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hollyhomburg · 8 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.60)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, the word 'r*pe' is used to describe what Geumjae did to her but there are no graphic depictions of it, allusions to physical abuse, graphic violence, there is a brief moment where someone not in the pack touches the m/c's ass without her consent, blood, briefly implied suicidal actions- but it's nothing like what you haven't seen before.

W/c: 12.6k

A/n: i'll be attending my cousin's wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before <3

Previous part ~ Masterlist

You dab at the skin under your eyes carefully. You know they must look red and puffy. Tae’s careful instruction to treat your skin well as all good baby pups should has somehow stuck.

Even here. Even now.

“Do people like always loose it with you? Like when they walk in, do they all cry?”

Your therapist (yes, your therapist) across the narrow room is the opposite of threatening; soft face, pulled back hair, neutral clothing that might just as well be out of a country living catalog.

You don’t know where Jin found her, what little medical booklet he perused like a take-out menu, or how much her services cost per hour. Those kinds of details were not for delicate little pups like yourself to worry over in his opinion.

Most of the time, you're glad not to have to worry about things like this. But right now you're chomping at the bit. Weighting your odds. The other unknowns hover before you. One sticks out. One you're most concerned about.

Is she trustworthy?

Nothing about Dr. Rima seems outwardly threatening, yet you curl in on yourself. She smiles, scrawling something on the top of her notepad before she answers, and something taught in you ticks tighter.

“You’re correct in assuming that most people I meet cry in the first few minutes when they meet me, but you are the first person to cry on my threshold. Most of the time people wait until they’re at least in the chair.”

That has a smile tugging at your lips, albeit unwillingly. Your smile is like a leashed wild animal, with too many teeth when you feel threatened. Contained for now.

If you got up and walked out right now, would she call someone to restrain you? Will you be committed if you tell the truth? Or are you just misinterpreting the stakes?

You are here of your own volition. Even if it was a condition that Jin and Namjoon weren't willing to budge on after the events of last week. It's not like the pack is having you put in a mental institution or something, although they did come with you today. For moral support.

The waiting room was stuffy and yellow, one of those little waterfall mirrors in the corner that you’d watched in a fog sat between Yoongi and Jimin while Jin filled out the necessary paperwork. His pen hovering over the small boxes every few seconds. He'd taken the afternoon off of work to make sure he was there, just to fill out paperwork.

Are you on any medications? Do you have a history with substance abuse disorders? Do you have any intent to harm yourself or others?

Sending glares to anyone who dared to come too close, Jimin had looked and smelled threatening. You're not sure he’d have let you go into an isolated location with her if she’d been an alpha. Jin too had looked close to snapping.

yoongi was the only one who looked somewhat calm, althoug his hand was tightly laced with yours (and a little sweaty)

It’s a wonder that the rest of your pack had agreed to stay home for this. This was just one of several concessions you’d made after what the pack has politely begun referring to as 'sad pup time' during your more vulnerable moments, and blatantly 'your breakdown' during less fragile ones.

But sweet words or not. The facts remain; You are here in this chair after a nearly tearful departure.

You’d met the therapist in the doorway, shaking in your boots, and upon being separated from your pack with the promise that they’d be just downstairs in the lobby, you’d followed her inside.

Yoongi had made a noise in his throat, making you turn back. Dr.Rima turned to watch as he’d pulled you in for a last-minute hug, ducking down to your level. “One hour, okay? We’ll be just downstairs. Text me if you need me.”

His eyes were heavy-looking at the stranger. Unwilling to let you go just yet. A little stalwart, a little standoffish.

“Take good care of her please. She’s very precious to us.”

Precious.

That much was evident by the nearly three-page document that both your pack alpha and omega sent through once Namjoon and Jin had selected Dr. Rima as your therapist. Dr. Rima has quite a bit of experience dealing with overprotective pack alphas and pack omegas. Let alone a pack alpha and pack omega who have such a clinical background.

Yes, you must be well taken care of. At least on paper.

She’s already itching a little, to get her hands on all the others. Packmates and their names are written out, as a part of all intake files. Large packs aren't so common anymore. Her eyes fix on one name; Min Yoongi (beta, mate) unemployed.

The big windows help it feel not so small, on the second floor, the trees block out most of the view of the park below. A small voice that sounds like Hobi whispers that it’s a shame she doesn’t have any plants in here, they'd do so well with all of this natural light.

Your knees clack together a little, moving listlessly, the anxiety in your body begging to be released somewhere.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t we start with why you wanted to come in today.”

You avoid her eye contact, looking instead at the tops of the trees, you don’t know why they haven’t changed color yet, all of the trees on your street are half bare already. She has a smooth inoffensive scent, but you’re mated to a beta so you know what to expect when it comes to the relaxing effects, the subtle haze at the edge of your vision. It must come in handy, having the biological upper hand, when it comes to patients in distress.

If therapists are rare, beta therapists must be even rarer.

You can practically hear Jin, “Nothing but the best for my pup.” There is a part of your brain that won’t ever turn off, appraising everything around you. The designer pumps that she wears. The knickknacks on her desks, there are no photos of any packs that she might call her own, just a pink calendar in the corner.

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too <3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

The pack has kept you substantially plied with little solutions since your breakdown last week. They haven’t let you rot like usual. They’ve kept your days full of little activities; nothing too extravagant or tiring. Letting you rest when you need to and encouraging you to get outside of your comfort zone when it’s clear you’re giving in.

It comes down to that more often than not; giving in or not giving in.

Not giving in looks like trips back to the beach with Hobi. Like going to the salon with Tae and shopping with Jimin. Or another workout class with Jungkook where you’d spent more of the time lounging on the yoga mat than actually moving your body. But you'd still tenuously agreed to sign up for more classes under the encouragement of Wonho and Jungkook.

And now twice a week, you’ve got a mat to call your own during any classes, in the back, if you decide you want it. Your callender hasn't felt so full in years, it feels strange, to have something to do during the weeks that isn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel and doing house chores. Strange in a good way.

Not all of the pack's solutions aren’t silly but sometimes, silly is a good way to push out the dark.

The morning after your breakdown; you'd watched your pack work, fighting back a flush. Sitting at the kitchen bar stool while Yoongi applied painter’s tape to the floor, not intent on keeping back paint this time, but marking it off for you.

You’re a little bit more determined this morning although your first night without nightmares in a little over a month had kept you in higher spirits. You feel more well-rested than you have in ages.

“You don’t need to- I promise- I’m not going-“ but your requests had fallen on deaf ears. Worry building until Jungkook stood up fast grinning up at you, pupils wide brown pools from getting scented stupid this morning.

(Scented stupid, you'd been scented by the pack too, had struggled a little against it, too shy as Namjoon dragged his throat along yours, squirming until yoongi held you down a little, checking with you each few seconds that you wanted that, that your squirming was really just needing to feel a firm touch, a dominant one.

You will go nowhere until your pack have had their right to you, scenting you up, making your scent gland tender and swollen under their teeths and tongues.

It felt so much better to be made to handle it, each of the pack, even hobi, hovering over you to scent you with their wrists and throats. until you smelled so claimed by them that you couldn't breathe without smelling it- Pack.

Jungkook had pouted until he'd gotten the same treatment, although the omegaspace haze had lasted longer on him than it had on you.

He stands up so fast that his hair fluffs. Catching himself on your leg with a giggle before he topples over. grinning up at you before pressing a sleepy sloppy kiss to your knee and then another to your lips,

“No pup zone!" Omega Space Jungkook can get a little bit ridiculous even at the best of times. He's got a case of the morning omegaspace zoomies as he giggles and nips at your nose. You playfully push at his chest. He doesn't budge.

"Your whole face is a no-pup zone." The dissatisfied pur-chirp he'd let out had sounded half hurt, half encouraged.

Namjoon had eased your discomfort. Pulling you from the stool to lean back against his chest, fingers drumming out a rhythm on your legs as Jungkook huffes into your throat.

Having this failsafe- this rule, does not mean that they think you’re going to fail, these are guard rails to keep you on track. Namjoon looks down at you, his full bottom lip tucked a little, not a pout but close. “This is the easiest solution, if you don’t go near it then maybe, maybe it helps.”

His fingers drum against your skin again, and you lean back into him. Uneasy but willing to let him soothe you.

So yes, you’ve been banned from the kitchen, banned from crossing that line that runs from the edge of the coffee stand and just in front of Tae's library room, to the island and over to the fridge. Unless there is someone else close by. You are not allowed here without supervision.

It’s a simple solution, limiting you from the place that you use to hurt yourself. Never mind the fact that there are dozens if not hundreds of other possible avenues you could use. Your creativity knows no bounds when it comes to pain, but you quiet that part of yourself when the desire for hurt gets loud.

You can’t say it hasn’t helped. But then again, the pack has kept you so busy since your breakdown that you haven't had any time to think of hurting yourself let alone put any plans into action.

Across from you, Dr. Rima waits expectantly.

"It was kind of triggered by this thing that happened."

The tip of her pen bobs a little as she writes. “Could you describe the event to me? Or is that something you're not ready to talk about?" You nod and she waits patiently. It takes you a breath to answer.

“A little less than a month ago one of my packmates and I found a dead body."

You feel a little vindicated at her inhale of breath. Wide eyes that say yes- that is something traumatic, yes, it's fair that it kinda triggered you into a more fragile state.

"It dredged up a lot of feelings about my past. Before that, I was kind of starting to feel s-safe which I haven't like, ever been able to feel."

“And your packmate?"

There is new treacherous wetness balancing on your waterline. “Hobi’s a lot stronger than me, his past and mine are really similar but he just- handles his better. A lot of the time it feels like I learn from him even though he’d tell you the opposite is true. He’s my best friend." Your voice goes quiet, "I love my mate more than I love anyone else, but sometimes- Hobi just- gets me you know?" You go a little misty-eyed. Hands tightening on Hobi's sweatshirt.

“Yet he’s not the one sitting in my chair right now.”

You close your eyes, "he's not."

“For what it’s worth- you can have more than one best friend.” Dr. Rima writes as quickly as she can, taking it down. “How long have you been romantically involved with him? Who came first, your mate or him?”

You jolt forward, “Oh no- we’re not- Hobi and I aren't-" You take a deep breath to clarify. "Everyone else in the pack is together but Hobi and I are just friends. We all have our like… little units?”

"Primary partners." Dr. Rima offers.

"Yeah, that." But even that doesn't really cover it, because while Jin and Namjoon are JinandNamjoon and Jimin and Tae are JiminandTae. Jungkook is everyone's problem (in the best of ways) and you and Tae are something else too. The pack's girls the rest of them would say.

(You and Hobi are, well, YouandHobi.)

It sounds weird to say it once it comes out of your mouth. It makes an odd choked feeling lodge in your throat. Too much hope and too much shame for hoping blooming in your chest.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about him.”

She folds her hands over her knees, setting her pen down. Dr. Rima has chubby hands, disproportionate to her body. They look like they'd be soft.

She reminds you of your mom a little bit.

“That’s okay, we can talk about whatever you want. What you want and need is going to be the focus of our sessions. You’re the pilot here. I’m just here to help you interpret your thoughts and feelings.”

She folds her hands over themselves, setting her pen aside, “Why don’t we talk about the last time you remember feeling safe.”

"Physically or mentally?"

"Either, you can choose."

The rest of the session passes frightfully quickly. You can’t say that you don’t cry again. When you finally talk about Geumjae, her smile quickly dissipates. You talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw. Until you’ve depleted the whole box of her tissues. She shows you she's got more hidden under her desk when you apologize, her secret stash gets a laugh out of you.

“The fact that your pack omega filled out your paperwork isn’t the most unusual, but his preference for daily meetings or every other day is a little bit on the nose for a pack omega, I’m wondering if you share his preference.”

“He’s just overprotective.” She eyes you like Jin has good reason to be. You don’t blush this time, a little more comfortable with Dr. Rima than you were at the beginning of this. “I think maybe more than once a week but not every day.”

“How does Monday- Friday sound?”

~-~

When you walk to the door with Dr. Rima Yoongi stands abruptly from his chair.

You can tell by the shiny edge to his to his scent that he doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. He gets the information about your next appointment and then tugs you out the door.

Jins got his legs crossed, fancy leather shoes glinting in the sunlight by the windows. The lobby is buzzing with people coming and going. This building isn't just a therapy office but a collection of other businesses with a few shops and restaurants on the ground floor as well. He looks up and double-takes when he spots you, not standing from his chair, but he opens his arms and you fold yourself along his side, conscious of the other eyes but this.

This you need.

You press your face along the column of Jin's neck, breathing his cream scent in deep.

“Oh pup.”

Your red-rimmed eyes are too obvious and you sniffle wetly, “It was okay, I like Dr. Rima.” He laces your hands together and resists the urge to pester you with questions. Yoongi's hand is still tangled in the hood of your (Hobi's) sweatshirt. Your therapy sessions should be yours and only yours. Yoongi and Jin do not have Dr. patient confidentiality.

And yet the need to know if that helped burns through them. They won't have to wonder for long.

By the coffee stand, Jimin waves and he returns to you when the barista hands over a bag of sweets and a quad of cups. Jin continues scrawling something out for another second before he’s standing and pulling you in for another chaste scent mark.

“Let’s go home.” It's somewhere between an order and a request. But no one disobeys.

On the drive back (37 minutes total) you're a little quiet. You let the sounds of the others be your buffer. You look down at your phone and stare at Hobi’s texts. You respond with just a little heart emoji when you finally still can’t figure out a good response and you're close to home.

Home is its usual conflagration of moving bits and pieces. Each of your packmates is like a shiny cog in a pretty clock, tick tick tick tocking along. Tae and Namjoon are at the table looking through some of the pack’s bills, the pastries and coffee cups litter the table with little piles of powdered sugar and cinnamon. jimin bought enough for the whole pack.

You look at them a little too long, although not because you don't want to eat them. It’s been a while, a few weeks since you’ve made something like that, but every single one of the pastries is something you know how to make. You don’t know why you keep looking at them.

Tae smiles at you, still in the doorway. and it makes you feel a little less like you want to burst into tears. Her voice speaks of the quiet time you have in the library (the tenderness of having someone else do your makeup, another person combing your hair). You hope you'll get some dedicated one-on-one time with her soon.

"Hey little lovely, How was it?"

"She put me through the wringer but I think she got some suds out."

She and Namjoon giggle and you smile small. and you can tell that Namjoon wants to ask you more but he doesn't after a pointed look from your mate. There are footsteps in the hall and before you can move to take off your shoes Hobi is standing in the archway.

Yoongi efficiently strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt with a frustrated huff. It's Kind of like he’s trying to peel away the sadness (your clothes are soaked with your sour scent, rainy and unhappy. Regardless of Jin’s scent mark, you kind of stink).

You might have overheard their words just before you got into the car. Jin's hissed admonishment. “A lot of people cry during therapy Minnie, she’s not in trouble, can’t you smell it?”

Your scent is mellow underneath the memory of your distress, going sweeter by the second. Yoongi wants all memories of your sad scent banished from the house. Hobi stands at the door to the hallway, shifting back and forth, his eyes a little warmer than usual, hands shaking a little bit.

You’ve caught him looking at you a lot since the night he ran away, in the quiet moments when he thinks you’re not noticing. Eyes a shade warmer than usual, a sweetened franticness to his scent. Nervousness and happiness mix like blueberries and whipped cream.

When he pulls up beside you during movie nights and sits thigh to thigh with you. When his hands intertwine with yours over his knee or sometimes or when he pulls your legs sideways across his lap. He looks at you like that when he's doing the small things and he's looking at you like that right now.

You know how love starts, that it starts with the small things.

Hobi resists the urge to open his arms. would you come to him? Would you fold your body along his front so that he could feel your heartbeat? Pressing again and again to the opposite side of his chest with every thump?

He doesn’t say hey, but he does step a little closer. Fingers reaching out. The pad of his index finger slides down the meat of your pinky till it reaches the ball of your wrist. His own special hello.

Your breath hitches, just barely, almost imperceptible if it wasn’t for how close he stands.

A look behind you says Yoongi hasn’t made himself scarce, instead fussing with the pack's coats. Now that it’s getting colder, they don’t all fit by the door. You look behind Hobi and find Namjoon watching the three of you, he raises a singular eyebrow.

“How was it? Bad?” Hobi asks, breaking the silence and the tension, drawing your attention back to him. The next breath you let out is a lot less heavy, and your eyelashes flutter as he steps closer. Hobi smells good, a little earthy, mellowing out his usual sweetness. Sweet for an alpha.

“It was kind of hard, I kinda wanted to run away for a bit at the beginning." You can't keep meeting his eyes with how intensely he's looking at you and they flutter down to his hands. "I almost did.”

"I'm glad you didn't pup." Jin comments, full of reproach, the mirror to you and Hobi as he leans down to press a kiss to Namjoon's forehead. Shucking off his lapelled jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“If you’d have called me, I’d have picked you up. We could still like- run away, if you're down.”

But the house is starting to heat up, and Jin and Yoongi are starting to cook. The light is still honey-yellow happy. And you tip your cheek into his arm. He finally- finally lets his arms settle around your waist.

“Nah, not yet.” You drag out the syllable all playful, and something forbidden stirs in Hobi’s gut. “Jin’s making my favorite tonight. not until later?”

Hobi goes silent, pulls back, biting his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes down. and-

You laugh and Hobi blushes. “Just spit it out.”

Everyone’s been a little bit touchier with you since that night (a little more overbearing too). You won’t immediately chalk Hobi's touchyness up to what you're all thinking. But the affection makes your scent gland feel tender. Zinging when Yoongi steps up behind you and nuzzles into it, huffing again.

Friends can hug each other after therapy right? Hobi swallows thickly and you feel it against your collar bone as he pulls back and steps away from you. “I ugh- got you a present?”

You brighten up instantly, and Hobi's anxiety increases tenfold. A bit of casual mischievousness on the edge of your lips that always have Hobi feeling like he’s being teased even though he knows he isn’t.

“Oh? A present? You’ve never gotten me a present before!”

He kicks at imaginary dust bunnies, fighting back what he knows is a noticeable flush. “I ugh- still owe you, from the car you know and honestly it's not even like a big gift it's like- so small in comparison and-”

Yoongi huffs and continues to disrobe you. Pulling your sweater over your head when he’s not satisfied that your unhappy scent has dissipated. Muttering something like. “hopeless alpha” under his breath. Your tank top pulls up, inches of your hip and skin on display. It's nothing that Hobi hasn't seen before and yet the blush reignites. The sunshine to your morning glory.

“I guess you're right.” But it doesn’t feel like it. Hobi doesn’t owe you anything for that, not when it was so easy to give. Not when you’ve gotten so many late-night drives from that gift.

Hoseok got the idea for your courting gift, one morning while watching you say goodbye to Namjoon:

The pack alpha has always been a fan of goodbye kisses, good morning, and goodnight kisses too. The particular kiss that morning had ‘I’ll miss you’ written all over it. It was so pretty in the way that you lingered, arms around Namjoon’s neck. His hand is underneath your shirt on the small of your back. Such a small touch and yet so gently possessive that it had Hobi aching to see it.

Hobi is unfortunately prone to jealousy and it turns the back of his neck hot. Makes his hands feel oddly tender. He's distracted by the visual, the task of packing up his work bag forgotten. Hoseok’s shift at the flower shop doesn’t start for another few hours, and he’s waiting, watching, an unhappy voyeur.

You and Namjoon have quite the height difference, if he was in between the two of you he’d be the perfect middle ground. That’s just another stupid thought, another stupid thought in the countless number of stupid thoughts that he’s had. (I like my alphas a little pathetic, and nothing's more pathetic than an alpha pining after an omega.)

He grumbles.

Yoongi prattles on, more awake than all of them as he outlines what you have to do today to make progress on the house- which is to go find a place that sells cheaper tile than the ones you first thought of using in the bathroom on the first floor. And maybe change it up a little.

The bathrooms escaped the renovations somehow, and a few nights ago- Jimin had admitted how much they actually use it even though it’s not the pack's primary bathroom anymore. Now that it’s not in use, they’re more willing to part with it for a few days for some very necessary re-styling. it toes the line from vintage to old a little too hard. The yellow is a little…yellow.

Yoongi wants to go light and airy with the color scheme, like he did with the upstairs bathroom and it's seafoam and brown tones. But like with most of the house, your vote is for colorful. “How about a light blue-” Yoongi continues to argue while you kiss Namjoon a little senseless in the doorway, at least Namjoon seems properly dazed, chasing your lips when you pull apart.

“No- we don’t have a room that’s magenta yet!”

This starts the same argument as always; “We can’t make every room in this house pink for Tae.”

But goodbyes take precedence, and when you turn back and smile at Hobi he flushes, shy to be caught looking. He moves, stepping around you and Namjoon to put his water bottle into his bag when you shout, “Stop, Seokie!”

Seokie is a new nickname, one that Jin only uses in the quietest of moments that you've somehow adopted when you don't want to call him Hobi. Hobi always thought that if you’d use any other nickname with him- you’d use daisy (he might want you and yoongi to share that pet name). But he’s a good pup and stops what he’s doing. Every atom in his body every electron no longer circulates neutrons but circulates you instead. Pulled in by your gravity.

You’ve moved so suddenly that you’ve spilled a bit of your coffee onto the floor. Maybe kissing Namjoon has left you feeling a little dizzy too. Yoongi just sighs fondly and wipes it up. Jimin looks up from his phone, smiling when he sees.

“You’ve got a rainbow on your cheek.”

It’s a trick of the light, early morning sunshine refracted through the mottled window just right to cast a single rainbow on the wall and on Hobi when he steps in front of it.

You cup his cheek, finger skimming across where the rainbow sits.

"Pretty."

Hobi feels hot all over.

At Tae’s call of, “If I have to do my eyeliner one more time I’m going to scream!” You giggle and dart away from him. Going to tend to Tae with a soft reply of "I've got you baby."

Hoseok is left, blushing in the morning light. Staying still like you might come by and cup his cheek again, Like a flower staying still in the hope of pollination.

Hobi is left, wanting to scream and somehow demand you back, both would be fair. His plight isn't missed by his packmates, who lean in like a set of jackals, grinning ear to ear at hobi's flustered predicament.

She's going to send him into rut if she's not careful Jin thinks, but doesn't say. instead he teases, “You’ve got to leave in the next ten-minute Hobi.”

Only then does Hoseok move- released from his spell and finally losing the rainbow on his cheeks though they might as well have stayed with how happy and warm he feels. How absolutely incandescent the love is glowing in his chest. A full spectrum of feelings, longing for you to come back.

He almost trips over noodle, darting after you with his tail raised high, catching himself on the edge of the couch at the last second, one shoe on and one off, his water bottle falling and spilling in the process.

yoongi sighs, and stoops to wipe it up. Jimin giggles and pulls Hobi up by his hips, the alpha's fingers feel hot where they've touched him, scalding. “What’s wrong, omega got your tongue?” yoongi returns to his breakfast, throwing the wad of soggy paper towels into the trash.

Jungkook laughs, “It’s more like he wants an omega to have his tongue in her-“

“You guys are gross,” He pushes at Jimin’s shoulder finally moving right. Yoongi hides his smile in a mouthful of Captain Crunch.

Hobi doesn’t think about the rainbows again until his next afternoon shift. When the low angle of the autumn sun cuts through the windows and catches the suncatchers that they hang in the doorway of the flower shop and cast more rainbows- dozens of them really across him and the flower.

He remembers when you came to visit, how you'd lingered over them, looked at them a second longer than you looked at the plants.

It’s a bit of a kitschy display. Other polished stones and nick nacks sitting on the deep shelf along with some smaller potted plants. A little tray of rose-quartz stones falsely advertises themselves as ‘heat reducers.’

The colors start to blend, and the rainbows sway softly in the light, gentle and pretty. He snaps a photo and thinks about sending it to you, but doesn’t.

The store is blissfully empty of Hobi's coworkers when he selects three of them. It's quiet when he packages them in tissue paper, one with a huge pink stained-glass moon at the top, another with three tiers. Each of them is delicate and pretty in their own right. No one’s bought a single one of them in the last three months anyway. They'll hardly be missed. Hobi gives himself a fat employee discount.

Hobi is unfortunately bad at hiding things, especially when he's nervous. Luckily the pack alpha doesn’t have it in him to tease. Namjoon had in fact been only too encouraging and given him a pep talk just this morning about courting and courting presents.

“The worst that can happen is that she doesn’t like it- and then you just have to try again which you were already planning on doing anyway.” Namjoon is quite simply the best at courting. It doesn't matter which subgender; alphas, beta’s, and omegas have all fallen under his touch. At least Hoseok has the opportunity to learn from a professional. Somehow the thought that you'd compare him to namjoon doesn't cross his mind.

Hoseok isn’t good at the romantic gestures that courting necessitates. He’s more of the ‘there when you need him’ kind of lover. Ready to make the small changes to make his loved ones' lives more manageable. Ready with his car keys for adventures. Those parts are easy, this is out of his depth.

Especially when it comes to you. Even After the love confessions, (are confessions still confessions if they’re so internal?) Hobi feels mostly unmoored. About to shatter upon unknown shores.

God, crushes are so frustrating (in the best kind of way, the way that keeps you sighing and daydreaming, the kind of way that makes you look in the mirror a little longer).

Tae helped him half an hour before she started on the pack's paperwork. They'd spent an hour deciding which places were best to hang them to get the greatest number of rainbows. She had even fussed with his hair a little to make it lie right. Having him hop up on the couch so she could see Hobi's face from your angle.

Hobi wanted to make sure there were at least one or two rainbows when he shows you. But when he leads you to the sunroom, his hands over your eyes (the same position you found yourself in when Namjoon surprised you with the nesting pod) there are more of them than there were when he set them up, whole constellations swaying softly.

The suncatchers are pretty and twinkly sparkly in the golden hour light, and your lips part in a simple show of awe when Hobi tells you you can open your eyes. It's so bright, they send dozens of little rainbows across the walls and your nesting pod. Over the white couch and the fig in the corner.

It’s very very pretty. and when you turn back to look a thim, Hobi once again has a rainbow on his cheek.

Your eyes twinkle, but you don't say anything. you stay quiet for long enough that Hobi gets nervous. his anxiety makes him talk fast. “I hung them here- but you can put them wherever you want- in the kitchen or upstairs or I can get you more for any places you want to put them- or- or- ”

You just about tackle him, arms looping around his neck resting your weight in his arms that instinctively grip around your waist. Hobi teeters, unsteady with such a heavy heart, toppling both of you onto the couch as you cry. "I love it!"

You’re sprawled not lying across him but his hand goes out to support the way you cling and rub your face into his chest, a happy little chirp slipping past your lips.

The wild thing in Hobi’s chest settles, settles, and curls around you. Tight and protective like a vice. You pull back, and your smile is just as bright.

Hobi sags, and rests his neck back against the couch, "Good- thank fucking god- I was so fucking nervous-" You fiddle with the buttons on his flannel, it's one of Yoongi's. It seems fitting that you steal his clothes and he steals Yoongi's.

"What brought all this on?"

Hobi doesn't have a good answer, in the quiet with the rainbows, or at least an answer he's ready for. He doesn't say that this is a courting present, and he doesn't need to because instead of answering your question- he replies with one of his own.

“Wanna go for a drive later?” he asks, voice tremulous like he thinks you might refuse him. You’ve never said no to him before, never said not tonight only not right now. Do you treasure our little talks the same way I do?

“Sure, after dinner? like I said? Just-" You lean back against his chest, and Hobi’s hands go tight tight tight around your waist. Holding you close. Clingy. He does not slip his hand under your shirt to cup the side of your hip the way that Namjoon might, but the thought crosses his mind.

Hobi is a good alpha, he won't cross that line until you tell him it's okay. Until then a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. You're still warm to the couch.

“Sit and watch them with me?” You ask quietly. Almost shy, like you think he’d refuse you. He nods and the two of you sit on the couch to look at the rainbows together.

Eventually, Noodle finds the two of you, meowing and hopping up to stretch out along your thighs. Worming his way between the two of you.

The rainbows don't last forever, but Hobi sits with you until they fade.

~-~

Tae’s library is just like every public library:

Tall windows, wide quiet shelves with room for the stories to breathe. A colorful young adult section and an even more colorful kid’s section. A bit aways from the tables and computers so that any over-excited pups don’t disturb the adults. Big deep beanbags for small children to cuddle up to while they ponder fairy tales and adventures only a plastic-covered book away.

Tae’s long plaid skirt barely makes a whisper along the ground. The colder weather has allowed her to live all of her cottage core fantasies, her dark academia aesthetic truly flourishing. Her shirt is a little translucent today, and the fading summer tan of her skin pokes through it in spots where her tank top doesn't hide. Pretty long earrings dangle and clink in the quiet while she works on her shelving.

Wearing her chosen clothing items at work has been a bit of a work in progress.

Most of Tae’s coworkers approve of her transition in that overly willing-to-be-an-ally way that middle-aged women who generally consider themselves progressive outside of closed doors all do. And the ones that don’t approve have swallowed their words with lingering sour eyes and raised upper lips after the general receptiveness to Tae’s social transition.

It's hard to know who's genuine with it, who just doesn't want to cause a fuss, and who just doesn't give a shit. But most of the time her outfits get one or two compliments and thats it. Tae would rather them say nothing than anything negitive.

Tae likes the quiet of the library at this time of day, the silence gives her enough room to let her imagination wander. Tae likes to file away books in mid-morning, when there are fewer people around and her humming is less likely to disturb any of the library’s patrons. She sings to the stories and they sing back, tempting her with every well-worded title and delicately chaste summary.

But she doesn’t just think about stories or the book she's writing (her book is currently giving her hell on the 30th chapter) No. Today- there is a much more interesting love story blooming in her head, in the pack's den too.

She’s been thinking about you all morning (Tae thinks about you almost every morning) there are even little poems scrawled on the edge of her newspaper. Lines that are you and a bit of Hobi too.

I wished that I might be your hair clip / to know what it feels like / to be pressed against the nape of your neck/ To be your suntan/ perched on the edge/ of what you show everyone and what you show no one/ To be the bearer of every freckle/ like the sky holds the stars/ To hold and never let go/ Like birds hold sunshine / and flowers hold songs.

Everyone had noticed of course, how much time you and Hobi have been spending together.

The pack had even talked about it during a quiet moment without you and Hobi. Yoongi’s lack of communication regarding you and Hobi. “I don’t know anything” he’d unsuccessfully lied, and nearly been heaved up and wrestled to the couch as a result. But Jungkook’s puppy eyes had unsuccessfully endeared him.

Yoongi has kept Hobi's secret, but it's kind of hard not to notice. Tae isn't a fool. Tae is a much better liar than Yoongi is- because when you'd come to her after your late-night drive to gush with her about Hobi and the rainbows over makeup. She hadn't said anything about what she knows.

Tae couldn’t tell you how many times she’d noticed little touches, Hobi’s hand lingering on the small of your back, grabbing your waist when he moved behind you in the bathroom. When he take the greatest care to set out his sweatshirts in the morning and even asks Jungkook to make sure they’re clean. They’re practically not even his sweatshirts anymore with the amount you’ve been wearing them.

Tae isn’t an idiot, she knows that Hobi’s finally realized it. While she doesn’t trust herself to play matchmaker given how poorly the first time she pointed out Hobi’s attraction went. that doesn’t mean she’s not going to park herself firmly on the edge of her fantasy land with a box of popcorn.

If they were gonna get married, would Hobi wear a red tux or black or grey? Her brain is already thinking of wedding dresses. One of these days she’s really going to have to make a Pinterest board. Hobi would probably want to do sunflowers, and that might clash with the red unless it was a fall wedding- ooh, and what about pearl details and daisies? a beach wedding might be a little too on the nose for you.

Tae is so absorbed with her shelving and her daydreaming that she doesn’t notice the sound of small shoes on the carpeted floor. Nor does she notice the light-up flash of tiny iorn man sneakers. Her musings are easily interrupted by a small tug on her skirt, shy almost. She startles a little, looking down at the sudden touch.

The little pup's thumb is wet from where it was clearly placed behind their bucked teeth. He's got wide brown eyes and soft-looking hair, Tae can't stop the smile that comes to her lips.

“I wanted to read a book but I couldn’t reach, can you help me? Please?”

Tae’s heart swells as she leans down to the pup's level. “Of course, I can! Why don’t you show me what one you wanted,” diligently Tae follows the little one a few isles over, tugged along by their insistent pulling as he tells her about the pretty cover.

The little pup turns back, furrowing his bushy brows up at Tae, “are you a princess?” he asks. Tae almost has to laugh, a bright happy gender euphoric feeling filling her chest, that feeling of I could be filling her.

She makes her whisper just a little more hushed, playing along, “Don’t tell anyone okay? It's a secret.” The little pup nods, eyes darting around like there are dragons that would threaten her.

“What gave me away?”

“Princesses wear long skirts!” the pup says cheerfully, like it makes the most sense in the world. He's a little too loud and Tae winces. He finally finds the shelve with the story. The spine glimmers pink and gold and Tae is unsurprised to find the illustrated copy of Cinderella. Not the Disney or PJ version, but the Brothers Grimm version.

Tae cringes at the pair of doves on the cover.

Tae doesn’t say that the little pup is too small to read a book so big, or that there is one with more pictures much more appropriate away from the young adult section. The child can’t be more than 6 years old.

But still, Tae retrieves it and delivers it to their waiting arms. The little one clutches it to his chest, thanks Tae, and then promptly plops themselves onto the carpeted floor right there.

He opens the first page, huffs, and then looks up at her imploringly.

“I just realized I can’t read.”

He pouts and Tae melts. Tae wonders where the pup's mother is, but really, there certainly can't be much harm in this. This isn't the first time Tae has been guilted into reading a story to a pup while their parents work or make use of the library's computers.

"Just the first page.” She intones, caution for the child’s hopes in her voice, she presses her skirt under her knees and sits on the scratchy carpet. The pup curls close to see the pictures. Resting his tiny chubby cheek in the billow of Tae’s big puffy sleeve.

Tae's chest is all tight as she reads. The pup is very well-behaved, he pauses, and asks questions in a soft voice only when Tae gives him space to respond. Tae easily ommits the parts that aren't appropriate. but tae finds herself watching the pup a little bit more as the minutes stretch.

In a few years with your own little ones around, will Tae become the defacto bedtime story reader? Will she do this with the pack's pups one day? Will she be the one to take that bright little light in their eyes that imagines things as greater and more and cultivate it? Her cheeks feel warm at the prospect, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings in excitement.

Your pups and Jin's pups too- they're gonna be so loved. Tae's gonna be the best mom to them, The best alpha too.

One page turns into two and then three. In this quiet corner with only Tae’s voice as ruler and god, the little pup hinges on every word. Until there’s another voice close by. An adult not wishing to be loud, a whispered name.

“Jae?”

Tae smiles up at the woman at the end of the aisle of books. Her smile turns sweeter when Jae hops up and runs to press his face into her jeaned thighs. Tae remembers how that felt, how every scent besides Tae’s own omega mother felt overwhelming and icky.

Tae stands with a crack of her knees and makes to hand over the book, “This makes a great bedtime story until about chapter 8, that one you might want to skip until he’s a little older.”

The woman makes to smile, but it only goes so far. Tae watches in perfect detail, everything in slow motion, as her eyes flicker down to Tae’s Addams apple.

She drags her child close by their wrist quicker than Tae can blink. Tae sees the moment that the child realizes this touch isn’t gentle, wide eyes going fear-stricken as he's tugged behind her back. And then it's all downhill from there.

I'll spare you the more vile bits.

But the saddest moment of the argument that follows (Which involves not one but three of Tae's co-workers to calm down the hysterical woman whose screeches echo around the quiet library) is when the pup tries to get his mother's attention. "Mom, I liked that she was reading to me."

"He" the certified Karen hisses, moving in a way that makes the pup flinch back. "-should know better than to corrupt a pup with such- such-" her eyes dart down and up, and Tae's skin burns. "Disgusting behavior."

The misgendering doesn't even sting. What does hurt is the eyes peering in. She isn't being quiet and it's causing many of the library's patrons' attention is diverted. Tae's coworkers have put themselves between Tae and the woman. But there still aren't enough people (enough packmates) in between her and the verbal tirade.

An hour later, after the woman has left after threatening to call the police, Tae talks with his boss and his boss’s boss. The room behind the front desk is glass, and he knows that the door doesn’t keep the sound of their raised voice out.

“I wasn’t harassing her child; I was just helping him find a book for Christ sake!”

The worst part is that this isn’t the first time that this has happened. No- since Tae came out there have been two other complaints leveled against her from bigoted patrons. Both right at the beginning before she got the hang of presenting how she wanted to.

At least those confrontations weren’t face-to-face. At least those complaints didn’t end with someone threatening to call the police and a pup cowering, tugged along too roughly out the door.

The little pup had glanced back at Tae, mouth in pout, eyes swimming with tears.

Even if the woman felt righteous in her anger, the least she could have done was not yell in front of the pup. Tae promises herself right then and there, that she'll never raise her voice in front of the pack's pups, not in anger.

The book has stayed on the counter at the front. Pink and gold and treacherous. Tae hopes that if anything, the pup finds it and reads the ending one day. Stories have a way of finding us, even when the world makes us let them go.

Now in the back room behind the check-out counter. Tae’s boss levels her with an expectant look, the kind that people give when they don’t want to be transphobic not really- it’s just so hard for them not to, so learned. Tae is the nail that sticks up. It’s bullshit really. Tae can tell it's bullshit before she opens her mouth.

“Really? He asked for Cinderella?”

“Yes.” Tae’s biting tone is an alpha’s tone, not a man’s, and yet she knows how it sounds.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not lying.” Is Tae supposed to only help some children find the books they want? Is she supposed to look at them and make her best guess if they’ve got homophobic parents and skip them over? It’s not her fault that the sweet sweet pup’s parent was a bigot.

“I can’t help but feel like- you’ve got a personal agenda-“

"Charlie-" the district manager cautions.

Tae can’t stop herself from snapping, alpha anger sparking with the intent to burn. “Little boys should be allowed to read Cinderella if they want to” Rats and all. Her hands are shaking, and it isn’t missed by them. The room smells thick with Tae’s spicy cinnamon anger.

The district manager sets her hand on Tae's shoulder, and her anger ebbs just a little. “I think maybe you should go home a little early today, just to cool off. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Tae doesn’t want to go home early, Tae doesn’t want to go home at all as she packs up her books. Her bag lighter than usual, absent of the stories that she wants to take home. For once there aren’t any that she wants to read.

She walks to the train station because Jimin won’t be off work for another 2 hours and that’s when he’d usually pick her up, the last three days he’s gotten her flowers too; white roses the first day, pink the second, and red the third. She sends him a text.

Tae <3 (1:48): I left work early today, you don’t have to pick me up, I’ll get an Uber home.

Mini-alpha (1:49):!!!!!

Mini-alpha (1:49): What happened? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I can leave now.

Tae sighs, looking down at her phone while she waits for the crosswalk light to come on. Red still, green in a few seconds, she only has to wait. She can practically feel Jimin's nervous energy through the phone. it's a wonder he doesn't immediately call her.

It makes her soft. It isn't in Jimin's nature to give any of his lovers any space but he always makes an effort when it comes to her.

Tae <3 (1:53): No. It’s fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.

Tae doesn’t want to talk to Jimin about transphobia again. At least not yet. It’s too much energy. It’s not that Tae doesn’t want to make what happened during Namjoon’s rut better. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it- it’s just that there’s nothing to talk about, the explanation of his actions are such a burden for Tae to bear. And Tae trusts that Jimin’s heart is in the right place even if he makes mistakes. And even telling Jimin off, yelling at him, wouldn’t change it.

Either one day Tae will not have to deal with bigoted parents, either one day she’ll pass and won’t have to worry, or she'll always be in this awkward middle ground.

Trans people are like toupees, you only notice them when there’s something off, something a little misplaced about them. Tae fears that most of all. Femininity, as much as she wants it, as much as it's hers to take, what if it won't ever fit right? What if she never passes?

Tae loves her job at the library, it’s the perfect mix of boring and safe and easy even if it doesn’t pay enough. But even as she's gained things like skirts and puffy sleeves, she's exchanged them for days like today. Really, the library was her favorite place before today and now, every step away from it makes her feel a little lighter. She's not even angry anymore, just exhausted mentally.

Tae decides to walk home at least she’s in her most conservative channel flats, they could use a little bit more wear and love and Tae’s thoughts are still too sharp. She dulls them to a palatable edge that all falls apart when she gets home.

You’re there, thank fucking god you’re always there when she gets home. You’ll always be Tae’s comfort person.

Tae opens the door with a creek and push of cold air, you're saying something to Yoongi turning with a toss of your hair, eyes brightening when you see her before you've even said her name.

You look a little healthier today, with a little bit more of a rosy glow to your cheeks and a healthy brightness to your eyes, not all glassy.

"Tae! You're home early!"

Tae will never stop being proud of how hard you try, and will never stop being a bit envious either because Tae-

Tae looks at you and wilts, bag flopping onto the floor, and predictably burst into tears.

"Oh- oh Tae."

"Baby girl-"

You and Yoongi are just about the best security blanket a packmate could ask for. You're so good as you pull her down to your level so you can kiss away her tears, maneuvering her like a perfect team onto the couch. Yoongi's strong hands slide off her shoes. Yoongi's fingers digging into her sore heel as you kiss away her every tear.

A substantial amount of babying and a Sos packmate in distress text later, and Tae is reclining across a freshly fluffed nest, the muscles in her body relaxed. The blisters on the back of her feet are bandaged and kissed. Every inch of her body is too.

You don't talk about it until after the pack's facemasks are finished, and hobi's clear coat has dried over the tiny nail sticker that you left. a small bumblebee.

Your skin smells sweet after a long long bath full of fancy bath bombs. Jinnie had also rubbed oil onto her freshly shaven legs. You helped, dragging it along oh so carefully to not nick her skin. Ending each pass with a kiss to her ankle and then upper thigh.

Tae’s head is in your lap now, cheek pressed against your (slightly chubbier) thighs. Her sniffles the background music as Tae gives her final recap of what happened.

Your nose gets a wrinkle in it when you go cross. "There's so much meanness to the world, I hate how people have to add to it."

Jimin’s anger leaves an undercurrent in the air, dragging the other alphas along, Hobi’s hands are strong where they dig into Tae’s shoulders, belly down in the nest while you play with her hair, braiding it back and forth. The attention makes her feel a little tingly.

“Do you know what her name was? Did you get a look at her car-“ Jimin asks, nearly barking. The library has cameras. Jimin knows it does.

Jin sets a hand on the back of his neck, a scruff threatening. “Down pup. Tae doesn’t need you to track them down.” Jimin’s teeth look particularly sharp in the light. For a face so soft he has quite the mouth on him.

“They made her sad,” he growls, but it's softer, more pointed as he crouches over her.

Namjoon’s quiet voice unlocks the whole world's worries, massaging gently down the column of Tae’s delicate neck, rough hands, worn tender touching her regardless. Namjoon is rarely ever so pointed, but it's logical, from an alpha's perspective, Tae knows what he hints.

"I think that if your bosses aren't going to protect you from people like that, then I want you to leave your job." Jin gives him a look like, 'Now you know where I'm coming from' but Tae's the important packmate right now.

Tae rolls Namjoon's words around her tongue, her hand loosely twined with his. Namjoon has the steadiest hands out of everyone in the pack and a few minutes ago he repurposed his surgery skills to do her nails. Took off the chipped red and re-did them because Namjoon knows she feels best when her claws are polished. He checks them now. Tapping them lightly to not smudge them.

It's a girl's night, the first girl's night you've ever had with the whole pack. Tae's face is still glossy from the face mask.

“I don’t think I want to quit; I don’t think that would help at all that’s not going to like- solve the world and all its issues.”

“No, but- if it’s making you more sad than happy. Then maybe it’s worth considering.”

Tae knows Namjoon’s not saying that she doesn’t make enough to affect the pack's finances, but that's still the truth. Hobi pulls himself along her other side and you watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Hobi presses a kiss to Tae's temple, “All you want to do is write every day anyways, and we just want you to be happy,” 6 heads nod their agreement.

Hobi isn't wrong; The last four weekends in a row Tae has woken up several hours earlier than the pack would usually stir from morning cuddles, just to get a few hours of uninterrupted writing done. She’s also spent nearly every night in her library room, staying up late after the pack has retired upstairs until one of you comes down and wrangles her upstairs. The pack's prettiest alpha needs her beauty sleep.

But is it enough to count on? Is it worth quitting her job over?

You duck down low, kissing the same spot Hobi did, your lips touching just a Tae away. a heavy breath wooshes out of her chest. "Yeah why wouldn't we want you to quit? If you're always here then I can always do this."

Your kiss is gentle, and it tastes like belonging more than Tae would ever be able to write, to describe. A love that makes you feel like you belong is a rare thing. And Tae's hand goes up to tangle in your hair, keeping you there for just a shared breath longer.

The next breath tastes a bit like freedom. It's scary to be free.

(But Tae leaves her 2 weeks' notice on her boss’s desk before the end of the next work day, and she doesn't feel bad about it one bit).

~-~

(1 year prior)

Maybe the truth is that the reason why you don’t feel you deserve agency is because you know what your agency looks like. The choices you’re willing to make when it comes down to it.

The secrets you tell and the lies you have buried deep in your pocket like one of Hobi’s found things. Something you can’t get rid of and cast back into the ocean. No matter how hard you try. There is something about murder that sticks, that stays no matter how many times you try to wash your hands of it.

It's not guilt, because you don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

Being backed into a corner can make someone do a whole hell of alot of monstrous things. And back then Life was monotonous. Back then there was Anguish without change.

Your life went like this: Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Meet up with Hyejin. Make poison. Make pastries. Go to the Don’s house. Feed it to them. Listen to Moonbyul tell you to wait. Go home. Get beaten again and again. Get raped every night. On and on and on.

Clean up your blood from the tiles. Clean it from the carpet. Hydrogen peroxide and not bleach. Cover the bruises up with color corrector first before you put concealer over them.

Smile and tell everyone that your husband and you are perfectly happy. There will be a pup on the way soon enough, I'm so lucky to have someone who supports me, and I'm so lucky to have a love like this.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Go to sleep and don't cry because then he'll beat you for keeping him awake.

In the darkness that curls around you. Blood going tacky between your legs, you start to dream of wicked sweet things.

What you've been through would be enough to make anyone go crazy, Enough to make anyone consider drastic action. Enough to make anyone consider murder.

Enough for you to slide a pair of small syringes off of Moonbyul’s night desk and a small packet of arsenic too. You know how to make a simple syrup. You know how to mix in arsenic to it, how to make it liquid soluble without breathing it in.

You make it in the fine china and break it after so that you can throw it out without worrying. You get a beating for it but you hardly feel it when Geumjae drags you across the floor by your hair. It hardly breaks your heart when he steps on your ribcage with the intent to break bones because you know what you have to do.

After, with your own blood on your teeth, you make sure to leave it in the bottom of the trash, and ask the cleaning staff not to take it out yet. They're supposed to find it.

You don't care if you die, you just want to make sure the necessary villains are punished. When it comes to blame the person who is most to blame is you anyway. You are simply numb to pain, numb to your own anguish. Numb to the idea of your own death too. Geumjae's already killed you in every way that matters.

Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite; give a girl an enemy and she'll do dangerous things.

Your meetings with the Don and beta always go the same; gossip, and greetings. Sometimes when you come bearing bruises, they tell you to wait just a little longer.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Just give it time for his temper to settle. Once you're mated it will get better.

Even Moonbyul and Hyejin tell you that planning the perfect crime takes time. That you'll be saved if you only wait. Help is coming.

Bullshit.

You’re tired of waiting for him to kill you, you're tired of waiting to die. You're smarter than all of them because you know exactly how to get everything you want and you're willing to do anything to get it.

The next time Moonbyul and Hyejin take you to the Don and Beta’s house under the guise of afternoon tea, you are prepared for war and dressed with revenge in mind. Your white dress knotted at the shoulders falling in a heavenly sheet, like an avenging angel, neither pious nor sinful.

You are a force of nature and nature does not ask when it takes lives.

What’s worse; the people that enable the abusers or the abusers themselves? Who is more to blame for the pain caused?

You are no longer hiding and you won't let them hide this time. The bruise on your cheek is purple and mottled, the rings of bruises on your wrists from his hands while he held you down.

When you smiled at Geumjae over breakfast this morning, there was only one thought in your mind.

You’re next.

Your agency looks like this; elegantly done hair your skirt a little short for fall. A basket of arsenic-backed goods in a basket as is usual. Fluffy pink cupcakes with the perfect Swiss meringue buttercream in little spirals.

A gentle smile at the beta when she opens her doors for you, letting the monster in, because you’ve been over enough times that she trusts you. You suppose that's your doing too, you've fooled her into thinking you're just another idiot girl who decided to marry rich and didn't bother to consider the strings attached. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, you bare your teeth when you smile.

Hyejin has helped on that front; over the past few months, she has taught you exactly the kind of conversation that the beta likes- the useless conversations about family drama, the small little bits that you let through about your husband’s opinion on which pup is marrying whom, which alpha is good or bad for the packs near dozen omega pups that aren’t mated yet. Which alphas are likely to be a liability? This kind of gossip is all information and strategy.

You might have lied in your call to her and told her you were fearful of one of the younger ones- and a conversation you’d happened to witness on a street corner, a shadowy figure that looked a little too severe not to be the authorities. Of course, these kinds of things have to be handled with discretion and ginseng tea.

The Don does not bother to turn down the TV when you walk in, sitting vulnerable in his recliner with his feet up. It doesn’t appear that he has any sort of inclination or plans to interact with you when you sit here at his kitchen table and talk. Instead, he lounges and watches his sports, loud because his hearing is so bad, nearly deafening.

It’s good. hopefully anyone nearby will not overhear.

You hope that if this goes south before you have a chance to confess that they find the letter you wrote at home; the one that says your husband is the one that put you up to this.

You know that the pack’s retribution will be swift, that any sort of alibi he has will be null and void with the evidence you’ve been leaving. A little trail of breadcrumbs that leads right into a pretty little grave for your husband. Even if you won't be around to see it.

You're already a friend of pain. You already find comfort in it. If they kill you (which they will) then at least it will finally be over.

You wait until the moment you know is coming, when the Don looks over his shoulder at you and comands “Be a dear and bring me one.”

You put one of your artfully created confections on a pretty gold-rimed plate and walk to his side, you lean over to put it in his lap as he indicates. the same way he does every time you come over with sweets.

The lingering hand on your ass is hardly abnormal. behind you the beta's tea cup clinks as she sets her tea down and says nothing. even though you know she notices.

He’s so busy coping a feel he doesn’t notice your other hand, going to the syringe duck taped to your thigh.

It happens quicker than the Don can blink. The most powerful man in the underworld can't be bothered to protect his life for a pretty little piece of ass. You smile down at him, and his hand squeezes the round apple of your behind.

His hand is still on your ass when you whip your arm around with as much force as you can and drive the syringe and plunger into his neck.

You must have hit something in his neck because he barely has a second to splutter before he’s going still and quiet. Mouth falling horrifyingly slack. His breath rattles and his eyes dart as his whole body is paralyzed near instantly, in the time it takes for his blood to circulate.

Two paces, swing, plunge.

The beta barely has a second to scream or stand to attack you. You are so much younger than they are. Your body might be fragile and frail but It’s still stronger than hers. Her brief scream is easily drowned out by the scratch of the TV.

She ends up on the floor, the icing on the cupcakes sticky as she falls into half of them, tossed onto the floor by your brief tussle as you straddle her struggling form. Her pushing gets weaker and weaker and she sobs.

It doesn’t surprise you when you see the black tracery of a dying mating mark itching up her skin.

One thing that the family had always been oh so careful of was to talk only in their mother tongue around you. Secrets are best kept when they’re spoken in foreign tongues. It was a way to isolate you. To make them speak English for you to understand felt like a beholden request. At one point It was a point of insecurity for you, always left out of the loop, always relying on your husband to keep you in the know.

You bend over her as her pushing gets weaker and weaker, the arsenic doing its job, causing numbness and the tingling of extremities before it causes paralysis and then coma and death. Your hair falls in a sheet over the beta’s face.

You’ve studied much over the last few months. Enough that you lean in close over her and speak your words in perfect Korean.

“You look so angry,” you croon softly, dragging a finger down her cheek. Spittle froths at her mouth as she breathes heavily. “You shouldn’t- if you want someone to blame you only need to look in the mirror.”

You lean in close until your lips brush her ear, “it's your fault you see- you're the one who lied" you mimic her voice, making it scratchy, "'just wait a little longer, it will be better for the family if you stay quiet." you laugh, "as if that where true, the only person it benefits is you. You where ready to let him hurt me and kill me if i just stayed quiet."

You wipe away a bit of spit from her lower lip, "You always told me how it was your duty to protect the family- but you only serve yourself. If you'd have done something, if you'd have helped me I wouldn't have had to do this. You just wanted me to shut up and die quietly.”

You switch back to English, “Well now it’s your turn.”

You watch her tongue go numb, paralyzed, but the poison hasn’t advanced far enough for her not to speak.

“Fucking- worthless bitch.”

You laugh and stand brushing some crumbs from your skirt. She’s already too weak to move, to shout, or fight you. You watch the light start to leave her eyes, winking out so slowly, like a dying star. But she still looks so pissed.

“You don’t have a right to be angry, you killed me first. You can’t blame me for fighting back.”

She gives her last breath and the TV plays on. Your shoe ticks her hand, her fingers twitching weakly. You watch as she gasps her last breath, a small smile on your face.

You sit at the table and turn the TV down. You wait a few minutes, but it quickly becomes an hour. You have yourself a nice little treat while you watch, turning the channel to a food network while you eat.

You really are a fantastic cook. The crumb on this batch is so nice you don’t even taste the metallic tang of poison. You eat through one, and then another, until the whole basket is empty.

Before you know it there is a concerned knock at the door. The lock clicks and turns when you answer it.

When Moonbyul opens the door, you laugh at the expression on her face. Licking the frosting from your lips. Even that is delicious.

She takes in their bodies, crumpled on the floor the frosting on your cheeks. The evidence. Both of them dying. A violence you cannot undo.

Her voice is somber. “Oh Pup, what have you done?”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

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Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

~-~

Notes:

this chapter is a very classic bily chapter, in the fact that there is a fuck ton of fluff and then bang the mafia bits just take you out. we needed to get back into the mafia bits of the story sooner rather than later though 💀

i felt like i was going a little too over the top with certain bits of puptalk in this chapter, but i really wanted to use it to show that like yeah- the pack has been treating her alot more gently since her breakdown, they've been babbying the fuck out of her, even if we don't get to see it :(

Hobi's texts are so???? Fucking cute?? He's so hopeless my god he wants to make her feel loved without actually saying it and i hope you read them and just go "oh, you're an idiot."

I have this whole elaborate backstory to how wonho's gym works with monthly subscriptions to classes where people can decide how many classes they want to take a week, ie gym dues for facilities and then discounted classes on top if they pay for it before hand, with several tiers.

this chapter almost feels clerical- this is definitely more of a set up chapter- where i needed to check off a lot of boxes, like hobi's courting present- before we go any further into the story. things are going to start amping up in terms of stakes pretty quickly.

That one part, where hobi is kinda malfunctioning after the m/c touches his cheek and everyone teases him feels the most representative of the pack as a whole. like that part where they're all replying- feels very real. i struggle a little to capture a sense of domesticity in concise ways, but i think this part is very tidy.

That little touch with hobi- where he touches her wrist and her finger, that touch has so much weight to it, i personally think the whole pack was tasting the sexual tension on the air, can you guys feel it too or is it all in my head?

idk why yoongi calling tae babygirl makes me so flustered but it does 🥵

i really wanted to work calling tae mommy into the chapter someway but tbh this chapter felt complex enough without it.

there is like- one plot hole in this whole story, and that is in the first chapter of the story when yoongi gets a call the person on the other line says "grandfather is dying." implying that his death wasn't instantaneous like this is shown to be. however, in my mind- the injections don't actually kill the don and beta but plunge them into a coma that they never wake up from- is this an actual possibility with arsenic poisoning- NO IT ISN'T lol, you're just going to have to suspend your disbelief for me.

the m/c has always been the person who killed the don and the beta- i've known this since like...maybe the 4th chapter? it wasn't in the og og plan for the story but almost everything in bily has been hammered out since then. and tbh you already knew she killed them just not that it was this violent! does this count as a secret???? idk! maybe!!!

she's a little murder baby just like minnie <3

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ladykailitha · 7 days

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Icarus Part 11

Again, I am working on Paper Hearts and Sweet Home Indiana until they are complete and Paper Hearts just snuck in another chapter so that was fun.

In this we have Corroded Coffin trying to change the culture of metal and the band meets Bob Newby.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

****

Celeste Baptiste was a miracle worker in her field and everyone knew it. Producers and recording studios were chomping at the bit to work with The Fallen the second she put out feelers that their current producer and studio just weren’t meeting the band’s needs.

They decided to go with Starcourt Recording studio as it was closer to home for a lot of the members. Which of course pleased Spence to no end, as it meant that he got to spend more time with Nadia.

They were currently interviewing for producers and had yet to find on that worked for them.

Enter Bob Newby.

****

Bob wasn’t used to working with bands that had alter egos. He heard of them of course. Slipknot, Daft Punk, and others. But he wasn’t a fan of secrecy for the most part and beyond the basic NDAs of contracts, he wasn’t a fan of those really, either.

But there was something about these four men that pulled him in. Especially when he learned that their previous producer had been trying to do with them. It was like he hadn’t listened to them at all and was trying to force them into what he thought metal meant.

So he thought he’d at least speak with them. If they didn’t like him or he didn’t like them, he’d walk away, no skin off his nose.

They walked in all wearing more casual versions of their onstage personas. They wore hoodies and masks of their colors to hind their face and hair, but the rest was all very down to earth. Bob supposed it made sense, after all, they couldn’t record in their tight leather outfits.

He was surprised to see that the drummer’s mask’s eyes were covered unlike the rest of the band and he couldn’t help but wonder if his eyes would give him away, like having some kind of heterochromia or something like that.

“Hey, I’m Bob Newby,” he greeted. “Everyone take a seat. Thanks for coming to meet me at my house studio, I’m two days away from a deadline and am really crunching it.”

“Of course,” the one in white said. He was the only one’s whose mask didn’t completely cover his face. “I would apologize for the subterfuge but it’s kind of our shtick.”

Bob smiled. “So I’ve been told. Tell me a little bit about yourselves.”

The one in white smiled. “I’m Abbadon, I’m the lead singer. I can play guitar, piano, and violin, but we don’t usually incorporate that stuff into our music.”

“Is there a reason why not?” he asked, clasping his hands together and leaning forward on his knees.

The band members looked at each other in shock.

“The label wanted us to stick to metal,” the one in blue said, “They were okay with Abbadon on rhythm guitar to help fill out the sound, but they didn’t want any of that other ‘stuff’.” He put air quotes around stuff.

“They do realize that metal and heavy rock have been using piano for as long as the genre has been a thing, right?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Again the band looked shocked.

Bob sighed. He held up his hands. “Wait, wait... we’ll get into all that once all the introductions have been made.”

The one in red and the one in white shared what he assumed was a concerned glance.

“You weren’t told about us?” the one in red asked.

“Oh, no, I was,” Bob replied with a grin. “But I want to hear it from you.”

So they went around and introduced themselves and he was starting form a picture about the band’s dynamic.

“Right,” he said, “I’ve listened to your other albums, seen recordings of your live shows, and even watched interviews and this is my takeaway on your sound. Your last producer was trying to force you into harmonies and melodies of early thrash metal of the 1980s, which isn’t your style at all.”

Astraeus, the one in midnight blue, spoke from his place on the floor, “That’s what we kept trying to tell him. He said that the sound was coming back and if we wanted to compete with the likes of Metallica and Corroded Coffin then that’s direction we needed to be heading as a band.”

Bob let out a long exasperated sigh. “But you can’t compete with them.” He held up his hands when Azrael, the one in black, and Asmodeus, the one in red, bristled. “I’m not saying you’re not as good as they are. Absolutely not. But you’re not in the same genre of metal that they are. It would be like comparing the Rolling Stones and Beatles because they were both British rock bands.”

Astraeus and Azrael shared a glance, one Bob couldn’t interpret with their masks on.

Azrael rolled his eyes. “We’re what our detractors love to call nu metal as if music can’t have more than one sound.”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You’re vocals tend toward the melodic over the screaming or more guttural sounds of thrash metal. So I would focus on that. The label sent me over the demo and you’ve got a lot of great stuff here. Stuff the other guy didn’t want to touch. Some of the more...” he cocked his head back and forth, “blatantly queer? LGBTQ+? Gay stuff?”

“Queer works,” Abbadon said with a wry note to his voice.

Bob nodded again. “Who is the writer/writers?”

Astraeus and Azrael raised their hands.

“With a little lyrical help from Abbadon,” Asmodeus said darkly.

Abbadon rubbed his back to calm the other man as he bristled at his other bandmates.

“So how does your writing process work?” Bob said ducking his head to his smile.

Astraeus explained how Abbadon would write down his thoughts and feelings and that he would turn them into lyrics for Azrael to turn into songs.

“So I’m guessing that at least either Abbadon or Astraeus is some variation of the rainbow spectrum?” he pressed the band.

The two men in question shared a glance, Astraeus nodded.

“I’m bi and Astraeus is gay,” Abbadon confirmed. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Bob threw laughed. “No not at all. In fact just the opposite. I want you two to come out.”

He couldn’t see their faces but he could feel the blank stares as their eyes bore into him.

“I understand that is a daunting feeling,” he murmured kindly. “But I think it would really boost your image, allow you to be more open with your songs, especially with Starlight Eyes, and it would make more metal artists be more comfortable with an LGBTQ+ label. Because right not a lot of metal stars are out and all of them have come out while being so massively famous that they could ‘take the risk’.”

Asmodeus and Azrael shared a look.

“The two of us are straight though...” Asmodeus said, “I’m literally famous for women throwing themselves at me, is them being out going to hurt either us or them?”

Bob tilted his head to the side. That was a fair question and one that should be considered. But he shook his head. “It shouldn’t. No one is going to expect the whole band to be queer. Take Corroded Coffin for example. Other than their bassist, Brian Martin being ace, he is still attracted to women romantically,” he held up his hands in defense when it seemed that a couple of the band were about to interject, “and I’m not saying he doesn’t count as queer, because I’m not. But the only one with what the average person would consider queer is their frontman, Eddie Munson. He is an out gay man, but even he didn’t come out until they were selling out arenas.”

The other members started teasing their lead singer, ribbing him and making low probably ribald comments.

Bob raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat.

Azrael turned him and Bob could feel the absolute glee radiating off the man. “Abbadon here, has a crush on Eddie.”

His face split into a large grin. “Aren’t you scheduled to tour with them next year?”

Abbadon coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’re working on that.”

Their manager who had been waiting in the corner on her phone for the meeting to conclude turned to the band. “What do you think, boys? Is Bob our man for the job?”

He looked up at her and then back to the band. “So what do you say? You ready to rock the metal world?”

Abbadon spoke for all of them when he said, “Yeah. Yeah we are.”

****

In the end it didn’t matter what Steve and his band wanted for the tour dates because Gareth’s little stunt landed him in rehab. And Corroded Coffin’s label refused to tour without him.

Which had pissed Eddie off. They had made a deal with Gareth and he had broken the deal first. And as shit as it was, getting a touring drummer was easier than replacing anyone else in the band.

Eddie and his band were doing an interview about Gareth’s sudden stint in rehab, talking about the future of the band.

Only they weren’t dressed like they normally were. They were still in jeans and t-shirts. But their jeans were in various shades of blue and Brian wore a plain white tee, Jeff wore a Taylor Swift Eras band shirt, and Eddie wore pale pink tee with David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust on it.

In short they did not look like a metal band. They looked like three guys, just shooting shit.

It had been a slow change over the summer. Every time the band went for an interview that wasn’t at an event one of them would dress slightly different. Then two or three of them would wear something a little less ‘metal’, until they were all dressed like they were.

The interviewer, Jenna Peterson looked as uncomfortable to be interviewing them as they looked to be interviewed.

“So let’s start with something softer,” she said, crossing her legs and simpering, “so why don’t we first first talk about your shift in style.”

Jeff threw back his head and laughed. “Good god! We don’t wear the ‘uniform’ for a couple of interviews and we get the clothes question.”

Brian shook his head.

“You think all those leather and chains and shit is comfortable?” Eddie asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe, maybe not. But it sure is hot as hell,” she said cocking her head.

Jeff snorted and ran his tongue over his lips. “We were getting tired of the hate metal stars get for wearing anything but leather and black denim. Do you know how fucking hot that shit gets?”

“Like there was a bassist from a huge metal band,” Eddie said, agreeing, “that was papped wearing a graphic tee and cargo shorts standing outside of a shop where his wife was shopping and suddenly everyone was talking about how he sold out and that he was disrespecting the genre. Dude was sixty or some shit. If he can’t wear what makes him comfortable without being told he’s selling out, than what hope is there for up and coming bands from being shunned because they ‘don’t conform’ to the aesthetic of being in a metal band.”

Jenna smirked and tilted her head. “Is this about The Fallen and their assertion that they wouldn’t have been welcomed if they had been themselves.”

Jeff and Eddie shared a glance.

“I won’t lie,” Jeff said, “and say that wasn’t a part of it. But it was also because one of my good friends from high school was a huge metal fan. Loved all the greats. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Dio, Black Sabbath...like was the biggest fan of all of them. Had all their albums on vinyl, posters on her wall, but other than the odd band t-shirt she sure as hell didn’t dress like a metalhead.”

Jenna leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped up on her knee. “So what did she dress like?”

Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes. “She was a cheerleader with a fondness for pink and frilly. She loved floral prints and cardigans for fuck’s sake.”

Jenna sat back in shock. “Wait, really?”

Brian nodded, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. “Yeah. She’s our manager now. But the push back she would get for not dressing like a metalhead and just being a girl was repulsive.”

“We apologized to her about not trying to change the culture around what a metalhead should look like,” Jeff said, “and she waved us off. Said that if it had bothered her she would have said something herself. But she was the one that helped carefully curate what we wore so that it went smoother.”

“We’ve been talking to other bands, too,” Brian said. “Getting them to help. We are supposed to the genre about non-conformity but here we are pushing a conformity on people in the same story, different font.”

Jenna returned to her simpering, she batted her eyelashes at Jeff. “Is The Fallen among those you’ve asked to help?”

“No,” came Eddie’s blunt answer.

She reared her head back in shock and blinked at him for a moment. “Why not? It seems to me that of all the bands to need to dial it back, The Fallen would be at the top of that list.”

Brian snapped his fingers. “And that would be why. They don’t need to dial it back. Maybe they would be as famous as they are without the masks and shit, but now it’s integral to who they are as a band. And we aren’t going to make them change to make other people more comfortable.”

Jenna uncrossed and crossed her legs. “Well, good luck. So you just finished your ninth album, tell me about that process.”

They talked about the album and Gareth’s battle with substance abuse.

The interview never got less awkward, but Corroded Coffin handled it with such grace that a lot of people were calling Jenna out on social media for being the absolute worst choice for that interview.

****

Tag List:

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@spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

@messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi

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@child-of-cthulhu

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar au

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ketterdamskaelishprince · 2 months

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episode 100, mr raven what the fuck

obviously since i'll be talking about episode 100 i'm going to just put it out there that if you haven't read episode 100 yet then do not read this. then again, this is all in vague reference to the episode and i'm mostly just using bits and pieces to back up my previous idea.

(this is taken from ep 99 pls chill i'm not dishing out spoilers)

anyways, if we continue to ep 100, we see MORE EVIDENCE FOR THAT WIERD DEER THING BEING THEO.

"and for you, especially" shouts to me specifically about this. as previously stated, i have the most insane and stupid thought that the weird deer-monster-bone-tree thing from episode one (you know what i'm talking about), is theo's spectre.

as stated before, the most compelling evidence i have for this is the fact that theo was known to hunt deer a lot, and the thing we see in episode one looks a lot like a deer skull, just with loads of red eyes placed into the cracks and such. and we know from the first episode that it seemed to flock towards lenore and annabel. or at least i think it sort of seems to go towards them.

and you, know i could've been wrong– except look at this from ep 100:

now, obviously the first part practically proves the fact something is following lenore, and that this something is (potentially!!!) theo's spectre. but i think what proves it more is what mr raven says next.

"close as a second shadow"

someone on tumblr (i cannot remember who) pointed out that annabel and lenore's like fates are almost reversed? and how lenore who once had nothing to loose now has everything, and annabel is vice versa. and you know, first of all, amazing take. delicious. fantastic. whoever this was, please please please make yourself known to me pookie i'm gna worship the ground you walk on because you've given me thoughts !!!

from this "second shadow" talk, i wonder if the idea of reversal spreads through more than just lenore and annabel's relationship. in life, theo was the star violinist whilst lenore was the accompanist, the piano player.

musically, lenore was his shadow.

of course, this is a very generalised take. as somebody who plays both piano and flute, i'm not going to go out and say that the piano player is just background noise when it's a duet, but more often then not the piano stands aside so that the violin (in these situations) can shine.

n life, lenore lives behind theo's shadow, and when he dies she's haunted by it.

when she looks in the mirror, she sees theo as she cuts her hair. she sees him everywhere. in his life, she was the the dark shadow that loomed– but in death he always behind her, always the dark looming figure that follows her. her guilt binds with his memory and forms that dark looming thought that nobody wants to discuss.

and so, to me, it makes perfect sense that this little deer-tree-bone-monster thing is theo.

but then, obviously, as i look at all of this, there is the glaring question of why in the first episode this monster looked like it really wanted to chomp on lenore and annabel's limbs. and you know, typically, siblings don't want to cannibalise each other.

i see your point, and i respond back with these three panels:

lenore goes on to explain that their bloodline has been plagued by madness, misfortune and death. then, take a look at what the raven says of how spirits "oft" are "driven to madness" by their desire for souls.

i think this connects, because idk i just think it does. could be totally wrong, but i think (???) theo (???) somehow escaped to try get back to lenore and go to the threshold (???) but got trapped in that spooky place, and his only defence left was his spectre (???) and so, by staying in it too long, he too was "driven to madness" which probably wasn't helped by the vandernacht curse (???). he might be half forgotten in his own mind, but he knows one thing right now: he wants to find lenore, his sister. he might not remember her as his sister, but he knows her name and an image is there in her mind. so when she arrives, he must get to her.

anyways guys, that's it. ignore me. i yap a lot. i know i don't know a lot and i'm sure there's a few fastpassers out there who are laughing because i'm being silly, but let me delude myself :)

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #nevermore #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #lenore vandernacht #theo nevermore #i am singlehandedly adding to this tag #this may be riddled with typos #episode 100 damn fr

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

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I don’t have a title for this one but here’s the ‘vash fingering the reader’ fic y’all have all been chomping at the bit for. I specifically had ‘98 Vash in mind for this one but left it vague enough for y’all to pick your poison

Vash/Reader, NSFW, 2,200+ Words, AFAB! Reader, GN! Pronouns for reader, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, outdoor sex, male hands-free orgasm

As you knew him now, Vash The Stampede was a lot of things. A gunman, a pacifist, a bleeding heart, a man who had saved many and lost so many, many more. He was somber, yet cheerful. Clever, yet at times incredibly dense.

But if there was one thing Vash The Stampede wasn't, he certainly wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what you had thought up until tonight.

You barely even remembered what you were doing before Vash had led you out of the small saloon and into the alley in between it and the neighboring building. The gentle buzz of alcohol still thrumming through your veins, you only vaguely recalled bits and pieces of the conversation you’d been having with the bartender. Whatever it was you were talking about, he certainly wasn’t flirting with you, at least not in any way that you would have registered. But Vash had appeared so suddenly, hand closing gently around your wrist. He hadn't needed to drag you, as you would follow him just about anywhere, and he led you quickly out into the cool evening.

"Va-mmph?!" Your voice was muffled by a hot mouth meeting yours, sloppy and tasting vaguely of beer. His tongue prodded into your mouth, slick and sweet as he crowded himself up against you as close as he could get. His broad chest pressed you into the siding of the building next door, bracketing you in and leaving no room for the chilled night air. He pulled away with a slick pop and a sharp gasp, and you placed a hand on his forehead to keep him from leaning in again. "What's going on with you?"

He whined audibly, squirming against your hand. As soon as you relented and put it down he tucked his head into the crook of your neck and mouthed hotly at your pulse point. A shuddery groan slipped from his lips at your hitched gasp, and he cradled your hips with both hands as he traced his sharp canines down the slope of your neck. "Mmh… Nothin'."

"Are you drunk?"

"Uh-uh. Jus' a little tipsy." Despite the scent on his breath, you believed him. He wasn't wavering or stumbling, the only slur in his words coming out because he couldn't stand to part his lips from your soft, sun-kissed skin, even for a moment. He mouthed hotly at the slope of your jawbone, cybernetic hand squeezing around your clothed hip. "Missed you, you didn't come dance with me."

You shivered, fingers tangling in Vash's spiky locks as he left a ticklish trail of kisses down the curve of your jaw and back to your neck. "I was-mmh… was just trying to finish my drink."

He let out a soft, petulant grumble, nuzzling into your neck and squeezing you tight like a child protecting their favorite stuffed animal. You chuckled, craning your head to press a kiss to the top of his ear and getting a little shudder in response that seemed to run through Vash down to the tips of his toes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to ignore you." You cooed. The pale skin on the tip of his ear flushed a lovely shade of pink. "Was Wonderboy feeling a little jealous?"

"You're so mean to me." He whined. "Left me alone, wouldn't dance, and now you're making fun of me." He blew a raspberry into the soft skin of your neck, making you burst into surprised giggles.

"Well… I'm here now. Want me to make it up to you?"

He nodded, fangs scraping once more down the dark spot he'd sucked into your neck. "Might've had a little something in mind."

Before you could even question him, Vash had already sunk to his knees before you with a soft thud. Fingers tightened in his hair as he pressed a kiss to the button of your pants and both hands came up to caress the backs of your thighs.

"Vash?!" You hissed, tugging at his straw-blond locks. Nuzzling his nose against the soft strip of skin between your shirt's hem and your waistband, he glanced up at you through where your hands had ruffled his hair into messy bangs. His eyes reflected the light of the moon creeping in at the end of the alleyway, glinting eagerly up at you. He took the hem of your shirt between his teeth, shooting you a playful wink as he did that caused you to smother a snort of laughter. "Fine, you dork. But you better not let us get caught. We'll never hear the end of it from the girls."

"I'll be careful." His prosthetic hand came back around to wrestle open the button of your jeans, Vash's cheek resting on your thigh the entire time. "I don't wanna let anybody else see you like this."

"I knew you were jeal-OUS!" The smug teasing tone in your voice trailed off into a sharp yelp when Vash yanked your jeans and panties down your legs in one fell swoop. He'd barely gotten them halfway down your thighs before giving up, pressing his nose into the thatch of dark, curly hair between your legs and sighing, almost relieved. "S-slow down! I haven't even showered yet tonight, so just… just take it easy!"

He moaned and it rumbled through your already-sensitive pussy, making your knees quiver dangerously. His warm hand was still clutching the back of your thigh, and you felt like even if your legs gave out he'd be able to keep you supported with that one hand alone. You spread your legs as much as you could with the fabric of your pants constructing your movement. The cool air caught the slick wetness that had already begun to pool there. Leaning in, Vash pressed a barely-there kiss to your swollen clit that made your hips buck helplessly towards his waiting mouth. He kissed you again, this time swiping his tongue upwards through your damp folds after he did, tongue slick and warm and so, so eager. He spread your lips and licked further into you like he couldn't bear to be away. Your balance pitched and shifted dangerously as your legs shook, but Vash kept you held firmly in place as he worshipped your sticky cunt with his mouth. In the back of your mind you vaguely recognized the insistent, longing motions as ones you would feel with his lips pressed against yours as he groaned into your open mouth and his hands palmed you anywhere he could reach.

It was that thought- the fuzzy but mostly coherent idea that Vash was on his knees before you, making out with your aching pussy, that brought a sharp, stifled cry to your lips. Your fingers twisted sharply in his hair, but it only served to further tangle his normally styled locks and pull a rumbling groan from the pit of Vash's chest.

"So good…" He moaned, more to himself than to you. "Feels so good, mayfly. Need more? I can give you more."

Your core pulsed eagerly in response, hips twitching subconsciously as they sought out more of his touch, his tongue, his hot breath against your sensitive skin. "Please. Please, Vash."

"I'm here, I'm here. I've got you." He nudged your thighs the slightest bit further apart with his cybernetic hand before bringing two fingers up to swipe through your sopping folds. Usually his prosthetic felt relatively warm to the touch, either by the sun or by the restless energy that seemed to thrum through him at all times. But against the unrelenting heat of your core his fingers were almost cold as he crooked the index one up and into your waiting hole. There was almost no resistance with the slick of his spit and your aching arousal, your walls fluttering helplessly around the welcome intrusion as you breathed in a shaky gasp through your nose. He began to pump his finger in and out of you, the steady movement against your walls making a wet squelching noise that made your face flush hot. Cheek pressed against your upper thigh, you could feel each hot pant of breath curling over your pussy as his pace increased. Hooking his finger upwards towards your stomach, the sudden and unrelenting pressure on your g-spot made you yelp as sudden wetness gushed down into the palm of his hand. You could hear slick spattering into his palm with every sharp thrust, dripping down with the sweat along your inner thighs before his tongue eagerly swept it away.

"More…" You sobbed, barely able to keep your upper body upright as your knees shook and buckled, supported by Vash's iron grip. "Please, jus' need another… please." His hand retreated for only a moment before he pressed two metal fingers up into your cunt and suckled your clit into his hot mouth. You wailed, voice echoing along the alleyway but you were too far gone to even care, fisting both hands in Vash's blond locks as you humped his perfect mouth. He moaned against you again, pleasure rattling up your body from your clit all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes, thrumming like a live wire as your upper body curled forward around Vash's head, nothing in your brain beyond the constant spark-storm of pleasure that came from grinding your cunt against his face.

Peering down past his kneeling form you could see his knees were spread wide, tight leather of his pants pulled taut around the bulge of his cock. With both hands supporting you and keeping you upright, all he could do was rut his hips pathetically against the open air, leather squeaking as he desperately chased a similar sense of release. He sucked your clit again, hard, tonguing the swollen bud as two unrelenting fingers pounded your g-spot until you were seeing stars.

"Vash I'm gonna cu-MMMH!~" You didn't even have time to finish your sentence before white-hot pleasure was wracking your doubled-over body. You writhed and shivered in Vash's steady hold as he worked you through it, pace slowing but never fully stopping as you gasped and sobbed and clenched around his ceaseless fingers again, and again, and again, your arousal pooling in his palm and dribbling down the seams and joints of his prosthetic.

Thank God it was waterproof, that would not have been a fun fix to have to explain.

Finally, finally, when the pleasure began to prickle on the edge of pain, only then did Vash remove his mouth from your clit with a slick sound, pressing a final kiss to the swollen, aching bud. Fingers slipped from your heat as your knees finally gave out on you fully, and his hands on the backs of your thighs guided you carefully down as you slumped into his lap, back scraping against the siding of the building behind you the entire way.

"There you go, I've got you. So good, so pretty…" Despite the slick still covering his lips and chin you let Vash pepper your cheeks with kisses, soothing hands massaging away the ache in your thighs. You swiped feebly at his damp chin, trying to wipe your own slick away only to have him chase after your palm and swipe it clean with his tongue.

"That was… God. That was fun." You finally wheezed out, making Vash stifle a bark of laughter. "Anything I can do for you? Gimme a minute to recover, but I could-"

"I'm, uh, I'm actually pretty good." He shifted awkwardly beneath you, knees spreading the slightest bit further. Only now did you realize you couldn't feel his straining cock pressing up against your butt through stiff leather. "Turns out I like getting my hair pulled, fancy that."

You rolled your hips experimentally, Vash sucking in a sharp gasp through his teeth when you did. "Did you… Did you cum? Just from eating me out?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Since when have you cared about the law?" You joked, unable to stop the smile creeping across your face as you watched his get noticeably redder beneath the moonlight. "Fuck, that's really hot."

He gave you a sheepish grin, leaning in to give you another soft peck when…

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU TWO GO?!"

You startled hard, bonking your forehead against Vash's and both of you pulling away with a wince and a hiss.

"Aw shit, it's Meryl. Gimme my pants." You whispered, grabbing for the waistband and trying to wrestle them back up while still seated in Vash's lap. She hadn't seen the two of you yet, but judging by the echo in her voice she was pretty close by.

"What about me?!"

"Just try not to walk weird. You're wearing black leather, she's not gonna notice."

"But it's gonna get all sticky and gross." He winced as you squirmed against him, finally able to wrestle your jeans up enough to button them shut.

"Should have thought of that earlier. C'mon, the sooner we get back the sooner we can get back to the room and shower." You stumbled to your feet and took a few shaky steps towards the entrance of the alleyway before casting a sly glance over your shoulder. "I mean, unless you don't want to shower with me?"

Vash snapped to his feet in an instant, eyes gleaming as he fell into step right behind you.

"Woof!"

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun x reader #trigun imagines #trigun stampede #trigun smut #my writing #long post

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beatrixstonehill2 · 3 months

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(Request from omgcatboi. I don't do a lot of requests but after seeing his gain I couldn't resist)

Cody always dreamed of taking the plunge and finally starting his transition. It took guts where he lived, but the temptation was too much for him to ever dream of ignoring it. He saw groups of guys hanging out together, drinking, playing basketball or working out and thought that's who he was. He would go home and gawk at men's fashion and fitness magazines, the accounts of male models and athletes on Instagram, and masturbate for hours, rubbing his pussy until it ached, cumming over and over, obsessively imaging looking like them, envisioning his ideal male self.

Finally going to college, on his own, Cody decided to tell his doctor how he felt and begin hrt. Testosterone shots weren't as scary as he thought. He settled right into his new routine, cutting his hair, slowly aligning his body, fashion, and presence with the man he knew he was always meant to be. His college friends doted on him like crazy, embracing the new Cody, finally showing more confidence, able to act and behave how he always wanted, but people would be way too quick to call out or belittle a woman for being that way. No longer would he suppress a thing about himself. He partied like crazy, ate the kind of food people would previously glare at him over or make a snide remark about not ruining his figure. No more judgment. He'd order an extra large double cheeseburger combo and twenty nuggets with a milkshake and the cashier would sound impressed, enthusiastically handing him his meal, telling him to 'Eat up!'

This rush was something he never anticipated about presenting male. People celebrated guys with a hearty appetite, especially ones who could drink people under the table. Suddenly Cody's visions of playing sports with a new group of guy friends or hitting the gym was completely shattered. He made friends with a circle of nerds, and they all ate with zero concern for their health. He became a bit of a legend among his new friends, being that he was way more charismatic than them, and could drink a twelve pack on his own in a single night and still be asking for more. People around the college regarded him as something of a party animal, and he couldn't escape all the people encouraging him to eat and drink nonstop. He rapidly gained weight and instead of it being embarrassing for him it became a badge of honor on campus. Before long he went from being a meager, invisible person nobody really payed attention to, to the life of the party, who got handed beer and pizza the second he walked through the door at a frat party.

Cody couldn't believe how fast he fattened up, his old skinny self long gone. He marveled at his gut, his stretchmarks, his arms, his face--everything was so round and swollen. And yet he wanted to get fatter. His dream of being super fit and suave like all those men he followed on Instagram was completely replaced by his new, covetous adoration of obesity. He savored every pound he put on, amazed that this, of all things, truly felt right to him, even though he knew his health would take a hit. He didn't really care, getting bigger was his one and only desire. The only thing missing was a dedicated feeder.... Having the whole college wait on his every whim was nice, but he knew this was the last piece of the puzzle for him, and as luck would have it.....

He attended one party late into his third year at university, pushing 400lbs, as usual he was pounding back beers and immediately the life of the party. He encouraged people to keep up with him, and very few people took him up on it, except one girl. He barely knew her.... or recognized her. A trans girl named Bianca that started university around the same time as him, majoring in psychology. She used to be about as skinny as he was pre-transition, but with big boobs. Now she was close to 400lbs as well, chomping on a big slice of pizza, wearing a sundress that hardly fit, her big gut straining it to its limits, her breasts huge and spilling out, her ass poking out, lifting the hem of the dress up just enough to catch a glimpse.... She smiled deviously, taking the fresh beer from Cody's hand, chugging the whole thing, belching in his face. He nodded with a bit of respect, grabbing another himself, chugging it, belching back. Bianca laughed, grabbing them both another beer.

They spent the whole night together, waking up with the world's worst hangover, naked in the same bed. They patted their huge, gurgling guts, reminiscing fondly about the wild night they had, agreeing they needed to go to the nearest diner and eat away their hangovers with the biggest, greasiest pile of breakfast food possible. While sharing breakfast, their competitive spirit rekindled, and they tried to outpace each other's eating, drinking glasses of milk and cola. By the end they both ate three full breakfasts each, and finished off with a whole pie, their bellies stretched to the limit, pressing against the table at their booth uncomfortably even when they leaned back. They confided in each other that they both wanted to get as fat as possible, and cared about almost nothing else. When Cody heard Bianca say she wanted to at least hit 1000lbs, his heart pounded. He of course one-upped her and said she better at least hit 1200lbs like he wanted to. She blushed and agreed, apologizing for thinking so small..... They smiled at each other, knowing they'd hit their goals in no time at this rate.....

#trans weight gain #trans feedee #trans feederism #trans bhm #trans ssbhm #ftm weight gain #mutual gaining

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smoothielenny · 1 year

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ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ

Ao’nung x Omatikaya!gn!reader

Summary: it’s been a few weeks since you moved to Awa’atulu and tonight there would be a celebration and also a special performance.

The Olo’eyktan announced that there would be a celebration tonight and your family is invited. Contrast to your family’s excitement, you didn’t want to go. You didn’t wanna be near a lot of people and not just that, you also didn’t wanna see Ao’nung.

Ao’nung is your personal bully, after some incident with your siblings, he moved his attention to you and pick on you more. Though it isn’t harsh, it still made you annoyed. Though your siblings just giggled, you’re oblivious to Ao’nung’s flirtatious attempt made you think it was just him bullying.

Your mother dressed you up for the occasion, grunting and murmuring as it goes. Already you’re being grumpy about it. The only reason why you said deal is because of food. That’s it, you want food.

You all walk out from your hut meeting with other people, kids are already playing chase, others talking, some playing instruments. It was a lively night. Lo’ak walk to Tsireya and started talking, Tuk and Kiri started dancing with others and Neteyam is talking to your parents. You were just left alone standing awkwardly. You didn’t know what to do, you never went to these type of event because you’re an introvert.

While watching others, a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. You look at your back and made a annoyed face. It was Ao’nung and his stupid grin. You rolled your eyes as you face your whole body to him crossing you arms.

“What do you want, Ao’nung!” Your tone has an irritation put in it. He hold his hands high looking at you still grinning.

“Oh c’mon, flower. I’m just here to talk to you.” You were annoyed by the nickname he gave you. He’s been calling you that, he really knows how to get in your nerves.

“What do you want to talk about?” He walked closer to you. You backed a bit, but a tree stop you from it trapping you.

“How’s this beautiful flower doing?” He tuck a hair beside you ear. Not gonna lie, this made you blush a bit. Your lip quivered and avoiding gazing at Ao’nung’s eyes.

“I-I’m fine.” You gulped. He giggled from your stuttering. Is he finally getting the reaction he wants?

“Well, just wait for awhile. I’m gonna make your night good.” He winks. He then left you looking dumbfounded. What does he mean by ‘make your night good?’ You thought about it for a little while, “wait does it mean he will fuck me or something?!” You gasped from that thought. Oh Eywa, you weren’t ready for your virginity to be taken away yet let alone by that annoying guy.

You were filled with thoughts until the smell of fresh food tickles your nose. You then went back near to your family who is being serve by some people with food. Your stomach grumble as you sat down, finally some food. You started chomping on some food, savoring every food you put in your mouth. Your mother giggled at your chipmunk-like face. You were enjoying your food very much. As you were about to take you another big bite, a clap is heard making everyone turn to the Olo’eyktan. Everyone sat down behaving themselves. He then thanked everyone for coming. Saying some other thing that you didn’t bother to listen to and continue to eat.

“Tonight, we have a performance prepared for you all. Feast your eyes.” He then sat down. The music started again with two male Metkayina holding a stick on their hands. One of them lit it on fire and passed the fire to the other man’s stick. You were curious about what to happen that you stopped eating. They then spin the stick causing you the end of the stick to also put up. You gagged from it, food falling from your hand. They continued by throwing the stick in the air and catching it. They were both synchronized spinning the stick. You were questioning how the fire haven’t went out yet. You thought it was cool. They ended by letting the stick land on the ground causing a string of fire to happen. You were scared at first that it might get caught on you, but the string of fire was only five feet.

You thought they were done so you could continue to eat, but no they weren’t. A familiar figure walk to the center with the same stick that the two previous boys had. It was Ao’nung. Seeing him next to a fire makes him hotter—he blow the stick causing it to lit, for a second you thought that could breathe out fire. Then he spin it with a different pattern this time. It goes through his legs, through his back, and goes on the front. You hate to admit it, but you were impress. Seeing him dance like that, it made you feel some type of way. Though he wasn’t done yet, he saw you in the crowd—your eyes widen him seeing you—he smirk at you and continued. He took the fire side of the stick and make it close to his mouth sticking his tongue out. He then release another blow at the end side of the stick, now both side are on fire. He again did the same spin pattern he did. He ended the performance with catching the stick—not with his hands, but with his right leg, between his calf and thigh. Everyone cheered and clap from the performance. He stand up bowing and seemingly wink at you before he left. Your heart was beating so fast, how annoying. The performance continued with another man, but you didn’t bother to watch, Ao’nung really left an impression on you.

#avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #atwow #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar headcanons #aonung #avatar ao'nung #atwow x reader #atwow ao'nung #aonung x sully!reader #aonung x y/n #aonung x you #aonung x reader #atwow fanfiction

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ghouljams · 11 months

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I'm gripping ballet Konig in my little rat hands and God do I want more I feel like he's so spacially aware and it works so well ahhhhhhhhhhhh thank you for this gift

He's so aware of everything, jacked into the reality mainframe so he never misses a jump or steps on anyone's toes. He's big so he has to know exactly where he is in space. I think he can probably approximate distances and heights within a few inches. Here's more of the ballet boy.

Konig has never been attracted to ballerinas. In high school he’d heard boys talking about taking ballet, how he must have an in with all the pretty girls in his class, but he’d never thought about it that way. He liked women, but ballerinas? Ballerinas were… gross. There was nothing that broke the magic of the stage quite as beautifully as watching a woman make pants out of a garbage bag, or use spit to slick her hair down, or compare blisters and broken toes. No, the women he worked with were insane. He envied the boyfriends that got all the pretty parts of ballerinas, and he envied the other men in the company who couldn’t have cared less about women.

Still, ballerinas loved him. Every studio Konig walked into he found himself swarmed with ballerinas asking to be lifted. The absolutely maddening process of auditions, every woman dying to be cast as lead so they could practice with him. Which sounded self centered, but they told him so! These women, they drove him crazy. He couldn’t get a spare moment to himself, not a second of quiet. It was hell for an introvert. His anxiety spiked when a ballerina so much as looked at him.

His arm shot out without even thinking, catching you around the waist as your ankle slipped and you fell from a pirouette. You're rigid in his grip, poised in the way only years of training drill into a person. Then something breaks and you descend into a fit of giggles. You're beautiful.

"Nice catch," You tell him, breathless with laughter.

"Nice fall," König isn't quite sure how to respond, but it seems to make you laugh again before your wiggling in his hold. Likely looking for release. He shifts his grip and picks you up to set you on your feet again. You point your toes to resume your practice as he does, pushing off his hands to finish your spin. His hands hover nearby, desperate to touch you, lift you, anything you could ask of him.

You stop, dropping off Pointe, and blink up at him, at his waiting hands, "Oh, did you want to lift me?"

"Do you- do you not want me to lift you?" He asks, brain stalling at the idea. A ballerina that doesn't want to be lifted? Unheard of.

"I think the choreographer has a lot of lifts planned for our duets, I don't want to wear you out." You smile and König wonders where your wings are, because you must be an angel to smile at him like that.

"I won't wear out," he promises, nearly shaking with the desire to hold you again. He is so precariously held together, his adoration tearing at the seams as you look at him. He's chomping at the bit to be on his knees for you, to see you lose any measure of your poise for him.

"I thought you didn't like lifts," you tell him, holding onto one of his hands to slide your fingers along the strap of your Pointe shoe. His eyes widen. You finish your inspection and drop your hand, "Thanks for the catch, you know how it is breaking in new shoes."

He watches as you walk back to the barre. How did you know he didn't like lifting the other women? He'd never told anyone or voiced his annoyance with their constant asking. There was no way for you to know. Unless you were watching him as closely as he was watching you.

#ballet au #dancer!König #könig modern warfare #könig x you #könig x reader #x reader #cod x reader #I always like writing from Königs pov because the man is a mess #yeah man shes watching you #what are you gonna do about it??#he wants to rip her tights and i wanna let him

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captain-mj · 1 year

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Absolutely begging for feral beast/demon König being taken down, and monster hunter Horangi inspecting him- muzzles and bondage and maybe dubcon???

Horangi trapped the beast. It had taken time. Lot of time. But he had planned this out meticulously.

König prepared himself, his large frame towering and giant teeth snapping at thin air. He went to the bait, a small goat. Several animals had been disappearing so it made sense. He stretched and glanced around, almost innocently. Big blue eyes appearing behind a hood of some kind.

Horangi waited and König fell right into the trap. The chains tangled around his legs and he was hoisted up, body hanging from the ceiling. He wailed and kicked all over.

Horangi grinned and walked over slowly. "You guys know what to do."

The few people he took with him, mostly knights trying to make names for themselves or local village people wanting to be rid of the monster in the woods.

The other people quickly got him tied up.

One of them went to stab him, sword at the ready to go right through König's throat. Horangi quickly hit it away from him, not letting the blade touch his skin.

"It's a monster."

"Need him alive." Horangi hissed. "I'll be taking him off your hands. Don't worry."

"It."

Horangi huffed and turned to König. The monster thrashed in his binds and Horangi quickly leaned down and pulled the rope to tighten it. "Your services are no longer required. You can all leave."

One of the knights went to say something and Horangi loosened his grip on the rope. "One word and I free him."

They quickly backed off and Horangi knocked König out. He figured out transport. It was a bit frustrating with him being 6'10 but a man makes do.

All of this ended up exactly where he wanted to be exactly 14 hours. König, kneeling at his feet. For now, he still had all of his clothes on, but he planned on undressing him to inspect him more properly.

Horangi pulled out the muzzle and fit it between the monster's teeth. Shoving up the mask to do so. He was surprised by how... ethereal he was. A shocking beauty. König tried to bite his hand but since Horangi had his hands tied behind his back with the knots looped around his ankles, poor thing couldn't get the angle to do so. Horangi tightened it, watching saliva and venom run from his mouth. His mouth was wide open, showing off several large teeth.

"Enough of that now. You know why I'm doing this. You're dangerous. Hmm?" Horangi stood up, needing to inspect him. He could sell him. König didn't come from a specific species that he could figure out. Meant he'd fetch more money in certain circles, less in others.

His hands drifted down his back and König's skin reddened. At first, he thought it was some reaction to skin to skin contact but then he realized the monster was blushing.

"Don't get touched very often huh?" Horangi cut away his shirt. Extremely well muscled. Thanks to his height, it wasn't as noticeable, but he was still well built. Next came that stupid hood. Shaggy auburn hair, dirtied by sweat and dirt, stuck up all over and fell in his eyes. He had freckles all over the bridge of his crooked nose.

Something about him felt entrancing. An ethereal look despite Horangi knowing logically he was rather plain. Ears, almost like a cat poked out of his hair.

He yanked his hair and the creature snarled at him, baring his teeth again. Lips stretched thin over the grimace. He chomped at thin air, but the leather of the muzzle just barely brushed against Horangi.

"Maybe I should train you first. No one wants to have to house break something this fucking big." Horangi hissed back at him. So far, König gave no indication he understood him.

König stuck his tongue out at him. His eyes. They were piercing. Beautiful.

Horangi quickly removed more of König's clothing. Despite living away from people for who knows how long, his size and also the fact he didn't speak any human language Horangi could figure out, he did have clothing. Based on the way it looked, patchwork pieces of fabric sewn together, it wasn't hard for Horangi to put together that König probably made them himself. He kept trying to cover himself up from Horangi's watchful gaze, eyes flitting away.

Horangi poured water over him, getting the majority of the dirt and blood off of him before going back to his inspection. König whimpered and tried to get away from his touch as much as possible. His hand on his ribs almost sent him into fits and he could feel the leather bumping against him again as König tried to sink his teeth into him.

"None of that is necessary." Horangi hissed at him, standing over König. König glanced up and quickly looked back down, most of him turning red.

Horangi realized body language was going to be the only way he could really "talk" to him. He kicked his inner thighs and König sank lower to the ground, blushing more. He finally glanced up at Horangi, looking flustered.

"Huh. Big fella, all nervous over little old me." He twirled the knife in his hands and König watched it carefully. His pupils dilated slightly and Horangi moved it closer, watching them take up most of the blue. Like a cat focusing on a mouse.

Horangi knelt down and cut at König's underwear and only got a sharp whimper in response.

"Ah... Big..."

König tried to readjust himself but couldn't. His body was most likely reacting to the coolness of the water, but he was clearly hard.

Horangi stared for a second before trying to right himself. He got his book and made notes of König's attributes. He'd have to get someone to sketch him if he wanted to sell him.

König started to struggle again, growling. Could he read his thoughts? Or maybe read his intentions was a better word for it?

Horangi didn't think, just shoved his foot between König's outstretched legs and watched his curiously. His cock laid against the soft fabric of his pants and König moaned rather loudly before quickly biting himself to shut up. He glanced up feverishly before starting to rock on to him desperately.

Horangi sketched him. It wasn't realistic enough to work as an advertisement, but he could keep this for himself.

König let out the tiniest little whimper and Horangi's own cock twitched.

Maybe he could keep König for himself. He wasn't hurting for money that bad and watching him desperately rut against his leg made Horangi feel hot in a way he hadn't in a while.

König pressed his tongue against the leather as he tried to get to Horangi's hand. He started to pant louder and louder as he got closer, eyes shutting. Horangi grabbed his hair and yanked his head back by his ears before moving his leg away, leaving his hips to stutter in the air.

"I'll have to teach you how to talk. I'm sure you're capable."

König growled at him again, eyes narrowing. He tried shuffling closer to finish and Horangi shoved him back. "Enough of that now."

Horangi got him cleaned up, liking how he looked much better now that he was clean. He put a robe on him to give him a little more privacy. König worked with him, not putting up a fight. Once they were done though, he was back to snapping at him and trying to pull him in.

Horangi had zero clue what possessed him to do what he did next. Maybe it was that he was in a chair in front of König with him unable to do anything about it or the fact that König was still hard and obviously close. But he shoved his pants down and put one of his boots on König's shoulder so he could what he was doing. He coated his fingers in oil and gently pushed one of them in himself. König started to drool, eyes focusing on his hand. His pupils dilated until the color disappeared.

"I can tell you're intelligent. You set traps and knew how to plan. But you're just like a regular human man. A beast under all of that." He moaned softly and watched König's growing desperation. The muscles in his arms bulged and strained as he tried to get out of his binding. But Horangi had made sure the chains were tight and he wasn't getting out of them any time soon.

He closed his eyes tight and stroked himself to finish. He cleaned up quietly before stretching. "Alright, time for bed."

Horangi cut König free temporarily to readjust his bindings. He managed to move fast enough to catch Horangi off guard, pinning him down. Still muzzled so he couldn't bite him. Horangi quickly tried to get his hands but König was flipping him over and shoving his face into the floor. He pressed himself firmly against Horangi's back, snarling as he felt him up.

Maybe teasing the giant monster was not Horangi's brightest idea.

"Raincheck?" Horangi whispered to him and his legs were quickly forced open. "I'll take that as a no..."

König squeezed his ass and Horangi hid his face in his hands. He had kept his mask on and he decided not to draw attention to that fact. His pants were ripped down and he felt König run his claws along his body.

König grabbed the oil. Huh. Intelligent and considerate. Horangi quickly tried to fight against him but a hand on his neck quickly stopped that. He kicked and growled at him, rather insulted.

That one hand kept him pinned as the other dripped oil down his back before pouring some over his hole. Horangi panted softly and kept trying to fight, but he was quickly starting to give up.

He felt König's cock rutting against him again and he worried a little on how exactly it was going to fit. Horangi reached up to grab the muzzle, fingers going through the leather and he felt his tongue run along his fingers.

König moaned softly as he shoved into him. Horangi bit his lip and groaned.

"Tight." König panted at him, eyes narrowing. Horangi went to snap at him for not speaking when König thrust into him, sliding further into his body. The hand in his neck moved to his hair and tangled in it, forcing his head up. He finally noticed the mask and it was yanked down, exposing Horangi's scars.

Horangi tried to hide his face, but König didn't let him. He thrust in hard and Horangi moaned softly. It felt so good, pleasure sparking up his spine.

König let go and pulled out of him. He put Horangi on his back and put his arms under his knees, grabbing his wrists quickly so he couldn't squirm away. He pushed back into him and Horangi threw his head back.

König thrust harder into him and looked down at him. His hair fell into Horangi's face as he tried to get closer.

"Fuck... Fuck..." Horangi made eye contact with him, surprised by how intensely König stared at him. König purred as he fucked into him, not breaking his gaze.

His legs started to shake and he was a little surprised by how long König lasted after all the teasing. He started to get close again and he panted softly, stomach tightening.

König hit his sweet spot hard and he bit back a scream. His eyes started to trace Horangi's scars on his face and he started to lose his rhythm.

Horangi's vision whited out for a minute as he came and he only came down a few minutes later, feeling König come in him. The monster didn't even pull out. "Come on. Out." He hit him gently and König finally pulled out.

He stared down at him before stretching.

"How well can you understand me?"

König made a so-so motion with his hand, blushing.

"Fucking bastard." Yeah, he was keeping him.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x horangi #horangi #horangi call of duty #horangi cod #cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #mw2 #könig mw2 #modern warfare ii

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thetravelingtyper · 11 days

Text

On The Same Page Pt 8 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

With Simon, Sam, Sofia, and Kyle, you divulge your past relationship with James...

Part 7, Masterlist

Warnings! Allusions to Cheating

AN! This chapter isn't as complex as I wanted it to be due to a massive writer's block, but all the points are there!

I stood alone, upon the platform in vain

The Puerto Ricans, they were playing me salsa in the rain

With open doors and manual locks

In fast-food parking lots

It was about your 2nd or 3rd month in when you were starting to finalize your old draft. The tale was a hit in the children's department, test prints at the local library were eaten up and parents were chomping at the bits for more. You had been out in the courtyard, sitting in the shade with your papers, some books and your Corsair set aside, when you heard a smooth voice talking into a phone.

“I know it is due - come on you know me, Sir, I'll find something.”

There is the sound of steady footsteps as you look up. They get louder on the cobbled path as a man approaches. You cock your head as he mutters something before pausing in his walk to run a hand through blond hair. There is something handsome about him you think at the moment, he is tall, taller than Sam, and broad. But he carries himself tightly, coiled like a spring and you frown. You shrug, spinning the pen in your hand before reaching out to the colored manuscript before you. It's the turning of the page that has the man finally clock you. He was taken aback for a moment, head tilting down to regard you in the shimmering shade of the tree. You are engrossed in scattered illustrations, rough concept art trailing over glossy pages. Blue eyes then catch the typewriter as your hands seek it without a glace, like a steady friend grasping for comfort.

He watches your eyes lighten then when you focus on it, fingers pressing into ivory keys with a steading thrumming click. He runs his hand to his chin in thought before his phone rings again calling your attention to your watcher. Your wide eyes focus on him then and he feels a pulse of his heart. You were beautiful and he curses mentally before answering his phone. His voice is steady but you can hear the frustration, he mutters an affirmative before hanging up again. His eyes then meet yours and you give him a small, if hesitant, smile. He returns it with a charming grin and he approaches the shade of the tree.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, I hadn’t realized you were there.” He reaches the edge of the path before taking a booted step into the grass. He wears a formal white dress shirt sharply tucked into a pair of dark jeans and you take him in further. The fabric at his shoulders is taunt on his form but not unfitting, and the unevenness of his collar suggests a suit or other type of jacket. Given the cool weather of fall, you were not surprised. The topmost buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned leaving sun-tanned skin and a strong collarbone. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up a quarter showing clear forearms and a slim silver watch. He watches your observation, stepping to the edge of the blanket you had sprawled out.

He motions to a clear space across from you, and debating you nod. He easily clears your Corsair before stepping into the clear space and settling down into a comfortable position. He smiles at your silent acceptance and you give a light ‘good afternoon’ fidgeting lightly with the pen in your grasp, unsure of how to progress. He senses this and offers you a hand over the manuscript.

“James, James Marin.” His accent deepens a little bit at the ‘r’ of his last name and you take his hand and give a firm shake replying with your name. He rewards it with a winning smile.

“You must be the new children’s author. I am sorry I am so late in coming to meet you. I have heard a lot about your recent success in the stores, congratulations.”

You speak up after collecting yourself offering him a shy smile under the praise. His eyes remain on yours before flickering to a rough sketch of a dragon. The wyrm swirls in a vortex of color its scales shining in the gloss of the page. You notice and explain the concept of your first book. James listens dutifully as you break down a world of dragons and knights. You become more and more animated when you start showing him your rough sketches in the manuscript. There are dragons, female knights, and a saintly queen. Next to them, there are notes marked in ballpoint and some metallic sharpie, the gold font glimmering in the sun.

As you finish your tale you find James with a fond smile on his face that makes you a little flustered. You offer him the book and he takes it tenderly, fingers brushing yours with a spark.

“I like this,” he says it confidently and the praise has your heart lifting, “I like this a lot. Have you brought this outside the children’s department?”

You shake your head. You were only a few weeks into the business. You didn't want to overstep boundaries or step on any toes.

James chuckles,

“I understand you’re new but I think you have something good here and I want to present it to the higher-ups. Who do you work under?”

You answer with Sofia’s name and he nods in confirmation.

“You know what, we should do dinner sometime. Bring your manuscript and supplies and we can come up with a plan of attack together! If that sounds alright with you?”

He smiles at you and you nod, a little caught off guard, but the chance to wedge yourself in a little higher is one you would definitely take.

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a winning smile at that.

“Its a deal doll.”

Sofia sighs after you recount this meeting. She leans forward, setting an elbow on her knee and her head in her palm.

“That man.” She says it in exasperation a hint of sad fondness. You frown with a heavy sigh and continue.

I headed West, I was a man on the move

New York had lied to me, I needed the truth

Oh, I need somebody, I needed someone I could trust

I don't gamble, but if I did I would bet on us

The meeting was a success, you and James worked over a consecutive month to present your book to the board. There was a moment of silence before a smile lit up the face of the lead of the children's department.

After the meeting, she pulled you aside with a grin.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while with a story. Sofia was right in taking you under her wing.” She then turns to James, “James. I want you to keep working with her and Sofia.”

She sets a hand on your shoulder,

“I am proud. Good work kid.”

You and James left the department suite, and you collapsed against the wall with a heavy breath. James's hand comes to your shoulder for support.

“You ok?”

“That was insane!”

He laughs a rich deep laugh one that seeps into your bones and you look up to him. He gives you a secret smile, eyes flickering over your face before returning to yours.

“You know, I think a celebratory dinner is in order, my treat.” He offers and you look up to him in surprise, a hand comes to the back of his neck then before he adds,

“If you wouldn’t mind me taking you out.”

A blush hits your face and your heart skips a beat. You were not going to deny the mutual attraction between the two of you. His hand sprawls out over your shoulder. You nod an affirmative,

“I’d like that.”

Like the Dead Sea

You told me I was like the Dead Sea

You'll never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, like the Dead Sea

That dinner passes into another and another and soon enough you find yourself developing feelings for the man.

A few dates in you both make it quietly official and during a bookstore tour of your first published book, James meets Sam. Both men get a long swimmingly sharing both affection for you and a solid understanding of business logistics. You practically have to pull James back from a debate with Sam and you both step out into the street. Your arm tucked in his you stroll the water-streaked street. The Sunday is quiet, the sound of a passing car breaking up the sound of lingering pedestrians every once in a while. However, as you turn the block you stumble upon masses of color.

Set up in an empty lot is a vibrant and busy farmers market. You smile up at James and he chuckles, allowing you to pull him into the stalls. There are fresh ingredients, tomatoes, and strawberries, and your eye catches a gleaming orange gradient. You leave the food and pull James to the neighboring stall, flowers and assorted blooms everywhere the eye can see. Your eyes pass peonies, lavender, and roses to find a single bouquet of sunflowers. Your heart lifts and pulling your hand free you tenderly lift the bouquet to your chest.

It is a collection of annuals, A warm orange fading into a brown at the center. You take in the smell of sunflower fields and open skies and they remind you of home. You turn back to James in excitement but find him looking at you intently. There is a small smile on his face and when he meets your eyes his crinkle. He pulls out his wallet and hands a bill over to the florist. The older woman watches the two of you intently when you look at him with wide eyes in surprise. James returns his wallet to his pocket and opens his arms, tucking you in them, and with a quiet goodbye to the woman you both continue on your way.

The months pass into a steady relationship, spring turning into summer.

Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea

Finest words you ever said to me

Honey, can't you see?

I was born to be, be your Dead Sea

Sam is out of town for a week and James is over for dinner. You tend to the pan in front of you when you hear James pad into the kitchen. You turn taking in the appearance of your boyfriend shirtless and in a pair of sweats. You raise a brow.

“You used my shampoo?”

James looks like he's been caught red-handed before an easy grin surfaces,

“Smells like you sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and he laughs before stepping behind you and pulling you flush against him. You relax against the muscle of his torso, his head leaning on yours. You both sway in the quiet moment. He pulls back and spins you easily in his arms before looking at you intently.

Minding the pan you smile up at him and his heart quivers. He swallows, for once caught off guard. You cock your head confused hand reaching for his face. James’s face is rough from not shaving for a few days, but he leans into your hand anyway. He presses a delicate kiss to your palm before reaching to turn off the stove.

He chuckles then, swallowing his feelings with the laugh.

“The chicken is done.”

Your eyes widen and you try to spin to address dinner but James cages you in his arms playfully. You wiggle in protest and he eventually lets you go to tend to the food. He backs up and just watches as you return to working on the food, emotion simmering in his heart. Later that night you were getting ready for bed after a shower. Leaving the hall bathroom you enter your room to find James sitting on your bed deep in thought, to the point he doesn't realize you entered. You call his name softly and his head darts up to you.

“Are you alright?”

He exhales shakily but smiles, a soft smile that speaks to your heart.

“I am sweetheart. I love you.”

You exhale pausing at the moment with a clenched chest. Sofia takes your other hand and squeezes it. Your eyes meet Sam who is tense, leaning back with an unreadable expression on his face. You find Kyle listening intently, a concerned frown on his face. Simon has shifted closer to you, and the ottoman quietly scooted to bump up next to your chair. With his height he is able to rest the elbow of the hand connected to yours on the armrest, gradually having inched himself into your space.

You lift your hands and Simon meets your eyes, then glancing to his position he seems a little surprised to be so close. He moves to scoot back but you tug his arm lightly and set your head on his shoulder. His eyes widen a fraction before softening, relaxing into the side of the chair for support.

You told me you were good at running away

Domestic life, it never suited you like a suitcase

You left with just the clothes on your back

Took the rest when you took a nap

Summer brings sunflowers in fall. The success of your first book sweeps you into a little tour. Both Sofia and James join you while Sam remained home to work on a large project for his company. You three spend days exploring the American East Coast, visiting both local and chain bookstores and community libraries. You tended especially to the children readers. While Sofia was handling business James would watch from the sidelines as you were engaged with the kids. While the plot of your book was simple the poems in it allowed for intrigue from older kids. And on this particularly warm day in Boston this is where James found you.

You sat in a pair of jeans and a blouse with a dragon stuffie in your lap. The children watch in fascination as you read, showing fully illustrated pictures and making voices. Eventually, at the end of your tale one of the younger children, dressed in a lion onesie, points to the good queens and asks,

“Are you a queen?”

You are about to keel over from the cuteness and are about to answer when James steps in and takes a seat next to you.

“Yea, she’s my queen.” He raises a brow in humor when all of the kids give a collective gasp and he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Yes, there are times we live for somebody else

Your father died and you decided to live

It for yourself, you felt, you just felt it was time

And I'm glad, 'cause you with cats, that's just not right

Months later you were both cooking dinner, the entire night James was off, nervous. As you both work around the kitchen the man keeps checking his phone. Worry gnaws at your stomach and you ask if he is alright. James smiles at you and nods before going to take a call.

You were in the drafting stage of your second and honestly most favorite book. James had been with you every step of the way. He was like a liaison between you and the head of the department and often would play devil's advocate for your literary decisions.

A song pulls you from your memories as you add the final ingredients to the simmer.

You moved to turn the record player up as James reentered the kitchen. He pauses on the phone, taking in the sight of you in a sundress and cooking. His voice pauses in his throat as the faded light of spring catches the blushing reds and yellows of the florals.

Blue eyes darken as he hangs up the phone with a hushed later. He then approaches you with love welling up in his chest before pulling you into a dance.

Like the Dead Sea

You told me I was like the Dead Sea

You'll never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, I'm your Dead Sea

A year and a half into your time at the company you found yourself in the courtyard surrounded by coworkers and fans. Your second book has been a success! Covered tables were scattered around the yard. There was a calm chatter in the air with a string of excitement that pulsed as you walked around mingling. You were dazzling James thought. The man paced back and forth through the crowd eyes turning to you naturally as he fumbled with the box in his pocket.

Later in the evening, you are standing with Sam when James approaches. Something in his eyes flashes and Sam nods. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and mentions going to Sofia. You nod, and as he leaves James runs a hand to yours.

“I want to show you something.”

Your head tilts at the tone of his voice, a sure seriousness you aren’t used to in the man. You nod to him nonetheless. He leads you into the dark beyond the light of the tables and small venue. You trace a cobbled path to the location of the oak tree. He pauses a moment before grinning at you and reaching for a spot on the tree and then there's brilliance.

He hits a button and flashes of lights like drizzled starlight trace its way up the tree. You gasp, the limbs of the tree alight with figures from your book, illustrations like stained glass dancing with the alternating flickering light. Your eyes follow the gleam of ruby, the shaded underside of wings to emerald scales on a whirling dragon.

You look at the tree in awe before feeling James dip down, you turn to him and your breathing spikes, he is down on one knee! There is the reflection of stories in his eyes as he starts with a breathy version of your name. His voice is a little shaky as he continues, watching your eyes widen and tears fill your eyes.

“-you have been my everything. Meeting you that day felt like fate intervened. You've taught me that the most powerful stories are the ones told from the heart, and you epitomize that truth. Through working with the kids, the tours, and countless long hours, I've witnessed not only your boundless love and creativity but also realized how much I need your stories in my life. Will you marry me?"

You can barely choke out a yes when there is cheering and you find the guests and your coworkers have found you. You see Sam and Sofia filming and smiling and James slides the ring on your finger before spinning you into an embrace.

Simon's hand clenches yours as you have to take a pause after recounting the moment, tears welling a little bit. You turn your forehead against his shoulder and his other head comes up to caress your cheek. You breathe in a shaky breath and lean into the warmth of his hand, heart raising as the taller man turns to look down at you. The others are drowned out by the hazel of his eye. A moment later you blink and with a nod to Sam, you continue.

Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea (dead sea)

The nicest words you ever said to me (said to me)

Honey, can't you see?

I was born to be, be your Dead Sea

A few easy months passed in happiness on your part, but as you progressed on your third book, James got called onto other projects, namely YA and NA book tours. This meant working closely with your biggest headache in the company, Sabrina. While you had tried your best to interact with her, her consistent brushing off of children's authors and favoritism towards her own interests irked you. You and Sarah were the only two who didn't bother engaging with her unless necessary. Moreover, Sabrina’s consistent interest in James didn't go unnoticed.

James was partnered with her for her tour, and while he maintained a respectful distance, Sabrina would often stubbornly take his arm or pass a hand over his arm when moving past him. Despite this, you respected and trusted your partner and thought nothing of it.

However, after the tour, the late nights began. You knew they worked well together through the talk of her publicist, who gossiped like a little girl.

“They really nailed that final report! Goodness me, they work wonderfully together!” she would say.

The late nights concerned you, but James always reassured you with a firm peck on the forehead, insisting there was nothing to worry about. He still made it home in time for dinner. However, things tipped eventually as the gala was announced.

You were swept into the preparation for a children's author section when you noticed odd things. As James prepared for work, he would often leave the kitchen to take a call, returning 10 to 15 minutes later with a smug smile on his face. When you asked what happened, he would always reply with “successful business.”

As the months trudged on, James became more absent, missing dinner first with super apologetic messages, then skipping work lunches to take up work in his office. Sabrina made more motions to interact with you too. You thought it was for the sake of the committee, but something in the pit of your stomach simmered in warning at the flash of her teeth in a smile.

A month before the event, there was a weekend trip for the NA authors and James was invited. As he packed his bag, you stood with your arms folded in the door frame.

“Be sure to text me when you guys get to the retreat.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his blue eyes turning to you and noticing your tense posture. Something in him softened as he came to you and pulled you into his arms.

“It’ll be all over soon.”

You couldn’t even begin to ponder the meaning of the statement before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He didn’t message until days later, quoting poor signal.

Sam frowned as you paced the apartment. You had voiced your concerns to him, choosing to leave Sofia out of it.

“He's been picking more projects up with Sabrina,” Sam said almost accusatorily, his arms coming around you.

You were about to answer when there was a knock at the door. Sam opened it to find a dark-eyed James. He brushed past Sam to find you.

“You weren’t home,” he said darkly.

“I hadn’t heard you would be home,” you replied, standing up. James tugged you forward into a possessive kiss.

From then on, James was at your side more, for some reason possessively snapping and tense towards Sam. Despite his longer work hours with Sabrina, he would often crowd you at your apartment, especially when Sam was around.

Moments in the kitchen, like a palm to your neck, pushed you away, but then James would apologize, claiming stress as the gala approached.

It all hit a boiling point that night.

I've been down, I've been defeated

You're the message I was heeding

Would you stay

Would you stay the night? Ooh

That night, a fine Friday outside the statehouse, was scattered with strung lights and pulsing stars. You and Sam arrived together to attend the Children’s Department party. You received many congratulations, and as Sofia joined you, you enjoyed your time, waiting for James's arrival from the board meeting. As you stepped outside alone, you checked your phone but found no messages from James.

Last night, he had come home exceptionally late, skipping dinner and passing out from exhaustion. He left early in the morning with a quick peck on your sleeping forehead before slipping into the pre-dawn light.

As you turned from the secluded section towards the entrance, you caught a familiar voice. It was Sabrina, talking to someone hidden by the shadows.

“You can’t back out now, think of the headlines! I’m not letting you ruin this because of cold feet.”

She surged forward to kiss the man, dragging him into the light—it was James. Your little gasp was muffled by the sudden flashing of lights as the outer doors opened to the news, the flashes of cameras catching the affair. Something in James seemed to click as he pulled away, eyes wide. Then he saw you. Panic and something you couldn’t name passed through them. Sabrina turned to you with a pleased smile curving on her face.

She motioned to you as tears streamed down your face and other authors approached, drawn by the commotion. An arm tugged you into a chest as you felt Sam’s protective embrace, his anger palpable. There was a shift in James’s eyes then, and he pulled Sabrina to him, muttering the words that broke your heart,

“I never loved you anyway.”

Dead Sea

Told me I was like the Dead Sea

Never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, I'm your Dead Sea

The next minutes passed in a blur of camera flashes and reporters' shouts as Sam pulled you through the crowd, Sofia and Sarah following close behind. The other guests caught on and—laughed? The tails of your dress cleared the ground as you slid into the passenger seat of Sam’s car. As he drove, your tears flowed freely. You could already imagine the headlines. You didn't want to think about them and turned to see Sam's knuckles white on the wheel.

“That bastard!” he muttered.

Sofia’s hand reached from the back seat to your shoulder. Her eyes were clouded with shock and shame, both for James and out of concern for you. As you arrived back at your apartment, the reality of the situation sank in.

The next day, the headlines featured your tear-streaked face. There was outrage from your fans, but Sabrina's influence and her larger following had others cheering for her and the handsome man. After silencing and privateing your socials, James tried to call. You just turned your phone off and continued packing. Sam had a crazy idea—jumping an ocean and starting fresh with his family’s publishing company.

At the airport, Sofia pulled you into a tight hug.

“I’ll take care of everything,” she promised.

And that, dear reader, is how you found yourself settling into and naming the Fox’s Den.

The group goes quiet as you finish with a shaky sigh. Simon is tight against you, and Sam is tense with a seasoned rage. Kyle had a frown on his face and Sofia set her hand on your knee.

“Its all over dear, I’ll make sure of it. Ill talk and see what I can-”

“No” Your firmer then you though your voice would be.

“I can’t run from this Sofia. It would only make things worst.”

The older woman nods solemnly.

“He is a right sod” Kyle makes you laugh with the sudden exclamation. The tense mood is broken then as you feel Simon's arm flex under yours. As the others start a conversation you turn to him to find him looking down at you with narrowed eyes.

“I'm here dove, he’ll keep off if he knows what's good for him.”

You breath out at the statement, its said simply and with promise.

You look to the others, finding their drinks empty and you stand suddenly and pull Simon with you.

“Tea?” The others nod and you go to let go of Simon’s hand but his hold yours firmly. You move over to the bar with the coffee machine and Simon follows one step behind. As you approach Simon spins you to lean against the counter before stepping into your space.

“I mean it Dove, I’m staying,” He looks away for a moment, “if you’ll have me.”

There is a flutter in your heart at his shyness and as the others chat you are shielded by Simon amongst the bookshelves. You look at his lips and he smirks, lips quirking up before he dips and kisses you. Between breaths, he chuckles,

“I'll take this as a yes.”

Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea (dead sea)

The nicest words you ever said to me (said to me)

Honey, can't you see?

I was born to be your Dead Sea

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page #Simon riley x you #Simon riley #cod mw2 2022 #john soap mactavish #Protective ghost #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick

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7cakerolls · 1 year

Text

ctto 4 the gif !!

love for the mighty warrior.

pairing: neteyam x fem! omaticaya reader (part 1!!)

outgoing reader (usually), it girl of the clan, arranged marriage

prompt: you were the girl in the clan that showed the most promise from a young age, so of course you were going to be mated with toruk makto’s firstborn son. but you wanted to marry for love and could never be with him… or so you thought.

neteyam sully had always been the boy everyone talked about, he was the future olo’eyktan after all. you, however, had to work from birth just to be noticed by your fellow clan members. so naturally, you resented him just a bit. being a fierce and unwilling fighter had lost you many social opportunities, but it meant nothing as long as you were able to protect your people.

“mother…i could never be betrothed to him! why can’t they choose another woman, i’m sure there are many chomping at the bits to get a chance.” you complained, not understanding why you were being chosen for this horrible task.

“ma ‘ite, you must do this for our family! i know this must be hard for you, but he is well-respected and will treat you right.” she stroked your hair, trying to calm you down. out of anyone in this world, your mother was always the one who truly had your back.

after a while of cuddling with your mother, you accepted it. it probably wouldn’t be too bad. and you could always grow to love him, right? wrong. you felt completely stolen from and out of place. you never wanted to be tsahík, you wanted to lead warriors and win battles. so why now, just when things were going well for you?

—small time skip—

the olo’eyktan welcomed you into their home, beckoning you to have a seat. “welcome, young one, and thank you for accepting our offer. you have shown to be one of the best women in our clan, and i believe you and my son will be a lovely match.” he spoke powerfully, and even as tough as you were, you felt even stronger ones than you could not speak back to him.

you simply nodded, already having checked out mentally from the conversation. there was nothing you could or would do, simply for the sake of your mother. you understood your position, and as much as you resented having to do this, your love for your family and your people overpowered that, so you sucked it up.

“yes sir, i understand. i hope to provide a happy marriage to your son and a long-lasting future.” you said, even if you meant none of it. you just wanted to get this over with and return home to your family. this day had been so much to deal with. but as you were bowing and saying your goodbyes, neytiri, your future mother-in-law, spoke up.

“why don’t you two take a walk? get to know each other more, after all, you will have to spend your lives in unison.” she suggested, blissfully unaware to the fact that you wanted nothing more to leave and escape this nightmare you were living in. of course, you could do nothing but nod and wait for him to join you.

he spoke up, walking quickly to catch up to you, as you were on the verge of tears. today had been too overwhelming and this was just the icing on the cake. “so, i hear you are a huntress. that must be nice, not healing and instead fighting unlike all the other girls.” he remarked, only making you feel worse. why did he have to point out you weren’t like the other girls? was he saying you weren’t good enough for him?

“ah, yes.” you curtly said, not wanting to continue the topic further. he simply nodded and stopped walking, taking a good look at you. “i admire your resilience, (yn). this choice was not easy for me either, but i understand that it must be worse for you.”

he…understands? you thought he was cold-hearted and dissatisfied with you, how could he say such things? “you know, amongst my family there is a nickname my family calls me a lot. ‘mighty warrior.’ but i think it fits you quite well.” he said as he chuckled and tousled his braids a bit.

he thinks… that you are mighty? nervously stopping and bowing to him, you repeatedly thanked him, and noted that compliments from the future leader are a high honor. “i admire your strength and leadership skills as well. i hope our partnership turns to be fruitful.” you said, mostly monotone, not wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt just yet. just because he said nice things to you once doesn’t make the situation any less horrible.

“even if you didn’t mean it, receiving a compliment from the future tsahík is an honor to me as well. don’t be so formal, please. i don’t want it to be so awkward for you.” he said, as he grabbed your hands gently, looking into your eyes with sorrow. “i truly am sorry, (yn). i know it must hurt to have your freedom stripped from you, so please understand i am on your side. i will not rush things.” he said to you genuinely.

this was it. this was your breaking point. hearing that someone understood you made you burst into tears. holding it back for so long only made you hate the situation more, so you fell to the forest floor on your knees as you sobbed. “i was living so well… why now?” you choked out. you could barely make it through a sentence.

at first he just stood in shock, but then he hastily came to your side and began rubbing your back. “i would never get in the way of your progress and your life, please understand. i will support you and we can work through this together. please, do not cry.” somehow, his calming words and actions got you to stop crying. who knew the mighty warrior had such a heart of gold?

#Spotify #atwow neteyam #atwow fluff #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #platonic neteyam #strangers to friends to lovers

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

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The Only One

Episode 2

prev | next | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name

Word Count: 2.1k

Content: fluff, angst-ish (more below the cut)

Warnings: ableism, bullying, self-worth issues, briefest mention of sex, but no actual sex, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

Poe left that first encounter with you a little weary, mildly bored, and terribly intrigued. He found you a little odd, but extremely adorable. Something about your twin hair buns, little backpack, intelligence and bluntness piqued his interest. Although he couldn't honestly say he was interested in a date from day one. That came later.

NOW...

Poe supposed that going on a date during desperate war times might be considered a little frivolous. There wasn't exactly a lot to do around the Resistance base, so he decided to search out a place to take you in the nearest town. Even there, the two of you would have to tread carefully. The First Order had not yet corrupted this lush little planet, but there was always the possibility of running into a spy, even potentially among the Resistance ranks.

Poe had a bit of a social life, of course, between his numerous missions. After all, he was friends with everyone and had no trouble finding companionship if he wanted it. But he felt like it had been a while since he had made such a specific point to take someone out.

The two of you had plans to meet in the hangar - a familiar spot to you both, and just the thought of seeing his ship made him wish he could take you off planet somewhere. But every ounce of energy and fuel had to be preserved for missions, as per Leia's directive.

So, as Poe arrived at the hangar, he was pleased to find you had beat him there, and were waiting for him beside his prized, black and orange T-70 X-wing. You faced away from him, bouncing a little on your toes and tugging at the straps of your backpack.

The little pack momentarily distracted him from the fit of your standard issue attire, but his eyes quickly thereafter drifted down to the swell of your hips, and the unique way you tucked the bottom of your pants into your unlaced boots.

Your hair remained twisted up in your signature twin buns - a look he'd come to adore - specifically when soft, errant strands would tumble down the smooth column of your neck.

Watching you unguarded for another indulgent moment, he found himself amused, somehow, that your date look was the same as your everyday look. Nothing wrong with that, of course - it was just so refreshingly you. He found your familiar quirks comforting, although he did wonder why you might need your backpack. He had always assumed your pack held your work tools or something related to your purpose in the Resistance.

Perhaps it was something more. So many in the Resistance had so few possessions - they could get attached to the strangest of things, not unlike the way he was attached to his mother's ring, which dangled from the chain around his neck.

"Elia," he called out, alerting you to his presence, eager to get the evening started.

You whirled around, tugging fiercely on your backpack straps before bounding over with a bright smile.

"Hi, Poe," you chirped, scuffing your unlaced boot against the ground. "I think you're six minutes late."

Chomping down on his lip to keep from laughing, Poe nodded in agreement. Blunt and literal as ever - his Elia. Or maybe someday, his.

"I am indeed," he agreed with a shrug. "Although I've actually been here for a few minutes. I was just watching you."

Damn, that sounded creepy as soon as the thought left his mind and transformed into words.

"Watching me do what?" You innocently asked, your eyes wide and blinking.

"Just...standing there," he smiled warmly. "I like your hair."

"You do? Oh! Thanks, I always do the same thing with it because it's really thick and well..." You trailed off, which was something rare for you. "I like your hair too. I mean, everyone does."

"Yeah?" He grinned, nodding for you to start walking with him. "Everyone?"

"Mm-hmm," you responded, skipping just a little as the two of you exited the hangar. "Yeah, um, Lira in medical always talks about wanting to grab it, and Dane's old roommate said you have so much hair that you should give him half."

If Poe had been drinking anything, he would have spit it out. Dane's former roommate was bald.

"Good to know," he chuckled. "So why do you like it?"

"It looks soft. Like your eyes," you instantly answered, with no pretension or hesitation.

Those brown eyes swept over to you adoringly.

Noticing this, you nodded eagerly as the two of you continued your stroll. "See? Like that. You look at me nicer than everyone else."

Earlier that morning...

"Seriously, what does Poe see in her?" Lira from the med bay asked her friend, the two of them flipping through some medical charts, pretending to get some work done. Perhaps they had forgotten that you were working on one of the medical computers a few rooms down the hall. Or perhaps they were just rude.

"Wait, who is he going out with?"

You didn't recognize the second voice, but she seemed eager to gossip with the most beautiful girl in the Resistance. (which was definitely not you)

"Elia, or whatever her name is. You know, that computer girl who wears a backpack all the time?"

Hearing your name, and the mention of your backpack made you flinch, halting your computer repair. Almost reflexively, you frantically reached to make sure said pack was still securely connected to your shoulders.

"Wait, Poe is going out with her?" the other girl gasped. "Why? Is he that desperate? Because, let me tell you - what I wouldn't give to sink my fingers into his gorgeous hair while we..."

You pressed the heels of your palms tightly to your ears while Lira's friends spewed whatever disgusting things she was going to say about Poe.

It wasn't that you had a problem with sex. You had been with people before. Well...person. One person. It was nice. Until it wasn't.

Anyway, you just weren't sure why people needed to discuss sex so often. And it's not that you couldn't talk about sex, but the absolutely moronic things people said out loud sometimes made your skin crawl.

Tentatively removing your hands from your ears, hoping to quickly finish your repair and leave the med bay, you heard Lira's voice again.

"Believe me, I used to grab his hair every chance I got." She paused, sighing defeatedly. "That was before he got so boring. I just wanted to have a little fun, but Poe takes things so seriously."

"Poe Dameron is serious?" her friend questioned, disbelievingly. "Mr. Can-Have-Anybody? Why?"

"The answer to that question must be the same answer to the question of why he is going out with Elia. He could do so much better. That girl is weird."

Frowning, you tried your best to tune out their voices. It was nothing new. Everyone thought you were weird. Hell, you thought you were weird. And it wasn't as if you were completely oblivious to the surprise that Commander Dameron asked you out on a date.

You almost said no, when he asked. You were quite a literal person, and typically took people at their word, even if they were screwing with you. But something about Poe Dameron asking to take you out did give you pause.

Still...he seemed so sincere and he'd always been kind to you. So you believed him.

"Finished with the computer," you announced, appearing in the doorway where Lira and her friend had been chatting instead of working. Both girls shot out of their chairs as if caught doing something wrong.

"Oh, Elia, it's just you," Unknown Friend chimed, plopping back down in her seat. "Did you fix that computer?"

"Computer's fine," you shrugged. "I think it was user error."

With that, you turned on your booted heel and bounded out of the med bay.

"Okay, Ells, you got this," Poe encouraged, rubbing his palms together conspiratorially.

Drawing a deep breath, you focused intently on the Holo-dart board, raising your arm to try and even hit the thing.

"All right, move your arm back a little more," he guided, "and then, your foot, just - here, let me show you." Poe bravely crowded in behind you, attempting to help you correct your terrible stance. But he noticed your slight flinch - your free hand gripping your backpack strap at shoulder level.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he said quickly, moving out of your personal space. "I...should have asked you."

Trying to brush off your weird personal space thing, you attempted a laugh. "No, it's okay. It just surprised me, is all."

Poe's eyes darkened in concern, and he wondered, for a moment, if someone had hurt you in the past - made you afraid to be touched.

"I should probably just let you take my last turn," you offered, smiling helplessly. "Hand-eye coordination is not really my thing."

"But you work on computers and microchips and all that intricate stuff," Poe argued. "You have to be coordinated to do that, right?"

"Not like this. It's different."

Okay, maybe beating you at Holo-darts was not a good first date idea. Poe's reflexes were unbeatable. He was incredibly coordinated and good at almost everything. Thankfully, you didn't seem to be terribly competitive, at least not at this game.

"Here, why don't you copy me," he offered, standing beside you instead of crowding in behind you. "Put your left foot forward, just a little bit, like this..."

He waited for you to get into position, which you quickly did.

"That's it, and then raise your arm - copy the shape of my arm."

He went on to guide you through a stance with the greatest chance of success - then waited while you let the Holo-dart fly...

...it actually hit the edge of the board, giving you the fewest number of points possible, but you were thrilled.

"Poe, I did it! I hit the board!" You cried, jumping up and down.

"Yeah! That's my girl," he cheered, fighting the urge to reach out and grab you for a hug.

A small section of your hair plopped across your eye, having worked itself loose from one of your hair buns. Your nose was adorably scrunched with laughter as you held up two hands to high five your date.

Poe slapped his palms to yours, thrilled when you took hold of his hands and squeezed.

"You are a good teacher," you complimented warmly. "I guess that's why everyone wants to learn to fly from you."

Poe gazed down into your eyes, so sincere, even as they sparkled with merriment. "I could teach you to fly, if you want."

"Me?" You gawked, quickly pulling your hands away. "No, I...I couldn't do that. I could never fly. I just work on the computers."

"Okay," he softly agreed, wishing he would have said something else - something that would have allowed him to hold onto your hands a little longer.

"This has been fun," you changed the subject, reaching up to tuck your loose strands of hair back where they belonged. "It was nice of you...to bring me on a date."

"It was nice of you to say yes to a date," Poe countered, smiling down at you fondly. "You didn't have to."

"Of course I was gonna say yes, I mean who would say no to you? No one. Because you're so nice to everyone, and you're good at everything and, you know, like we talked about - your hair. So, like, of course I was going to say yes, because you're always so sweet to me, Poe. Sweeter than anyone."

Shifting a bit uncomfortably, your fingers found the frayed ends of your backpack straps. "I know, you know...what people think about me. That I'm...weird. So, it's just...it's really so nice of you to ask me out tonight."

Poe melted.

Who had made you feel this way? So, you were a little talkative. And literal. Big deal. At least he always knew where he stood with you. You were direct; without guile or pretense. It was refreshing.

"I like the way you are," he attempted, holding your gaze as long as you would allow it. "You're honest and interesting and smart. I always have fun with you. And it doesn't hurt that you're pretty." His dark eyebrows shot up suggestively.

"Me? No, I'm not. I'm not." Your hands were a completely tangled mess, woefully wound several rounds deep into the straps of your pack.

He thought about firing back a joke, such as, 'Oh, you're not? My mistake' but he thought better of it. You responded to sincerity and jokes were often confusing to you.

"You are to me, Ells," he plainly stated.

Your eyes went wide and your strap tugging momentarily halted. Chewing on your lip, you blinked a few times, wondering if you were missing something.

"Thanks," you finally said, although your voice had dropped to a whisper. Maybe Poe really thought you were cute. After all, your hair buns did look kind of cute, if you did say so yourself. On a good day maybe. Tonight they were a mess.

But he didn't know the real you. Not all of you. If he saw all of you - if he ever got close enough, he would realize what you were. And he would know that you were not only ugly, but completely malformed, from the inside out.*

*note: I am in no way insinuating that to be neurodivergent is to be malformed. This story is set in a fantasy universe and there are many things at play here. note #2: don't worry, the entire story won't be repeats of Elia hearing people talk about her behind her back. We're just getting set up.

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#the only one fic #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron x female oc #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequels #sw fic #oscar isaac fic #star wars fic #poe dameron x female reader #poe x elia #oscar isaac characters

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shingekinomyfeelings · 2 years

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Did someone say "headcanons about sex with pre-timeskip Paradis! Reiner (aged up to 19 in this scenario) vs sex with post-timeskip Marley! Reiner???"

No? Oh.

Well, I wrote some anyway. Minors DNI fuck off stop liking my smut posts why are you like this

Paradis! Reiner:

For him, sex is how he shows his passion, adoration, and devotion as he enthusiastically takes you in any way you’ll let him – and you’d better believe he’s thought of a lot of ways. Sex with him is generally fun and exuberant, though this sweetheart does of course enjoy soft, emotional sessions that highlight his real, gentle nature.

He has a pretty high sex drive, and once you’re an established couple, he’s not shy about suggesting or initiating it. He can, frankly, be a bit of a horndog, but he’ll never push the issue if you’re not interested. Whenever you’ll allow it, though, he wants to have his hands all over you, your skin against his, touching you almost worshipfully. He’s never been able to give and receive affection like this before, and he wants to explore and experience it to the fullest.

While he’s definitely more dominant-leaning, he’ll certainly let you take charge if you show the inclination – and even encourage it if you’re shy – and his ego doesn’t suffer for it. He’s both amused and aroused when you pin his wrists above his head, letting you play with him as you like, even though both of you know he could flip you off of him in an instant.

He’d be hard pressed to pick just one favorite position. He’s enthralled by seeing your ass jiggle as he pounds you from behind, or your boobs bouncing as he fucks you on the edge of the bed, and nothing is quite as hot to him as folding you into a mating press, but Reiner is really a soft romantic at heart, and he loves the intimacy of looking deep into your eyes in missionary position.

He’s willing to handle you roughly, if that’s what you want, but he’s well aware of his own size and strength, and would absolutely kick himself if he accidentally caused you any real pain, so he’s highly communicative and responsive.

To his initial surprise, he’s seriously turned on when you’re rough in return. Give him a good chomp on the neck as he’s rutting into you, he’ll love it.

The guy is all about giving praise, but gets a little awkward and flustered when you offer it in return. He’d really rather hear your sighs and moans and whimpers, and lose himself in the sounds of you coming totally undone.

Afterwards, he’s just a big cuddly teddy bear, holding you close and peppering you with kisses, every kiss a silent ‘I love you’ as he forgets why he’s come to this island, fully believing for the moment that this is where he belongs.

Marley! Reiner

Sex to him is an expression of of love and trust, emotional and intimate and sometimes a little bittersweet. There’s less wanton fucking and more of souls being laid bare, and many times it feels somehow like it may be your last together. He just always want you to know how much he treasures you :c

Depression and despondency have taken much of his sex drive, and even when you’ve been together for some time, he’s far less forward about initiating intimacy. He’s not much for public displays of affection, but he stays close to you to shield you from whatever harm might come your way. Behind closed doors, gently caressing his cheek or running your hands through his hair will see him melt against your touch. He’s touch-starved and longs to let you show your love, and to show his in return, but too often fears he doesn’t deserve to be loved or feel good.

He’s more of a switch now – he’ll take the lead as you need him to, but something in him craves to be dominated from time to time, to let go of the pretense of strength and embrace the sense that he’s not in control.

This man will still put you in a mating press if you get him riled up and desperate enough, but what he really craves is full-body contact with you, his chest against your chest or back, his hands wandering your body, able to hear your every breath or see every expression that crosses your eyes.

He’s far more restrained and gentle these days, afraid of hurting you. The fact that you’ll even let a monster like him see you this way, touch you this way, means more to him than he can properly express, and he doesn’t intend to betray that trust. He can be coaxed into being more intense, but he’ll remain attentive the entire time, stopping on a dime if you seem to flinch or whimper in discomfort.

On the other hand, he’s quite willing to let you rough him up as you please. It plays into his feeling that he deserves pain.

He’s still full of praise and adoration, but for the love of god, please praise him, too. He needs to know he’s making you feel good, and that his touch can bring something more than destruction.

He’ll always pull you tight against him when you’re done, holding onto you like the world might tear you away from him. He’d rather you pretend not to notice if a few tears slip from his eyes, becase if you cup his cheek with your hand and brush a tear away with your thumb, he might break down entirely.

#reiner #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader #headcanons #smut #smutty headcanons #angst #there's angst too #wowee wow wow I love him

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meetmyothersouls · 1 year

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It's Not You, It's Me

Part 12

Warnings: recovering from an accident, bruising, wedding, braxton hicks/contractions, violence/violent situations, a single gun (not used), feelings of dread and sadness, this is quite long so, please bare with me. Not proof read

What should have been a weeklong hospital stay, turned into two, then three, then before you knew it, Timothee had been in the hospital for a month. During yours and Timothee's stay, there was an interesting new development in your pregnancy: Braxon Hicks contractions. The first time you had one you thought for sure you were going into labor, luckily the hospital Timothee was staying at was the same hospital your OBGYN was at and the same hospital you were delivering in. So, your doctor saw you every time you had one, "just to make sure," you told them. By the time, Timothee was released, and a quick wedding ceremony was in order, you were eight months and a week pregnant, feeling like you were about to burst at the seams.

The week that Timothee was released from the hospital was exponentially busy, filled with dress fittings (your least favorite part considering), physical therapy for Timothee, somehow getting a church on board for a last-minute wedding, finding an ordained minister (which ultimately did not work out. Luckily, Timothee's best friend Stephane went the extra mile and spent the week getting ordained) and finally (and almost forgotten) obtaining a marriage license. Nicole took the matter of guest list, invitations, decorations and food into her own hands.

The night before the wedding, Timothee seemed distracted. He paced the floor of your shared apartment, biting his fingernails. He hissed in pain as he bit one down too far, drawing blood. The sight brought on one of the fake contractions. You winced a little as you got up, walking them off seemed to help.

"What's goin' on, Tim?" You asked, walking over to him. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" You asked, mostly joking.

Timothee quickly turned his neck to look at you, wincing in pain from the movement. A lot was still difficult for him, and it worried you to no end. "Of course not!" Timothee smiled, the bruising around his eyes and faded into a nasty yellow color, but somehow, he still managed to look insanely attractive. "I should be asking you that, you know? The one who always runs off." Immediately your faced dropped and Timothee quickly added, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding! No, really, everything's great, y/n. We're getting married tomorrow, our daughter's gonna be here any day now. What more could I want?"

You winced again at a second false alarm contraction and Timothee put a hand on your belly and ran the other through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Then, his index finger went back into his mouth as he chomped on the already torn fingernail. You chalked it up to last minute jitters as you closed your eyes.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" He said quietly.

Your eyes popped open and you pulled his other hand into yours, hoping to minimize the torture he was putting his fingers through.

"I know, but a ceremony is important and I think your mom would flip if we didn't have one."

"I know, but-" Timothee slid his hands out of yours and went back to pacing the floor. He'd mellowed out a lot since the beginning of all this. And the accident left him a little fragile. Secretly, you hoped he'd get back to his normal devious self. Maybe after the wedding and after the baby was born, he'd settle back down.

"But....?"

"But," Timothee sighed, launching back into a pace. "I'm just freaking out. And probably over nothing. It's stupid. Forget it."

You rolled your eyes. "No. Fuck that. You can't just say that and then tell me to forget about it. What's going on, Timmy? Tell me."

You waddled over to him, hoping it looked like anything other than a waddle. You stopped him mid pace, pulling his hand from his mouth and took it in yours. His other hand went to your cheek as he brushed strand of hair behind your ear. He sighed again.

"Just tell me, baby," you urged him gently.

"I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong."

His anxiety was talking again, and you were getting better and better and calming his rising panic. You'd been talking him off the ledge a lot lately. Sometimes were easier than others. You weren't sure how this one was going to go.

"Nothing's going to happen, Timothee. We're going to get married and then hopefully have this baby, like, two seconds after," you laughed. It was getting hard to breathe with how the baby was positioned.

He nodded, smiling as he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips tenderly before building up to a deeper, more passionate kiss.

"Let's go to bed," he said against your mouth. "Tonight's the last night I get to have sex with you as y/f/n y/l/n."

The next morning came early. Timothee had physical therapy that morning, so Nicole picked you up to begin getting you ready for your wedding. You couldn't believe it was happening. Your wedding. You were marrying Timothee Chalamet.

Nicole stood behind you as she zipped your dress up. Your hair was done, your make up was perfect and the dress, though heavily modified due to your pregnant belly, fit you like a glove and was somehow not the least bit uncomfortable. You looked beautiful and that was something you never considered yourself. Your eyes glistened a little as tears built up.

"Oh, honey," Nicole said, leading over to grab a few tissues. She handed them to you over your shoulder and you patted your eyes, careful to not smudge your perfect eyeliner.

"I'm sorry your parents couldn't make it here, sweety, but I just want you to know that long before today, I already considered you a daughter."

"Make that both of us" Timothee's dad, Marc, said from behind you. He must've snuck in without you noticing, which wouldn't be hard to do considering how much was on your mind. He looked quite handsome in his tuxedo with light blue accents. "Y/n, I'm not sure if you've given it any thought...and there's no pressure at all of course, but...if you want, I'd love to be the one to walk you down the aisle today."

Tears immediately welled up in your eyes, which prompted Nicole to grab more tissues. This time, she dabbed your eyes for you.

"I'd love that thank you, Mr. Chalamet. Or...should I call you Dad now?" You chuckled but cringed at your awakardness.

But marc offered you a genuine smile and his arm and said, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Timothee's POV

I stood at the altar, my hands a sweaty mess. Normally, Y/n wouldn't want a big ceremony, and I knew she was doing it for everyone but her. That's one of the reasons I fell in love her. Her selflessness.

I'm lost in thought as the music begins playing and the groomsmen with the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle and joined me on stage. Part of me, unfortunately, worried about her not showing, but these thoughts are instantly put at ease when the music changed and my dad brought Y/n out, his arm interlocked with hers.

Everything stopped and there was only her. She looked...beautiful. Pregnancy certainly made her glow like an angle sent straight from heaven, just for me. My eyes began to fill with tears and I didn't even try to keep them from falling. I wiped my eyes with one hand, keeping the other one behind my back, shaking like a leaf. Her dress, which she was so worried about made her look even more angelic. The fabric fell off of her shoulders, exposing my favorite spots to kiss, and draped down her arms. Lace covered the plunging neck line, a modification Y/n added to not show so much skin. A satin tie gathered perfectly around her waist, showing off a perfectly round baby bump. Then it hit me. Both of my girls were here on my wedding day.

And then, we locked eyes and she waved at me. Wiggling her delicate little fingers, in my direction. I couldn't help but chuckle. My dad helped her up the three steps. Words were spoken, but I didn't hear a damn on of them. Y/n hugged my dad before he joined my mother in the front row.

Stephane greeted the guests, speaking eloquently I'm sure, but all I could see, all I could hear, all I could think of was her. The day I'd waited for, since I saw her in that coffee shop so long ago, was here.

It must've been time for vows, because Y/n cleared her throat and said my name. Her eyes were glossy as she spoke.

"Timothee, my love, my world, my everything. We've been through a hell of a lot together, haven't we?" She chuckled and sniffled a little, and I reached out to grab one of her hands, rubbing an encouraging thumb over her fingers. "There have been moments in my life, where I didn't think I had a purpose, a reason. But then you came along, and you gave me two." She placed a hand on her belly, and she gripped mine tighter. "I never thought I'd get married, and I definitely never thought I'd have one these." The guests laughed and so did I. "But I'm so happy, Timothee. I'm so happy that I get to spend forever with the two of you. I love you," she said to me, her voice going a bit higher in pitch as it did when she was about to cry. "And I will never run from that. I promise.

Reader's POV

You breathed a deep sigh of relief as you finished your vows. You decided that you weren't going to write anything down. You were going to speak directly from your heart. You laid it all out for him in a way you hadn't ever before. And Timothee looked at you, happy tears welling up in his still bruised eyes.

Timothee opened his mouth to speak, but smiled instead, as if gathering words to say.

"I'm not as poetic as my beautiful bride here," he started, and you rolled your eyes knowing very well how eloquent he was when he spoke. Still, the small crowd of maybe 100 guests laughed. "So, I had to write mine down." Timothee reached a hand into his pocked, fishing for his vows. He finally pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. It appeared wrinkled and worn, like it was folded and unfolded countless times over numerous days as he worked out his feelings onto paper.

"Y/n," Timothee said, "I-" he cut himself off with a short, shaky breath and a light emotional sob. It was your turn to comfort him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. He looked up at you and pulled his lips in to form a smile one does to push back a lump forming in their throat. He was trying so hard not to cry.

I love you. You mouthed.

"I love you too," he whispered back. He huffed out a breath and refocused. "I wrote this a week after I met you and-"

Timothee stopped again, cut off by something different this time. He turned his head to someone in the audience, someone that caught his attention. Instantly his face changed. Your smile dropped from your face and your snapped your neck in the direction he was looking in. Your stomach tightened, contracting again at the sight of the man standing in the back of the crowd. He entered quietly, Timothee must have seen him out of his peripheral vision, there was no sound upon his entrance; even the large church doors didn't make a sound. But a man that you knew from long ago stood in the threshold and his presence was just as menacing as you remembered.

"No," you whispered. "No. No. No."

The two of you, seconds ago standing in front of each other, holding hands, exchanging vows, shifted to face the man at the door. His face was twisted in an ominous smirk, making his dark eyes appear evil. His hair, as black as night, was styled as perfectly as it was the day you left him and decided to erase him from your life. But now, here he was and by his looks, he was here to ruin it.

"Y/n," Timothee said, not taking his eyes off of the wedding crasher. "Who is that."

You wish he hadn't have asked that. Because saying his name out loud would acknowledge that fact that somehow, he reentered your life. You spent so long trying to forget him, to repress him from your memory. But of course Timothee would ask. Why wouldn't he? You never spoke about Jacob. Not after what he did.

"His name is Jacob, you said. "And he's my ex-fiancé."

Timothee's grip on your hand tightened to the point of pain and the muscle in his jaw strained as he worked it. "For now," he sighed, as if he knew this would happen. You thought of what he said the night before. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong. And here it was. "We're going to skip over the fact that you've never mentioned this to me and figure out what the fuck is going on."

Jacob looked around the church, an obnoxious fake look of awe plastered to his face. He clapped his hands in mocked amusement and then held them out to both of you as he took slow, but deliberate steps towards the front of the church. "Oh, I hope I'm not too late. Y/n, I missed your invite, but you know I'd find you eventually." Jacob grabbed a wine glass from a woman's hand and downed the entire thing in a single gulp. He looked at Stephane. "Is it too late to object this shit show?"

Stephane stepped forward, an elegant swagger to him even in the most awkward situations. "With all due respect, uhm, sir," he added in disgust, "objections are reserved for legal matters only, emotional reasonings are not valid for objections. So, unless your objection is of legal stature, we won't be stopping the wedding."

Timothee pulled you closer to his body as Jacob pursed his lips in thought. Another fake contraction tightened around your belly, this time building in intensity. This time, a wince was hard to hide. Your hand went to your belly and your breathed out a big puff of air.

"Are you okay," Timothee whispered over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah. Braxton Hicks," you reminded him.

"Oh for the love of God, Y/n. Really? Pregnant at your own wedding? I know you're trash but this," he held out his hands as if showing you to a crowd gathered to see a freakshow at a circus. "This is next level!" Jacob laughed in disbelief.

"Hey, man. Get the fuck out. You weren't invited and this is a private event. You've said what you needed to say. And whatever the hell went on between you two is clearly over. She doesn't want you. And no one wants you here right n ow. Leave. That's the last time I'll ask.

Jacob's lips pulled into a sadistic smirk again, and a sinister laugh vibrated in his throat. The guests looked horrified and a few of them already picked up their bags and walked out.

"Jacob, please. You're ruining my wedding day." Just like he ruined your life.

"Your wedding day?" He laughed out loud. "This was supposed to be OUR wedding day, y/n. Remember all the plans we made? All the things we did together, all the memories we made together? ALL THE LOVE WE MADE?!"

"Stop."

"You can't just throw that away."

"Stop it, Jacob."

"But you did. Didn't you? You threw it all away. You threw us away, y/n. Just like you threw me in prison!"

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!" You screamed. The remaining guests gasped, and Timothee's head snapped to you. You didn't tell him this. You didn't tell anyone anything. You couldn't. As soon as Jacob went to prison, you entered the witness protection program. You started over. You weren't sure how Jacob found you. How he was out of prison.

The rest of the guests were leaving the church in hoards at your outburst. Stephane still stood behind Timothee. You saw Larry hiding out in the corner. He'd have you if you needed and if god forbid anything happned to-

Jacob pulled his hand he'd been keeping in his pocket, revealing a heavy black handgun. Anyone left in the church aside from Stephane and Larry had fled. And Jacob began walking causally around the pews, waving the gun around as he talked.

"You know, I've had years to think about how this would all go down. Because I knew you'd change your name. I knew you'd move and hide. And lemme tell ya, you were a tricky one to find," he shook the gun at you as talked, "They did good with you."

Jacob pointed the gun in your direction, and instantly Timothee opened his mouth to speak.

"Ah, Ah," Jacob said, moving his aim to Timothee. Timothee made sure you were behind him, assuring that if Jacob pulled the trigger, it'd be him that he shot. Another shooting pain rippled through your abdomen, this time your knees buckled a little and it took everything in you not to fall to them. You gripped the back of Timothee's tux, but he didn't seem to notice. Stephane placed one hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and the other hand on Timothee's shoulder.

"If you can't tell," Jacob started back up when he was sure Timothee was done interrupting. "I'm calling this wedding off. She's not marrying you." He emphasized the word 'you' with evident disgust.

"We're already married," Timothee blurted out. If there were still guests in the room, you were sure his declaration would have resulted in more gasps. Jacob stopped walking and lowered his gun. Taking his chance, Timothee started up again. "About a month ago, I was in a pretty bad accident. We decided that as soon as I was out we'd get married. But we couldn't wait. We got married in my hospital room and didn't tell anyone. This ceremony was all for show and formalities. Y/n is already my wife."

Jacob took in what Timothee had to say and for a second you were hopeful. Your stomach tightened again, and you couldn't suppress the groan of pain you let out.

"Y/n," Timothee said.

"I'm fine," you assured him, even though you felt like vomitting. You started to wonder if these were real contractions. "I'm fine," you said again, unaware of who you were trying to convince.

You gathered yourself enough to stand up straight, thought the pressure building between your legs was starting to increase and became more obvious than it had in the last few weeks. Your eyes found Jacob again, standing right in front of the stairs leading up to the stage.

"No matter," he shrugged and pointed the gun. That's when you felt it, like a water balloon from inside of you bursting. Fluid rain down your legs and onto the stage. If Timothee saw it, he didn't make it known.

"Tim," you whispered. "Tim my water broke." It came out like a sob.

Timothee gripped your wrist tight, you already felt bruises forming. He didn't say anything, he only stood his ground in front of you, his body as still as any statue. Stephane took his place at his side, increasing your shield from Jacob.

Jacob let out a laugh that echoed and bounced off of the walls of the empty church. "Oh no, you don't understand, you stupid fucks! I don't want her. Why would I kill the one I want? No. I'm coming after you."

"Ahh, fuck!" You screamed as another contraction rippled through your stomach. It was unlike any pain you'd ever felt, like your insides being twisted and ripped out. Your stomach tightened so intensely you couldn't move. The only relief was that it wasn't constant. You prayed they were far apart enough to finish whatever this was.

"If she won't come with me...I'll make her a widow. She's so pathetic, she'll come crawling right back to me. Now, come on," Jacob said, waving the gun towards himself, motioning Timothee to follow, but Timothee stood still, completely unmoving. It wasn't until Jacob was halfway to the door, that he realized Timothee wasn't following. Jacob stompped back over, clearly annoyed, not stopping until he was directly in front of Timothee, his nose practically touching Tim's.

"You better learn how to follow directions, pretty boy."

"Fuck you," Timothee spat.

"You want me to kill you in front of your widow?"

Timothee didn't answer.

Behind him, you screamed as another contraction reared its ugly head.

"Y/n," Timothee said, slowing turning around with up turned palms, assuring Jacob he wasn't going to run off or do anything slick. "Y/n, listen to me."

"No. No. Nononono. No I can't do this. I can't. Do go. Don't go with him. Please. I need you, Timothee."

"I know. I know my love. Listen. Listen to me."

You made yourself look at him, and regretted it instantly. You'd seen Timothee in a thousand different ways, but you'd never seen him as broken as this.

"You get to the hospital. Okay? You have our baby and when she's here, you tell her how much I love her and you make sure you tell her that for me every day until you grow old and gray. Until you don't have the strength to say it anymore. But please. Please know that for every ounce of love I have for her-" his hand went to your belly, and you sobbed loudly. "Is nothing compared to how fiercely I loved you."

Loved.

"No! No I'm not going. I'm not leaving you, you can't make me Timothee, please."

"LET'S GO!" Jacob screamed.

"Just give me a fuckin minute!" Timothee yelled, tears rolling down his face.

"I love you, y/n. Don't you ever fucking forget that."

Timothee grabbed your face tightly in his hands and kissed you. Normally, you'd love a kiss that deep and passionate. It was one of those kisses that Timothee put his entire heart into. His tongue wrapped around yours. His taste in your mouth. His lips skating gracefully around yours, even with how rushed it was. The soft noise he made while he kissed you that he didn't even realize he was doing but he did because his entire soul was in the kiss. But right now, you hated it. You hated it because he was kissing you like it was his last. And for all you knew, it was.

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