbuddie @oneawkwardcookie @leatherati @moniquekatie @wanderingwomanwondering @asharadaine @ajunerose @talespinner230 @pop-kam @swiftiebuckleys @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @butchjerry @mandzuking17 @yelenasbuddie @copyninjabuckley @name-code-black-widow @rogerzsteven @bi-moonlight @usercowboy @inthecarwithaboy @inandoutoffocus-blog @toboldlynerd @shammers86

#kym costume meta #911 costume meta #911 costumes #911 on fox #911 fox #911 abc #costume meta #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #Eddie diaz #athena grant #bobby nash #maddie buckley #chimney han #hen wilson #karen wilson #denny wilson #christopher diaz #natalia dollenmeyer

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