#Hollow Hope Verse?

[lordofthestrix]

i am cursed with my father’s temper at times.

"So am I. Or so the voices of the small people used to mumble when confident their whispers wouldn't reach me. Back when my human heart was still beating. There is no need for you to equate his rage with your own. Hard as you might find it to believe, I can easily sympathize. Once upon a time I was intimately familiar with the experience of growing up in the shadow of what more than a few deemed a malicious tyrant. I can still vaguely remember the detestable side looks. The concerned expressions whenever wrath was made manifest. The pestering, constant question they never dare to speak. Is the child turning just like the parent?" Tristan coldly mused in affable mockery. As if recalling an long-forgotten joke. "But you see, chimeric cub... Parents, be them good or bad, are meant to be surpassed. That is their purpose. Or is that not what even plenty of modern scholars of the mind suggest with their dramatic notion of symbolically killing the father? The greatest honor one can bestow upon their bloodline is to make everything that arrived before nothing but overture when compared to your performance. Do not be so quick to perceive your temper as simple inheritance. To a moth, a fleeting spark of fire and the deepest circle of hell feels about the same. The eyes of insects are not meant to judge giants. And you yourself should never define who you are by comparison." He offered a subtle shade of complicity. "Offering my personal perspective on the matter...I can only imagine your father gifted you a rather unpleasant and colorful description of me when we first came in contact. The only thing I share in common with Klaus is our deep and mutual lack of any respect for the other. To my eyes, his often fabled rage is little more than uncontrolled tantrum. But you...I am already vastly more impressed with the tempests storming inside your gaze. And you are barely beginning. "

@nexusvcrti

[divorcemotif]

the latter part of the latest tsv remind anyone else of the premise of that one eskew episode

[pokimoko]

Haustoria - Moon Knight Fic

Written by pokimoko for @buttsnorkeler69420 (as part of @tiptapricot's #Moon Knight Mystery Swap)

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 14.6K

Fandom: Moon Knight (2022), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Relationships: Layla El-Faouly & Steven Grant, Layla El-Faouly & Marc Spector, Layla El-Faouly & Jake Lockley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Layla El-Faouly, Steven Grant (Marvel), original villain, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley

Tags: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Post-Season/Series 01, Layla El-Faouly-centric, Horror, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Undead, Colonialism, Extended Metaphors, (which are also fairly heavy-handed metaphors let's be honest), Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Parasites, Protective Layla El-Faouly, Angst and Humor, Egypt, POV Layla El-Faouly, Moon Knight Mystery Swap 2023

Summary: Layla and Steven journey into the depths of an ancient and forgotten tomb in search of the lost dead, but within its halls, where flowers grow across the walls and bugs cover the ground, the dead might just find them.

[spidersins]

@deadbeatbartender

❛ oh huskkyyy i'm hoooome ❜ he'd entered the hotel with an extra bounce of energy that evening ( and for once it wasn't because he'd popped a pill ). ❛ you better have saved the good shit for me because we have some serious catching up to do kitten. ❜

[thiefofcrows]

plotted starter for @therooftopsofketterdam

      As Kaz made his way up the stairs to the attic room, a sense of elation seemed to follow on his heels despite the fact that he'd outed a traitor tonight. It sometimes baffled him how anyone thought it even remotely wise to infiltrate his crew in the first place — he'd illustrated countless times that he was always several steps ahead. Not to mention, it was well known that if anyone crossed him, they'd either end up dead or very badly wounded. Some were even forced out of Ketterdam. He supposed that was one of the unfortunate drawbacks to success; more people wanted to tear you down.

      He suspected they thought, because Inej had returned and they'd clearly taken some steps to expand their relationship, that Kaz would be distracted. It was a fair assumption to make. However, few knew how deeply and intimately such a thing had always terrified Kaz and how hard he fought it when he wasn't tucked away in the attic room that he and Inej had gradually turned into a shared space, somewhere safe ... or, as safe as anyone could be in the Barrel, anyway. And that was where he found her when he opened the door.

      Inej perched on the windowsill that she'd long since claimed as her own, her dark hair uncoiled, revealing a long, thick braid. She glanced at him as he closed the door behind him and her wide brown eyes warmed at the sight of him. It sent a nervous flutter throughout his chest, even now that they'd crossed certain thresholds. After the nights events, his instincts were on high alert and, as always, they demanded that he protect himself from the softer, warmer emotions that churned inside of him.

      However, Kaz knew that wasn't an option here, not if he wanted her to stay. And of course he did. So, as he hung his coat and hat, peeled off his leather gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket, he took a breath and began to deconstruct the emotional armor, too. The tension in his limbs gradually eased, the hard lines of his face softened and his dark eyes warmed slightly in turn. He could see that Inej was about to unravel her braid to let her hair down — and, before he could talk himself out of it, Kaz made his way over to the windowsill, his cane giving its familiar thunk against the wooden floor.

      He'd had a wall hook specifically fitted to the crows head of his cane and, of course, he'd placed it close to the windowsill, where he'd always end up leaning it anyway. That was where he placed it — but Kaz did not sit, not yet. He gazed down at Inej, his expression emitting something warm and soft, despite the seemingly neutral shape of it. ❝I can help you,❞ he rasped, the phrase clearly intended as a means of asking permission. She usually lead, initiated something, but ... Kaz knew that Inej needed to know, to be reminded that he wanted this.

[little--ghost]

ur not safe from me posting things like this if ur my mutual /j

Couldn't find source || Second image

Left to right for first image @goonsgospel @evielutionevie @mossyflowers @voltdrake @hexcia

[k1w1fru1t]

What does the question mark in the title mean, Hollow

Hollow what does it mean

Spoilers for Arcane Academy utc

Does it mean mage ends up surviving??? And is saved by Fendal or someone/something else???

Does it mean they do die, but are saved by Fendal from having to spend eternity trapped in Honeywood with August?

I knew I was in for angst because this is Hollow_VA we're talking about but wHY IS IT LEFT SO AMBIGUOUS

PLEASE I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO MAGE AND FENDAL

[icepenance]

@flamesofrebirths ♥

"How are you feeling?" Since returning from Origin, Jill had spent much of her time trying to help the brothers heal. Clive was not in the best shape still. Barely waking, the Crystal's Curse afflicting him. She worried he would not recover. Mayhap she longed for Joshua to reassure her. To help ease her heart. 

[whatremcins]

And if you see him desperately searching everywhere he can for his son, no you don't. Don't mind the tall figure with a hood drawn tightly over his face. This is why he can't take his eyes off of Luke for even a second in crowded areas, he sees a shiny object and suddenly he's gone.

[mundanemiseries]

Cass and this quiet unspoken desperate want of his to be known and seen for someone to look at him and see somebody and not the empty void of everything he feels he is almost constantly.

Cass and how despite quietly accepting he'd likely be fated to isolation for as long as he lives would still do just about anything if it meant he felt he'd have some place in the world, would shatter and burn himself to ashes if it meant, even for the smallest moment that he meant something to someone.

just...Cass and his relationship to his loneliness.

[dragetunge]

@feistypixie sent: "This place gives me a good feeling."

[❇]—;

"Well if you think that its a good spot to find things then I'll believe you Tink." He says gently as he overlooks the pretty grassy area they had come across. It was nice she decided to walk with him though. Flying long distance was a pain for the tinker. But how could he say no to her? It be nice to make some new friends. "Alright you said you had a list of things we need to find for your latest idea? Where should we start?" It's been a while since he's been this far from the Nook.

[of-forossa]

❝ you’re very brave or very stupid to come after me alone. ❞ [[ from Hornet :) ]]

@rage-reloaded // our myths and legends are etched into our souls, the legacy of our ancestors written onto us as timeless scrolls // always accepting.

In all his journeying across Hallownest, he had seen glimpses if not faint traces of her. A momentary flashing of brilliant red against the muted colors of the Crossroads, the marks where her weapon (ah, a needle, and a fine one at that) had dug into the cavern walls and propelled her ever onwards swift as the wind, the carapaces of the Infected her needle had made mighty short work of-- Hallownest's seemingly silent guardian did not go about her duty without notice. Doubly so when he found the very same stabs and lacerations upon those whom had not succumbed to the Infection... but to her.

Chancing upon her in Greenpath had been mere happenstance, Brom having been pursuing rumors of a nailmaster hidden deep within the brambles here. Following her though had been a matter of simple curiosity, of intrigue, and quick with needle and thread though she was his wings had allowed him some ease in following her here to this isolated portion of the wildlands; a corner of the Greenpath with room enough to take flight but too choked with vines to easily maneuver, making a quick withdrawal impossible even before she moved to overtake him.

Brom suppressed a chuckle, the realization that his sighting of her had very likely not been chance at all as humbling as it was impressive.

"You might be the one to decide that, then. Bravery to exchange words with one who still has her wits about her, or stupidity for taking a chance on someone despite the grim state of his home." Brom tilted his furry head, antenna relaxed and arms crossed comfortably over his chest from beneath the cloak his slightly ragged wings had made of themselves around him. "Former or latter, I'll not regret it. To simply draw nail against you without so much as a chance to speak, after everything that has befallen our home..."

Brom trailed off for a moment, some measure of sorrow crossing his face, before blinking and finding his voice once again. "At the very least, even if we are destined to fight, I would have your name."

[spidersins]

@hellsgreatestshow

angel had gone to his dressing room to change after the shoot. the tattered lingerie was easy to slip off, throwing to the side to replace with the comfort of his day to day attire. angel took a quick glance to the mirror, a hand running through his tousled hair before leaving the dressing room. at least he looked more presentable than most nights val was working. with just trevor there the setting remained tame, leaving angel with less marks to cover up.

without valentino there the sinner had assumed it would be easy to slip away undetected, with trevor having the shots he wanted. glancing around the studio his eyes widened in surprise. there, standing casually next to travis, stood vox, a stark contrast to the usual chaos with valentino.

❛ didn't expect ta see ya here vox. big v ain't here tonight. ❜ angel commented, trying to mask his curiosity and the flicker of concern that maybe the night wouldn't end so well.

[thiefofcrows]

Christmas themed starter for @therooftopsofketterdam

   It was late by the time they'd decided to make their way back to the Slat, leaving Jesper and Wylan pleasantly drunk out of their minds, having fallen asleep curled in one another's arms. Kaz had no place to complain, considering he'd only had enough alcohol to make him feel warm and fuzzy, that made him far less concerned with who might catch a glimpse of him with Inej's hand clutched in his own. His fears were quieted, a gentle undercurrent for once and he barely felt the ache brought forth by the frigid cold of Ketterdam. He didn't lean on his cane as heavily as usual and, as they walked, Kaz's rasped voice carried on the air, telling Inej the story of The Soldier Prince.

   It was a story told during the week-long celebration of Nachtspel, in which they were currently in the midst of. Inej had returned from a voyage to celebrate with them — and, while Kaz hadn't bothered to celebrate such things in so long, he supposed he could make an exception, for Inej's sake. The truth was, however, that Nachtspel was a holiday he still had beloved memories of with his family, even though most of them were only feelings, tastes and smells rather than proper memories. The Soldier Prince had been Jordie's favorite fairytale and, at the time, it was a story that always scared Kaz ... but that was to be expected of such a young child.

   Then they turned onto East Stave — and the entire street had various bundles of mistletoe hanging from strung lights while music carried over from a few blocks away, faint and soft. Kaz felt a twinge of anxiousness, of excitement ... and perhaps a little hint of embarrassment. He didn't need to tell Inej about the mistletoe ... and yet ... he supposed he could blame it on the alcohol. ❝And ... another tradition,❞ Kaz went on to say as they walked, casting his gaze upward. ❝They hang mistletoe to give people an excuse to kiss each other.❞

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Unsated Needs.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader (Spider-verse).

Commissioned by the very lovely @kiakaiba.

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Venom!Reader, Sub!Miguel, Rough Sex, Biting/Blood, Everything's Consensual But Reader's So Pissed About It, Tentacle Sex, Threesome (?), Semi-Public Sex, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Based On This Drabble]

Miguel found you in a narrow alleyway, gore dripping from your teeth and tar writhing against your skin.

From a distance, he thought you might’ve been injured. Braced against a rusting chain-link fence that could barely hold your weight, bulking arms crossed over your torso, swallowed entirely by your symbiote – he could already picture a bloody gash in your side, a lead pipe embedded in flesh and organ, a cluster of eye-searing colors and patterns slowly eating away at some vital part of you. He could feel his pulse beating against his ears, his throat tightening with a familiar anxiety no amount of anger and exhaustion could seem to drown out, but of course, his panic was wasted on you. With another step, a closer look, he could see that the blood dripping from your teeth wasn’t your own, that you were holding your stomach, not your chest.

He realized, as he stepped into your line of sight, as you shot to face him with a violent snarl, that you weren’t hurt. You weren’t injured.

You were hungry.

No, starving. He’d seen symbiotes waiting to be sent back to their original dimensions exhibit similar behavior: a slight shake in your shoulder, a certain rattle in your chest, a wildness in the pupilless eyes of the mask you rarely wore, outside of your sporadic fights. It was in your voice, too, in the hollowness your hostility couldn’t seem to fill. “What do you want?” you spat, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time you raised your voice around him. It wasn’t your style. You were the silent, skulking type. This was pure defensiveness, the rabid thrashing of a cornered. This was desperation. “Take a step closer, and I swear I’ll—”

“Bite me.”

Your shoulders jutted upward, claws sprouting from your curled fingers. Your symbiote’s thrashing slowed, the black tar of its faux skin clinging that much closer to your own, and when you failed to respond, he repeated himself, fighting not to let his voice shake. “What are you waiting for? Take a bite out of me.”

A scarlet tongue slipped past your jagged teeth, lapping over the lips of your mask. It took everything he had not to picture that tongue wrapped around his cock, or better yet, your mouth closed around his lower body as it fucked him open. “Little heroes don’t usually ask to be eaten.”

“I said you can have a bite. Taking anything more, and I’ll be forced to treat you like a threat.” You didn’t move, but he could feel your eyes boring into him, the weight of your attention pressing into his chest, making it difficult to breathe. If only to distract himself, he went on. “Heroes help people, and you look like you’re about to—”

Whatever remaining patience you had thinned and snapped before he could finish. There was a low growl, a flash of pure darkness, and then, familiar tendrils were tangled around his wrists, his ankles, his neck and dragged him upward, until his feet no longer touched the ground. His own claws lashed out reflexively, but he stopped himself from attacking your symbiote, from so much as taking a breath before you surged forward and buried your teeth in his side, tearing through the nano-fabric in the blink of an eye and biting down.

He’d seen you eat, before – caught you hunched over corpses mutilated beyond the hope of identification, seen you strip flesh from bone in a matter of seconds. This was different. This wasn’t just gluttony, it was wrath, anger rolling off of you in waves as you tore away, rending flesh from muscle and swallowing it down. His suit reacted immediately – isolating the injured area with a plaster-like bandage and injecting a thousand microscopic numbing agents around the perimeter of the wound, but still, he could feel the burn spreading outward, filling his veins and distorting his vision. He could feel his mouth falling open, a deep groan catching his throat before he could vocalize his agony. He could feel his cock, throbbing underneath the taut fabric of his suit, already aching for your attention.

But, you were preoccupied. Your mouth fell to his thigh, tearing away another strip of flesh and tissue. The wound was smaller than the first, but deeper, the points of your curved teeth piercing his skin and sending pangs of pure electricity to the pit of his stomach. This time, there was little he could do to stop himself from reacting, from clenching his eyes shut and letting out a noise – cracked, guttural, as pained as it was wanting. It was humiliating, how easily you could make him abandon his dignity. It was pathetic, the things he was willing to do just to be close to you.

You lingered there, lapping at his blood until you’d drunken your fill before pulling away. With more than a little satisfaction, he noted that it was his blood staining your teeth, dripping down your lips and coating the slick skin of your symbiote as you snapped your fingers, as your mask recoiled and your symbiote sunk below your neck. You could never seem to hide your face, not from him, not for very long. He couldn’t say he was much better. If his society wasn’t at-risk, he would’ve given up his identity for the chance to hear his name roll off your tongue. “You’re so full of shit.” It was your voice, now – just your voice, the reverberation of your symbiote’s tenor no long playing beside your own. “You’ve been following me around for months, and you still think I’d believe you’re just trying to be a good little spider? How many hours have you spent begging us to fuck you when you could’ve been playing hero? How many people have you let me eat because you wanted to get your dick wet?”

Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. He tried to justify it, sometimes, to do his research on the handful of bodies you left in more or less one piece and tell himself that all of your victims must’ve been abusive husbands or rich bastards or cops, but he would’ve served you a new corpse every night if it meant you’d keep holding him like this, your symbiote around his neck and your warm breath fanning over his open wounds, if it meant you’d keep touching him – your fingertips skirting over the edge of his injury before coming to rest just below his hip. “Drop the suit.”

He didn’t hesitate. Your scowl deepened as his suit glitched and dissolved, leaving only the upper half of his mask in-tact, but your symbiote didn’t seem to share your animosity. Its touch was teasing, its mannerisms playful – the tendrils around his ankles rising and forcing his knees to bend, another pair binding his thighs to his calves and spreading his legs as far apart as his advanced flexibility would allow. There was a pitchy chirping noise – the sound meaningless to him but, apparently, comprehensible enough to you.

Your frown quirked but, with another round of probing from your symbiote, you reached out and wrapped your fist around his aching cock, your grip too tight not to be taken as a sign of aggression. You didn’t move, didn’t shift, but he bucked into your hand reflexively, gritting his teeth to keep himself from moaning and fueling his own degradation. Even that effort was quickly proved futile – gone the moment you drove the heel of your palm into the base of his cock and a truly broken whimper was ripped out of something weak and vulnerable in his chest. He was already leaking onto your hand, pearls of white pre-cum following the curve of your knuckles and staining the cement at your feet. You watched it drip with disgust before your eyes flickered up to meet his.

You opened your mouth, but whatever insult you planned to throw his way was immediately drowned out by a trembling moan, the fragile sound drawn out of him by the feeling of another tendril against his body, snaking down the curve of his spine. This one was flatter than the rest – wide and tongue-like, slick against his skin. Not against his will but rather his better judgement, he arched into it, his eyes remaining fixed on yours as the newest tendril groped at his ass, taking its exploration slowly. Your grip tightened, your thumb swiping over the swollen tip too quickly not to sting. “Take a deep breath, Spider-Boy.”  

He tried to ask what you meant, but the tendril’s tapered point pushed into him as soon as his lips parted. He’d rolled this scenario over in his mind a thousand times, pumped his cock as he fucked himself to the point of tears on one of the silicone monstrosities Lyla liked to order behind his back when his wandering mind started to affect his multi-dimension work, but he never could’ve imagined how cold it would be inside of him, the involuntary shudder that’d run from his feet to his shoulders as your symbiote pushed farther into his ass, filling him in a single thrust. A distinct, spiraled ridge ran down the length of the tendril, adding an alien sensation that only did more to damage his tenuous composure. Its pace, too, threatened to tear him apart; back-breaking fast and unpredictably sporadic, thrusting into him with enough force to leave his hands curling around whatever part of your symbiote that he could reach. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to hold himself upright without the restraints around his wrists and ankles, didn’t know if he would’ve been able to survive without the oppressive weight of your repulsion – your narrow glare there to keep him grounded while your symbiote did its best to break him open.

“I—” He wasn’t sure why he bothered. He wasn’t sure why he tried when his voice caught on every other word, when he could hardly get enough air into his lung to stay conscious. “I— Fuck, is it supposed to—”

“Don’t think about it.” You cut him off before he could struggle though the rest, letting go of his cock and shoving two fingers past his lips. He gagged, but you didn’t pull back, forcing him to adjust to the digits lodged halfway down his throat. “This is already more than you deserve. Just be thankful Reaper thinks you’re cute when you’re pathetic.”

Cute.

Cute.

You called him cute.

He let out an airy moan, clenching his eyes shut and throwing his hips back, encouraging your symbiote to thrust that much deeper, to be that much rougher with him. His meager efforts were rewarded with another pair of tendrils – the writhing tissue massaging his pecs and toying with his nipples, hardened from exposure and sensitive from neglect. The tendril inside of him slowed, but whatever friction might’ve been lost was immediately replaced by a new trail of smooth ridges and defined veins, a bulbed knot at the base, a blunt head that seemed to grind against every spot that made him twitch, every spot that made him gasp and thrash and want more.

The newest wave of his desperation seemed to spark something in you – interest, maybe, or jealousy, it was hard to tell. Either way, when you pulled your fingers out of his mouth, he leaned forward to try and chase your touch, letting out a low whine when you retreated farther than he could reach, wiping your hand on your thigh. You didn’t keep your distance for long, though. Wordlessly, you allowed your symbiote to lift you off of the ground and up to Miguel’s height, keeping you suspended while you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your suit didn’t pull back, didn’t melt away, only pressing flush to your skin, only making it that much easier for you to slot yourself against him. Your symbiote held him taut as you straddled him, taking agonizing seconds to take his pulsing cock in your hand and, just as slowly, to align the leaking head with your cunt. You started to move your hips, but paused, looking toward him. “Do you know what the worst part is?” Without the strength to speak, he just shook his head. You didn’t press for more. “We would’ve gotten rid of you months ago, if I thought Reaper could stomach it.” You spared him the ghost of a smile. “She says you taste like something that’s already started to rot.”

Aided by your symbiote, you lowered yourself onto him, the tendril in his ass thrusting into him at the same time and forcing his cock that much deeper into you, giving him that much less time to brace himself before he was fully enveloped by your cunt.

He made it all of half a second before coming undone inside of you.

The hours he’d spent fucking his fist to grainy security camera footage and his own deranged fantasies couldn’t begin to compare. You were so hot around him, and wet, and the sound of your breathy laugh as he felt his own cum flood into the gaps between your convulsing walls and his cock had him seeing stars. “Fuck,” you muttered, your tone equal parts shock and amusement. “You’re so fucking needy. Just how long have you been waiting for this?”

If it’d been difficult to talk before, it was near-impossible now. You were working in-tandem with your symbiote; your hips slamming against his in time with its tendril’s thrashing, making sure he was always either being fucked full or milked dry. His climax clearly didn’t matter to either of you. If anything, his hyper-sensitivity only seemed to spur you on, make you more determined to draw choked whimpers and gasping moans out of some deep, long-buried part of him. “Months,” he managed, eventually, spitting the words out through his own ragged panting. “Years – as long as I’ve known about you.”

You hummed, and Miguel drank it in like praise. “Did you want me and Reaper, or just her? Be honest. I promise I’ll try my best not to be jealous.”

Just you. It’d always just been you. Your symbiote was like a parasite, latching onto his thoughts of you and your lips and the feeling of your skin against his and perverting them, tinting them with talons and teeth and a cock the size of his forearm. He wanted you, but he’d take anything you had to give him. “You, I just wanted— Christ, I’d give anything for you to—"

The tendrils on his chest flattened over his nipples and squeezed, forming a wet suction that had him seeing white in a matter of seconds. He threw his head forward, but you didn’t let him escape you for very long – taking him by the chin, burrowing what remained of your claws into his jaw. He could feel skin break underneath your touch, his blood start to trickle down his neck, but didn’t dare pull away, melting into your touch without hesitation. “That’s very rude. She’s doing so much for you, and yet, you  still have the nerve to be so ungrateful.” Your grin was blatant, now, dripping with smug condescension. He’d give anything to see that grin again, to be at its mercy every day. He’d give anything to kiss you. “This is why no one likes you, Spider-boy. You have a pretty face, but you ruin it for yourself every time you open your mouth.”

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. He couldn’t think about anything else, couldn’t seem to stop himself from lurching forward, wrenching out of your hold. His mouth crashed into yours, the connection all bruised lips and gnashing teeth, only sustained by your shock and his own desperation. The taste of his blood was still heavy on your lips, but he didn’t care, letting out a throaty moan as he sunk against you. He wanted to be close to you. He wanted to be inseparable from you. He wanted to be a part of you. He wanted to—

You jerked back, your fist colliding with his cheek a moment later. It wasn’t a slap, playful and open-handed, or a love-tap, but a punch, meant to get him away for you and make him want to stay away. Pain ricocheted through his skull, his ears ringing and his senses suddenly fogged. It didn’t matter, though. The euphoria of knowing there’d be a mark the next day, of knowing he’d be able to carry a part of you for weeks, was enough to send him over the edge, to leave him humping your cunt and pumping his cum into you for the second time in a matter of minutes. He could’ve stayed like that forever, for as long as you’d have him. Your symbiote could’ve swallowed him whole, and he would’ve died happy.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You didn’t even wait for the aftershocks to fade before clicking your tongue. Your symbiote recoiled, peeling itself off of him, keeping you suspended while Miguel collapsed onto the cement, the rough pavement scraping at his exposed skin. You, on the other hand, were lowered slowly onto your feet, your suit regaining its usual mass as you came to stand above him. “Next time you want to get laid,” you started, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand. “Stick to your hand. Or else Reaper might find a way to choke down more than a bite.”

He heard your footsteps, the rattling of some rusted fire-escape, and then you were gone, off to lurk in the shadows and stalk your next meal. With a deep breath, a groan of exertion, he rolled onto his back, basking in the cloud of bliss still hanging over him. Eventually, when he was ready, he spoke into the empty air. “Lyla.”

There was a flash of yellow, a near-blinding light. She appeared to his side, hands covering her eyes. “Is it over?” Her fingers split apart. “Can I please put your suit back on?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He groaned as he sat up, every muscle in his body drenched in agony. Nano-fabric crept down from his neck, covering his bruised skin and leaking cock, engulfing him entirely. He mourned not being able to see the marks you’d left on him, but it was a necessary separation and, more importantly, a temporary separation. There wouldn’t be anything able to keep him away from you, soon enough. “Cancel everything on my schedule. Jessica’s in-charge until I get back.”

“What should I tell her you’re doing, boss man?”

He flicked his wrist, a holographic screen flickering into existence at his fingertips. A grid-coded map of Nueva York splayed itself out in front of him. A couple seconds later, a blinking dot appeared only a few blocks away from his current position, moving quickly. You were in a rush, tonight.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He’d have to take care of the other eleven tracking chips, the ones planted in the spots you hadn’t taken a bite out of, later on. It could wait. Everything could wait until he’d gotten his fill of you – that was, if he ever could.

“Tell her I’m getting fucked.”

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧Intertwined Destinies

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS) "There will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears, and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears..." After The Storm, Mumford & Sons

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!seonghwa x gn!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): angst to fluff. soulmates.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) Angst. It ends in fluff though? Sad and frustrated Seonghwa. Sad you. Mentions of broken hearts. Lmk if I missed anything ksksks

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 1.4k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (A/N) @hwaightme my loveeeeeeee~ happy birthday! I love you as much as there are stars (hwas) in the night sky. thank you for being you and for being such a kind and warm person. wishing you lots of love from the bottom of my hwart. I hope this is not too angsty asdfghjkl, I was planning on fluff, but my brain didn't want to listen... :) Anyways, I hope you like this little rollercoaster of tears, and i'm sorry in advance!

Shoutout to @armysantiny for reading this beforehand!

Seonghwa runs his fingers through his already tousled ebony hair, groaning as he pauses the track sent to him by the producers at KQ. In the dimly lit studio, the neon glow from the computer screen casts a dreamy glow around him. Seonghwa’s brows furrow as he stares down at the pages of his leather-bound notebook. Each scribbled lyric within its pages doesn’t seem to fit the melody given to him.

For Seonghwa, writing lyrics is a territory he’s still exploring and learning. But he wanted to challenge himself this time around, especially since he had received help from Hongjoong while writing lyrics for his rap verse in Bouncy. That experience ignited the desire to create something that will not only awe atinys but also the composers too. But till now, every word he has penned down seems like a discordant note in what he would consider a masterpiece.

With a deep, exasperated sigh, Seonghwa slumps back in his chair. The leather creaks in protest, adding another irritating voice to the cacophony of his own rapidly darkening thoughts. Seonghwa groans again, frustration etched across his features as he tugs at the roots of his hair as though trying to yank inspiration from the depths of his mind.

“You will rip out all your hair if you keep that up,” Hongjoong deadpans from the doorway, causing the elder male to slowly swivel in his chair, exhausted eyes meeting the former’s figure. “You need help?”

Seonghwa’s response is a weary shake of his head, his lips parting, about to reassure his friend, but Hongjoong interjects, his voice laced with concern.

“You need to take a break, Hwa,” Hongjoong implores. “You’ve been cooped up for so long in the studio. That’s my thing, not yours. We’re worried about you, especially since…” He trails off, his gaze shifting to Seonghwa’s forearm, which remains fully concealed by his full-sleeved shirt.

“Oh, it's fine, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa smiles, though anyone can see the fakeness of it. “I'm—”

“—If you say fine once more, I swear,” unable to bear his friend’s hollow reassurances any longer, Hongjoong cuts him off with a firm tone and sits on the vacant chair next to Seonghwa. “I've known you for years, Hwa. And even if I didn't, I would still be able to know that you are not fine.”

Seonghwa's weary sigh seems to echo in the dimly lit room as his gaze drifts up to the false ceiling as if searching for answers among the shadows. 

“I’m not…” he begins, words weighed down by the gravity of his emotions. “How can I be? I was supposed to get my soulmate tattoo on my birthday. And I didn’t.” The words spill from his lips like a lament, each syllable tinged with the bitterness of disappointment. His voice begins to quiver as he continues to speak, “Out of every single person in this world, why is it me who doesn't have a soulmate? Am I not worthy of one? I know I’m not perfect, but…” Seonghwa’s voice breaks, and he finally turns to look at Hongjoong with tear-filled eyes. “Out of everyone, why me?”

“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong begins, but the weight of Seonghwa’s words leaves him momentarily speechless.

Seonghwa lets out a bitter chuckle and shakes his head as if trying to shake off the sorrow that clings to him like a shroud. He rises from his seat, “You won't understand, Joong. You have an amazing soulmate; please take care of them.”

With that, Seonghwa leaves the room, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit studio. As the door closes behind the taller male, his eyes fall on the lyrics Seonghwa had penned.

Mournful thunder rips the skiesIt’s much too bright for me to hideAnd purples lie beneath my eyesAnother crash as clouds collide

“You're right,” Hongjoong whispers in the studio, his voice blending in with the shadows. I don't understand. But I wish from the bottom of my heart that the universe gives you your soulmate. If anyone deserves one, it’s you,” his words hand in the air, lingering like an unspoken prayer, even though he knows that Seonghwa can’t hear him.

As he speaks, a soft breeze gently rustles the curtains, casting patterns of light and shadow on the walls. The room itself seems to hold its breath as if in reverence for the longing that envelopes Seonghwa’s heart.

The world has always worked in peculiar ways as it tries to unite each soulmate pair. On the day one turned 22, the universe would bestow an individual with soulmate marks. Each mark, in one way or another, had the power to help the bearer to contact their soulmate, either through dreams, thoughts, or writing. It is different for everyone but similar in that it all led to one destination: the union of souls.

You had always believed in the concept of soulmates, for it was a belief etched deep into your heart as you couldn’t help but be captivated by the concept. You loved to read about soulmates and heard stories from people about how they met their soulmates. Hearing all the stories from different people, you started fantasising about how you’d meet yours. And by the time you turned 22, there wasn’t a thing you didn't know about soulmates. You had read almost every book you could lay hands on and talked to whoever had met their soulmates. There were some cases where someone didn’t get their soulmate tattoo, but that was extremely rare, and in one generation, not more than one or two people didn’t get their tattoos. But since you had read everything and knew a lot, you thought you were ready for anything.

But nothing could have prepared you for the disaster that struck on the day of your 22nd birthday, a day that was meant for a celebration of destiny. You were happy as you saw the beautiful musical note that was engraved on the skin of your wrist that morning. There was a skip in your step that day until the evening. As you were returning from your classes at the university while listening to ATEEZ, a K-Pop group that you loved for their deep and meaningful music, you became aware of the stinging pain in your wrist. Like a nightmare, you saw the newly acquired music note fade, and the world was enveloped in darkness. When you awoke, you found yourself in the sterile confines of a hospital room, surrounded by your family, who bore expressions of sympathy and sorrow.

A year has passed since that fateful day that shattered your dreams, leaving you grappling with the wreckage of your heart. In a bid to start life anew, you move to South Korea, taking on the role of a translator for a broadcasting network.

As you navigate your new life in a foreign land, the pain of your lost soulmate remains a constant companion, an indelible mark on your heart. The wound is far from healed, but a sense of contentment begins to seep into your life. South Korea, with its bustling cityscape, offers you solace and a chance to rebuild your life.

The rain pelts against the coffee shop’s misty windowpanes, creating a soothing melody of its own. Inside the warmth of the coffee shop, you sit perched upon a cushioned stool, your hand cradling a cup of warm hot chocolate in your hands. The cafe is quite crowded today due to individuals seeking shelter from the rain. The soft chatter of conversations swirls in the air, punctuated by the distant hum of espresso machines and the occasional clinking of cutlery.

As you gaze out at the deserted street, a tranquil feeling settles within you, the raindrops serving as a lullaby to your thoughts. It allows you a brief respite from the storm, both literal and metaphorical, that had rages within your soul.

The sound of the bell, which signals the door’s opening, shakes you out of your reverie. You look up, curiosity piqued by the arrival of a masked figure. The male surveys the room, eyes scanning the available seating options, and his gaze settles upon the only vacant spot next to you. 

With each step the mysterious figure takes to walk toward you, you can’t help but feel that you know them from somewhere. Your pulse quickens when realisation dawns upon you. It hits you like lightning that the mysterious figure is Park Seonghwa.

Your breath is caught in your throat as he approaches. His sultry, brown eyes meet yours, and something clicks inside you. As if controlled by an unseen force, he reaches a hand out for you, and as your fingers meet his, a beautiful star engraves itself on both your and his wrists, a symbol of your intertwined destinies.