#I need to be in the ground is what it is I should not be alive

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 3

A/N: Wow. Okay this got a lot more attention than I expected it to in three days. Sorry this part took me a little longer to write but it has one-on-one interactions with each member, that’s why it’s longer than the other parts.

Also, sorry but I’ve reached the maximum number of mentions I can have in the tag list so the tag list is closed!

By majority vote, I will be giving the Saja Boys Korean names so depending on the situation and point of view, they’ll either be referred to as their stage names or their Korean names.

If you guys have any ideas for outtakes, leave them in the comments below!

TW: I needed some way for the reader’s stress to manifest, like how Rumi struggles to sing as the pattern progresses. This manifested as a form of self mutilation, mostly just scratching when stressed or anxious. Insecurity and self deprecating thoughts ahead as well!

Word Count: 6,388

Baby: Jum (king)

Romance: Chungae (noble and love)

Mystery: Hyeon (virtuous, worthy, able)

Abby: Kwan (one who is strong)

Part 1, Part 2

The four boys knew that they had to talk to Jinu about what they found out about (Y/n) and, by default, her sister the hunter. But, they were summoned by Gwi Ma before they had a chance to. They appeared in the middle of a crowd of cheering demons so the boys fell into their idol personas, smiling and pandering to the crowd.

They couldn’t help how their chests clenched when Gwi Ma forced them back into their demon forms.

And then Jinu joined them, standing at the top of the mountain before Gwi Ma’s fire. “One of the Hunters and her sister bears my mark, but I have no control over them.”

The four boys shared looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes. Gwi Ma was in their heads, of course he already knew.

“That’s good. This means that they have shame. We’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy the Hunters for good,” Jinu plotted with a sly smirk.

“I’ve taught you well, Jinu.”

Gwi Ma dismissed the five boys back to the human world and they popped to the place they shared. “Hey, boss, we should talk about what we’re gonna do.”

The five spread across the living area, Kwan laying across the couch as Chungae picked up his legs so he could sit before replacing Kwan legs.

Jum sat on the ground, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t care but his eyes kept glancing up and around at the others.

Hyeon sat on the arm of the couch, picking at his lip even though he shouldn’t. It was hard to get used to not having his tusks anymore… It’s kinda become a tick at this point.

Jinu stood in front of them, “We need to find out what shame the Hunter and her sister have. To do that, we need to get close to them, make them comfortable around us.”

“You’ve had the most interaction with the Hunter, right? So she’ll be more open to you I think,” Chungae mused thoughtfully.

“But, there isn’t just one of us that the sister has spent more time with,” Jum pointed out.

None of the boys wanted to admit that they each knew your name, it would mean admitting that you had caught at least a little bit of their attention, enough to remember you.

“Well, I was the one that carried her tonight,” Chungae flipped his hair, smiling smugly.

“Hey hey, I was the one she was flirting with during the fight. And she was eyeing my abs so I should talk to her,” Kwan crossed his arms, nudging Chungae’s stomach with his foot.

“I was the one who won the spicy challenge, I feel like I should be the one to get close to her,” Jum added his own input.

Hyeon wanted to add his own argument but he didn’t think knowing your scent would really go in his favor… But his jaw itched to sink his teeth into your skin. Gently! He just wanted to bite you… affectionately…

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see where the four were coming from and he was a bit disappointed that he already had the role of getting close to the Hunter but he couldn’t do anything about it. You were so cute when you were flustered too…

“You can all take a try at it, it’s four chances of her opening up to one of you so it should be fine. Just don’t overwhelm her or it’ll look sketchy,” Jinu told them. He dug through the stationary they had around, writing out a note for Derpy and his bird friend to deliver to the Hunter.

“I’m heading out.”

~~~

‘Was it bad that you were glad the girls hadn’t caught up to the Saja Boys…?’

You had run back to the Huntr/x tower, looking ridiculous with your arms inside your sweatshirt to cover your arms and very thankful that there weren’t any civilians out then. You tapped your foot impatiently as the elevator took you up and then you sprinted to your room to put on a different sweatshirt with a high neck tank top under to cover the marks spreading up your neck.

The girls were a few minutes behind you. You changed just in time to greet them with your first aid kit.

Rumi burst out of the elevator with a cry of your name, “You’re okay, right?!” She grabbed your arms, scanning you over frantically, checking for bruises or scratches.

“Those dirty playing demons,” Zoey fumed, stomping with her arms crossed childishly. “You are okay though, right, (Y/n)?”

Mira huffed, following the other two out of the elevator, “She’s fine guys, she doesn’t have a scratch.” You didn’t miss how her eyes scanned over you though, making sure that you really were alright.

“What were you thinking?!” Rumi stressed, grabbing your face in her hands to pull you closer to her. “Going after them?! You could’ve been hurt! You could’ve been…!” Rumi trailed off, the words stuck in her throat.

You could’ve been found out. Your pattern could’ve been seen. You’d have to tell Rumi later that the boys had ripped your sleeves.

But for now, you smiled with a light laugh, “I’m fine, Rumi, I promise. Let me patch you guys up, you guys look a little… eesh.” You grimaced as you took a good look at all the scratches on their faces. They were not offended, they completely understood.

The girls relaxed and let you tend to their scratches and bruises before going to change into lounge clothes and then coming back to see the Honmoon.

Thankfully, they bought your explanation that you lost the boys due to Gwi Ma summoning them and had headed back to the tower to wait for them, you had explained while you patched them up.

The girls stood at the window, looking at the red corrupting the Honmoon as you put the first aid supplies away and moved to the kitchen. You glanced at them with furrowed brows as you got out the ingredients for kimbap.

Then the elevator came up with Bobby, “Girls?”

The girls whipped out their compacts to aggressively cover the wounds on their faces and turned to greet him, “Hey Bobby!”

You threw the first aid supplies in one of the cupboards as you shook your head. You couldn’t help but find it amusing how well trained they were by now in covering up scrapes and bruises from their hunting.

You heard Bobby swiping through TikTok, and couldn’t help the way your shoulders bounced as the chorus of Soda Pop played on a loop.

“Zoey!”

“Bobby! Control those shoulders!”

You froze awkwardly. At least they hadn’t caught you… You focused on making the kimbap a little more aggressively, your head ducked down to avoid attention. It was such a catchy song…

You hunched down further when Rumi started plotting an aggressive diss track to perform at the International Idol Awards.

“Zoey, we’re gonna need a new song!”

“I got twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go.”

“Yeah! Let’s make it thirty notebooks!”

“Mira, the choreography?”

“Yup. Making them hotter.”

“Backup dancers, ready to go.”

“(Y/n),” you gave a strained smile at the sudden call of your name, standing at attention and thankfully not cutting your fingers with the knife in your hand. “Visuals?”

“Already making a mental Pinterest board!”

“Team of designers, ready for your call!”

“We’ll write a brand new song. A diss track to expose those Saja Boys.”

“And send those disgusting demons back to the depths where they belong!”

You bit back a grimace as the girls started raging enthusiastically.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“YeaHHH!”

“YeahHHH!”

“…”

“YEAHHH!!”

And then they ran off to their rooms to get started or rest or something… You sighed, carrying the plate of finished kimbap rolls over to stand next to Bobby to stare flatly after them.

Welp. More for you. You held out the plate to Bobby, “Kimbap?”

“Oh, thanks (Y/n)!”

You wrapped up the rest of the rolls except for one, taking it with you. You paused at Rumi’s door, raising your hand to knock. But you hesitated.

You should tell Rumi that the Saja Boys saw your pattern. Them knowing was a threat because then they also knew that Rumi had patterns too. But… maybe they would just think you were the only one with a demon pattern…? You’d have to talk to them.

So you lowered your hand and kept walking to your room. You shut the door behind you, almost screaming in surprise when a hand slapped over your mouth and dragged you out your balcony door and jumped up to the roof of the tower.

When they released you, you took a deep breath and scrambled away to put distance between you and your kidnapper. “You gotta stop doing that!”

Romance couldn’t help but chuckle, waving his hands disarmingly, “Sorry sorry, I just wanted to chat with you.”

You bit your lip. They knew about your pattern. “About what?” You asked, on guard.

“Your pattern.” There it is. “You’re part demon.”

“So what?” You snapped defensively, hugging your arms even though you knew your skin was covered.

“I was curious,” He admitted openly, brushing some hair out of his face as he leaned back against the edge of the small roof balcony. “You don’t hear him, do you?”

“No. W-wait, who?” You backpedaled, you had refused on instinct and then you registered what he said.

He looked at you obviously, “Gwi Ma. You didn’t make a deal with him? All demons hear his voice, constantly reminding them of… their shame.”

You loosened from your defensive pose, surprised by the vulnerable look on his face. He didn’t seem to want to hurt you, so you relaxed and leaned against the edge behind you, keeping your distance for now.

“Shame?” You echoed curiously.

He looked at you, analyzing you, “It’s all demons do, feel their shame and all the emotions that come with it. These patterns,” He held up his arm, his patterns glowing as he did. “They show that each demon carries a deep shame with them…”

Then he was in front of you, taking your hand as you gasped softly. Your own pattern started glowing through your clothes, “You do too, sweetheart…”

Your grip tightened on his hand. You looked down as your heart squeezed painfully. Yeah… you do…

“Romance—“

“Call me Chungae,” He interrupted you softly.

“Chungae. You… you guys won’t tell the others, right? Rumi… Rumi and I aren’t ready yet, but… we want to be the ones to tell them…” You hesitantly asked through stumbling words. They knew. They must know that you and Rumi are part demon…

You couldn’t help but think of all the moments you’ve wanted to share your secret with Mira and Zoey. You want to go to the bathhouse with them. You want to go to the beach. You want to be able to wear your skin comfortably instead of the itching, crawling feeling you get at just the idea of wearing shorts or a tank top.

But it wasn’t your choice whether you told them or not. It wasn’t your secret to tell. It was Rumi’s.

Chungae scanned your face, his look softening as he brushed a bit of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know about the others, but I won’t tell.”

You couldn’t help but relax at the reassurance, your face warmer at his touch. These boys really weren’t evil, they were so… human.

You looked away, “You should go before the other girls come looking for me.”

Chungae couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your shy demeanor. How cute… It’s like the first time you met all over again, how cute and shy you were when the five of them invited you to their debut. “Of course.”

You gasped as he smoothly swept you into his arms and leapt down to your balcony as you bit back a shriek. When you got down from his arms, you couldn’t help but bend over with your hands on your knees, taking deep breaths to settle your heart from the shock of being carried down from one height to another. “Stop doing that!” You whisper shouted at him, disgruntled.

“Sorry sorry, darling, I’ll go now,” Chungae hopped up to the railing of your balcony, stopping to look over his shoulder at you, “Oh. You should know that the others are also interested in seeing you. Just a heads up.”

He smiled slyly before jumping and disappearing in a dramatic poof of demon magic. “Wait, huh!?”

You grabbed a pillow to scream into.

Oh wait. Your kimbap!

~~~

And they did.

The next day, you were out looking at fabrics for the visuals of the diss track the girls were working on. Something like their battle outfits would work good but with sharp color accents to make it pop and fit the stage. Less spikes too, a little less aggressive but fans will probably like the dark look. Maybe in a music video, the girls could use their weapons so then if they pull them out on stage, they just look like props and special effects…?

Oh. There’s a boy walking next to you.

“… Can I help you…?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, looking around with a disinterested look but a spark of curiosity shone in his eyes underneath the hat hiding his features, “No. I’m good.”

“Okayyy… you do you, Baby” You decided to just keep going about your business as Baby followed at your side.

“Jum,” He corrected you.

“Uhm, okay, Jum…” You kept looking at the maknae out of the corner of your eye as he followed you into fabric shops, looking around curiously or scrolling on his phone as you talked with the owners.

“Hey,” You stopped on the sidewalk when Jum tugged on your sleeve, pointing over to a shop window, “What’s that?”

You looked over, “A cat cafe…?” You looked at him strangely. How old was he again…?

Jum was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go in.” He was already walking in before you could respond. You didn’t have to follow him, he had just decided to follow you after all, but—ughhhh!

You followed him in.

Going in, he looked like a lost kid. He was looking around at the tables and the people. “Welcome! How many people today and for how long?”

“Uhhh…”

You came up behind him, smiling at the host, “Table for two, just for an hour please.”

“Alright, right this way!”

Ah man, why did you follow him again…? Jum trailed after you as you followed the host into the sectioned off area to a booth by a window. “Someone will be by to take your order in a moment. Please feel free to give the cats treats!”

“Thank you!” You called after her as you sat, setting down your work bag as Jum slid into the seat across from you. He was staring. You followed his gaze to see he was in a staring contest with a black cat. You looked between the two of them, back and forth. It was kind of adorable.

“Pick what you want to order and then we can try and tempt some cats over.”

Jum didn’t know what to order. He was one of the few born in the demon realm, he had never been to the human realm before as the prince of a small territory. Not that the title mattered much with Gwi Ma ruling.

“If you wanna start simple, a coffee or hot chocolate would be good hot drinks. Or a vanilla or chocolate milkshake if you want something cold. For food, the sandwiches are good if you want something savory but the strawberry shortcake looks good for something sweet.”

You were almost tempted to recommend a soda pop for him but you’ve seen enough TikToks of fans giving them different sodas.

Jum took in the information you gave him with a hum, scanning over the menu again.

You ordered, Jum ended up getting a coffee and the strawberry shortcake. You almost laughed at the contrasting flavors he would be experiencing. But you pulled over the little container of cat treats, “Alright, let's see if we can get a few kitties over.”

Jum perked up at the same time as some of the cats as the container clinked as you opened it. Three cats hurried over, and you couldn’t help but laugh brightly as they jumped up on the bench to climb in your lap and over your shoulders, nuzzling your face cutely for treats. “Hey, settle down! You’ll get your treats!”

Jum’s face softened at the sight. You laughing so carelessly, smiling brightly as the fluffy creatures swarmed around you while your face flushed with joy. He couldn’t help but sneak a few photos and sent one to the Saja chat smugly. He ignored the chat as it started going off.

The two of you played with the cats for a while. The wondrous look on Jum’s face as he first pet a cat was adorable and you really wanted to take a picture but the girls were always taking selfies on the first phone they could grab. You couldn’t risk them seeing it.

You had the same urge when you saw his face as he first tasted his coffee and then his cake. It was soooo adorable…

Before the two of you went your separate ways, Jum quietly told you that he wouldn’t spill your secret.

~~~

You watched from backstage as the girls politely clapped on screen, the boys awarded as the top artist of the week. They were really starting to make progress on their diss track but you couldn’t help but distance yourself from the project. The lyrics that were unfolding made you uncomfortable in a different way from how Golden did.

Golden had lines about not hiding anymore and being honest but it just felt like a lie whenever Rumi sang it with the girls. But Takedown… was strictly about killing demons because they were evil, unfeeling monsters that didn’t deserve to live. It made your skin crawl and you couldn’t help but itch at your arms and neck from time to time when you heard them discussing it.

You turned to make your way back to the girls’ dressing room to meet them once the awards ended and they left the stage. You could hear clapping again, the awards must have ended. And then you were swept away. Into a closet.

‘What was with these guys?!’ You were pinned against a shelf of cleaning supplies, a thick arm caging you in above you. Another held out a flower to you. “Hey there, babe~”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him unimpressed. Well… there was a little flush on your cheeks. “Hi Abby. What is this, a shoujo manga?”

He tsked, smirking playfully down at you, “Come on, babe, can’t spare a guy a warmer welcome?”

“Not when he and his friends keep sweeping me away for their whims. What did you want?” You plucked the flower from his hand, rolling the stem between your fingers.

Abby chuckled, his arm flexing as he swept his hair out of his face. “Well, our two youngest got to spend some one-on-one time with you and I wanted my turn. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

You hesitated. And not for the reasons you should’ve. “I… I have to get dinner ready for the girls…”

“What are you, their housewife?” He raised a brow down at you.

You grimaced as the words hit a little close to home. Yeah, he hit the nail right on the head. “I guess… they can order take out tonight…”

“Yes! Come on, before the other boys catch up!” Abby cheered, taking your wrist and jogging out of the closet and to the nearest exit.

“Hey!”

“Abby!”

“No fair!” You heard the cries of the other Saja Boys behind you as he dragged you along. You chuckled. The other demon boys could easily catch up if they wanted to. But dang, you dropped your flower back there…

A few streets over, you stopped as Abby slowed down barely out of breath, in contrast to you who was panting like a dog. Oh man, you felt way too gross to be with this man right now.

“So… I actually don’t know any good spots to eat at…”

You laughed at his sheepish expression. “Come on, there are some good food stalls at the night market.”

Without thought, you took his hand and led the way. When you got there, it turned out that Abby wasn’t picky about his food at all and that he could pack away a lot of food. You guys went from stall to stall, you were amazed as Abby charmed the older sellers, chatting with them as if they had known each other for a long time. Whatever food you couldn’t finish, Abby happily did.

“What are you? Some demon trash disposal? Where does it all go?” You asked him as he finished off the last of the chicken skewers you both had been eating.

“Straight to my muscles of course,” He smirked, flexing cheekily with a wink.

You laughed and shoved him jokingly. Then, a curious thought occurred to you, “Hey Abby? Can I… ask what the demon realm is like?”

He blinked, surprised by the question but you just continued looking forward, not meeting his eyes. He copied you, looking ahead as the two of you walked.

“It’s dark and depressing. The sky is red like it’s on fire and the ground is dry and desolate. Nothing grows there. There are two main types of demons: those that formed from souls fed to Gwi Ma and those that lost their souls making deals with Gwi Ma. There are also demons born from other demons but those are rare.”

You frowned in thought, not responding for a long moment. So, demons really could feel emotions. Did that mean… that your dad really did love your mom…?

Abby noticed your expression, lost in deep thought, “What’cha thinking about there, babe?”

You didn’t answer for a moment, too many thoughts trailing in too many different directions… “Nothing important. So, which are you guys, Abby?”

Abby hummed, “Call me Kwan,” he said, letting you change the subject. He couldn’t help but let you in a little closer. He thought if he just kept using his stage name with you, he could keep a little distance between you, keep the mission in mind. But… he wanted to let you close.

“Well, with the exception of Jum, we’re all humans that made deals with Gwi Ma years ago out of desperation. I…” Kwan trailed off and the two of you stopped by the river to sit on a bench in a quiet area. “I was born during an old war. I wasn’t strong enough to protect my family when it counted, so I asked Gwi Ma for strength to protect those I cared about.” He laughed sarcastically, “How well that turned out for me…”

You frowned, taking his hand slowly, hesitantly offering comfort from the obviously dark memories and regrets swimming through his head. He smiled softly at you, squeezing your hand as the two of you looked out over the river. There was nothing for either of you to say at that moment, but you understood each other.

~~~

After that interaction with Kwan, the girls noticed you were lost in thought more often, but they didn’t bring it up, figuring you were just deep in thought about the visuals and clothes for the new song. You often got lost in a new project when it really inspired you.

Except you didn’t like the new song. It was just so hateful towards demons and after you knew most demons come from human souls in some shape or form, you couldn’t fully support it. Especially with your own pattern steadily spreading across your skin. You had to start using a salve to help with the scratching the stress was causing. If they spread too much more, you would have to start wearing a face mask…

Now that you think about it, the only Saja Boys you haven’t really talked to are Jinu and Mystery. Which one would ambush you next? Was it bad that you were looking forward to it?

You needed a break from the girls. As the Honmoon corruption got worse and more demons came through, they got more tense and enthusiastic with the new diss track. So, you went to the park to sit and just breathe for a few minutes. You sat on a bench under the shade of a tree, head back and eyes closed under the sun as you took a deep breath. Someone was playing Soda Pop nearby and you could hear Golden somewhere too…

Your eyes snapped open when arms wrapped around you from behind a nose buried into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You flushed deep red, shrieking as you leapt to the other end of the bench. A hand pressed to your chest to settle your racing heart you turned to see it was a sulky Mystery, pouting at you pulling away so quickly.

“It’s just me,” He said.

“Personal space, dude!” You cried vehemently, your face still a dark red. Mystery circled the bench to sit next to you. Like, right next to you. Your thighs were touching. You deadpan at him, “This is not personal space, man.”

Mystery just tilted his head at you. It was nice to see you with the sun shining down on you like this. And your scent was so comforting when it filled his senses, he couldn’t help but burrow his nose in the crook of your neck. It made his teeth itch to bite again.

“How do you guys keep finding me? Do you have some kind of tracker or something…?”

“Nah, it’s mostly by chance,” Mystery told you, casually taking your hand to play with your fingers and the rings you had on. He didn’t tell you how Jinu’s bird was keeping an eye or three on you… He didn’t remember much about social normalities from when he was human, but he could remember that telling someone they were being watched was weird.

You shook your head and let him do as he pleased, taking a deep breath and tilting your head back to enjoy the sun while closing your eyes.

Then there was a tugging on your hand, “Let’s go.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond or ask where you were going before he was tugging you off the bench and away. “Wait, Mystery, where are we going?” You almost slapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard that it was one of the Saja Boys out in public.

“Hyeon. De-stress,” he said simply. Then he was pulling you into an arcade. You didn’t really know how playing some games at an arcade would help you relax

But at least you didn’t have to pay to play because Hyeon was already pulling out his wallet! Don’t get it wrong, you could pay for stuff yourself, but it was refreshing after eating so much food with Jum and Kwan. You refused to let them pay for your food and you didn’t pay for theirs either but it was still money…

When Hyeon had the prepaid wristbands, he turned to hand one to you with a small smile, “Sometimes, you just need to act like a kid.”

You blinked. And then he was pulling you to the first game he saw with that small content smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You were pretty sure he also just wanted to go to an arcade…

Hyeon was right though. Playing those games, you couldn’t help but laugh and as you became more competitive with him, you forgot what was bugging you. You laughed louder and became more comfortable treating him like a close friend, pushing him and bickering as he gave you a little smug smirk when he won and a sulky pout when he lost. You had to pull him back when he started barking at a few people that tried to rush the two of you at some games…

It was late by the time you both left, matching ugly keychains in hand from the prize shop.

“… Thanks Hyeon, I really needed that,” You smiled at him as you stopped at the park where you would both be going your own ways.

He smiled, taking your hand in his. “Of course, princess. Anything to see that smile on your face.”

Oh boy. You didn’t think Hyeon would be the cheesy one but he said it so seriously before placing a kiss on your hand.

You shook yourself, your face flushing red as you steeled yourself, “Hey, I am not a princess!” You crossed your arms.

Hyeon smirked a little, “I don’t think you can handle what I really want to call you so princess will do for now.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but drop as your face flushed darker.

“See you soon, princess,” he said, and then he was walking away and you just stared after him, speechless.

‘What did he mean by that?! Ugh, stupid hot demon boys…’

~~~

Another award show passed and Golden won most played song of the week. But tensions were still high as the Saja Boys took over more and more of the billboards, they were all anyone could see on TikTok too, more fans joining the Pride.

Your nervous scratching was getting worse, you had to go out and get another salve. Thankfully, the girls were too focused on Takedown and demon hunting to keep track of when you were in or out of the tower. It hurt you a little though, that you fell to the wayside so easily.

You were mindlessly scratching over your sleeve with the salve safely wrapped in a small paper bag in your arms as you started the walk back to the tower. You needed to talk to the design team about what you had in mind and to the producers about visuals for a possible music video.

“What’cha got there, pretty girl?”

You turned to see him leaning against the wall in the shadows of an alley. You sighed, “Do you plan these dramatic encounters or do they just come naturally to you?”

Jinu chuckled, standing straight but his eyes lingered on the bag in your arms and the arm where you had been scratching. “Being an idol calls for a flare for the dramatic,” He shrugged.

You chuckled at his antics but then his hand snapped out to grab your wrist. Panicked, you tried to pull away as he pushed your sleeve up. You forgot that he knew about your pattern so it wasn’t those marks he was looking at.

No, it was the red scratch marks littering your arm where the pattern was darkest.

He snapped his eyes up to glare at you, pulling you somewhere, “What’s so bad that you scratch yourself to such a degree?”

You had no answer for him besides shame… So you didn’t say anything.

He sighed. Jinu ended up taking you to a small plaza, not many people around as he sat you on the edge of a fountain. He pulled out the small glass container of salve you had gotten, reading the ingredients with narrow eyes before opening it and smelling it.

Jinu tsked before taking your arm to gently apply the salve to each bleeding scratch and red mark, “The herbs used today are so bad, not as effective as the ones grown years ago… too much pollution…” He murmured to himself.

You couldn’t help but smile at his care. “Thanks Jinu…”

He glanced up and faltered, remembering who he was and who he was with as he quickly but carefully finished up, fumbling a little as his cheeks pinked, “Oh, ah, it’s fine, don’t mention it.” He quickly screwed the cap on of the salve and practically shoved it in your hands before awkwardly sitting down next to you.

Wow. Jinu was the most awkward of the group it seemed. Was Baby really the maknae of the group? You giggled at how the tips of his ears were red and he refused to look at you.

“Is it really… that bad living with the patterns…?”

You froze at his hesitant question. You gripped your arm over your sleeve to keep from scratching more at the flare of stress you felt. You couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know… I started scratching when I was a kid. It comes and goes depending on what I’m stressed about…”

“Meaning, when you’re stressed about your pattern,” Jinu summarized thoughtfully. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“Yeah…” You avoided his gaze.

Jinu frowned. This wasn’t like the first interaction he had with your sister. That was filled with him trying to gain her trust, trying to convince her that he was the only one that would understand her. It made his stomach curl uncomfortably how she didn’t even argue that you understood her. Were you two not very close?

He saw something different than your sister in you, “You liked your patterns once, didn’t you?”

Your face slackened then hardened, “…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded in acceptance anyway. Pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere. “That’s alright, but I can understand what you’re going through,” It was the same thing he told your sister. But with you he couldn’t help but… genuinely mean it. He looked down at his hand. His pattern was a constant reminder of his shame after all. Sometimes he wanted to scratch until they just peeled away too.

“I know, I just… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it…” You told him. Rumi should be the first one you talked to about this, right? But, wouldn’t she just recycle Aunt Celine’s words at you? Never show your faults (Y/n), never show your pattern (Y/n), you’d betray Rumi and everyone else if you shared your pattern (Y/n), you’re not enough (Y/n).

You shook your head and stood. “I want ice cream.”

He looked up at you with surprise, “Oh. Okay…?”

“Come on.” The shoe was on the other foot now as you started marching to the nearest ice cream shop, not waiting to see if he would follow.

“Wh-what? Wait, what’s happening?” He scrambled after you, confused but going along with your sudden decision.

Jinu followed you into the ice cream shop, sliding on a pair of glasses and a hat to disguise himself. You were already ordering what you wanted, two big scoops of your favorite flavor.

He almost jumped when you suddenly turned to him expectantly. “Oh, uh,” He stuttered, scanning the flavors before him. It felt like he was sweating with the sudden pressure he felt. There were so many names, why were there so many different ice cream names?! “Uh, two scoops of Chuckle Chunk.” He couldn’t even tell you what was in it.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how stiff Jinu was. You hadn’t meant to make him feel pressured but it was pretty adorkable.

The two of you paid and left the shop to eat your ice cream at the fountain. You watched as he hesitantly tried his ice cream. His face lit up.

You chuckled, starting to eat your own ice cream, “How is it?”

Jinu couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s got these really rich chocolate things and there’s these little white pieces and some salty caramel things too.”

You blinked at how he described it. “How old are you again…?” That was how he described brownie fudge chunks, marshmallow pieces, and sea salt caramel syrup?

He blinked too, “Four hundred…?”

You couldn’t help but balk, “Oh wow, you’re old.”

He deadpanned at you. “And you’re a baby.”

You laughed. Jinu didn’t really know what you were laughing about, maybe just the situation itself but he smiled.

It was easier to be around you than he thought it would be. “Don’t stress too much.”

You looked at him, “It’s kinda hard to avoid stress when Gwi Ma is trying to destroy the Honmoon and feast and the human souls of the whole population. Besides, I’ve got a lot going on: visuals for the girls, keeping our apartment clean, cooking, designing clothes and visuals for them, and then there’s a fan signing event coming up…” You sighed and Jinu grimaced. Wow.

Jinu knew he wasn’t helping with the stress you were going through but he couldn’t help his selfish streak. He wanted his memories gone…

“Just… Cut your nails or wear gloves so you don’t hurt yourself so badly…” Jinu told you.

You smiled. He was… worried for you. It was the first time that someone’s worry didn’t make you feel weak. It wasn’t about your fighting capabilities, it was about your well-being. When was the last time that someone worried about that?

“Thanks Jinu…” You smiled mischievously. “It’s the first time such a pretty boy has shown me such care,” You turned the table on him.

Jinu spontaneously combust. Stuttering as he shoved more ice cream in his mouth to occupy himself but that just made his head hurt.

“Brain freeze!” You laughed.

~~~

The night before the fan signing event, you laid awake in bed. The girls were surely already sleeping so that they could get plenty of rest. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Looking back on the past two weeks, you felt more conflicted than you ever had before.

The voice in your head that sounded like Aunt Celine said that you shouldn’t be letting the Saja Boys so close, getting so comfortable with them. The girls were going to kill them anyway so you were just looking to get your heart broken at this rate.

But a small part of yourself whispered that they made you feel safe, seen, heard in a way that you never had been before.

Outtake(s):

Jum(Baby): “Do they make these cakes…spicier?”

You: “Uh…no. No they do not.”

Jum(Baby): *Sadly* “Aw man…”

…

Hyeon(Mystery): *Sees someone just a little too close to you* “Grrrrr…”

You: *Being dragged along as you try to hold him back* “You can’t- Stop! Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon(Mystery): *Feral gremlin barking*

…

You: *sick of all these pretty boys flustering you* “What do you want, pretty boy?”

Jinu: *ERROR ERROR ERROR* “Uhhhh…”

…

Huntr/x: “You know, (Y/n) has been disappearing a lot lately… And she never wants to listen to our song…”

Huntr/x: “Maybe she’s uncomfortable with the lyrics?”

Huntr/x: …

Huntr/x: “Nah. She’s just way too inspired by our violent need to eradicate all demons.”

You: *frantically scratching*

Tag list:

@brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[coriihanniee]

TELL ME, WILL WE SURVIVE? ⋆˚࿔

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you're the 4th member of Huntrix, tasked to eliminate the Saja Boys, five powerful demons disguised as idols. However, encountering them face to face brings an achingly familiar pain to your chest.

۶ৎ PAIRING : reincarnated 4th member huntrix!reader x saja boys ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : romance, reincarnation, angst ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of death, use of weapons, slight emotional manipulation, sexy hot fictional men

۶ৎ A/N : asked if I should write this fic with a poll and 434 votes is crazy... so here it is! This will probably be my only kpdh fic 🥹 I hope this satisfies you~ It was tough to come up what to write apart from Jinu's considering the fact we don't have more information about the others T^T

The tension in the Huntrix dorm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I still can't believe it," Zoey muttered, pacing back and forth across the living room while clutching her notebook. "A new boy group that just debuted... and they're actual demons."

Mira sat cross-legged on the floor. Her usually perfect hair was tied back in a messy bun. "The way everyone was completely fascinated by them..." She shuddered. "Like they couldn't look away or think of anything else."

"Five guys who came out of nowhere and had everyone mesmerized on their very first performance," Rumi said grimly, her voice still hoarse from the throat issues that had sent them to the doctor in the first place. "That's not normal idol talent, that's demonic influence."

You looked up from lacing your combat boots, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. While your three groupmates had discovered the Saja Boys' true nature during their trip to the clinic, you'd been stuck in back-to-back variety show recordings. Part of you felt guilty for missing such a crucial moment, but another part was almost grateful. Something about facing demons, especially these particular demons, made your chest tight with an emotion you couldn't name.

"So what's the plan?" you asked, trying to push away the odd nervousness in your stomach.

Rumi stood up, her leader instincts taking over despite her vocal strain. "Intelligence suggests they're operating out of several locations around the city. We need to track them down and neutralize the threat before their next public appearance."

"Five of them, four of us," Mira noted. "Not impossible odds, but we'll need to be smart about this."

Zoey stopped pacing and looked at you with concerned eyes. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, this is our first time facing demons this powerful. The Saja Boys aren't like the lower-level creatures we usually hunt."

You nodded, though your heart was racing for reasons you couldn't explain. "I've trained for this. We all have."

"We don't know much about their individual abilities yet," Rumi warned, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "But we know they're organized and powerful enough to steal our fans and mess with the Honmoon. They've been systematically targeting our fans, hypnotising them with some kind of influence we don't understand yet.”

"We split up," Rumi continued. "Cover more ground that way. But nobody engages alone unless absolutely necessary. These aren't ordinary demons, they're organized, intelligent, and extremely dangerous."

As your groupmates continued planning, you found yourself staring out the window at the Seoul skyline, a dozen city lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, five demons who had quickly become the nation's beloved idol group in less than a day were hiding, planning, hunting.

So why did the thought of facing them feel less like preparing for battle and more like... coming home?

"Ready?" Rumi's voice snapped you back to reality.

You grabbed your weapon and stood up, pushing down the strange emotions swirling in your chest. You were a member of Huntrix. You had a job to do.

Even if something deep inside you whispered that this mission would change everything.

JINU ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Three hours after the briefing, you crouched behind a concrete pillar in an abandoned office building, your heart hammering against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the mission. You had tracked Jinu here alone, separated from his group members, conducting what appeared to be private business on the fifteenth floor.

The elevator had been deliberately disabled, forcing you to climb the emergency stairwell. Each step upwards felt heavier than the last, as if your body fought against an invisible current. When you finally reached the target floor, the silence was deafening.

You pressed your ear to the stairwell door, listening for voices, footsteps, any sign of demonic activity. Your weapon felt foreign in your grip, a silver-blessed blade that had never failed you in past hunts, yet now trembled with your uncertainty.

The hallway beyond stretched like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically, casting dancing shadows that made your vision blur. You moved silently, checking each empty office as you passed, until you reached the corner suite at the end of the corridor.

The door stood ajar.

Through the gap, you could see him.

Jinu sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his profile illuminated by the pale glow of Seoul's skyline through the windows. Even in the dim light, his features were sharp and aristocratic, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. 

"The contract is simple," his voice carried through the crack in the door, smooth as silk yet cold as steel. "Your daughter's medical bills disappear. Her surgery is guaranteed successful. All I ask in return is a small favour down the line."

"What kind of favour?" The other voice was desperate, broken, a father's voice.

"Nothing that will harm your family directly. You have my word."

You should have burst through that door immediately and struck while Jinu was distracted, before he could complete whatever twisted bargain he was weaving. But the moment your eyes found his face, your entire world tilted off its axis.

Inexplicable pain lanced through your chest. Your vision blurred from the tears suddenly sliding down your cheeks. Images surged and vanished too quickly to grasp : a child's laugh, the strum of a bipa, a soft voice humming, arms wrapping around you beneath a threadbare blanket.

"I'll take care of everything. You'll never have to worry again."

You gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly dropping your weapon. The sound echoed in the empty hallway like a gunshot.

The conversation inside the office stopped abruptly.

"I believe our business here is concluded," Jinu's voice had changed, taking on an edge that made your spine stiffen. "You know how to contact me when you've made your decision."

The desperate father's voice slowly faded as he was presumably escorted out through another exit.

You pressed yourself against the wall, mind racing. You had lost the element of surprise, but the mission remained the same. Jinu was alone now. This was your chance to strike before he could reunite with the other Saja Boys.

You kicked the door open and rushed inside, blade raised and ready.

Jinu stood by the window with his back to you, hands clasped behind him as if he had been expecting your arrival. The moonlight turned his silhouette into an ethereal and angelic vision, a cruel irony given what you knew him to be.

"You're faster than I anticipated," he said without turning around. "Though not as quiet as you think."

"Turn around." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

He complied slowly. However, when his eyes met yours, your soul cracked down the middle.

You could see a brief flicker of recognition cross his face, perhaps even mourning, or maybe grief worn thin over centuries.

You raised your blade higher, just enough to hide how much your hands were shaking.

"You've grown beautiful," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat, forcing down a wave of emotions that threatened to break free. You gritted your teeth. "Don't."

He stepped forward. 

"I said don't."

He moved closer.

You slashed by reflex. Jinu blocked it with his arm. He didn't exactly attack back. But he parried, blocked, dodged with the ease of someone who'd trained lifetimes for this.

It happened before you could think. Your body moved, like it already knew what to do. Your chest rose and fell too fast, ears buzzing with the rush of your heartbeat. Jinu barely fought back, annoyingly and effortlessly dodging your attacks. However, you refused to stop until the hurt had somewhere to land.

Until he disarmed you, your blade clattering across the floor.

Jinu didn't press the advantage or move to strike.

Instead, he stepped back. 

You froze for half a second. Why isn't he fighting back? Was this pity? Mercy? Did he think you couldn’t handle it?

"You don't remember." It wasn't a question.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Four hundred years ago," he said quietly, "I had a mother and a sister. We were starving. I played the bipa on street corners, until I found you, you were the only light we had left. You kept us together, even when everything fell apart."

Images tore at your mind again : your hands mending a child's robe. Jinu's fingers brushing yours. The bipa's music cutting through the dark.

"You were there," you whispered, not understanding why you knew it was true.

"I was." His voice cracked. "And I failed all of you."

"But… you're a demon now. You manipulate people. Steal their souls."

"I offer what they ask for. I offered it then, too. I was desperate and hungry. My family and you were dying in front of my eyes. Gwi-Ma found me and promised me a life of comfort and power. I thought if I accepted it, I could bring you all with me."

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"But the gates closed behind me," he said, barely audible. "I turned around and they wouldn't let you through. I left you in the cold while I slept on silk."

You shook your head, but the memories were surfacing now,

"I searched for you after. But you died, didn't you? Alone. Like the rest of them. While I lived in luxury with blood on my hands."

The truth settled like ice in your lungs. Your memories were fractured, broken by time and pain, but you remembered enough. Remembered waiting put in the cold and the hunger that ate you alive while he feasted in hell.

"I waited for you," you whispered.

Jinu closed his eyes as if the words were a blade through his chest. "I know."

The admission ignited a fury so pure it burned through your veins like poison. He knew. While you were wasted away in that freezing hovel, praying for his return until your throat was raw. While you'd begged strangers for scraps, sold every precious thing you owned just to buy another day of life, he was feasting in warmth and safety. He knew, and he'd done nothing.

"You knew," you snarled, and the rage in your voice made him flinch. "You knew we were dying and you left us there to rot."

Your hands clenched into fists. Every cell in your body screamed for violence, for justice, for him to feel even a fraction of the agony he'd caused.

You lunged for your weapon again. He didn't stop you.

"I'm going to kill you," you said, raising it with trembling hands.

"Then do it."

However, you hesitated, the blade wavering above his heart. Tears blurred your vision as you stared down at him, this man who had once been your entire world. Your arm shook with the effort of holding the weapon steady, but your body refused to obey. Every instinct screamed at you to drive the silver through his chest, to end his suffering and yours, but your heart betrayed you.

Even after everything, you couldn't bring yourself to destroy him. The realization broke you more than his abandonment ever had.

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I loved you more than my own soul. And letting you end it is the only way I can repent for what I've done."

Your eyes widened at his words, the blade slipping from your nerveless fingers. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that echoed through the empty office.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the fallen weapon, in disbelief at what had just happened. His composure finally cracked, and tears spilled down his cheeks, the first real emotion you'd seen from him since you'd entered this room.

Why?" he whispered. "After everything I've done to you... why can't you do it?”

"I-I don't know…’ you said, voice cracking. “But… this doesn't mean I forgive you…”

"I wouldn't dare ask."

"And I'm not letting you walk away."

He nodded, tears tracking down his cheeks.

You stepped closer, your heart shattering with every breath.

"This time, we need to talk, about the four hundred years you stole from us."

ABBY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The underground fight club pulsed with sweat, blood, and money changing hands. You pressed your earpiece, static crackling back at you as you tried to reach Rumi. 

"Rumi, do you copy? I lost visual on the target."

Nothing but interference.

Intel had tracked two Saja Boys to this district, Abby and Mystery had split from the main group. Following a thorough discussion, you and the other girls decided to split into duos to ensure greater safety. You and Rumi were supposed to stay together, but the crowds and maze-like underground tunnels had separated you. Now you were alone in the bowels of Seoul's illegal fighting scene.

The roar of the crowd guided you deeper into the complex. Through a doorway marked with graffiti, you found the main arena, a concrete pit surrounded by screaming spectators waving fistfuls of cash. 

In the center of the ring stood Abby.

He moved like violence incarnate, all muscle and controlled fury as he circled his opponent. Abby was shirtless, his body a map of scars and fresh bruises, sweat making his skin gleam under the harsh lights. 

The expression that you caught on his face made your breath catch. Pure, undiluted joy. He was having the time of his life.

His opponent lunged. Abby sidestepped with fluid grace, then drove his fist into the man's ribs with a wet crack that echoed over the crowd's cheers as the man fell to the ground hard. 

"Next!" Abby called out, not even breathing heavily. His grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Who else wants to dance?"

Three men climbed into the ring together as the crowd grew wild.

You should have taken the shot then, but watching him move was hypnotic. Every punch and dodge was precise and calculated. 

Two opponents were quickly taken down, and the third hesitated to swing.

"Come on," Abby taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Don't tell me you're scared now."

The man reluctantly charged. Abby caught him mid-lunge and slammed him into the concrete so hard the ground cracked.

The crowd erupted as money flew. Abby raised his arms in victory, basking in the adoration.

You waited until the chaos died down, until the crowd dispersed and the arena emptied. Abby was collecting his winnings from the promoter when you finally made your move.

"Good fights tonight," you said, stepping out of the shadows.

He went completely still for a second, so brief you almost missed it. Then he turned around with that cocky grin already sliding into place. 

"Well, well. What do we have here?" He looked you up and down, but it wasn't the casual appreciation of a stranger. It was recognition wrapped in careful performance. "You don't look like the usual groupies. Too pretty. Too dangerous."

"I'm not a groupie."

"No kidding." He stuffed the money in his back pocket and grabbed his shirt from where he'd thrown it, but didn't put it on. Still showing off, but his movements were more deliberate now, as if he was buying time to think.

 "So what are you? Reporter? Cop? Or just someone who likes watching sweaty men beat the hell out of each other?"

"I'm here for you."

His grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that's direct. Though I gotta say, most people who want me specifically don't usually start with small talk."

The arena was empty now except for the two of you and the lingering smell of violence.

Perfect.

"You're coming with me," you said, hand moving to your weapon.

"Am I?" He stepped closer, and the playful mask slipped just slightly. "And here I was thinking you might be here for something else entirely."

"This isn't a game."

"Everything's a game, sweetheart. The trick is figuring out if we're playing by the same rules." He was circling you now, but it felt less predatory and more like he was trying to get a different angle, trying to see something in your face. "Though I gotta ask, do you even know who I am?"

You drew your blade. His expression shifted, resignation mixed with anticipation.

"There it is," he said quietly, flexing his fingers. "Was wondering when we'd get to this part."

He moved faster than you'd expected, still testing you. Every move of his was calculated, like he was trying to figure out how much you remembered about fighting. 

About fighting him specifically.

"Come on," he said, dodging your blade with familiar ease. "I know you're better than this. You always were."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. You saw the moment he realized his mistake, saw him try to cover it with that cocky grin.

"Always were what?" you demanded, pressing your attack.

"Always were too careful," he said, but his voice was strained now. "Stop holding back."

"I'm trying not to kill you."

"How thoughtful." His voice was softer now, almost fond. "Always looking out for everyone else."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he caught your wrist and pulled you against his chest. For a moment, you were close enough to see the conflict in his eyes.

"Got you," he said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a taunt.

You drove your elbow back into his ribs and spun free. He let you go reluctantly.

"There we go," he said, rubbing his side. "That's more like it."

You came at him again, blade swinging through the air. This time when he grabbed your wrist and twisted until you had to drop the weapon, his grip was careful, like he'd done this exact move with you before.

"How do you know how I fight?" you asked.

The question made him freeze. His grip loosened just enough for you to break free, but instead of reaching for another weapon, you just stared at him.

"Have we met before?" you asked.

All the pretense drained out of his expression at your question, replaced by rawness and desperation.

"Every day for a hundred and twenty three years," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones like he was memorizing them all over again.

"You really don't remember," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "God, I hoped... I thought maybe..."

His touch was so gentle, and his voice was softer now. 

"How do you know my name?" you whispered.

"Because I've been saying it every day for over a century." He laughed bitterly "Because it was the last thing you heard before you died."

Images flashed through your mind : rain-soaked streets, a thin boy with kind eyes, the sound of your own scream echoing off alley walls.

You stumbled backward, hand pressed to your temple. "What's happening to me?"

"Hey." He reached for you, movements careful now, gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm seeing things that aren't real."

"What kind of things?"

"A boy. Someone I loved." The words came out before you could stop them. "Someone who died because of me."

Abby went very still. "How did he die?"

"I don't know. I can't—the memories aren't mine." You looked up at him desperately. "This is crazy. I don't even know you."

"Yes you do." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You do know me. You just can't remember because dying screws with your head."

"I didn't die."

"Yeah, you did." He was close enough to touch now, hands hovering just shy of your skin. "Hundred and twenty three years ago. In an alley. They put a knife in your back while I watched, too weak to do anything about it."

The memories hit like a tsunami : cobblestones slick with rain, rough hands dragging you away from a thin boy who was calling your name, the burn of steel between your ribs.

"Oh god," you whispered.

"I made you a promise," Abby continued, his voice thick with a century's worth of grief. "On your grave. That if I ever got the chance to see you again, I'd be strong enough to protect you."

You looked at him, and saw past the muscle and scars to the boy underneath. The boy who'd loved you. The boy who'd become a monster for the chance to keep you safe.

"You became a demon for me?"

"I became whatever I had to become." His hands finally made contact, cupping your face gently, as if any more pressure might shatter you into a million pieces. "I don't care what that makes me. I care about keeping you alive."

Footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind you. Rumi's voice called out your name, worried.

"Shit," you whispered. "My partner's coming."

Abby's expression hardened instantly, all the vulnerability vanishing behind that familiar cocky mask. "Right. Back to reality."

"Abby, wait—"

"No, it's fine." He stepped back, putting distance between you, but his eyes never left your face. "You've got a job to do. I get it."

"I can't just—"

"What? Kill me? We both know you're not going to do that." He grinned. "So what's the play here, sweetheart? You gonna tell your partner you found me and just... let me walk away?”

The footsteps were getting closer. You had maybe thirty seconds before Rumi found you.

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Well, you better figure it out fast." Despite his words, he wasn't moving towards the exits. He was just standing there, waiting for you to decide his fate again.

"There's another exit through the back," you said quickly. "Behind the equipment room."

His eyebrows shot up. "You're letting me go?"

"I'm giving you a head start."

"Why?"

Because somewhere in your fractured memories, you remembered loving him. Because he'd spent over a century becoming strong enough to protect you, and maybe you could be strong enough to protect him too.

"Because I remember enough," you said simply.

His mask cracked just for a moment. "This isn't over."

"I know."

"I'll find you again."

"I know."

He started towards the back exit, then paused. "Hey, sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to die before I see you again. I'm getting really tired of that particular tragedy."

In a blink of an eye, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows just as Rumi's voice echoed closer.

ROMANCE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rooftop overlooked the glittering chaos of Seoul's entertainment district, where neon signs blazed advertisements for idol groups and concert venues stretched towards the horizon. You crouched behind the air conditioning unit, silver blade steady in your grip as you surveyed the empty space. 

Wind carried the distant sound of traffic and late-night revelers, but here, twenty stories above the city's pulse, silence reigned.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

You tensed, weapon raised when you heard his voice, achingly familiar despite being impossible to place. It wrapped around your ribs like phantom fingers, squeezing until your chest felt tight with inexplicable longing.

Romance emerged from behind the rooftop access door with fluid grace, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Under the city's electric glow, his features appeared sharp and ethereal, pink hair catching the wind as he regarded you with calm amusement.

"Though I suspect you're not here for sightseeing," he continued, taking measured steps forward. "Hello, hunter."

Your blade remained steady despite the tremor in your voice. "You know what I am."

"Of course I know exactly what you are." His smile held no malice, only a strange sadness that made your throat constrict. "The question is, do you know what I am?"

Without warning, you lunged.

Romance flowed backwards like water, your strike cutting through empty air as he spun away from your advance. He moved with practiced precision, dodging rather than retaliating, speaking in that same measured tone even as you pressed your attack.

"You fight beautifully," he observed, sidestepping another slash. "Trained well. Committed."

You snarled in frustration, spinning to catch him with a backhand strike that he avoided by millimeters. "Shut up and fight back."

"Why would I want to hurt you?"

The question threw off your rhythm, long enough for Romance to close the distance between you. His hand found your wrist with gentle firmness, and your weapon clattered across the concrete.

You struck out with your free hand, but he caught that too, holding both your wrists as you struggled against his grip. His touch burned with unnatural warmth, sending sparks up your arms that had nothing to do with his demonic nature.

"Let me go," you hissed.

"In a moment." Romance's eyes searched your face with desperate intensity. "I need you to see—"

He shifted, a small and bright object tumbled from his pocket, a ring that caught the neon light as it fell. Simple silver band, modest stone, nothing extraordinary except for the way it made your heart stop.

Pain lanced through your chest. Your knees buckled as emotion crashed over you in waves, grief so profound it stole your breath, love so pure it felt like drowning, loss that cut deeper than any blade. You didn't understand where these feelings originated, only that they threatened to tear you apart from the inside.

Romance released you immediately, crouching to retrieve the ring with reverent care. "You feel it too," he whispered.

"I don't—" You stumbled backward, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache pulsed with each heartbeat. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. This is yours." He held up the ring, and the sight of it made tears spring to your eyes without explanation. "It was meant for you."

"What—that's impossible."

"You taught me what love felt like, centuries ago." Romance said quietly, his mask of casual amusement finally cracking. "Before you, I was nothing. A shadow in my own house, invisible to parents who saw only disappointment when they looked at me. You were the first person to show me kindness, love me without expecting anything in return."

He cradled the ring like it held his entire world. "I saved for months to buy this. Worked every odd job I could find, skipped meals. I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep."

His confession struck a place you didn’t know could still hurt. Your eyes flickered back to the ring again, breath hitching.

"You fell ill a few weeks before I planned to propose." His voice cracked, centuries of grief pouring through the fractures. "I held your hand for seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay with me."

"Y-You're lying." But your voice had no strength behind it.

"Your last coherent words were asking me to promise I'd love someone else after you were gone. You were so worried about me being alone." Tears tracked down his perfect cheeks, and seeing them made your own eyes burn. "I lied and said yes because I thought it would help you let go peacefully."

The pain in your chest intensified, spreading through your ribs like poison. "That's not—"

"I tried to keep that promise as a human. I spent years searching for someone who could make me feel what you had.” Romance's voice dropped to a whisper. “But no one came close to you.”

"You became a demon because you couldn't move on..."

"I made a pact with Gwi-Ma after years of failing to love anyone else. I became something that could create love, manufacture and distribute it to anyone desperate enough to want it." His smile was self-loathing incarnate. "If I couldn't feel real love, at least I could give others a taste of what you gave me."

"You're feeding on people and hurting them."

"I'm keeping my promise to you." His eyes blazed with centuries of accumulated pain and twisted devotion. "Every heart I touch and every moment of artificial bliss I create is all for you. You asked me to love someone else, and this is the only way I know how."

The logic was twisted, but the raw anguish in his voice made your chest tighten with sympathy you couldn't afford. "You're manipulating innocent people."

"I give them what they desperately need. The feeling of being cherished, desired, worthy of devotion. When the illusion breaks, yes, they're disappointed. But at least they got to experience something transcendent." Romance stood slowly, the ring disappearing back into his coat. "Tell me that's not better than the emptiness they had before."

"It's a love built on lies."

"All love is lies in the end." His smile returned, but it held no warmth. "The difference is I'm honest about the illusion I create."

You backed towards the rooftop edge, every instinct screaming at you to flee. The mission was clear, eliminate the demon. However, your hands shook as you reached for a backup blade, and the pain in your chest made it difficult to breathe. Each word he'd spoken felt like a knife twisting deeper.

"This isn't over," you managed, but the words came out weak.

"I know." Romance made no move to stop you as you retreated. "But I won't fight you anymore. I've caused enough damage to someone I—"

He cut himself off, the unfinished words hung in the air between you.

"Someone you what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

"Someone I loved more than my own existence." His voice was barely audible above the wind. "Someone I'm still failing, even now."

The words crashed over you like a tidal wave. Ring. Proposal. Seventy two hours. Promise. Death. Demon. Love. The pieces swirled in your mind, too many fragments to assemble together, each one cutting deeper than the last. Your training screamed at you to stay, but your heart couldn't bear another second of his confessions.

You turned and ran.

The fire escape blurred past as you descended, taking stairs three at a time until your legs gave out two floors from the bottom. You collapsed on the landing, gasping for air that wouldn't come, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically force back the tears threatening to spill.

His voice echoed in your mind : I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep.

Why did that hurt? You were a hunter trained to kill demons, not sympathize with their tragic backstories.

You forced yourself to continue down the fire escape, your movements mechanical and disconnected. 

Seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay.

Your back hit the alley wall and you slid down until you were sitting on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face as you grieved for reasons you couldn't name.

This couldn't have happened before. You would remember dying. You would remember being loved with that kind of desperate devotion. You would remember someone saving money for months to buy you a ring.

...

Wouldn't you?

MYSTERY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You lean against the Huntrix dorm balcony railing, watching Seoul pulse beneath you like a neon heartbeat. The city sprawls endless and electric, towers of glass catching streetlight, traffic threading through concrete arteries. Behind you, voices clash over mission prep.

"We should split up and handle each demon individually," Rumi insisted. "Pick them off one by one."

"That's suicide," Mira counters. "We stick together, overwhelm them with combined firepower. Safety in numbers."

"Okay, okay!" Zoey jumps between them with enthusiastic gestures. "What if we compromise? Split into pairs? Best of both worlds, right? Right?"

There are weak spots in the Honmoon barrier scattered across Seoul like broken bones. You've memorized their coordinates, trained for this until your muscles know the patterns by heart. So why won't your pulse settle tonight? 

The argument behind you fades to background noise as you stare at the skyline. 

Suddenly, a soft and delicate melody drifts across the night air.

It felt like a tune you hum when your hands are full of flowers, when you're dizzy with new love. It shouldn't reach you from this height. Seoul's chaos should swallow such fragile notes whole, but the song finds you anyway.

Your breathing stops. You've heard this melody before in dreams that leave you gasping at dawn. 

Across the urban maze, movement flickers near a crumbling rooftop. A shadow that doesn't belong.

You don't hesitate one second. 

The balcony railing becomes your launching point. Rooftop to rooftop, your feet find purchase on surfaces that shouldn't hold human weight. The melody grows stronger with each leap, pulling you forward like a current.

Seoul blurs beneath you, kaleidoscope light and shadow, lives stacked in vertical towers. You follow the song through this maze, breath controlled, heart pounding against your ribs.

The tune leads you to an abandoned building that time forgot. Dark windows, cracked facade, studio spaces that once housed art but now hold only dust. You slip through a broken skylight, landing silent on debris-covered floors.

The music comes to a stop.

Mystery stands beside a shattered mirror, fingers turning over what looks like an old locket. He doesn't startle when you drop in. Instead, his mouth curves into a smile that holds too many secrets.

"You've always been good at finding me."

Your weapon clears its holster, barrel trained on his chest, and his smile deepens.

Ice floods your veins. Your grip tightens on the weapon. "Who are you?"

He laughs softly, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "I would tell you now, but where's the fun in that?"

"This isn't a game." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, studying you with eyes that hold starlight and shadows. "You followed my song across half the city. Left your friends mid-mission. That sounds like playing to me."

Heat rises in your cheeks. He's right, and you hate that he's right. "Answer me. Why do you know me?"

He steps closer curiously, like he's watching a flower bloom in real time. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"All those summer nights when you'd sneak out just to hear me play." His voice drops to a whisper. "The way you'd fall asleep in my arms while I hummed that exact melody."

Your heart stutters. The exact melody that's been haunting your dreams for months. "That's impossible. I would remember—"

"You would remember me, wouldn’t you?" He reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek. 

You should pull away, you know you should put distance between you and this stranger who claims to know your past. But his touch feels familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

"You haven't changed. Well, except for the blade." His gaze drops to the weapon still trained on him. "You never needed those before."

"Before what? Before when?" Desperation creeps into your voice.

He smiles again, stepping back. "Don't remember me yet. It's more fun this way."

"Fun?" The word explodes from you. "You think this is fun? I'm losing my mind trying to figure out who you are, and you think it's entertaining?"

"I think," he says, moving towards the broken window, "that some things are worth waiting for. Some mysteries are sweeter when they unfold slowly."

Moonlight catches in his dark hair as he pauses at the window's edge. "Besides, you always did love puzzles. You used to spend hours on them when you couldn't sleep."

Another piece of impossible knowledge. Another fragment that feels true but shouldn't exist. "How do you know that?"

"I know lots of things about you." His grin turns wicked. "You bite your lip when you're thinking too hard. You always eat the corners of sandwiches first. You used to trace constellations on my back with your fingertips."

Your weapon wavers. "Stop."

"Why? Does it hurt to remember what you've forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten anything. I don't even know who you are." But even as you say it, phantom sensations ghost across your fingertips.

"Liar." He says it fondly. "You remember pieces. Little fragments that visit you in dreams. That's why you followed the melody tonight."

He's right again. You hate that he's right again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, preparing to slip through the window.

"Wait—" The word tears from your throat. "At least tell me your name."

He pauses, half-silhouetted against the night sky. "You'll remember it when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? What if I never remember?"

For a moment, his smile falters. Vulnerability flickers across his features. "You will. You have to."

He turns to leave, but moonlight catches his profile at just the right angle. Your breath hitches. Along his temple, barely visible unless you know what to look for, the faint outline of demonic markings. Intricate patterns that shimmer like oil on water, there one second and gone the next.

Your training kicks in before your heart can catch up. The weapon in your hands shifts, finger finding the trigger. He's a demon. You're a hunter. The math is simple.

His hair shifts slightly, and for just a moment, you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the strands.

"You see it now," he says quietly. "The monster I am.”

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This is what you've trained for. What you've dedicated your life to. But something deep inside you hesitates.

Your hand trembles. The weapon feels impossibly heavy.

"Tomorrow," he says again, stepping towards the window. "When you remember who we were, you'll understand why I can't fight you. Why I'll never fight you."

In the blink of an eye, he's gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his voice, that phantom melody, and the terrible knowledge that you just let a demon walk away.

You land back on the balcony, chest heaving. The sliding door opens before you can compose yourself. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey spill out, eyes wide with panic.

"Where were you?! We've been searching everywhere—"

"Can we go tomorrow instead?" Your voice sounds foreign. "I don't feel great."

They exchange loaded glances. Eventually Rumi nods. "Of course. Rest is part of prep too."

You turn away before they can see the cracks spreading across your composure and witness how your hands shake.

That night, your bed feels like a battleground. The melody plays on repeat behind your closed eyes. Each note carries weight you can't name and memories you can't quite grasp.

The mystery of it all pressed against your mind. What past did you share? Why couldn't you remember? 

Mystery himself seemed to revel in the unknowing, content to watch you struggle with fragments of what you'd once been to each other. 

BABY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Something was wrong with your hands.

They'd been trembling since you left the dorm, and no amount of clenching your fists or pressing them against your thighs could make it stop. Rumi's words echoed in your head like a mantra you couldn't shake, "Don't let his face fool you. They're still dangerous demons working for Gwi-Ma nevertheless."

Pictures of the Saja Boys were already circulating online in less than a day. Five demons who'd seemingly appeared overnight, stealing the hearts and souls of your fans.

"Ugh, I’m going to beat their stupid pretty little faces," Zoey had said, tapping the images with her pen. "Seriously, look at them! Acting all mysterious and brooding like they're in some kind of boy band. I mean—they are… but look! The internet's already making fan edits—fan edits! Of demons!" She'd gestured wildly at her tablet, where countless social media posts were flooding in by the minute. "Half the comments are people asking where they can meet them. It's insane!”

You'd barely heard her. Your eyes had been drawn to one face among the five, sharp features that still held traces of boyish softness.

His face had made your chest tighten with recognition, like looking at a stranger who wore the face of someone from a half-remembered dream.

Why did he feel familiar?

The neighbourhood around you was a study in urban decay, half the buildings scheduled for demolition, the other half already hollow shells. You decided to turn a corner and came across an abandoned playground.

You knew this place.

You stopped mid-step at the chain-link gate. The monkey bars where someone had scraped their knee. The slide with the chip in the yellow paint. The bike rack, now empty and listing to one side like a broken rib.

This was from your dreams. Or maybe...

"Didn't expect you to come."

The voice drifted from somewhere behind the playground equipment with an edge that made your hand move instinctively to your weapon. You'd heard that voice before, in fragments that scattered whenever you tried to grasp them.

"Show yourself," you called, stepping through the gate. The metal squealed in protest, the sound echoing off empty buildings like a warning.

He laughed mockingly. "Still giving orders, I see."

He emerged from behind the slide, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill of the night. He looked barely out of his teens, with features that still held traces of boyish softness despite the hard set of his jaw.

"You always had a thing for chasing monsters," he said, tilting his head as he studied you with uncomfortable intensity. Those dark eyes flickered, darting away from your face as if looking directly at you caused him physical pain.

"How do you know me?"

Baby shrugged with affected indifference. "Lucky guess."

The way he held himself like he was trying very hard not to care, made anger flare in your chest. "That's not an answer."

He kicked at a piece of broken glass, sending it skittering across the asphalt. "Maybe you're just forgettable."

The casual cruelty in his voice should have stung. You drew your blade, silver gleaming in the late afternoon light.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do we have to do this the hard way?"

Baby looked at the weapon, then back at your face. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across his features before he crushed it down.

"Do what the hard way?" He stepped closer, invading your personal space with  reckless confidence. "Fight me? Kill me?" His voice dropped, a hint of intimacy laced inside, bitter amusement threading through each word. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

You raised the blade between you, but instead of stopping, he knocked it aside with casual violence, the metal ringing as it struck the nearby swing set. Before you could recover, he was on you, crowding you back against the chain-link fence with predatory grace.

"I waited for you, you know," he said, one hand braced against the fence beside your head, effectively trapping you. "Stupid thing to do when you're a kid."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "What?"

His free hand came up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The touch was rough, but not enough to hurt.

"You really don't remember," he said, his laugh sharp enough to cut. "How convenient."

"Remember what?" The desperation in your voice made you flinch, but you couldn't take it back.

"Us." The single word fell between you, sending ripples through memories you couldn't quite grasp. "This place. The promises you made."

You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them against the fence. His grip was careful despite his aggression, strong enough to hold you, gentle enough not to bruise.

"You died," he said, voice flat and matter-of-fact. "And I had to grow up. Happy now?"

The world tilted sideways. Images flashed through your mind like broken film, a boy with tears streaming down his face, small hands clutching yours, a voice promising forever, all turned into ashes now.

"I'll never leave you."

The words rose from deep in your throat. Baby's eyes snapped to yours, wide with… hope, if hope weren't such a dangerous thing for creatures like him to carry.

"You broke your promise first," he whispered, and the accusation send a chill down your spine. 

You stumbled when he finally released you, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache was spreading like cracks in ice. Baby stepped back, flexing his fingers, trying to forget the feel of your skin.

"I don't—" You shook your head, struggling to make sense of the fragments flashing through your mind. "I don't understand."

"No," Baby said, his mask completely slipping. "You never did understand. You were always too good for this world."

He kicked your fallen blade across the asphalt, the metal scraping against concrete. "That's why you had to die, isn't it? Pure things don't last in places like this."

The words were bitter, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. He turned away quickly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Next time we meet, I won't be nice," he said without looking back.

"Please, wait—"

He froze at the sound of your plea, shoulders going rigid. You thought he might turn around. Instead, he let out a short and humourless laugh.

"Begging now? Huh, pathetic."

H walked away, each step deliberate and final. Just as he reached the edge of the playground, he stopped.

"The songs," he said quietly, not turning around. "Those stupid lullabies you used to sing when I had nightmares. I still—"

He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Forget it. Forget everything."

He simply walked away down the empty street like any other person with anywhere else to be. You watched until he turned the corner and vanished from sight, leaving you alone with your forgotten blade and the sound of wind through rusted swings.

You picked up your weapon with trembling hands, but the silver felt cold and foreign now, it now felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @kjwluvr @arieslucy @permanenceimp @arienic

[azimuthalcoquelicot]

it do be like that sometimes.

Using this as an excuse to link the posts where i did manage to ramble about Oc.

The small Meta ramble, Meet Blorbo bleebus.

The Big Ash ramble that was going to be alot bigger but i lost like a couple hundred words and it hurt my soul a bit and so I didn't expand much on what i had and didn't even get to Enta.

I should really do a post that explains ghouls, and their society, and history and language and biology from the ground up because uhhhhhhh very little of it is same as cannon...... I have unfinished spreadsheets of a little baby conlang that has since been abandoned cause it's trash, and has very similar grammar to japanese, and at this point I'd need to learn Japanese to write the conlang. I was also adding additional Kanji readings and uhhh, no, we don't need that. I tryied to fix the kanji reading at one point and make it so each radical had its own sound so you can just read all the radicals in a particular order and that's the word...... And no. Don't. just. no. That was an awful idea. I don't know why i got so cocky and thought i could fix the mess that is kanji. Not to mention the kanji in Pizanshi (棺Izan, meaning ghoul, and 語 shi, meaning language (ya know, like every other language that uses this character), the 'P' just appears in the word for the language for no fucking reason dw) largely retained the same meaning as in Japanese (and probably other languages that use those Chinese characters). And like, why would a ghoul language have that??? Especially if the language arises from a need for secrecy??? The chinese characters best strength is that multiple different languages can understand each other to some degree through writing. If you don't want to be understood... You would not be fucking using it!! Aweful. I don't know what I was doing.

This turned into a rant about why you should add a bit of thought into your conlang and not write the thing in a mad frenzy in one night.

i want to talk about my ocs but im literally this image. i got nothing

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[001] [002]

HOLY BALLS! where did you guys come from- I literally woke up this morning and got jumpscared by the amount of votes😭

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE 🤺- anyways, here's another chapter I guess? Enjoy your dang food.

I'm gonna warn y'all early on, My Y/n is very... Yeah, you'll understand sooner or later. Just keep reading💋

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

"Pathetic!"

"Useless!"

The voice shouted, echoing through the realm as the demons who were gathered couldn't help but flinch back, cowering in fear at his voice alone.

His Flames seemingly grew bigger, the more his frustrations worsened.

He was weakening.

He needed souls.

But how could he achieve such power, when those fools couldn't even Defeat three mortals, those hunters.

"Don't you idiots know, that once those hunters turn the Honmoon gold, it's over for us!"

He reminded, his Flames growing brighter as he increased his influence, his voice in their heads growing louder, each of which revealing each insecurity, each failure, shame and regret.

Bringing them pain as punishment.

One of the demons burst into tears, trying to quiet down their sobs as the voices only grew stronger.

The tension broke by the sounds of Bipa string, breaking through the air.

Everyone grew silent, heads turning back to look at the person who would dare interrupt.

"There once was a Demon king"

A familiar figure started, plucking a few strings on his Bipa, looking amongst the crowd, satisfied when he got their attention.

"Stop me, if you heard this one before"

He teased, letting his body float down until his feet softly planted on the ground.

"He was in total control, he feasted on souls, the world trembled when he roared."

He continued.

The others were hesitant if they should intervene, or stay quiet. Not wanting to trigger the Demon Lords Anger further.

"But then some hunters, sang some songs, now all he does is starve."

Yet the figure continued, stepping through the crowd, who parted and created a path for him to walk through, eyes focusing on him and his fate.

"Can't get at the souls, and his Flames grow cold."

A soft growl followed, the tiger slowly trialing after it's Master, to act as protection if anyone dares interrupt.

"Just a whisper in the dark."

He smirked slightly, moving his fingers along the strings, creating a simple yet soft ballad.

"And will he let the fire go out?"

"Is this the end of him now?"

"Dying king with a crumbling crown?"

He stopped right below the steps that lead to the Kings throne.

"Will he let the fire go out."

He finished, as His Tiger bumped against his side before walking back to the crowd.

"I let you keep that voice, Jinu"

The voice echoes, the Flames dimming down as the Tension grew amongst them.

"And you dare to mock me with it?"

He muttered, his patience nearly snapping if it weren't for Jinu peaking his interest.

"I'm not here to mock you."

He said calmly, as four more figures slowly appeared at his side.

"I'm here to help you"

He clarified, the Bipa disappearing in his hands as he took a step closer.

"It's time for a new strategy."

The group slowly descends closer to the throne, The crowd of demons waited with bated breath at what's about to happen.

"We fight the hunters, where they least expect it"

Either they'll get killed

"Go after the very thing, that Powers the Honmoon"

Or a new beginning will occur amongst this realm of sin.

Their feet softly planted on the ground below, standing before the wall of Flames.

Jinu's golden eyes Shined as he gazed at the eternal Flames, the very thing that Haunted him for 400 years.

"The Fans."

As if on cue, they all instinctively struck a pose, causing silence to befall on them.

Gwi-ma took a minute to process what he was witnessing before deciding to reply, his voice clearly doubtful yet they had managed to catch him off guard, by such a.. Peculiar suggestion.

"A demon... Boyband?"

The Flames questioned, albeit silently judging the idea.

Before the fire suddenly grew larger, as he let out a mocking laugh. The Idea was simply ridiculous, yet utterly amusing.

"What makes you think that could work?"

He questioned.

Jinu smirked, snapping his fingers as his members instantly transformed their appearance to fit the Human standards for beauty.

Each holding a unique charm within them, their demonic features carefully hidden away.

Their horns and grotesque teeth disappeared

Now replaced by colored hair and ear piercings.

Gwi-ma fell silent, as the crowd of demons talked amongst each other, truly believing that the ridiculous plan might actually have a chance of working.

"That Aura seems.. Familiar"

Gwi-ma muttered, focusing more on the hidden energy that surrounded the group.

It has been centuries since she last made an appearance.

Tucked away in an eternal slumber.

Isolated in the very depths of this realm.

Where no soul, would be foolish enough to wake her.

Yet apparently one did, and survived to tell the tale.

Why would she aid these fallen souls?

His voice never truly reached her, but her soul was his to use.

One simple call was all it took for her to make an appearance.

"Y/n."

The name rang through the realm, as the Atmosphere grew heavy with tension, A large mist slowly casted upon them all, swallowing them in its eerie embrace.

The fog moved closer to the throne, shifting into a silhouette of a beautiful woman, hair moving like that of clouds, having the fluidity of water.

Eyes a blinding white as she carefully descended, her feet never once touching the ground.

Half of her body being made out of a pink cloud like mist.

"You called?"

She said, her voice holding a mocking tone, almost with disinterest as she spoke to the King of Demons.

"Was this your doing?"

Gwi-ma accuses, displeased by her interference, the Flames burning brighter in a slight warning for her to watch her tone.

"Some of it is"

She smirked, her body floating closer to her new object of interest, pressing herself against his back as she snaked her arms around his neck.

"Though, I must give credit where credit is due"

She hummed, her lips moving closer towards his ear.

"Isn't that right, song bird?"

She coos, her fingers gently playing with the strings of his Gat, as he stood still, as if he was unaffected by her close proximity.

"And your goal?"

Gwi-ma questioned, his Flames burning brighter until the heat nicked at their undead skin.

She growled, gritting her teeth as she felt the weight of her chain clasps around her neck, now being visible, tightening around her skin, nearly suffocating her in the process.

Being a painful reminder of her eternal damnation.

She forced a smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of pissing her off, as she let go of Jinu and floated closer to the other members.

"For Entertainment, I've been asleep for far too long"

She said, her expression calm and relaxed as she moved closer to one of them, grabbing and lifting up one of his arms.

"Is it wrong of me to take on a.."

Her fingers carefully graze at the fabric of his sleeve, feeling the muscles that were hidden within, The man couldn't help but smirk and flexed at his biceps a little.

"New project"

She finished, gazing at his golden eyes for a moment before moving away.

Letting out a soft sigh, her hand reached out to another member of the group, gently reaching out for his hair but stopped when he let out a growl.

She only chuckled in response, redirecting her hand below his chin and began to playfully scratch the area.

He felt himself slowly melt at her touch, subtly leaning against her palm.

"I for one, think I did a good job"

She smiled, treating the little demon like some sort of pet, he didn't seem to mind the scratches.

"Okay.."

Gwi-ma redirected his attention back to Jinu, trying his best to ignore whatever that was.

"I know you Jinu, in 400 years"

Jinu's smile slowly fell, getting yet another reminder of his Shame and regret.

"You've never done a single thing, that didn't serve yourself"

The voice grew louder in his head as the memories flashed before his eyes, the familiar pain swelling up inside him.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Cunty.

She's very cunty. She's a warning in herself, that's why I said this Fic is a bit 🌶. I'm not sure if I'm gonna write anything too graphic in the future.

It really depends on my mood and how confident I am of my writing skills 🫣

I'm quite Positive y'all are gonna love her though, if I'm wrong then just scroll away 🏃‍♀️💨

[lalacliffthorne]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

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[zyafics]

FULL THROTTLE (EXCERPT)

my submission to my lil' campaign, make rafe great again, if anyone wants to join! this is for a longer fic for biker!maybank!reader that i have yet to finish, but i love her attitude, so i fear i must share it <3

content: angst angst angst, tensionnnnn

Rafe’s trying to reach you.

He knows you’re back on the island, and for the past few days, you’ve been letting his calls go to voicemails and his texts on delivered. At this point, you should block him, but for some reason, you don’t. You tell yourself it’s because Rafe isn’t the extra effort, but you know, deep down, it’s because you don’t want to.

It’s an aggravating line to dance on.

Rafe hurt JJ. While they’ve previously had squabbles, this time, it’s different. Before, you weren’t sleeping with Rafe, weren’t spending time with him, and you didn’t care for him. Now, inexplicably, it feels like a complete betrayal of your trust.

You hate it.

Trying to keep your mind off the Kook, you wipe down the tables from the previous customers with complete vigor. It’s a slow day at the diner, and most customers have been attending to corner booths that are not in your jurisdiction. Perfect. This brevity of waitressing allows you to stew in your emotions with little interruption.

The bell chimes, and since you’re the closest to the door, you lift your head to welcome the customer. However, it came to be some sick cosmic joke because the one person you don’t want to see steps through the door.

Rafe’s holding a bouquet of flowers—your favorite, actually—and his eyes sweep across the small bistro. When his gaze catches yours, Rafe offers one of his charming smiles, taking a leisurely stroll to reach you.

“Hey,” Rafe greets. Upon arrival, you notice he has his own battle scars—spreads of yellow-and-blue bruising covering his cheekbones and jaw, a testimony to your brother’s blows.

Half of you is proud of JJ for managing to procure such vicious swings, but the other half—quieter, more empathetic—is concerned over Rafe’s injuries. A juxtaposition of emotions, you blame Rafe for putting you in this position. You blame him for letting it get this far.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

“Do you need something?”

He raises a brow, not recognizing your indifference as resentment. “What’s up your ass? Bad tips?”

You shrug, not answering.

“I got a few ideas to cheer you up,” Rafe offers with a cocky grin, trailing down the length of your body in a suggestive manner. On any other day, you would reciprocate his flirt with a tease of your own—bantering and sharing sharp-witted comments as forms of foreplay. But today, you just want him out.

“No thanks,” you answer blankly, turning back to your cleaning.

Rafe bristles at your curtness, but he dismisses it as professionalism for your workplace. He understands that. Honestly, he shouldn’t be here in the first place but it’s been days since you returned to Kildare, and you haven’t returned any of his messages and as much as he refuses to admit it—he misses you.

He holds out the flowers. “I got you these.”

You don’t turn around to acknowledge them. “For what?”

“Heard you won some big competition in Charlotte; thought you might like a congratulations.”

You falter, slightly, slowing your sweeping circles. You almost turn around, to take a better look at the flowers, knowing they’re expensive, fresh, and exuding a pretty scent—but you stand your ground.

“I don’t like those flowers.”

Rafe’s taken aback by the comment. He was certain he remembered the right ones. “I’ll get you new ones.”

“I won’t like those either.”

He blinks, trying to figure out if you’re messing with him, as some sort of cat-and-mouse game. But with your back remaining, and your attention reduced to a clean spot that’s spotless, he realizes it’s something entirely different.

You’re distant. Cold. You refused to meet his gaze, nor spare an inch of your time, and Rafe is reminiscent of another period where you did the same thing.

“You’re mad,” Rafe concludes, lowering the flowers to this side, holding them by the plastic wrapping. You spritz another round of disinfectant on the already-cleaned surface. “I did something.”

Saying nothing, you head to the next set of tables, but Rafe matches your steps. Now recognizing your detachment, he’s also picking up the irritation radiating from your demeanor.

“Maybank,” he calls.

“Is that all you came here for?” You finally turn around, but Rafe doesn’t feel any gratification. Your eyes are sharp, your expression unreadable. “Because I need to get back to work.”

“I…” Rafe doesn’t even have the capacity to speak. All he can do is stare, taking in your indifference, and a curling sense of agitation is employed in his stomach. He hates being pushed into a corner.

“If you’re not ordering anything, I’m going to ask you to leave,” you point to the door. With no argument, Rafe hesitates before dropping your flowers on one of the tables and exits the establishment.

You pick up the bouquet and drop it to the nearest waste bin.

Afterwards, you finish the rest of your shift. It was difficult seeing Rafe in your place of work, but it’s over. When the diner comes to a close, and you’re locking up, you step out to discover Rafe waiting beside his motorcycle.

You forgot how stubborn he can be.

He pushes himself off the vehicle as you attempt to circumvent him, stepping between two cars parked beside each other.

“We need to talk,” Rafe declares.

“I thought we already did,” you say apathetically. Before you go far, he pins you against one of the cars, arms on either side of your head, and his hardened gaze settles on you. You settle your eyes on his, tilting your head to the side, giving him that slow, irritating sense of detachment. “Throwing a tantrum?”

“You know that’s not the problem,” he grits out.

“I don’t see a problem at all.”

“We need to talk,” he repeats, irritation spiked his tone at your dismissiveness.

“You can talk; I’m not listening.” You attempt to duck under his arm, but Rafe moves it, quickly containing you. With a sigh, you lean back against the cool car door, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

His dark blue eyes study you. “You’re pissed,”

“I’m perfectly fine,”

“And you’re a terrible liar,”

“And you know me well enough to say that?”

“I know you pretty well, Maybank,” he declares, his words slow, drawing out the tension. All he needs to do is push your buttons to snap. His lips curl with a smirk. “At least, physically.”

Your jaw locks, but you refuse to let him rile you. “Charming, Cameron. Perhaps you should use it on girls who give a damn.”

As much as your relationship is undefined, the thought of Rafe with another woman stirs an ugly emotion inside of you. But you refuse to let it be shown.

He scoffs at your deflection. “Maybe I should,”

You roll your eyes, wanting nothing more than to appear like you don’t care. Especially if he’s talking about fucking other women. Both of your hands plant against his chest, giving a hard shove, but he barely moves an inch. You forget how strong Rafe is, how he doesn’t move unless he allows himself to be.

“Let me go,”

“Not until you talk.” He insists.

“About what?”

Rafe lowers his head to your level, closing the distance until he’s right in front of your face. Your breath hitches, heart stuttering. His eyes scan through your hardened features, loosening by his closeness, and he asks lowly. “What did I do?”

His unyielding attempt unnerves you. “You’re well aware of what you did.”

“So I did do something,” he deduces.

You don’t answer, shimmering in your renowned anger, and you break contact to look elsewhere, studying the flickering fluorescent sign of the diner. You trace the curve, and Rafe’s jaw ticks at your lack of attention. He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“Talk to me.”

“Let me go,”

“No,”

“Asshole,” you scowl, and Rafe grins.

“There she is.”

“You’re fucking irritating, you know that?” You shove him again, and while he takes a step back, he still cages you in. Anger fuses through your veins at your inability to change it.

“Because you’re being vague and distant,” he snaps. “If I fucked up, tell me. Stop giving me this prissy act like you’re too good for me.”

“Maybe I am,” you challenge with a skyward tilt of your chin, matching his hard stare. “Maybe this was all I needed to remind myself I should do better than fuck a Kook.”

His eyes narrows. “Shut the fuck up,”

“You shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

He slams his fist against the car, the loud thump booms beside your ear, but you remain unflinching. “Tell me what I did wrong!”

“You punched JJ!”

Rafe whips back. It takes a second for him to process, studying your face to recognize this was some random excuse. It’s the truth. “That’s what this is about?” He questions quietly.

“Of course it is,” you huff. “He’s my brother.”

He scoffs, looking elsewhere. He can’t believe you’re becoming reclusive and defensive without talking to him first. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“I didn’t need details. You punched him,”

“And he punched me,” Rafe retorts, showing his profile. “What do you make of that?”

It looks uglier on close proximity, the magnifying damage heightens. But you can’t seem to conceal the bitterness from your tongue. “He should’ve hit you harder.”

“You’re a hypocrite,”

“I’m loyal,” you correct. “I thought you would respect me enough to not stir trouble, but I’m guessing your pride can never be replaced with some considerations for a fuck buddy.”

“It’s different,” he declares. “He was the one who snuck into Midsummer. We got into an argument. We fought. It’s a guy thing—stop making it a big deal.”

You huff at his pathetic argument. “That’s your excuse? It’s a guy thing?”

Rafe’s getting agitated by your lack of comprehension, your refusal to accept it at face value. But he doesn’t want to disclose the full story. “What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize?”

“Are you even capable of such a thing?”

He exhales through his nose. “You know what your problem is?” He says lowly. “You’re using this as some pathetic excuse to break it off because you’re afraid.”

“I’m afraid?” You repeat, but your throat goes dry.

“Yeah,” Rafe nods. “You’re a coward.”

“Have you ever considered that I have more loyalty to my blood than who I fuck?” You snap, pushing at his chest. “That Kooks may not think the same way, but for me, for Pogues, it’s different? If you hurt my family, you’re done.”

“So that’s it?” Rafe challenges. “I mean nothing? What does it mean for you when he hurts me?”

Eyes slowly sweeping over his scars, unwanted emotions bubble inside you regarding his injuries. But you steel your expression. “What about it?”

Rafe scoffs at your coldness. “You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re an asshole, we’re done,” you shove him off the last time, and this time, he lets it pass. Staggering back two steps, you use the opportunity to escape, fastening your steps until you’re out of the parking lot.

Rafe’s left at the side of the diner, fuming. He watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller in the distance, and decidedly, he wants to do one last thing.

“Should’ve known better than to fuck a Pogue!” Rafe yells after you, full of rage, hurt, and insecurity. He needed something to cut you as deep as you done him. But you don’t respond, don’t entertain an answer, and uncross your arms just enough to raise your middle finger.

[arkofangels]

Hang in there, BABY?

Pairing: Hank(s) x reader

Summary: When your friend unexpectedly drops off a baby for the night, you and your five hanger boyfriends—The Hank(s)—are thrown into a whirlwind of diapers, pacifiers, and existential panic. 

A/N: sorry its been take me so long to write, my computer is literally on its last legs and I can't afford to get a new one :(

(its a 8 year old Mac book and i swear i can hear it cough after every update 💔)

You don’t ask questions when your friend drops a baby off at your door.

You try, of course. You get out “Wait, why—” before she slaps a diaper bag into your arms, kisses your cheek, and says something like “It’s just overnight, you’re the only one I trust, I’ll explain everything later, BYE.”

And then she’s gone.

And you’re left holding a real, human baby. And also surrounded by five animate "hangers" in jumpsuits who have very strong and very different feelings about this.

“A baby?” Hank 2 squeaks, already Googling CPR on your cracked phone. Hank 1 crosses his arms. “We can handle a baby. We’ve done trick dives into volcanoes.” “Those were miniature volcanoes made out of papier-mâché and sadness,” mutters Hank 4. “Do we think the baby’s got a favorite already?” teases Hank 3, batting his lashes. He’s immediately silenced by a diaper to the face. “I love this baby,” Hank 5 whispers, gently cradling the child with sock-like reverence. “We should build it a tiny hammock and name it Bean.”

You make a list. You don’t know what babies eat (mashed peas? socks?), but you know what you have:

Five hanger boyfriends

A half-eaten sleeve of saltines

Eight Red Bowls

And now, apparently, a baby.

Operation: Don’t Let the Baby Die begins.

Hour 1: Hank 2 is already spiraling. He’s checking the baby’s pulse every six minutes. “What if we drop it? What if it senses our fear? What if Red Bowl finds out and tries to sponsor it?!”

Hour 2: Hank 1 builds a diaper-changing station out of your bookshelf. It is both sturdy and somehow... emotionally grounding. “Babies need confidence. Eye contact. Structure. And a little jazz.”

Hour 3: Hank 3 plays peekaboo. But it turns into an impromptu stand-up set. “You ever notice how pacifiers are just, like, emotional corks? Amirite?” The baby stares. Then drools. Hank 3 swoons.

Hour 4: Hank 4 is writing a detailed list of potential baby names (even though you told him it already has one). “What about Clasp? Or Hookifer. No? Too thematic?”

Hour 5: Hank 5 and the baby are both asleep in a pile of pillows and blankets on the living room floor, baby toys scattered like confetti around them. You gently drape a blanket over them and whisper, “This is my life now.”

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect to be jobless, babysitting someone else’s infant at 3 a.m., surrounded by five sentient hangers in jumpsuits who somehow care more about your well-being than most people ever have.

But when the baby starts to cry at 3 a.m.—a loud, wailing, existential sound that cuts into your sleep like a Red Bowl promo jingle—they all show up.

Hank 2 with a warm bottle. Hank 1 with calming noise (a Spotify playlist labeled “Jazz for Infants and Sad Adults”). Hank 3 with interpretive dance. Hank 4 with one (1) stolen baby sock he insists is sentimental. Hank 5 with a lullaby that is definitely just the Red Bowl theme song hummed gently.

And you.

Tired. Overwhelmed. Absolutely not ready to be responsible for anyone, let alone six people (five of whom used to live in your closet as inanimate hangers—until the glasses happened)

But you hold that baby. And the Hanks hold you. Figuratively. And then, literally.

And in that tangled pile of limbs, soft snoring, and the faint scent of baby powder and Red Bowl plastic, you realize: this is your family.

In the morning, when your friend returns and gasps, “Wait, why are there five hot men in jumpsuits in your living room?”—

You just shrug.

“Long story,” you say. “But we’re good with babies.”

[monicahar]

bark like you want it...?

in which you jokingly treat them like a pet.

characters; phainon, mydeimos, anaxagoras

— gender neutral reader, established relationships, fluff, sugestive at anaxa's part, need ts after the hellscape the current amphoreus is in andddd hi yes im back with a kinda fun idea and uhhhh yeah sleep pronto (*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ

It was supposed to be all fun and games. you'd say 'sit' and you'd expect him to raise a brow or two before whining about how you're treating him rudely. instead and very much contrary, the next second, PHAINON is immediately sat without question.

"well, you told me to sit!" is his meek excuse, turning red just as fast when you doubled over and laughed for a minute straight.

you think it's weird and cute. he thinks it's betrayal.

"is it so bad that i want to please you?" he says weakly whilst patting down his attire upon as he stood up straight, still burning up in sheer embarrassment. it's truly a sight to see someone as proud as him get shy. "as if it's my fault..."

you disregard his mutterings as you finally calm your giggles down, "to that extent, though? what if i asked you to bark? hm?"

phainon displays a waver in confidence, constructing his words carefully and said, "well, i'd do anything for you," he then slides you a sidelong look, one that's clearly not impressed. "even if it's something like... barking and sitting on command."

it looked like it pained him to say the last part.

still, you're unable to keep the corners of your lips at bay, genuinely elated at his response.

but unfortunately for him, there always has to be a catch when it comes to your very-easy-to-tease boyfriend...

so you let your lashes flutter, watching carefully as his smile grows a tad wary at your shift in demeanor.

"phainon... you sure you're not into this?"

the future leader of the chrysos heirs — your cute little snowy, explodes into another burst of red, looking as scandalized as you expected.

"wha — what is that supposed to mean?!"

his pouty expression makes him look like a kicked puppy now that you think more about it — of which reminds you the way he begs for attention and kisses, is eager to please, also likes your praise, and often sulks in a corner whenever you don’t... like a puppy.

the resemblance is almost uncanny. how amusing.

"maybe you were a dog in your past life,"

"..."

"..."

"...um, are you going to elaborate?"

you simply smile in return.

MYDEI stares like you'd slapped him across the face when you tell him to roll over.

"what?" you prod further when he doesn't say anything in response, "you shy or something?"

a glint appears in his eyes and you already know what he's going to say next.

"there's no such thing in the kremnoan langua —"

"mydei," you stare back, rid of all humor. he stares back, equally fiery. "roll. over."

you can practically see all the stages of grief flash in his eyes within mere seconds, weighing his options against you. you inspect your nails in an attempt to hide your anticipation. mydei is a wildcard if anything.

would he pretend he didn’t hear anything? probable. would he be mean about it? probable too. would he actually go along with it? pfft, yeah, and pigs would start falling from the sky —

to your most and utter horror, he starts lowering himself to the ground.

you shriek and stop him from continuing any further by grabbing a hold of his shoulders. (drool...) "hey, hey! i was kidding, you freak!"

"who are you calling a freak?" he snaps, not looking very intimidating as he's already kneeling down on one knee before you. "and i'm just following as you told me, am i not?"

"y-yeah but..."

he stands up, half-heartedly glaring you down. "i set aside my pride for your antics and you halt me. why?"

"it's more like why were you about to go along with something that's obviously said in jest..."

"hm. aglaea told me that you would often have weird tendencies and commands," he shrugs your hand off of his shoulder, "and that i should obey them without question if i want a... happy you. something ridiculous like that."

your jaw hangs open. mydei akwardly closes it shut. "you... you consult aglaea about... me?"

he gives you a weird look, "relationships, to be more exact. and why wouldn't i? you're a lot of work."

you deflate, "that's mean, mydei."

the proud chrysos heir shifts his footing, frowning at the air like it wronged him. his words are strained yet truthful, "i just... want to make you happy. that is all."

oh my.

you couldn't hold it any longer and proceed to jump him, whilst pigs do start falling from the sky.

it's pretty much established that ANAXA would yoink you out of the room should you decide to pull that on him during one of his lectures. in front of his students? yeah, you're grounded whether you liked it not.

though, it'd be a completely different story outside such settings...

currently sifting through scrolls sprawled out on his desk was the man of the hour himself, and having decided to accompany him in your free time — your boredom had long kicked in before the idea popped into your mind.

you approach him quietly, before placing your hand on top his head.

"who's a good boy?"

his gaze does not waver from the surface of his desk, but you do catch his contemplative expression freezing for a short moment.

"if you wanted a chalk to your face, you could've just said so."

how romantic. you really can't go a day without your loving boyfriend.

you beam at him, pretending like he hadn’t just threatened you with his 'teaching' gun tool. "that's not very good of you, anaxa. want me to punish you?"

"i believe you're acting up because you haven't gotten plentiful rest. be a dear and go back to your room, will you?"

"you want me gone?" you playfully pout up at him, finally earning his attention as he directs his gaze towards you — a brow raised. "you're being reallyyy bad, right now. i can't believe you'd kick me out just like that."

a sigh escapes anaxa. his singular eye opens to stare you down. you subconsciously gulp down your nerves. did you provoke him too much?

"unprofessional conduct by reffering to me casually during work hours, petting me like some dog and threatening to punish me... pranks like these shall not be tolerated." his eye twinkles in something akin to amusement, "i'll take care of you later."

the tension reaches a stalemate.

your brain short-circuits.

"uh, what do you mean by —"

"you know i dislike it when people ask questions they already know the answer to," as cryptic as ever, he spares you one last glance before returning his attention down to the scrolls laid upon his desk.

heeding his warning of sorts, you depart and stand outside his office — unmoving.

you seem to have brought upon yourself another day of being... unable to walk.

3.4 is taking forever...

[sidequestobserver]

“What will you give, my dear?” The fae smiles, knowing she’s won. I need this deal.

I slump and turn away. My mind races through what I can sacrifice. My firstborn? I can’t give her Emma. She’s my daughter, my treasure. She just entered preschool. My name? I would forget who I am, and who knows what kind of damage that could do. No. No. I need to think of something else.

“Hurry darling, I can find someone else.”

“Give me a second,” I snarl. Come on Warren, think. What can you give. I smack my head with my hand. Think think think. My head hurts. Gosh I need a cigarette. I fumble in my pocket. Pull out a pack of Camels. Cancer sticks, my mum calls them. She’s not wrong. I stick one in my mouth, grab the plastic Bic lighter from my jeans. Sorry mum, I’m a lost cause, but I promise I don’t smoke around Emma.

I pause, cigarette unlit between my lips. Turn back to the fae, who is tapping her fingers idly on one cheek. I pull the cigarette out and study it. The thin white and brown cylinder rolls on my palm.

I’ve been a smoking cigarettes for a while. Tried them in high school, thought they looked cool. A few tries later I was gone. The corner store knows my face because I buy them there, have been buying them there, for years. I smoke with friends, smoke when I’m taking a break at work. They’re part of routine, part of life.

I look at the fae, who is looking at my face with a bored expression. I don’t know what she sees. I don’t know what is showing on my face, because I don’t know what I am feeling as I lift my hand and offer it to her.

“I will give you my addiction.” I whisper.

Her eyes flick to my palm. Back to my face. Back to my palm. I start to tremble. I grab my forearm with my other hand, lighter dropping on the ground. Steadying my open palm, my offering.

The fae’s smile returns, brighter and sharper than before. “Deal.”

And just like that she’s gone. The air before me is empty.

My hands are empty as well. So are my pockets. The cheap plastic lighter and pack of cigarettes erased, as if they’d never existed at all.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, check around to make sure the fae is gone. I rub my temple. My head hurts. I should drink some water, I think I’m dehydrated.

I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and a pack of mentos for Emma, then step up to the corner store register. The clerk rings me up. When it comes time to tell me the total, he hesitates. Waiting for me to say something.

I prompt him. “How much?”

“Will that be all?” he asks.

I look at him, a bit confused. “Yes.”

“Just Gatorade?”

“And the Mentos.”

“You sure?”

I stare at him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The clerk wavers for a moment longer. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, wanting to ask something. I can’t think of what. Instead he says, “That’ll be $4.31.”

I pay. I walk out the door. Time to pick up Emma.

Jason stared as Warren exited the corner store. Five years he’s worked here, and Warren has come by at least once every week in those five years, usually more. Sometimes he bought Mentos, sometimes not. But he never left without buying a pack.

A finger tapping on the glass counter brought Jason’s attention to a customer at the register. He hadn’t noticed her come in. A woman dressed in a fancy dress, with ethereal beauty and a razor sharp smile. Many men would have stared. Jason didn’t. Jason was a professional. Professionals don’t stare at customers. He hadn’t stared when that guy wearing macaroni briefs and nothing else had came in for chips, he was not going to stare at the pretty lady.

“How may I help you?” Jason asked politely.

“A pack of Camel, please.”

In a deal with a fae, you must give up something you hold dear. Whether it be your name, your first born, or something else, it must be held dear. You, gave up your addiction. It worked.

[heliosunny]

your nanook fic is scrumptious 😞🤌, can I request another one? A continuation of it or a different one is ok

Golden Shackles

Yandere!Tyrant!Nanook x Reader

His march of ruin was almost complete, another world shattered in his wake, another civilization quaking beneath the shadow of his might. Nanook loomed over the devastation. The warriors at his back knelt as his mantle, thick with the remnants of fallen kingdoms, swept across the broken earth.

The air itself stilled, then shattered.

A blur of movement where there should have been none.

Pain erupted in your leg before you even registered the strike, an arrow searing through your flesh. You screamed as it pierced your calf then hit the ground hard, the impact driving the breath from your lungs.

He merely looked down, and in his eyes, you saw the end of all things.

"Persistent" he mused. His voice was the low crackle of a dying fire. "I do admire that."

A hand cupped your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek bone, and for one delirious moment, you thought he might laugh.

Then his grip tightened.

"Pity it’s wasted."

You woke in gilded chains.

Not literal ones. No, your prison was far more elegant—high ceilings, silk sheets, the scent of something floral masking the iron beneath. Servants redressed your wounds. None spoke.

You waited. You healed. And when the silence became unbearable, you ran again.

This time, you almost reached the gates.

The air turned to syrup. Your limbs locked mid-stride.

"Tell me," his voice curled around you, "do you enjoy disobedience? Or are you simply incapable of learning?"

You couldn’t turn. Couldn’t speak. But you didn’t need to. He already knew the answer.

A snap of fingers. Suddenly you were facing him, close enough to see the golden-glow of his irises, the faint scar cutting through his brow.

"You amuse me." he admitted, as if confessing a weakness. "But don’t mistake indulgence for mercy."

The servants led you back. The doors sealed behind you.

---

Survival required more than defiance, it demanded strategy.

You studied your chamber. The guard posted outside wasn’t like the others. No hulking armor, just a quiet man who flinched when doors slammed too hard.

His name was Kael.

A scholar once, before the tyrant’s eye fell upon him. "The Mark" he called it, not a blessing, never that. A curse disguised as favor.

"You read people's mind?" you noted one evening as he adjusted his ill-fitting uniform.

"I used to read books. Maybe his blessing gave me such ability according to my skill."

"Why obey him?"

He smiled bitterly. "He’s not cruel without reason. His majesty believes this is how strength is earned. And… he enjoys it. Not many people receive his blessing and survive."

Your escape wasn’t an escape at all.

You waited until Kael’s watch waned, until the halls sighed empty. Then you moved.

The fortress unfolded like a living manuscript.

Then you heard the sound. It led you to a gallery overlooking a sunken coliseum.

The Tyrant lounged on a dais of fused bones, toying with a dagger. Below him, figures knelt in the sand.

A woman was thrust forward.

The onlookers roared with approval. Toasted. Threw coins.

You couldn’t look away.

Nanook smiled.

The performance began.

Your hands trembled against the railing.

His gaze lifted, as if he’d heard your silent horror.

You dissolved into the dark before he could see.

You never learned what gave you away.

Maybe it was the choked gasp you couldn’t swallow fast enough.

It didn't matter.

Nanook's head tilted upward with predator's grace, his attention peeling away from the bloodsport below like a man distracted by a particularly interesting moth.

"Someone's watching."

The arena fell silent.

Your bones turned to ice.

Pressed against the balcony's shadowed pillar, you became stone. The pounding in your chest threatened to betray you as you retreated one silent step at a time.

He didn't pursue.

But the damage was done.

That night, sleep abandoned you. Every rustle of fabric became approaching footsteps. Every breath of wind carried phantom laughter.

Dawn came with armored fists pounding on your door.

"You're summoned," the guard said. "For a walk."

They dragged you from bed, tossing a cloak over your shoulders as they marched you beyond familiar corridors, past the gilded cages of the inner palace into the raw expanse of the outer cliffs.

Nanook stood at the precipice, the morning wind playing with his hair.

"Come here."

Your feet refused.

With a flick of his wrist, a circlet of dark metal appeared in his palm.

"Put it on," he said, "if you value your next breath."

The metal seared your fingers as you clasped it around your throat. It settled against your skin like a living thing.

"Good." He gestured toward the cliff's edge. "Now run."

Your bare feet tore across jagged stone as you bolted, not toward freedom, but toward the massive sword leaning against a nearby boulder. His sword. The one he'd so carelessly left unattended.

The moment your hands closed around the hilt, power erupted through your veins, the blade's ancient hunger vibrating in your bones. It was too heavy, but when you swung, it moved with you.

Nanook caught the strike barehanded.

The impact should have severed flesh. Instead, his fingers curled around the singing steel as if greeting an old friend, the weapon's fury dying instantly at his touch.

His other hand snapped out, twisting your wrist just enough to bring you to your knees.

For a breathless moment, you stared up at your captor, expecting death.

Nanook threw back his head and laughed, a sound both terrible and delighted.

"Oh, little mouse," he purred, prying his weapon from your shaking hands, "you do make this interesting."

As guards lifted you from the ground, the circlet at your throat pulsed warmly.

----

The crash of splintering wood shattered your fragile sleep.

Nanook filled the doorway, swaying ever so slightly, the sharp edges of his divinity blurred by wine. His usually immaculate hair tumbled loose over one shoulder, and in his grip—a man.

Just some trembling soul with a split lip and shackled wrists, dragged forward like an offering.

"Wake up, little one. I've brought you a gift."

The prisoner collapsed at your bedside, his chains clattering against marble. "M-mercy, please—"

Nanook kicked him silent.

Then he tossed a dagger onto your sheets.

"Here's the game," he murmured, crouching until his breath, warm and wine-sweet, fanned across your face. "You kill him... or I do it slowly."

The blade glinted in the low light.

You stared at it. At the prisoner's tear-streaked face. At the way Nanook's fingers twitched, already anticipating violence.

Your hand closed around the hilt and you moved.

Not toward the man.

Toward him.

The dagger flashed upward, biting deep into the meat of Nanook's palm. A brutal, messy wound. Crimson welled, dripped, splattered across your bare arms as you twisted the blade.

For one glorious second, you saw something foreign in his golden eyes—

Surprise.

Then the world flipped.

Your back hit the floor with enough force to steal your breath. Nanook loomed above, his bleeding hand pinning your wrist, his other arm braced beside your head. The scent of copper and expensive wine filled the space between you.

You expected fury.

Instead, he laughed, a low, breathless sound that vibrated through your chest.

"Clever little thing." he slurred, his weight growing heavier as the alcohol finally claimed him. His forehead dropped against your shoulder. "Should've known you'd... cheat."

Then, impossibly, the conqueror of worlds went limp atop you.

His breathing evened out.

The prisoner had fled.

The dagger lay forgotten nearby.

And you?

You lay very, very still beneath a sleeping man, his heartbeat steady against yours.

For the first time since your capture, you held the power.

The dagger gleamed in the moonlight, still wet with his blood. One quick thrust between those ribs would end it all. You could almost feel the moment.

But you hesitated.

Killing him now would be a death sentence. His generals would flay you alive before dawn. Worse—what if he didn't die?

You took the blade and carved two precise lines into his skin—one along his unmarked palm, another just beneath his ribs.

I could have killed you.

The dagger clattered to the floor as you returned to bed, pulling the covers over your still-trembling body. Let him wake confused. Let him find his own blood first.

Dawn came quietly.

You feigned sleep as Nanook stirred. Through slitted eyes, you watched him examine his new wounds with something almost like... amusement.

Just a quiet huff of breath that might have been laughter.

"You," he muttered to your sleeping form, "are going to be trouble."

Then he was gone.

You moved before the echoes faded.

No time for breakfast. No patience for guards. The collar at your throat hummed, but you ignored it, today wasn't about defiance.

Today was about escape.

The halls were quieter than usual, whether by chance or some drunken negligence among the guards, you didn't care.

Your pulse hammered as you reached the lower levels, further than you'd ever gone. The air changed here, damp and salty.

A narrow corridor ended at a rusted gate. Beyond it, sunlight glittered on water. The harbor.

Your fingers closed around the gate's bars, just as a familiar voice purred behind you.

"Looking for something?"

Nanook leaned against the wall, freshly bathed and annoyingly alert, his wounded hand bandaged in gold silk. The cuts you'd given him were nowhere to be seen.

"Air." you said simply.

He studied you for a long moment. Then sighed.

"Fine."

Before you could react, he wrenched the gate open with one hand, seawater wind whipping through the corridor.

"Run," he said, stepping aside. "Let's see how far you get before the collar drags you back."

"Or stay. And learn what happens to mice who bite gods."

The choice hung between you as the scent of salt and freedom called from beyond the gate.

----

You found a new path today.

The crack in the wall was barely wider than your palm, just another shadow in the maze of servant corridors. But when you pressed against it, the stone groaned and gave way to darkness.

Cold air rushed past you. A forgotten passage.

You slipped inside. The tunnel sloped downward, narrow enough that your shoulders brushed both walls. Your fingers trailed along the rough stone as you descended, counting steps.

Then you saw light. A rusted iron grate blocked the exit, but beyond it, you could see the cliffside tumbling down to the city below.

You committed every turn to memory before retreating. Not today. But soon.

----

The scent hit you first, blood and charred meat.

You froze in the doorway.

Bodies littered the kitchen floor like discarded puppets. Some still twitched. At the center of the carnage stood Nanook, idly wiping his blade on a dead man's tunic.

His head lifted.

"Perfect timing." he said.

A guard shoved a goblet into your hands. The wine inside smelled faintly of almonds.

"Drink." Nanook commanded.

You hesitated only a second before swallowing.

Nanook watched your throat work with clinical interest. When you didn't collapse, he smiled.

"Congratulations." he said. "You're my new taster."

That night, they brought you roasted pheasant and honeyed figs. You ate slowly, waiting for the poison to take you.

Nanook watched from his throne.

Nothing happened.

Morning revealed the price of defiance.

Six heads adorned the outer gates. The seventh prisoner hung crucified above the banquet hall, still breathing when they brought in the first course.

Nanook sipped his wine, eyes never leaving yours.

"Tell me," he murmured, "do you still dream of running?"

You took another bite of your food.

The meat tasted like ash.

----

The scent of charred rosemary still clung to your fingers when you woke to find Nanook crouched beside your pallet, his shadow swallowing the candlelight.

You reacted before thinking, your hand lashed out, catching his wrist as he reached for the half-eaten fig on your tray.

"Still alive, I see."

You released him like touching scorched iron.

You decided to pass through the kitchen today.

The scent of blood had been scrubbed away, but something lingered.

The way your reflection in the soup cauldrons looked strangely blurred. The atmosphere was gloomy.

You made yourself useful.

Small comforts. You can perform magic tricks, so why not. You cheered them up, well temporarily, but it was better than nothing.

"They say the Tyrant's pet can charm snakes..." "I heard they turned a guard's sword into flowers..."

Nanook's summons came at dusk.

His private chambers sprawled across the palace's highest point, all obsidian arches and windows open to the stars. The bed he indicated for you stood opposite his own.

"Having fun?" he said, pouring wine you wouldn't dare drink.

You flexed your still-tingling fingers. "They look sad, I don't like that."

He swirled the dark liquid. "I won't have you making allies in my own house."

That night, as the twin moons rose, you gave him a different kind of show. Well, you were forced to. Fire blossomed between your palms.

Nanook watched from his chair.

When the last ember died, he said only:

"Again."

You obliged.

This time, the flames took his shape, looming and terrible, until with a flick of your wrist, the figure's head tilted back in silent laughter.

Nanook went very still.

Then he stood, crossed the space between you, and caught your smoking hands in his.

"Clever mouse," he murmured, thumb brushing your scorched knuckles. "But remember—" His grip tightened just shy of pain. "I like my toys flammable."

----

The arena stank of sweat and fear.

You watched from the high balcony as the prisoners were herded into the pit, some weeping, some snarling, all doomed. Nanook lounged on his throne, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm against the armrest.

"Last one standing earns my blessing." he announced, as if offering salvation rather than damnation.

A lie wrapped in gold.

You slipped away before the first scream.

Phainon, someone called for his name, sat apart from the others in the holding cell. When you appeared at the bars, he didn't flinch.

"You are.. ?" he observed.

"You must've known the king's pet. That's me." You pressed closer. "There's a way out."

His gaze sharpened. "For who?"

"The dragon. The challenge for tomorrow. Its throat softens after the first fireburst." You slid a knife between the bars. "Make it count."

Phainon tested the blade's edge. "Why help me?"

You smiled. "Every distraction helps."

Nanook caught you returning to the tower, your clothes reeking of prison straw.

His grip on your arm was deceptively gentle. "Naughty pet."

He carried you back like a misbehaving cat, dumping you onto the fur-strewn floor.

----

The arena roared as Phainon faced the fire dragon.

You watched from the shadows as he danced between claws and flame, waiting until the beast's chest glowed molten.

Then he struck.

The knife found its mark.

Ichor gushed black as the dragon collapsed, its death throes shaking the stadium. Nanook leaned forward, intrigued rather than angered.

"Bring me that one." he commanded.

But Phainon was already gone, vanished through the chaos you'd engineered.

Nanook found you polishing his armor that evening.

"You," he said, catching your chin, "are far too clever for your own good."

You met his gaze without flinching.

He laughed then, before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Run again tomorrow." he murmured. "It's more fun when you try."

----

The cup shattered before you hit the ground.

Fire raced through your veins, not the clean burn of liquor, but something else. Your vision tunneled. The banquet hall swayed. Somewhere beyond the roaring in your ears, you heard Nanook's chair scrape back.

His face swam above you.

Obviously someone has poisoned you.

For one terrible moment, you thought he might let you die.

Then his hand closed around your throat.

You woke up. No collar, you could no longer feel it on.

The servant girl bowed low. "You have received His Majesty's blessing."

You touched your chest. Where your heartbeat should have been, there was only a slow, steady pulse.

---

Phainon's name echoed through the halls like a prayer: The Golden Victor. Nanook's Favorite.

Wait, what did you miss? How long was you out for?

You pieced together the story from whispers:

How he'd slain the drake with a single strike

How the Tyrant had draped his own cloak around the boy's shoulders

The court adored him.

You wondered if he still remembered the knife you'd slipped him.

Nanook's visit came at midnight.

"You'll fight in the morrow's games." he said, as casually as ordering wine.

You stared at the canopy above your bed. "To prove what?"

"That I don't keep broken things. Unless they're interesting."

The rules were simple:

Twelve champions

One victor

You turned your face away.

Nanook caught your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "You've tasted my power now. Let's see what you do with it."

Dawn painted the sands gold as you entered.

The other champions circled like jackals, each bred for battle, each marked with their master's sigil. You wore Nanook's colors: black and gold.

No one cheered for you.

High above, Nanook lounged in his box, Phainon seated at his right hand.

The horn sounded.

The blessing guided your hands. When the first champion fell, his neck snapped clean as dry kindling, you felt nothing.

The crowd roared.

Nanook's smile widened.

By sunset, the sands ran red.

Only you and one other remained, a hulking brute with a general's mark burned into his chest. He spat blood at your feet.

"Pretty little pet," he sneered. "Let's see how your master likes you broken."

Then, in a blink of an eye, he died.

They dragged you before Nanook's throne.

Phainon's face was pale.

"Well?" he asked the assembled nobles. "What do you think of my pet?"

His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face up.

The kiss he pressed to your forehead burned worse than any poison.

"Well done." he murmured, for your ears alone.

----

You found Phainon in the ruins of the old temple. The moonlight cut through the broken pillars, casting jagged shadows as he turned to face you.

"You're alive," he breathed, relief flashing across his face before his expression hardened. "But not for long if you stay here."

"I need your help."

"There's a ship at the eastern docks. It leaves at dawn. If we can get you there—"

A slow clap echoed through the ruins.

Both of you froze.

Nanook stepped from the shadows.

"How touching," he murmured. "A rebellion of two."

Nanook flicked his wrist, and the speed in your veins burned away like paper in a fire. You gasped, stumbling as your limbs turned leaden. If he is able to give you his blessing, he can take it back.

Phainon drew his blade, but Nanook was already upon him. A single strike sent him crashing into the stone, his sword skittering across the floor.

Nanook didn’t even look at him.

His gaze was fixed on you.

"Did you really think," he said, "I wouldn’t notice?"

Back in the palace, the air was thick with fury.

"You were mine," he said. "And you threw it away."

You didn’t back down. "I was never yours."

He moved first.

The fight was brutal. You were slower now, stripped of his blessing, but you knew his patterns. You dodged, struck, twisted—until his patience snapped.

A backhand sent you reeling. You hit the table, rolled—and grabbed the nearest heavy object.

The impact of the bronze decanter against his skull echoed like a gong.

Nanook staggered.

Then collapsed.

You didn’t think. You just moved. Dragging him was harder without the speed, but desperation lent you strength. Through the hidden passages, past the unsuspecting guards, into the cold night beyond the palace walls.

You made it to the edge of the cypress grove before he stirred.

A groan. A twitch of fingers. His eyes fluttering open.

"Who...?" His voice was rough, disoriented. He looked at you like he’d never seen you before. "Where am I?"

You tensed, ready to run.

But then his hand—weak, unsteady—reached for yours.

"Don’t leave." 

The most feared tyrant in the world had no idea who he was.

And for some reason, he trusted you.

"Can I come with you?"

You exhaled sharply. "No."

He flinched. Just slightly.

You cursed under your breath.

"Fine. But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you behind."

A slow, hesitant nod.

And just like that, he followed you into the dark—barefoot, bleeding, and utterly, terrifyingly helpless.

You have no idea what's waiting for you both ahead. But you can't stay here any longer.

----

[To be continued?]

[strang3lov3]

Apartment

You visit Benji's apartment before you leave. 6.4k words

Tags - cousin!benji, one shot, loss of virginity, very fuckin personal and emotional so take it easy on me, incest, piv, creampie, fingering, handjobs, nipple play, slight overstim, I cried writing this so,,,,

Maybe it’d be easier if Benji were here. 

Things are changing. A new chapter’s beginning and you should feel happy, right? Excited, because you know this is a good thing. Nervous would be okay, and natural, even. But looking at your room - or what’s left of it, at least, you feel so profoundly fucking empty. Thinking harder, digging deeper, you feel dread. These empty walls and cardboard boxes…it feels like such a scary and permanent change, and leaving everything behind feels impossible to wrap your mind around. Leaving everyone - all of your friends, all of your family. Benji. 

The last item you packed was a photo of the two of you. You guess that you were maybe thirteen in that photo. Your cheeks were fuller then and you were smiling, green and purple rubber bands around your braces in the spirit of Halloween, when that photo was taken. Benji had that stupid, shaggy haircut you loved so much, and he stuck Mike and Ike’s on his canine teeth, smiling so big. 

He was your first crush, way before you knew it was inappropriate to think of him like that. It never went away, though. But nobody has to know that except for you. You can keep it close to your heart. 

Benji really is your built-in best friend. He took a shine to you the moment you joined the world earth-side. He was always so patient, so gentle. Played dollies with you and everything, even though that wasn’t at all what he was into at that age. It wasn’t hard to pretend for your sake.

Benji’s the reason you learned to walk and run as fast as you did, little legs trying to keep up with him. Everyone always said you had your own secret language, too. And you did, literally. “Benji, translate” was a common command Benji would get from family members because he could understand your toddler-speak when others couldn’t. 

You’re going to the same school he went to. You always knew you would.

Tears build in your waterline and spill down your cheeks as you grab your keys and rush out the door, knowing exactly who and what you need. It’s a silent drive, and the sun is nearly set but it’s not quite dark yet, but you do love that orangey-pink that paints the horizon. 

You get out of your car and knock on Benji’s front door repeatedly, anxiously hoping he’ll answer. You probably should have texted. 

The door does swing open, thankfully. “Quit pounding on my fuckin’ door, dude, Jesus. I thought you were a cop.” Benji seems a little tired, with light shadows under his eyes and messy hair. He scratches the back of his head before looking at you, then realizes you’ve been crying. “Woah, hey - heeeyyy…” Benji pulls you into his arms and shuts the door, letting you cry into his shoulder for a moment before leading you to his small living room. 

Being in such a familiar, unchanged space grounds you. Benji’s been renting this apartment for a long time now. There’s shit broken from five years years ago that Benji still hasn’t fixed, and the same posters and artwork that’ve always been there decorate his walls. Dying plants on bookshelves that Benji can’t keep alive to save his fucking life. Mugs he’s stolen from shitty diners here and there, the fucking derelict. God, you love him.

Benji sits you on his used, blue sectional that has seen better days. It’s covered in tears and strange stains, probably not even by his doing. “What’s goin’ on with you, dude?”

“I - I,” You gasp and sniffle a few times, unable to speak as you sob. It’s always how it goes.  

“It’s okay.” Benji’s voice is gentle. He touches your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, waiting patiently for you to gather yourself. 

“I packed the rest of my shit and - and I don’t know,” you cry. “Just…looking at how fu - how empty it all was. I was all alone. I couldn’t do it. I n-needed you - fuck.” 

Benji nods, understanding well what’s the matter. With his thumb, he gently wipes away your tears, and his heart breaks at your forced smile as you tell him you’re fine and it’s really all okay. You don’t have to pretend to be fine and okay if you’re not. You can just be…you know. Hurting. And Benji can be there to ease that. You don’t have to soften or temper anything. He wants you to know this.

“I was gonna help you pack,” he murmurs, rubbing his knuckle along your cheek. “Right? I was gonna help you load everything into the truck and see you off tomorrow.” 

“I know. I’m really sorry, Benji.” 

“Don’t - hey - no, don’t be sorry, dude.” Benji leans forward and wraps his arms around you, knowing what you need but what you won’t ask for. Just some quiet time with him, crying into his shirt. Probably getting snot and tears all over it, but he doesn’t give a shit.

He pulls you into his body, situates you right between his legs. He covers you both in a scratchy, striped wool blanket that he got from some music festival years back. Benji unpauses the game he was playing on his PlayStation and just keeps you there, both of you quiet as he plays, save for your sniffling. 

He used to do this when you were younger, too, when he’d play Resident Evil and Silent Hill. He can laugh about the fact that you’re brave enough to look at the screen now. 

Benji keeps his lips pressed against the top of your head, kissing you there mindlessly. “Got some leftover Pizza Slut if you’re hungry,” he mumbles against you, kissing you again. 

“I’m not. But thank you, Benny.”

The nickname punches Benji in the gut. He hasn’t heard that in for-fucking-ever.  

Time passes in the quiet and dark room, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the TV screen and some warm, dim lamps. You slide your hands under Benji’s shirt and you hold his bare torso, memorizing all the details about the way his skin feels. He’s so warm and soft, breathing evenly with you on his chest. He smells like weed and faintly of sweat, and how that comforts you. What you wouldn’t give for this moment would last forever. Perhaps you could just unzip Benji and live in his ribcage, right there by his heart. Holding it safely in your hands. 

Finally, you whisper, “I’m scared.” 

Benji looks down at you. “Scared of what?”

You look at Benji, his gorgeous, handsome face. He’s so different now, but just the same as he ever was. His beard suits him well, and so do all those little marks of age on his skin. He’s lived his life in the sun and in the grass and sand and water, and it shows in the most beautiful of ways. 

You shrug. 

“No, no. Tell me,” Benji says, half paying attention to his game. 

“Being away from home,” you admit. “And um…being away from you,” you add, quieter.

“Oh, man.” Your admission tugs at his heart. Benji gives you a tight hug when he hears that. He thinks for a moment, conjuring up words he hopes will console you. “You know, it’s…what, just a few hours away, yeah? Three or four, something like that?”

Sniffling, you nod. “Yeah.” 

“And we’re gonna see each other at Thanksgiving, right? And Christmas break?”

“Mhm.”  

You nuzzle into Benji again, drying your tears on his shirt. “What else are you scared of?”

“Fucking everything,” you laugh humorlessly. Benji laughs too. 

“Yeah, I know. You always were,” he teases softly, pausing his game. And it’s true, what he said. About you being scared of everything. You can’t help it much. 

You used to come over here for sleepovers when you were younger. Benji would let you watch horror movies - he’s not into them much anymore, but still. The really shocking and horrible stuff, too. Your choice. “Your parents will rip me a new fuckin’ asshole if they knew I let you watch this shit, so…” 

You’d start out on his couch, then beg to sleep in his bed when you couldn’t get those awful images out of your head. He’d always take you in. “Yeah, fuckin’ - get over here. C’mon.” 

Benji slept better with you there, truthfully. His arms around your soft body, nose buried in your hair or your neck. 

You were scared of the bugs Benji would find and catch in his hands to show you, and he’d try so fucking hard to get you to tolerate them. You fucking hated watching them crawl on his skin. You were scared of the monkey bars at the park, but you wanted to do them anyway - Benji would spot you the whole time, his strong hands holding your waist as you made your way across. You were scared of starting high school, and you were scared of boys. Shy. There were times you were even shy around him, and Benji would have to work so hard to fish that sweet, chatty girl he knew out of you. He always got there.

“But you’re gonna do fine, dude. Really.” 

“How do you know?”

“Because I just do,” Benji says. You sit up a little and fold your hands under your chin, looking up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. Your worried pout. Benji gently pulls on a strand of your hair and wraps it around his finger. “You’re not gonna smoke some asshole’s sketch-ass weed, right?

“Right,” you murmur, smiling at the memory. 

Benji taught you how to smoke, years ago at this point. He stressed the importance that you smoke his weed, and not some stranger’s shitass schwag that’d probably make you puke your brains out. 

It was winter, you remember that. Standing outside on Benji’s tiny porch where he taught you to roll a joint. You still suck at it, and make him do it for you. He rolls his eyes every time. 

You remember passing it back and forth in the cold, underdressed for the weather. The glow of the lighter on his handsome face. You were wearing plaid pajama pants and a long sleeve waffle knit shirt you borrowed from Benji, and you remember scurrying inside and sitting on one of Benji’s stools at his counter, pleasantly high and giggling while you watched him make pancakes. Bob’s Burgers was on in the background, and you were so fucking…happy. You’d never been so happy.

Benji remembers that night, too. He remembers hiding under blankets with you and making you giggle by tracing your fingers and tickling your palm. He remembers thinking you were so fucking beautiful and that he couldn’t believe you were all his. He felt so lucky to have you. He still does. 

“If you need weed, I will - I’ll hand-fuckin’-deliver. Promise. Okay? And you’re gonna make your own drinks, right?”

“Mhm.” 

“I’m fuckin’ serious, dude. Don’t let anyone else do it.” Benji doesn’t even wanna think about that. It is something he worries about, truth be told. He’s scared too, about you leaving.

The make-your-own rule is another one of his pieces of advice he gave to you when you were younger. Once again, you were at his apartment. It was after your very first breakup, which would have put you around sixteen. Benji asked what he could do, and you told him you wanted to drink. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he let you anyway. 

“You’re so fuckin’ young, dude. Do you drink? Like - like actually?”  

“...Yes,” you lied. 

Benji breathed a sigh of relief. “Uh huh, okay. Stealing sips of wine from your mommy’s glass doesn’t count,” he teased, opening a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade for you. “When you do drink,” Benji said, “In college or whatever, promise me you’ll make your own. Okay?” 

“Why?” 

“Just ‘cause.” 

You shrugged. You didn’t recognize the significance of his advice until you were older. It just hit you one day, what it was he meant exactly. You wonder if there was a story to match, or something. 

Benji, always looking out for you. 

You got drunk off of that bottle and half of another, and you cycled through the emotions with Benji at your side. It was a lot of sadness, you recall. Benji really felt for you, poor fucking kid. You were utterly crushed. 

“It’s gonna be okay, dude.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe,” you sniffled, wiping your raw nose on your sleeve. Benji chuckled and handed you a roll of toilet paper to use instead. “Oh, no. It’s fine. This was actually his hoodie, so. Kinda could use the snot, I guess,” you joked. 

But Benji didn’t laugh. “You’re shitting me," he deadpanned. "That’s his? You're wearing that asshole's fucking hoodie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You fucking loser, take it off.” 

You gave Benji a look. “No, I’ll be cold.”

“Who fuckin’ cares? Take it the fuck off, right now. Do it. I’m not kidding.” Benji snapped at you and motioned for you to remove it, but you shook your head. So he grabbed your sleeve and tugged, and that made you giggle. You pulled back and he tugged harder in return, trying to force your arm out of the sleeve.

It escalated, of course. You laughed when you hit the floor, and after briefly checking to make sure you were alright, Benji wrestled you. You squirmed and squealed as you fought for the upper hand, but Benji pinned you easily. He was always so strong like that, so capable. He rucked the hoodie up and off your body, accidentally exposing you in the process. You were both too drunk to give a shit. 

“Benji, fucking give it.” 

“Nope!” Benji hopped off of you with the hoodie in his hand, slid on a pair of shoes, grabbed a lighter off an end table and an aerosol can of god only knows what. “C’mon.” 

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

He walked outside and down the street, with you following behind him, clutching your arms in the brisk air. Finally, after reaching a quiet spot at the end of the road, Benji dropped the hoodie. He crouched down, then flicked the lighter and handed you the can. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Burn that fuckin’ thing, dude.”

"You're ridiculous." You rolled your eyes and pressed down on the top of the can anyway, letting out a wild laugh at the large flame that you created. Benji laughed too, watching the cheap material of the hoodie melt and burn. God, it was so stupid and so dangerous and could have easily ended up being a trip to the emergency room, but laughing with Benji in and of itself was healing. 

Later, Benji took his own hoodie off and put it over your head. He pulled your arms through the sleeves, and it was nice to see a real smile on your face again. “Oh, yeah. That’s better,” he said. “I think that makes us about square. Just don’t fuckin’ - don’t go snotting this one up, okay? Fucking creature.”

“So yeah, you’ll be fine. You know, just - stay on top of your shit. Drop a class before you fail,” he advises, stroking your hair. Benji was always so handsy like that, so touchy. Not in an uncomfortable or unwelcome way, just comforting and loving. It seems to comfort him, too. “Umm…what else. Oh - your roommate is probably going to be an asshole,” he says. 

“You think so?”

“They always are,” he answers plainly. “And also, if they’re doing Humans vs. Zombies, don’t skip out on that shit. It’s fun as fuck.” 

“What is it?” 

Benji looks so beautiful as he looks up and off to the side, thinking of a way to explain it. He giggles a little, likely remembering playing the game himself. “It’s like - kinda like tag, but you have Nerf guns and shit.”

“I still have that little Nerf gun keychain you gave me,” you smile. “Do you remember it?”

“Oh, no fuckin’ way! Yeah, I remember it! Aw, man. Yeah, use that, dude.” 

“Can’t. It doesn’t work anymore.” Benji pouts. It was this little orange and yellow toy - Nerf Secret Strike is what it was called, if you remember correctly. You were small when Benji gave it to you. It ended up being one of those tchotchkes that just kind of hangs around. Gets lost for a few years and then shows up again, just to tickle you. 

“Bummer.” Benji pauses, then thinks again. “Do not try coke,” is the next piece of advice he offers you. “Fuckin’ waste of money. Seriously.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You don’t want that shit.” Benji goes quiet, thinking of more of his sage wisdom to impart on you. He thinks what he’s told you already about covers it. He knows you’ll appreciate it all, too. What he tells you is real and it actually matters to you, and it’s not the same bullshit you get from people who don’t know what to say. Benji gently pulls on a piece of your hair, then twirls it around his finger. “Aaaand…I want you to fuckin’ call me if you need anything,” he says, voice quiet. “Anything. I always got your back, dude.” 

“Benji,” you whisper.

“You know that, hm? You know I love you?” You’re not sure why you shrug. You do know how deeply Benji loves you. “Because I do,” he murmurs. “I love you so, so fucking much. Always have.” 

You smile sadly, tears welling up in your eyes, emotional all over again. Benji wipes them before they can fall. You see tears in his eyes, too. “And then I guess…I don’t know if I’m forgetting - fuck.” Benji wipes his own tears and sniffles sharply. “Oh, I know. For fuck’s sake, dude, use a condom. Just–” Benji taps you twice on the back, already sitting up. He stumbles off the couch and heads for his bedroom, motioning for you to follow him before scratching the back of his head and mussing his hair.

He left a lava lamp on in his bedroom, as well as some colorful string lights. His bed is unmade, and different posters decorate the walls. Sports teams, bands, video games. There’s a picture of you and him on his dresser that he’s opening right now - you on the handlebars of his bike, scared shitless as he rides behind you. He rifles through it, then gives you a handful of Durex condoms. “Here, take these. Don’t - yeah, don’t use the ones they’ll hand out at the health center. They’ll just fuckin’ rip on you,” he says. You wonder if he knows that from personal experience. 

Benji flops on his bed. You sit on the end near his feet, holding the condoms in your hand, tracing the circular outline with your thumb. “Benji?”

“What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, unsure why you’re about to tell him what you’re gonna tell him. Maybe you want his advice here, too. You’ve heard X, Y, and Z from your friends, but it’s just different somehow, talking with Benji. Someone who knows you inside and out, and who thinks in such a similar way to you. Who has a heart just like yours. 

“I’ve never had sex.” 

Benji turns to his side, resting his face against his fist. He looks amused, but not in a way that mocks you. Just curious, interested. “No shit. Really?”

“Yep,” you whisper. 

“No, like - like really? You never did it with…oh, shit. What’s his fuck...” You remind him of your ex’s name, and Benji snaps and nods. “Ooohhhh.”

“That’s why he dumped me,” you tell him. 

“Yeaaahh, yep, okay. I remember now.” 

“Don’t feel bad. I dodged a bullet. He’s fucking MAGA now, so.” You make a disgusted face as you think about him. God, and you thought it was the end of the fucking world, didn’t you? 

“So he can eat shit.” 

“Exactly,” you laugh. Benji gets it. Always. 

You flip the condom over in your hand, skimming over the words printed there, but it’s difficult to see in the low light. “I’m scared of that, too.” 

“Scared of what? Doin’ it?” 

You laugh at his candor. “Yeah.” You crawl up the bed, settling close to Benji. His unwashed sheets smell just like him, and it’s the warmest, most comforting scent.

“I mean, it’s instinct though, right? You’ll know what to do. Probably not gonna cum, though. Sorry.” Benji thinks you look so beautiful when you giggle at that, all bashful and flustered.  

You look at him for a moment, searching his gorgeous, hazel eyes. “When’d you first do it, Benji?”

“Umm,” he hums, thinking. “I was sixteen, I think?”

“What was it like?” 

Benji exhales, thinking back. “She was a few years older than me, you know. Whatever. We did it in her car and it sucked, dude. It was so uncomfortable. I fuckin’ busted too quickly, too. But she was really nice about it. We did it a couple more times before she left for school.”

You feel so awkward, but not in a bad way. You’re a little excited, curious. “Can I ask you more questions?” 

“Yeah, man. Shoot.” 

“What’s it like to be hard?” 

Benji laughs loudly, not expecting that particular question. Inquiring minds want to know, he guesses. “Oh, man. I don’t fucking know,” he giggles. “It feels like - like I don’t know, kind of like tensing a muscle. But it feels good, too.” 

“Mm.” You giggle awkwardly, not so subtle when you eye Benji’s crotch, wondering.  

“Fuckin’ pervert,” he says, and you smile in embarrassment. Like he gives a shit, though. There’s nothing wrong with a little curiosity, is there? “Do…you…maybe wanna cop a feel?” 

“Benji,” you laugh, but Benji’s not. He’s just smiling, eyebrows raised. “Wait, are you serious?” 

“I’m not not serious,” he says. “Just - if you want to, you can. That’s all. Want me to be your guinea pig?”

“But I don’t think we’re supposed to.” 

“I’m not a rat. Are you a rat?” 

You shake your head, and there’s an exciting, electric tension between you and Benji that’s nearly palpable. You could reach out and touch it, grab a handful, maybe. Your heart’s beating a little faster and your stomach is fluttering with it all. You wonder if Benji feels the same thing. 

Benji asked you who’d know or who’d tell when he kissed you a few years ago. It’s inappropriate now, and it was inappropriate then, but the memory remains a very private, personal pleasure of yours. 

You remember hanging out under a bridge while hiking. Taking a break to sip on some water and rest your aching feet, but it devolved into getting high together. Not too high, just happy and floaty, being tickled by the grass and watching the water flow. 

“I was fourteen, maybe?” he said, reminiscing about his first kiss when you’d asked. “It was another boy, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Benji shrugged. “Sleepaway camp.”

“What was it like?” 

“Honestly? I didn’t think much about it. We were just dumb fuckin’ kids. But I didn’t kiss anyone again for a long time. Just kinda…yeah. I don’t know,” he shrugged.

You nodded, watching Benji puff on his joint. “I’ve never kissed a boy,” you told him. “Or a girl.” 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” 

“Nope.” 

Benji gave you a look. “You wanna try?”

“I mean, we can’t, right?” 

“Technically, yeah. But who’d know?” After thinking for a moment and smiling to yourself, you told him yes, that you did want to try. “Alright, loser. Lay it on me.” 

You could barely contain yourself when Benji faced his body to yours. Knee to knee, both sitting with your legs crossed, vibrating with that shared energy. Benji waited there patiently with his eyes closed as you gathered the courage to kiss him, but you chickened out. He grabbed you before you could leave and kissed you anyway, and how exquisite that felt. His soft, plump lips. It was slow at first, gentle, and broken by whispers and giggles. You remember his warm hands on your face and waist, and how soft his hair felt between your fingers. It went on longer than it should have, and probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place. But oh, how special it was. 

“We’re just playing around, right?” You shrug and bite down on your smile. Benji scoots a little closer to you and takes your hand, noting your little tremble. You sweet, nervous thing. “Y’ready?”

“Okay,” you grin. 

Benji brings your hand to his body and presses your palm against his bulge. He’s only half-hard yet, but his cock twitches at your touch. You let out a surprised giggle, and Benji presses you harder against himself. He’s so warm through his shorts, and growing harder. It’s such a unique, pleasant feeling. “Holy fuck,” you laugh. 

“Can I like–” you trace him a little, intrigued by all that you can feel. Then, you squeeze Benji gently, eliciting a soft gasp from him. “Is that okay? Does it - does this, like, feel good?”

Benji chuckles. “You’re touching my fuckin’ dick, dude. Yeah, it feels good.” He lets you have your fun, lets you experiment. He’s fully erect now, and breathing hard as you tease him - unintentionally, of course. After a few seconds, Benji asks, “Do you wanna make it feel better, though?” 

“Yeah.” 

Benji pulls on the drawstring of his shorts and pushes your hand underneath them. You feel his pubic hair first, long and not unlike your own. “You’re not wearing any underwear,” you whisper. 

“Well yeah, dude. It’s the fuckin’ weekend.” You smile, and Benji giggles. You’re simply feeling his cock, not really moving your hand at all. Benji gives you a gentle push forward, wrapping his hand around yours. “You’ve really never done this, huh?” he asks, slowly moving your hand up and down. You shake your head no. “You’re doing good,” he promises. “You just go like this.” 

Benji lets you touch him on your own and brings his hand to your face. He pushes some hair out of your face and sighs, closing his eyes as he allows himself to relax into the feeling. His cock is warm and stiff, and you like how smooth and soft his tip is. He stops you for a second so he can take off his shorts entirely, and then lets you keep going. 

“It’s pretty,” you tell him, making a face when you hear how silly that sounds. “Or like - I don’t know. Fuck off.” 

“No, man. I’ll take it.” Benji laughs and rolls his eyes, then lets you keep going. 

As your movements slow, he knows that you’re wondering how far this thing goes. Are you supposed to finish him off? Do you just…stop? Do you want to stop? So, he asks you. “You wanna be done here or do you wanna keep going?”

“What would happen next?” 

“I’d touch you,” he offers. “If you wanted. Orrrr…whatever you want. Ball’s in your court here.” 

You nod, “Yeah, I want that.” 

“You want me to touch you?”

“I think.” 

Benji pulls your hand off of his cock and pushes you onto your back. He undoes your own shorts, then slides them down and off your legs. “You got some nice legs, dude.” 

“Shut up,” you laugh. Fucking Benji. Strange, beautiful man.

“You ever been fingered?” 

You shake your head. “Only by myself,” you tell him, scrunching your face. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that. You’ve never talked about it with anyone before. 

“Oh, don’t be all - ‘cause that’s good, though. You know what you like.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Wanna show me? What you like, I mean?” 

“I haven’t shaved, you know. Down there.” 

Benji scoffs. “Come on. I don’t give a shit. But you can say no, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s okay.” 

“No, no. I do want–” you interrupt yourself by sighing, frustrated by you don’t exactly know what. 

Benji gets it, of course. You’re just a little overwhelmed is all. It’s new and strange and maybe a little scary. “Hey, hey - can you show me what you want? Hm?” 

You let out a deep breath, then take Benji’s hand, just like he took yours. Your stomach jumps when his fingers drag over your stomach as you push them toward your pussy. You’ve never felt anyone’s hands there beside your own. 

You spread your legs a little and Benji’s fingers slip beneath your panties. It’s nice to be the one to control the pace here, to really have the ball in your court, as he said earlier. You’re the one who chooses what his fingers touch and when, and right now, they’re rubbing your pubic hair. You inch him down a little more, and gasp at the feeling of his fingertips resting against your clit. Benji smirks. 

You adjust a little, then put your fingers over his. You let out a little noise at the added pressure, then show him the way you want him to touch you. “Like this, I think,” you whisper, moving him in circles. 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

Benji knows it’s not feeling the best yet, which is okay. It takes some time to warm up, to find the right angle and pace and position and everything. He patiently works to find these things, to make you feel as good as you make yourself feel. Maybe even better. 

You moan for him. It’s loud and sharp and born of pure pleasure, and Benji grins proudly. “Ahh, okay. I got it.” 

He giggles with you. You’re spreading your legs wider and pulling your hand away from his, wetter than ever, melting into the pillows. You’ve felt pleasure before, but it feels so much more intense at the hands of Benji. You sigh softly, rocking your hips against his palm. You wonder if this really is so wrong, just making each other feel good. 

Benji’s fingers slip lower, pressing against your wet, dripping hole. He pushes just one inside, pumping it in and out of you slowly, getting you used to the intrusion. “That okay?” 

“Mhm.”

“How about…” Benji adjusts his hand and inserts a second finger that has you sucking in a sharp breath. There’s a stretch, a little amount of pain. It’s gone in seconds, quickly replaced by pleasure as Benji curls his fingers repeatedly, brushing such a tender, sensitive place inside you. You moan loudly, never having felt such a sensation before. 

And it makes Benji laugh. “Yeah, that’s the shit, right?” It’s so beautiful to see you like this, coming undone for him. 

“It’s - oh my god, Benji.” 

Benji kisses you, swallowing the delicious noises you make. He hums in surprise when he feels your hand slip beneath his - good for you, taking control of your own pleasure. You rub your clit to match his ministrations, pulling away from the kiss to bury your face in his neck. In time, you’re cumming, and Benji uses his fingers to fuck you through it. 

You come down with Benji by your side, making soft noises. He looks at you so full of care, wondering what you’re thinking. It’s those parted lips and your wide eyes that give you away, and he knows you want exactly the same thing he does. 

“I always wanted the first time to be with someone who loves me,” you say, then swallow thickly, “And who I love.” 

“I mean, I love you,” he whispers. 

You nod and kiss Benji again, your sides tickled as he pulls your shirt up and off of your head. He pulls his off next, then helps you out of your bra and underwear. Fuck, you cannot believe this is happening. Benji’s spreading your thighs apart and slotting his slim hips between them, and it’s exciting to feel his cock against your pussy. You’re fucking throbbing. 

“You wanna - fuck - you wanna find one of those condoms or…?”

“Still on the pill,” you breathe, and Jesus, does that bring back a memory. Of course he remembers. He used to drive you to the pharmacy so you could pick up your birth control that you weren’t supposed to have. 

“Cool, cool. Okay.” 

Benji spits into his hand and strokes his cock, then presses the tip at your entrance. He drags it up and down through your folds a few times, then lines up at your entrance. 

You laugh, “I’m so fucking nervous, Benny.” 

“We don’t have to,” Benji says. 

“I want to.” 

He nods. “You ready? Or do you need a minute, maybe?

“I’m - I’m ready, I think. I just - will it hurt?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he answers honestly. “But I’ll be gentle as fuck, though. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, and Benji notches himself inside. That initial stretch alone has you gasping, hurting a little. “Wait, wait, wait. Benji–” you put your hands on his chest to stop him. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t - I don’t know, I’m…fuck, I’m sorry. I’m being weird.”

“Hey.” Benji pauses to take your face in his hand, and he rubs his thumb along your cheek. “It’s just us, right? Just me and you.” He reaches for one of your hands and interlaces his fingers between your own, and he gives you three squeezes. I love you. 

He slides slowly into your body then, watching you so carefully. He sucks in a sharp breath as you clench around him, your eyes squeezing shut and your hand gripping his a little tighter. He bottoms out with a grunt, and you whimper at the fullness. 

“Hurtin’?” 

“A little. Can you just give me a minute to like - you know?”

“Yeah, man. Just tell me when you’re ready. M’not going anywhere.” He pushes your hair back as he waits for you to give him the go-ahead, cock throbbing inside you. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, man. Yeah. I think you’re so pretty.” 

It’s such a genuine compliment, coming from the person who looks at you like nothing else fucking exists. It’s how he feels, anyway. Nothing matters to him more than you, and it never has. He means that/

Benji moves when you tell him you’re ready for him to do so. He pulls out of you almost all the way, then pushes in. The pinch is still there, but it’s lessening, lessening…gone. You make such delicious, pretty noises as Benji rocks his hips not too quickly, but not too slowly, building the most perfect pace. You wrap your legs and arms around him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Benny,” you whine. 

Benji’s vocal too, groaning broken versions of your name as he fucks you, sawing his hips back and forth. His hand crawls up your torso and he squeezes your breasts, thumb flicking over your nipple. “Oh, man. Fuck,” he grunts. 

You rock your hips to match his rhythm, savoring every detail of this. His gorgeous body on yours, and the comfortable weight that comes with that. The hair tickling his nose that you push out of his face. The vein in his forehead protruding, something you thought only happened when he was angry. 

“How’re you doing?” he breathes, “You okay? Feelin’ good?” You struggle to answer him, opting for a lazy mumble and a nod instead, and that makes Benji smile. “Oh fuck, yeah you are,” he laughs. 

There’s a while longer of that steady thrusting before Benji’s reaching for your clit, massaging it in the same way he did earlier, and there’s no rush. He doesn’t will it to happen, and instead takes his time, letting the pleasure build on its own. 

It makes your legs shake and tremble, makes you moan against his hot, sweaty, salty skin. “Benji, I’m gonna–”

“I know. Let go, baby. I’m here.” 

You’ve never cum so hard before. Benji’s cockhead against your g-spot, his fingers on your clit - you’re in fucking pieces, sobbing his name as you fall apart. Benji fucks you through it all, ensuring he’s satisfied you completely. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest, you’re now seated on his lap. Benji fucks you even deeper from this angle, burying his face into your chest, sucking on your nipples. 

He knows it overstimulates you. He can hear it in your voice as he chases his own orgasm, and it’s a couple more deep, hard thrusts before he’s cumming, groaning in your ear. There’s a satisfaction that comes from the way he’s so sloppy about it, so frantic. And finally, that delicious warmth as he paints your insides with his cum, both of you knowing he shouldn’t. 

Just this one time, maybe.  

Benji sighs, pulling away from you after riding the last of its waves, and he notices you’re crying again. His brows knit together and he tilts his head, his cheeks all red  and warm.

“Ignore me,” you sniffle, wiping your nose.

As if he could ever ignore you. “It’s fine, dude. It’s okay. I got you.” 

Benji pulls out of you, making you spill onto his sheets. He doesn’t give a shit. He lays down with you instead, pulling you close to him. Noses touching, his hand on your waist, thumb rubbing you back and forth. In the soft, warm glow of the room, Benji doesn’t mind letting you see that he’s crying, too, and now it’s your turn to wipe away tears. 

Why wouldn’t he be, after all? It’s the last time he’s got you all to himself. Benji promised that you’d see each other at holidays but do either of you know that for certain, really? Fuck, he knows better than anyone how life gets as you get older. How lonely it gets sometimes. The realization that there’s some family and friends of yours that you won’t see again for many years, if ever. 

Benji will help you pack your things tomorrow, as promised. Tears will be spilling down his cheeks and he’ll pretend they’re not there, telling you not to worry about him. “I’m fine - I’m fuckin’ - I’m cool as a cucumber, dude.” You’ll laugh at that as you hug him for too long, and you’ll be late to leaving. 

You’ll drive away crying, and you’ll wear that hoodie he gave you all those years ago feeling close to him, knowing he’s part of you. Some 12.5% of your blood shared. 

It’ll be okay. 

you all know the drill. reblogs, asks, whatever, would all be very nice ♡ love ya.

ETA - shutting off anons for the night as I often do because that’s when the nutjobs come out. If you have an anon, send it tomorrow morning 🩵

[vivispost]

cw: MDNI psuedo-cest, refers to Caleb as "gege", use of "meimei, dubcon, a/b/o, degration, Caleb is a pervert and manipulative, MDNI

Big stepbrother!caleb who always has to have himself restrained during his rutt (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝).. he can't risk hurting his poor little sister with his huge cock :(! He'll never forget his first rutt and how he nearly ravaged you whole before gran noticed and restrained him (ll๐ ₃ ๐)! With every passing rutt Caleb gets more and more unhinged, begging for his sweet little sister to let him out as he cries your name deep into the night (っ◞‸◟c).

"Please meimei, you have to help me." he whines out, loud enough for you to hear from a few doors down. With Gran gone for the next few days, Caleb just couldn't help himself. Gran told you very clearly, you can NOT under any circumstances let your big brother out. You should listen to her right? She always knows best but his whines and cries just continue on and on for hours! You just can't bear hearing your big brother cry any longer (৹ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅৹). You had to help him. Maybe just you being there will be enough to calm him down! you won't let him out and Gran won't ever have to know ๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑.

You're heart raced as you stepped out of your room, light footsteps trailing along the dark hallway making your way to his room. His whines growing more and more pathetic as you neared the room.

"Meimei, please."

"I need you, you won't leave me here all alone right?"

"Just one look, please, help your gege out."

"I won't hurt you this time, I promise."

You stopped at his bedroom door, a sliver of light shining through the slightly ajar door catching your attention. Bringing your eyes closer to the crack your heart skips. Seeing your gege restrained with chains linking to the harness along his body, a makeshift cage stopping him from being completely let out. His racing eyes met yours through the crack, desperation and something far more primal flooded his eyes.

You pushed through the door, making the image of your brother clear. A sheen layer of sweat coated his skin completely as his chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. Your heart pounded in your chest at the scene. You felt afraid. Your clammy hands instinctively gripped onto the hem of your nightgown as you swallowed a lump in your throat.

A guttural groan errupted from Caleb's throat as his eyes scanned your figure. His chest rising and falling at a steadier pace to not scare you away. He knew his little sister, he knew that startled look in your eyes as you gazed at him. He had to calm down if he wanted to get what he needed so badly.

"y-you came." he strained through a sigh, relief etched on his face. Reaching his chained hands towards the gate separating you both. Through his desperation he managed to let an almost pained smile slip across his face. "I'm so happy you came meimei.. help me out yeah?"

You nervously fiddled with your hands as your eyes fell to the ground. Help him out how? Now that you're here your starting to feel the weight of the move you decided to pull. You knew you weren't supposed to even be in here. Gran would kill you if she found out.. but your gege just looked so pathetic, chained and restrained behind a makeshift cage, eyebrows scrunched up as he held his bottom lip in between his teeth. It's not his fault anyway, he just couldn't control himself back then. At least that's what he told you.

"Please meimei just open the gate, you won't even have to remove the chains I just.. I just need some relief." He whined as his pitiful gaze searched for yours. You quickly averted your eyes as you bit your lip in contemplation. You really shouldn't...

"Please sweetie, look at me"

Your eyes made their way back towards his own crazed ones.

"Gege needs you, I won't touch you I promise.. I'm just.. just feeling so claustrophobic 'n here.." his hand trailed up to his collar slightly tugging at it as his pained look reached your own. You let out a breath as you pursed your lips. You had no reason not to trust your gege anyway, he's always tooken care of you and helped you out of trouble. You can return the favor by helping him out this time.. gran won't know.

You finally budged from your spot at the doorway, making your way towards Caleb. His eyes slightly widening as he saw you approaching. Almost drooling at the sight of his sweet sister finally giving him what he wants.

Your trembling hands reached for the lock attached to the gate, cautiously inserting the key and listening for the final click. Before you could even process anything you were already on the ground as a heavy force practically slammed you into the wooden flooring.

Your eyes widened in fear as they searched your geges face. "G-gege-" you whimpered out as his hands begn to fondle you through your gown, his weight on top of you keeping you still.

Caleb groaned before his frenzied eyes stared into your own, a sick smile spreading across his face. "What a stupid girl." he growled out as he roughly lifted your gown towards your shoulders revealing nothing but your white panties. "Fuck- I should've known a little slut like you would sleep practically naked" his hands roughly groped your breasts as he harshly kissed and licked along your neck, his hips grinding against your heat as you whimpered. "Y-you said you wouldn't-". You winced as you felt a harsh bite on your neck.

"Did you really believe that?" he licked along the forming bruise "If I knew you were this stupid I would've done this a long time ago" he grunted as he made his way to your breast roughly latching onto the bud as his hard on continued to grind on your clothed cunt. His teeth nipping you before sucking roughly in an aching pattern before finally popping off and roughly flipping you along your stomach. Tears began to form in your eyes at your gege's rough actions and hurtful words. "P-please gege" you whimpered out through your tears.

"Look at you." he grinned as his big hands roughly lift your bottom up effectively holding you in an ideal position to fuck into you from behind. Practically drooling at the sight of your leaking cunt behind the fabric of your panties. With a groan he shoved his face behind you, sloppily licking stripes along your clothed folds before shoving them to the side. A guttural moan left his lips at the sight of your bare pussy in front of him. He's dreamt of this for as long as he can remember, wanting nothing more than his sweets sisters cunt during his worst rutts. Now it's finally his and no one can stop him.

"g-gege! w-wait!" you whined out as you felt his harsh breath along your heat, planting kisses along your folds before sucking and licking at an unbearable pace. Hot tears continued running down your face as he ignored you while all you could do was moan out at the new sensation. Your body found itself reaching for his touch as you began rutting along his tongue, the tight feeling in your lower abdomen growing more and more with every lick as your hips began moving on their own before Caleb abruptly pulled away leaving you begging for his touch.

"Fuck- can't let you cum anywhere but on my dick." he grunted before all you could hear was the sound of him hurriedly pulling his pants down finally letting his aching cock free. You couldn't even catch a look at it behind you before he drove in you with full force, leaving you no time to adjust as your Gege roughly fucked into your puffy folds leaving you a moaning mess.

"Taking it 'so good just f'me -fuck" Caleb moaned out as he continued drilling his thick cock into you with no remorse as you continued becoming a mess under him. His rough hands gripping onto your hips as you cried from the force. "Can't even get a word out can you" he hissed out. "Who would've known you'd be such a cockslut?" He said with a grin.

All you could do was take it as your gege continued slurring hurtful words at you as the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin filled the room, your juices making it effortless for him to glide through.

His pace quickened as he continued, the view of you bent before him with your face pushed into the ground drenched in tears, your needy cunt pushing against his thrusts covering him in your slick. He couldn't hold back his moan. Fuck you were just so perfect. The way your cunt gripped his dick with every thrust, your pathetic moans resounding throught the room, your face messy with the tears that he caused. He felt like he was in a dream and before he knew it he finally let go and released, biting his lip at the raunchy image of your shared juices coating his dick as he continued sloppily grinding into you.

Your pussy aching with overstimulation left you feeling weak as his hands held their grip along your waist, keeping a steady pace before finally pulling out. You finally let your sore body fall onto the ground, the cool floor make contact with your simmering skin. Suddenly his harsh hands flipped you onto your back before hooking beneath your thighs and roughly pulling towards him once more.

Your wide eyes looked into his own as he grinned at you. "Did you really think that was it? You really are just a stupid girl aren't you."

❥𓂃𓏧 A/N: I want my gege ◔̯◔

[lyricwritesprose]

Oh. So I was the bad guy.

I hadn't meant to be the bad guy. I don't suppose anyone does. But in addition to remembering things like the throne and the armies and the crown of fire (which I knew how to summon, now, and also had a feeling it would be a very bad idea), I remember the utter rage. You think that ruling the world would get rid of rage. Everyone knows what happened to the last person who annoyed you because the crows are still at the bits, so surely everyone around you would take care not to offend and everything would work smoothly and it would all be all right. If you can crush everyone and nobody can crush you (old memories of a dungeon, a torturer, the man who took me as an apprentice because that would hurt my weakling original father worst of all) then everything would be all right and you would be happy.

Right?

Doesn't work that way. There's always more to be angry at. Always something.

And despite a very large portion of my mind being just a scream right now (is that anger or fear? Do I know? Have I ever known?) I didn't want to go back.

It had been good here.

I did have to do something about these bandits, though.

The first was holding a sword on Aia, so I grabbed the sword and snapped it in the middle. Should have been enough to tell all of them that they were engaging in an act of stupidity. But the thing about bandits is that they're usually desperate. Since the Empire of the Undying fell, and right now I am not going to deal with that being my fault in several different ways at once, there have been lots of bandits, mostly because minor kings are generally bone stupid enough to give a man a sword and a job and then not pay him afterwards, and what the fuck did they think was going to happen, heavily armed tea parties? Look, they used to say that a child could carry a bag of gold from one end of the Empire to another without being bothered by anything more than well-meaning busybodies, and that wasn't just because of all the impaling and necromantic punishments, it was because my fucking soldiers. Got. Paid. Idiots.

I was woolgathering, and I shouldn't be, because one of the bandits was coming at me with a mace, which I took away from him and broke his ribs with, more because that behavior was extremely rude than because he was any kind of threat to me. Threw it at the head of the bandit leader in the back yelling, "He can't get us all!" First of all, it wasn't true, and second, even if I couldn't get them all, I could most certainly get him. I dodged a sword, broke the arm of the bandit wielding it, and—since Aia couldn't see me—let my eyes flare up a little.

They bolted. Injured members hindmost. The cads.

I sighed, and carefully got my eyes under control, and turned to face Aia.

Oh. Right. That was the other thing about being the Undying. You didn't have any friends. People said they were. But you could see it in their eyes, hear the undercurrent of please no please no please no in the magic. (So was that scream anger, or fear, or loneliness?)

The thing about Aia is that she takes care of things. I don't think she can help it. Orphaned birds. Orphaned deer. Orphaned overlords. Not that she knew about that one. It didn't give me much of a chance, but maybe—

I looked down at the hand I had grabbed the sword with and told it it to stop being quite as invulnerable for right now if it knew what was good for it. "I'll go," I said quietly. "If you want. I'd like some salve, but I don't have to stay here." I held up my hand with its newly manifested fake sword wound.

Which was dishonest of me, yes. On the other hand, the need in her to fix things was every bit as strong as the need I'd had to crush them, and—I don't know—I thought that maybe it would put her on firmer ground? Control is the only thing I know of that fixes the screaming. I didn't know what I was going to do about that on my end of things, I knew I didn't want to go back, but—I also wanted to fix the screaming a little bit for her. To let her control something.

"Oh." She beckoned me back towards the house. "Oren, you're going to turn all my hair gray, do you know that? Why would you do something so risky?"

Oren is very much not my name. "I was scared," I admitted. (Hadn't said that since I became an apprentice, the old man was weak, I wasn't weak, I wasn't going to be weak, someday I was going to…) "Why didn't you stay inside? I could have talked to them."

"Then they would have threatened you."

"Better for me to get a little hurt than you get hurt. There's—I'm—look, it's important that you stay safe, all right?"

"I swear I think you might have been a knight," Aia said, and held the door absently so I could follow her into the kitchen.

I had not been a knight. I was very, very much not any kind of a knight.

I wasn't going to tell her that today, though.

Found memoryless in a forest, you lived for years on a widow’s farm. She tried everything to help you remember. Nothing worked until the day you saw her held at swordpoint, and your true identity came rushing back.

[heartsiebyul]

hai hello!! i dunno if ur reqs r open but id like to ask for a leona x male reader in which leona rejected reader BRUTALLY so this lead to reader avoiding him for a couple of months— but then leona started getting an itchy feeling in his brain whenever he sees reader interacting w malleus n stuff….. if its not too much trouble!! feel free to ignore the ask if ever though!!! ty!!!!!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Pride Before the Fall

featuring — Savanaclaw : Leona Kingscholar x male reader!

❀━━━✿━━━❀━━━✿━━━❀━━━✿━━❀

It had been five months since you confessed to Leona.

You could still hear it clearly, the sharp scoff, the way his eyes narrowed like you were nothing more than an annoyance, a bothersome fly buzzing near his ear.

You don't expect Leona to return your feelings at all. You hoped, foolishly. You always known how cold he could be, how prideful. But that didn’t stop your heart from lurching every time he smiled that lazy, dangerous smirk. It didn’t stop the confession that slipped from your lips one afternoon in the botanical garden.

You had barely finished saying, “I like you,” when—

“You? Seriously?” he said, stretching lazily on the ground under the sun. “Don’t mistake a few friendly words for interest. I don’t need some lovesick puppy trailing after me. Go bark up another tree.”

You didn’t cry, not in front of him. You laughed. Said, “Fair enough,” like it didn’t feel like your chest had cracked.

You just stood there for a moment, then quietly turned and walked away.

And then, you stayed away.

No more lunch breaks near the botanical gardens. No more lingering in the field after class to talk. No more jokes, no casual teasing. You stopped approaching him, stopped looking in his direction.

You weren’t bitter. You were just… healing.

You started spending time near Malleus Draconia, of all people, which surprised everyone. The two of you didn’t seem like an obvious match, but Malleus seemed to enjoy your company, and you? You smiled again. Even laughed.

And Leona noticed. Sevens, did he notice.

It started as a small itch in his brain. The first time he saw you with Malleus, just talking under the apple tree in the courtyard, something in his chest twinged. He brushed it off. Must’ve been because of the presence of the lizard.

Then he saw you walking with Malleus again. Laughing. The itch got worse. A low throb behind his temples.

The worst was during the Spelldrive match. Leona caught sight of you in the stands, Malleus sitting beside you, his head leaned closer as you whispered something to him. Leona missed a pass. Leona never misses passes.

He growled under his breath the rest of the match.

Now, he found himself looking for you. His eyes scanned the courtyard out of instinct. If he saw you with Ace or Ruggie, nothing stirred. But if it was Malleus, standing too close to you? That damn itch turned into a burn.

He hated it

He hated the way you looked better than you did months ago, unbothered and radiant in a way he never got to see.

He hated the way Malleus looked at you like you were some rare treasure he was slowly winning over.

And the realization slammed into him late one night when Ruggie said,

“If you didn’t want him, you should’ve just let him go. But don’t act surprised someone else picked up what you threw away.”

He hated that he had the chance and threw it away.

One afternoon, the itch became unbearable.

He found you near the Hall of Mirrors, alone for once. Probably waiting for Malleus.

“You still chasing dragons now?” he drawled as he approached, voice laced with mockery, but it wavered at the end.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t chase anymore. I learned my lesson.”

Leona clenched his jaw. “Tch. What, too good for me now?”

You finally turned. “You made it clear I wasn’t good enough then, remember?”

Your voice was calm, but your eyes? Cold. Distant. Like you’d buried the pain and moved on and that pissed him off more than it should have.

“I was stupid,” he muttered, fingers twitching at his side. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too bad,” you said simply. “Because I did mean what I said to you back then.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. The itch had turned into a dull ache in his chest.

You took a step past him, brushing shoulders briefly. He felt the ghost of your warmth.

“Wait,” Leona said, voice cracking just barely. “Are you… with him?”

You paused. “And what if I am?”

That silence spoke louder than anything.

And Leona? For the first time, the King of Beasts didn’t have an answer. Just an unbearable weight in his chest and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue.

❀━━━✿━━━❀━━━✿━━━❀━━━✿━━❀

want a continuation where Leona tries to win you back or nah?

[theegyal]

When I Was Your Man [ Annie x Smoke ] +18

⚠️: Anal, rough sex, black magic, gory, torture, angst, toxicity

Part 6

The old flame she never planned to reignite? She did.

This morning didn't mean a shit. She tried to convince herself. The most important right now was to teach Anders a lesson.

After cleaning her shop, fixing her altars and broken statues, putting in boxes the roots and leaves, Annie kneeled to pray. She hadn't been inherently good or neither wicked. Nevertheless, her deeds should not become the origin of her demise ; Because yes, Annie persuaded herself that the destruction of her sanctuary would ultimately have irreversible consequences on her daughter. What if she couldn't pass through Oyá death's tunnel no more ? Or if any communication between them ceased ?

"Anders..." she muttered, mystically, her jaw tightened "the night will come. For you"

In a clay bowl, one he'd eaten from, she laid the roots. Devil's Shoestring, to make his path a tangle. Mullein leaves, to cloud his mind. A pinch of goofer dust to seal it. This good-for-nothing nigga had put filth on her sanctuary, the spirits were angry, the ancestors reclaimed a deep cleaning, her daughter path to Oyá had been blurred.

A debt must be paid.

She pricked her thumb with a silver pin. She watched a single drop of her blood fall, soaking into mixing powder.

"Anders Ray Johnson," she whispered, her breath ghosting over the bowl. "You walked on my soul. Now you ain't gon' have none. No ground to stand on at all."

She blow up the cursing powder to the winds.

Back to Lizzie's, the silence in the twins' room was loud.

Stack undressed, ready to take a shower. Smoke sat by the window, lighting his pipe. Right before his young brother slip into the bathroom, he asked :

"Was it good to fuck Annie?"

Stack's breath hitched. What the fuck Smoke expected him to say ? Of course it was good. Her pussy tasted honey, the way her tits bounce from behind, the sweet smell of her hair...

"Good as much as taking the back of a gun at the temple."

A dry, ugly sound left Smoke's lips. Might've been mistaken for a laugh.

"You asked for it."

He looked out at the street. Four blocks away from here was located Sweet Mama's Kitchen. Smoke let a smug grin tug at her corner of his mouth. Whoever messed with her had to die, simple.

Yeah, Annie was his wife, and even after seven damn years she still got a hold on this soul. But, one thing Smoke hated more than anything else, was people messing with his blood. Bending over for Stack was the line she should've never crossed.

She needed a lesson and Smoke was eager to teach her.

He would be her shield and her cage all at once.

"Stack."

"See that building her food spot in ? Find the landlord. Tell'em the Smoke Stack twins ain't buying no fuckin lease. We go buyin' the whole damn block."

The young twin rolled his eyes "thought y'all were cool again. I mean after that big ass head she gave you..."

"So ? She blow out my dick and we good ? Do the shit I'm askin' you, boy" replied Smoke

"That shit gonna get uglier than Roosevelt side piece...anyway, count me in." He said, disappearing in shower.

Now that part of the plan was settled. Smoke release his grip from the rifle, take an old paper out the drawer and scratch some words.

Annie didn't give him a name. She always had this tendency of protecting dumb ass nigga from reaping what they sowed. Doesn't matter truly, Smoke knew a lot of folks who can play great detective games, some Al Capone minions with a large money appetite.

"I'm outta the town" he shouted for Stack.

When you spit in the air, be ready for it to fall down on your face. The debtor's time had come.

The curse didn't knock gently, he kicked the door off Anders' mind.

Second ago he was drinking corn liquor with friends under a big sassafras tree and the next the whole delta became his own personal hell. Mosquitoes suddenly targeted him, sun lights turned into flames, the heat burning his skin, bugs buzzed around him as if he became a putrefying corpse.

His friends' eyes turned down, red, squinting, judging.

Anders immediately rose up right in front of this dumbfounded boys, he stormed to the dusty road, side to the plantations, then close to an oxbow lake.

His brain cracked open, spilling his sins to the gators and the snakes.

"I DID IT!" he howled with a ragging voice. "I GUTTED THAT DAMN CAT! I SMASHED HER STATUES! I THREW MUD AND SHIT ON HER BABY'S GRAVE—"

His crazed rambling carried over the murky water. A truck engine cut off down a dirt road nearby. Smoke still sat in the engine, his blue hat protecting his head from the sun. He listened, heard every words.

Smoke didn't flinch. Didn't move, neither. He just sucked on his cigarette slow, the molasses-sweet tobacco crackling like it was listening too. Eyes shaded beneath the brim of his hat, he stared out at the cypress knees and the muddy water moccasins slipping through the shallows.

Anders kept shouting. Now bent over, hands clawing at his skin like he was trying to dig something out from under it.

"I cut the black cat open, the old man told me it would bring her misery —AH." He sobbed, "her baby... her damn baby didn't deserve no goddamn shining rock! I smeared mud and shit on the grave! You hear me?! Shit!" He was laughing now.

"Always talking about roots, leaves and bullshit. She rot in those now—Huh ?" His laughter became crazier.

He beat his chest like he was calling thunder down, head rocking back and forth, teeth chattering disgracing the sun's heat. His drawers soaked through with piss and fever. Eyes glassed over, all pupil. Nothing human left in them. He didn't see the world anymore, just echoes of what he'd done.

Smoke, still parked, remains in his truck. He was not the kind of guy who believed in spirits, hex or any type of magic. He did believe in Annie though. And seeing the current state of Anders, he understood her rage, because he also shared the same.

Their baby. That bastard stained their child's resting place. Fury gnawed at him, furious tears burning his eyes. He balled up the letter down on the passenger seat. He didn't need the shady dogs help now, he had to handle it, himself.

This wasn't enough. That nigga didn't pay enough for his crimes.

"...baby... baby got worms now, I seen it, I seen it..." Anders continued sneering

"Grave got teeth," he mumbled. "Grave bit me. I seen 'em eyes lookin' at me from the dirt—ain't no baby, it's a snake baby, all curled up in the blanket..." He cried horrified now, clawing at his own face.

That was it. That was the last goddamn straw.

The hot tears in Smoke's eyes evaporated, leaving behind a cold, murderous calm. He shoved the truck door open, his hand already reaching for the butt of the gun tucked in his waistband. He was gonna walk over there, put the barrel in that blasphemous mouth, and end this nigga life right now.

He swung a leg out. And froze.

Something pushed back. Not a person. The air itself got thick, heavy like wet wool, pressing on his shoulders, chest, on his face. He tried to force his way through it, gritting his teeth, muscles straining.

It was like trying to walk through concrete. A wave of heat washed over him, smelling of ozone and something else... something that smelled like Annie's skin. Her magic. Her will. A blunt, silent, invisible No. This was her kill. Her justice. And he wasn't invited.

"Fuck," he snarled, frustrated. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, defeated.

"Shit, you ain't made her alone Bunny"

He wrenched the truck door shut and stomped on the gas, tires spitting dust. He drove straight to Juke Joint, its neon sign a lurid smear against the falling dusk.

Inside, the usual noise of liquor and lies filled the air. He bypassed it all, heading for a backroom where two hard-looking fellas, ones they brought with them from Chicago, were playing cards under a grey cloud of cigarette.

Smoke didn't waste time with greetings. He peeled off a thick wad of bills and slapped it on the table.

"Down by the oxbow lake," he said, his voice flat and deadly. "There's a crazy motherfucker shoutin' to the sky. I want him. Bring him to the basement. Don't kill him. I'll handle that part myself."

The bigger of the two men eyed the cash, then gave a slow nod. "Consider it done, Smoke."

Night fell heavy and black. In the damp basement of the Juke Joint, under the swinging glare of a single bare bulb, Anders Ray Johnson was tied to a wooden chair. He was quieter now, trembling, his eyes darting into the shadows. The ranting came in waves, weaker, more pathetic.

"...the mud, it was warm..." he mumbled, drool tracing a path down his chin. "She told me... the baby's eyes... saw me... oh god, the dirt got teeth..."

The wooden stairs creaked. Smoke descended, his shadow falling long and sharp over the dirt floor. He pulled up another chair and sat opposite Anders, lighting a cigarette, the flare of the match lighting up the cold fury in his eyes.

He let the silence stretch out. Then he leaned forward.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his voice soft as a razor's edge. "About the grave."

Anders just sobbed, shaking his head. Smoke took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing a vicious red. He reached out and, with unnerving gentleness, pressed the lit end into the back of Anders' hand. The madman screamed, a high, thin sound, the smell of burnt flesh and hair filling the space.

The scream didn't satisfy Smoke. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He tossed the cigarette to the dirt floor and from an old table nearby, he pulled a long, sharp-looking skinning knife, its edge gleaming under the bare bulb.

He leaned in close, mumbling, speaking not to Anders but to the some presence in the room, a ghost he didn't believe existed. "She was quiet. Never even cry when she came into this world. A quiet little thing." He grabbed Anders' right hand, pinning it flat to the wooden arm of the chair. "And you... you put your loud, filthy hands all over her quiet place."

He placed the blade against Anders' index finger, at the knuckle. He didn't hack. He pressed, a single, fluid motion of steel through flesh and bone. The finger came off, dropping to the floor.

Anders' shrieked, gurgled of extreme pain. Smoke didn't even blink. He took the next finger. Then the next.

"Couldn't just let her be," Smoke continued, his voice dangerously steady as he moved to Anders' head, grabbing a fistful of greasy hair and yanking it to the side. "Had to make foolish moves. Had to bother her nap time." He brought the knife up to Anders' ear, the cold steel tracing the shell.

And, with a quick, brutal tug, he chopped it clean. Blood poured hot and fast down Anders' neck, soaking his collar. He thrashed, his sanity completely shredded, his cries now just inhuman noises of agony.

Smoke let the head fall back. His eyes, cold and dead, drifted lower.

Not only Anders mess up with his daughter but that dirty thumb he got between his leg dared touching Annie.

"Now I think about it. You did welcomed me back, pant unbuckled, right ?" Smoke laughed bitterly, his rage shifted. "Gon' ask you the same question I asked my brother" he inhaled loudly "be careful though. You ain't my blood."

He used the tip of his knife to rip Anders' drawers open. "Was it good to fuck Annie?" Smoke's eyes betrayed a pure, raw jealousy. Just thinking that this rag had pounded his wife's coochie made his blood boil.

Unfortunately for the madman, the only answer he could provide were howls and moans. These didn't satisfy the former soldier.

"I see," Smoke simply said.

With the blade, he grabbed the downed, terrified flesh and swiftly sliced it with an upward cut. A final, piercing scream tore through the basement before dissolving into a wet, rattling sigh.

"Guess it wasn't that good," Smoke faked a reflection, then got his eyes back on Anders. "Well, I know you lie. Because she's so sweet. Sometimes too reckless for her own damn sake."

He stood up. Anders slumped in the chair, life draining out of him onto the dirt floor. Smoke pulled his revolver.

BANG!

"Only wrong you done was steppin' in our way. Now rot in piss."

He walked up the stairs and out into the cool Delta night air.

The drive was long and quiet, away from the town faint lights, heading down a dark road that ran alongside the river. His hands were trembling on the wheel. The adrenaline left his body, Smoke remained tied to his half from another life.

The smell, blood and burnt flesh back the basement, echoed Chicago black alleys, that time he used to work for the mob. He'd thought he'd left that part of himself buried back north. Looked like it was just sleeping.

He finally saw it. A small wooden cabin, set back from the river, a single candle light burning in the window like a beacon : Annie's house.

He cut the engine and walked up to the porch. He could see it was clean, she got rid of any filth. The dead animals were gone, the mud on her baby's grave had been washed.

He raised a hand, knuckles stained with blood, and knocked.

One time, two time. She opened at the third.

"Elijah... what did you do ?" She spoke low

"Finished what you had started"

An angel pass through Annie's eyes

She closed her eyes, breathing deep.

"Get in the bathroom."

He stepped past her, and she closed the door, shutting out the night.

In the wooden bathroom, Smoke stood in front of the small steamed-up mirror. Annie followed his steps.

She came to him, her afro hair in cornrow braids. Her eyes were quiet, blank.

She knew what he did.

No—she knew what they did. Elijah and her.

Her fingers, warm and sure, went to the buttons of his bloody shirt.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, pride thick in his voice.

"We crossed a line, Elijah. You should've listened to me. You shouldn't have intervened."

"I already crossed it the first night I came to you, clothes full of my father's blood." He paused. "You crossed the, Bunny. Not me"

"It was the first time I begged my ancestors to fight for me. Not to heal anything."

She kept working her way down, peeling the sticky fabric from his skin. He didn't move. Didn't help.

When the shirt was off, she started on his belt buckle. A smirk crept across his face.

"Pervert," she mumbled as his pants dropped to the floor.

"Get in," she ordered.

For a second, he resisted. Silly witch—she forgot he was the one who gave orders.

But when he looked at her, at the cold wrath carved into her face, he obeyed.

No hesitation.

He stepped into the shower.

Annie trailed him. She twisted open the shower knob, letting the cold water fall on their bodies.

She stood there, her thin brown cotton dress soaked through, clinging to every curve, her nipples hard pebbles beneath the fabric.

The hot water sluiced over his back, but he didn't feel it. All he felt were her eyes on him. Fucking witch. Standing there in her soaked dress, looking like she was judging him from on high. Her face was cold, but he knew what burned her deep inside.

"Turn around," she said.

As Smoke turned, Annie took the soap — one she made herself, smelling like tobacco leaf and honey — and started from the top. Slowly her hands washed the grime out his shoulders, dragging down the hard ridges of his back. She scrubbed like she was trying to erase the man he'd been hours ago. The man with cursed blood on his hands. The man who set foot where he shouldn't have.

She got to his waist, her fingers brushing the top of his ass. "Ain't no scrubbin' can clean what you done," she whispered. "But I'm gon' wash you anyway."

"Ain't no sage can chase the karma you gon' get from hexing that man" He replied, defiant.

Smoke breath hitched when she slid her hand round front, lower, below his abdomen. She gripped his cock, purposely, jerking him under the stream, letting her slick fingers play with his tip, hand gliding easy over the thick length of his dick.

"Mmmh— you so damn hard," she muttered, "I'm just washin' Smoke, why you ready ?"

All she could do was talk. Hoping he never turned around and witness the mess she was. Her swollen and hard nipples were pulsing under the dress, her big brown soppy breasts squeezing against each other, pulling heat up her throat.

His balls were heavy and full. She caressed them with care, sliding her softly soaped fingers between them.

He grunted, hips twitchin'. "Fuck. You ain't shit Annie"

He turned, facing her. Annie vagabond hand now released from his crotch, get on his chest. Her palm resting near his heart.

"You feel that? This drum beating hard and loud" she whispered, her voice venomous. "That's mine."

Oh, he felt it. He felt the seven years crying out for his own cowardice, the damn seven years of jerking off to the memory of her taste, her smell.

He felt the rage, knowing his own brother had been inside her.

He felt the white-hot fury of another man—a piece of shit like Anders—daring to kiss her, shove his —now chopped— dick inside her cunt. Yes, Smoke felt all of that in the frantic rhythm of his heart.

He had to remind her, to reclaim her body.

Smoke's hands snapped around Annie's waist, his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You crossed that fuckin' line, Annie," he snarled, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

A faint smirk touched her lips, a look of pure defiance. "We already live on line, Elijah."

Then she shoved him. All her wiry strength, slamming him back against the rough wood of the shower wall. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, blew a fuse in his brain.

In a heartbeat, he had her.

He wasn't gentle. He grabbed her by the front of her wet dress and slammed her against the opposite wall, her head cracking against the wood. Her eyes widened, but she didn't scream. Fuck yes. He wanted her to fight, resist.

He tore the flimsy cotton down, shredding it off her body until her huge, hard tits were bare, bouncing softly.

He crushed his mouth against hers, a brutal kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He owned this mouth. Anders hadn't touched it, not like this. Stack hadn't touched those bruised lips. They were his.

He bit her, tasting the blood, and the metallic tang sent a jolt straight to his groin.

His steady hand went down, grabbing a fistful of her fat pussy and coiled pubic hair all at once. He rubbed her phat clit, grazing over her moistened inner lips. Her cunt dripping honey.

He thrusted two fingers in her vagina, making her coonie talk in squelching blurb.

"Fuck—Annie you so wet"

He pulled his fingers out of her with a wet smack that made her gasp.

"Turn 'round," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Put your hands on the wall."

For a second, she just stared at him, her brown eyes blazing with a fury that matched his own. They weren't mad at each other, probably the pressure of the whole day and its mess. A lesser man would've flinched to her gaze. Smoke just stared back, waiting.

Mumbling under her breath, she did it. She turned and braced herself against the rough wooden planks.

Smoke spread her phat cheeks apart, water sliding down the crack of her ass. Her pussy lips were swollen, sticky with juice, and still glistening from the work his fingers did.

He slapped one cheek hard, the sound echoing off the bathroom.

Smoke lined up behind her, one hand spread over her wide lower back, pinning her down while the other guided his cockhead right to her bootyhole.

No only her pussy drip but her anus became slicker, oiled by her own fluid.

"Fuck babe—ya shit so tight"

His penis base slip in her sopping small hole, with one stroke. But he didn't shove it all the way, not yet.

He let the thick base of his cock stretch her, holding himself there, feeling the tight ring of her asshole clenching around him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her whole body was humming like a struck bell.

He leaned in close, his mouth at her ear. With a taunting voice he murmured "Feels good, ain't it bunny? All tight and hot around my dick. Just how you like it."

"Go to hell," she gasped, her voice strained. Her ass twitched, pushing back against him, a traitorous little movement her body made without her permission.

A cruel grin spread across Smoke's face. He started to pull out, the head of his cock dragging along the sensitive flesh. "Oh? You want me to stop? Aight, I can stop."

Panic flared in her eyes. She twisted her neck to glare at him over her shoulder. "Don't you fuckin' dare, Smoke."

"Then say it," he whispered, pushing back in just an inch, a torturous taste of what she was missing. "Tell me whatcha want me to do to that tight little hole of yours."

"You wish," she spat, but her voice was breaking, her pride dissolving in a wave of pure, desperate need. He could feel her trembling under his hands. He pushed in another inch, then pulled back again.

That's what did it.

"Please," she whimpered, the word ripped from her throat. Her facade finally shattered. "Elijah, please."

She called him by his real name, hope to touch his heart.

"Please what?" he growled, needing to hear it, needing to own her surrender to their shared sickness.

Her voice was a raw, ragged sob. "Please, fuck me. Fuck my ass, Elijah."

The words were a lit match to a barrel of gasoline.

With a possessive roar, he grabbed her hips, digging his fingers in, and rammed his cock deep inside her. All the way to the hilt.

A guttural moan tore out of her. Her bigs tits bounced harder, nipples spilling milk down the shower floors.

He started to pound into her forcefully. She met every single thrust, her ass pushing back, her body taking all of his big fat dick, demanding more.

"Yeah, like that," he grunted, slapping her rounded ass "Take my whole goddamn cock, Annie!"

"Deeper!" she screamed back, her voice shredded. "Mmm—Fuck Elijah ! Don't stop, beat my anus baby, drill that hole—"

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly, changing the angle, driving his dick into her guts at a new, impossible depth.

She howled, an animalistic sound of a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He felt her climax building, her insides clenching and fluttering around him. The feeling of her so close, of her body coming apart around his dick, pushed him over the edge : he creamed her ass inside and out.

Annie's legs gave out and she slumped against the wall.

Smoke stood behind her, his veiny thick dick covered of sperm, still hard, still pulsing.

"we ain't done yet" Annie said, lowering her gaze on his aching cock. She headed her hand and shut the water off. "The mattress"

She spoke before stepping out the bathroom.

He followed. Like a man under a spell.

She climbed onto the mattress, back arched low and wide, ass round and high. Now on all four, Annie looked back at him, her dark skin glistening, her pussy lips swollen and leaking like fruit split open in the sun.

"Bet you ain't got no damn good meal for seven years long"

He dropped to his knees behind her. Spread her peaches wide with both hands, watched that juicy creamy drip trail slow down the inside of her thighs.

He buried his face between them. Licked her like he was thirsty,starving. His tongue dragged over her clit, then down to her hole, then lower, tongue-fucking her milky ass like it was his last supper.

Annie moaned, loud and filthy. "Goddamn, boy... tryna baptize yourself or what?"

He didn't answer. Just groaned and licked deeper, tongue stiff, nose pressed to her pussy, the scent of her making his eyes roll back.

Smoke felt her pussy juice sticking out on his nose, lips, damn near his eyes. Climaxing one time wasn't enough. He wanted to penetrate her. Burying himself in her womb.

He climbed over her, lined his cock up with that soaking pussy, and pushed in all the way, slow, mean. Annie gasped, back arching, tits pressed into the mattress, the whole bed squealing under the weight of them both.

He beat that pussy like it owed him money. His balls clapped against her bubble ass. Annie took it. All of it. Back arched, mouth open, eyes rolled up. She met every thrust with her own, clapping her ass, like she was built for it.

"Say it," she hissed, lookin' back at him. "Tell me you ain't never lettin' go."

"I ain't," he growled. "You mine, Annie."

"You late," she moaned. "But you here now."

She came first, crying out, her whole body convulsing, wetness spilling down to the sheets.

He followed seconds after, cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside her, panting against her back, holding her tight like she might vanish if he let go.

They collapsed together, breathless. The mattress soaked, the room steaming.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant song of crickets and the whisper of the river not too far off. Moonlight dripped in through the crooked slats of the wooden walls, catching the sweat still shining on their skin.

Annie lay on her side, thick thighs slick with their mess, chest still heaving from the fucking they'd done. Her braids sweated. Smoke was behind her, spooning. One hand heavy on her hip.

He stayed inside her, softening slow, but he didn't move. Didn't breathe too deep. Just let his body speak what he couldn't say.

Annie stared into void.Real quiet. She was trying not to feel too much. She could still feel the echo of him inside her, every stroke sitting in her ribs like memory.

"I ain't never meant to need nobody," she said finally. "Least of all you."

Smoke said nothing. Just breathed steady behind her, eyes closed, out of guilt. He was the one abandoning her.

She swallowed hard. "When you left, Elijah... somethin' inside me cracked open."

She wiped at her face but tears kept sliding sideways down to the mattress.

"I ain't wanna cry no more," she whispered. "Ain't wanna feel nothin'. So I stopped. I stopped bein' soft."

He still didn't speak. But his arm slid around her waist, asking for permission.

Annie trembled.

"You know what it done to a woman, to be left like that?" she asked, voice breaking. "With a belly full of grief? With a baby and no name to give her but mine?"

Smoke pressed his lips to her shoulder. It was the only answer he had.

"I missed you," she said, breath shallow. "Hated that I did, but I did. Every damn day. Missed how you talked to me like I ain't scared of nothin'. Missed how you laid your head on my thighs like church pew."

He let out a low breath, like he was finally bleeding. There wasn't a day he didn't think about her. But what the use of telling her right now ? She would never believe his words.

"I ain't wanna feel this again. That hope. That softness. I don't want it," she mumbled. "Don't wanna love you and end up empty again."

"Annie," he whispered, lips dragging slow against her skin. "I ain't gon' leave this time."

She shook her head, crying. "Don't promise me that, Elijah. Don't lie in my bed and make me believe somethin' sweet."

He pulled her closer, chest flush to her back, his hand slid up to cover hers, fingers intertwining.

"I done already lied too many times, Bunny. I ain't got a place to go beside your arms."

She turned to face him. Her face swollen, tears soaking the pillow. "I can't be caring no more. I'm no longer the woman you knew"

"Well, I would just have to love the new version of yourself, even more"

And with that, Annie sobbed into his chest. The kind of tears she'd been holding back for seven long, bitter years.

Smoke wrapped her up. Didn't try to fix it. Didn't say shit else.

He just held her, heart beating heavy, whispering "I'm here" like a spell over and over until she believed it.

The sun crept through the wooden blinds, casting honey light across the bed. The sheets was tangled, damp with sweat. Annie lay nestled against Smoke, her bare back to his chest, their legs braided like roots under the quilt.

He still held her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip. Face buried in the crook of her neck. His breath slow, content. Ain’t nothing rushed in that bed. For the first time in years, Annie felt… calm.

Until a knock broke the hush.

Three soft raps. Hesitant. Then the squeaky creak of the screen door pushing open.

“Miss Annie…?” came a familiar voice, low and unsure. “Miss Annie, you home?”

Annie blinked. Took a breath. “That… that Anaya?” she murmured, sitting up, the sheet clutching her chest. “It’s still early. Why she comin’ here?”

Smoke stirred behind her, grunting sleep-heavy.

She stood, grabbed her night robe off the bedpost, wrapped it around her full frame, and padded barefoot to the front door.

Anaya stood there on the porch, shift crooked on her body, face all anxious and wrung out.

“Baby, what is it?” Annie asked, brows pinching

“I… I ain’t know where else to go, Miss Annie.” Anaya’s voice cracked. “I went to open up the restaurant like always, but there was these two big men out front. Said I couldn’t go in.”

Annie frowned. “Why? We ain’t got no damn violations. Health inspector ain’t been by.”

Anaya’s eyes darted toward the trees. “They said… said the whole buildin’ done been bought out.”

“Bought?” Annie’s voice sharpened. “By who?”

Anaya swallowed, twisting the hem of her apron. “They said… the Moore Twins.”

Annie’s body went still. Her breath hitched. Time stop.

Behind her, bare feet creaked on the floorboards. Smoke had come out the bedroom, drawstring pants loose on his hips, his chest bare, eyes already full of dread.

“Shit,” he muttered low under his beard.

Annie turned slow. Her face was blank at first, then her eyes met his.

Her eyes filled up fast, of tears. That wet shimmer of disbelief. Betrayal. Hurt so sharp it cut the air clean.

“Elijah…” she whispered. One word. But it held every piece of her breaking heart.

Tag List :

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[owl-nerd-13]

Vincent, after living in warzones for decades of his life is obviously very good, and completely natural in crisis and it is very interesting to think about.

I imagine he's developed a very accurate sixth sense for danger, like he's out in Saint Peter's square and there's someone with a weapon, and he absolutely picks up on it before the Swiss Guards who are assigned to him. Which leads to the pope tackling the man assigned to protect him, who has a good head of height on him, before the would be assassin can get a shot off. (We can discuss how Vincent would feel about the 20 to 30 year olds who are swore to give their lives for him, when he has buried many many young soldiers before coming to the Vatican)

Like, he knows how to disarm someone who's holding a gun on him. He know how to safely handle the firearm. He knows how to disarm it. Knows how to talk someone down when they're determined to commit violence against you or others. Knows how to stall, how to delay. Probably can lie pretty damn well, if the situation calls for it.

And with so much of his ministry health focussed, I have to assume he knows a lot about medical care. He knows how to triage, how to determine who can be saved, and who should be made comfortable, he can splint limbs, and stitch wounds, and calculate doses of morphine in his head. He knows how to comfort those in pain, and those in mourning, and those who are going to die. If need be, he knows how to deliver a baby. (I don't know how that particular one would come up after his election, but I really want to think of a scenario where it does).

If he is injured, he probably knows exactly how bad it is, and what steps should be taken, and whether he's able to continue on for a bit before seeking help (not that people would let him). He probably has a very high pain tolerance, and can grit his teeth, and carry on.

He is so good, arguably at his best in a crisis. And I sometimes imagine sometime into his papacy, he is faced with one- not a diplomatic crisis, or a political crisis, but a real on the ground disaster, and and after jumping into the thick of it, despite the warnings of his guards, and officials, he realizes he finally, once again, know exactly what he's doing.