#THEN i can stain and seal?? god damn this man

[meatsound]

the divorced man who carpeted this deck shall be smited

[colormepurplex2]

Blood Bride | Here Comes The Bride

↳ vampire!Yoongi x human!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers/Lovers | Accidental Marriage ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,449 ⚠️ Blood (drinking, spilling, mild play), hypersexual advances/blood makes you SUPER horny, teasing, kissing, unprotected sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, creampie. Yoongi has big fangs and an even bigger ego

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“Let me go, you fucking psyc—“ your shrill exclamation turns into a guttural scream as those blood-stained canines sink into your neck so quickly that all you see is a blur of motion before fire races through your veins. You can feel the way the fangs shred your skin and muscle, parting them with ease.

Your arms and legs go rigid, and your toes curl inside your shoes. It feels like molten rock is being poured down your spine. The intensity only lasts a moment before it’s replaced by a mind-numbing cold.

There is an intrinsic moment where everything goes fuzzy, and blackness creeps into the edges of your vision. The cold fades into a haze of mild tepidity as you feel the sucking pull of your life’s blood being drawn from your neck.

The smell of hot metal and ash fills your nostrils with every panicked breath you manage to suck in. Coppery liquid gurgles up your throat, making you cough. You watch as red droplets mist into the air in front of you, splattering and catching in the glossy strands of black hair falling around the man’s face.

He pulls free from your neck. The crimson completely takes over the brown of his eyes. “Gods,” he pants, blood frothing at the corners of his lips to bubble down and drip from his chin. “Willing blood always tastes the sweetest. Your body wanted to fight me, but deep down, I could feel your heady desire.”

“No,” you protest weakly.

A throaty laugh has more blood slicking along his lips. His blood-coated tongue pokes out, licking at the corners of his mouth. “Deny it all you want, my beloved. You and I both know the ways of your soul. It would have been impossible for you to break that damned hundred-year-old curse otherwise. A curse only broken by a willing sacrifice, just a small prick of blood to seal the wedlock union and release me from my stone tomb.”

You sag heavily against the man’s chest, your body finally giving out. “Please,” you whisper around a bloody gurgle.

“Right, right. Apologies, my beloved. It seems I’m a bit rusty with my gentile manners. Here we go,” he states in a lightly cheerful manner as he adjusts his hold on you to bring one of his own wrists to his mouth. The soft sound of his teeth parting his own flesh is reminiscent of sifting sand. Thick, black blood oozes from the open wounds when he pulls away. That hot metal and ash scent intensifies when he presses it against your gasping mouth. The flavor of his blood bursts on your tongue in a bloom of acrid bitterness that chokes your senses.

“No—pffth,” you gag, trying to spit out the offending substance. The more you struggle, the more that seems to make it into your mouth. You flail your arms and kick your legs as best you can but only manage to get your free hand clutched into the silky material of the man’s shirt and a knee pressed firmly against one of his thighs.

An involuntary swallow takes down a mouthful of blood. It settles in the pit of your stomach like lead. “You’re fucking crazy!” you exclaim, finally wrenching your mouth away as you try to twist out of the hold you’re in. “J-ji-min!” Your tongue feels thick, and a new warm sensation begins to set in, deep in your chest.

You continue to struggle, your eyes catching a glimpse of Jimin’s crumpled body now lying against the wall beside the stand lamp. The camera he was filming with is shattered into bits, scattered between where he was standing and where he is now.

“Jimin? Is that the name of the gift you brought me? What a thoughtful wedding present.” A dark chuckle follows. It sends that warm sensation careening south, compounding into a startling throb between your thighs.

“Oh god,” you gasp. Your body involuntarily tries to curl in on itself. The arms holding you let loose, and you crumple, hitting the dirty stone floor hard. “What’s happening to me?” You can’t help the anguished cry that comes with that question as you clutch at your chest and stomach. It feels like you’re being twisted from the inside out. Your heart gives a few more pitiful beats before seizing up in a painful cramp.

The man steps off the marble block, tutting softly. He crouches down beside you, resting an elbow on a bent knee with his chin in his upturned palm, his other hand reaching out to finger a sweaty piece of hair clinging to your forehead. “It’ll be over soon, my beloved. Did you not read the inscription?” he muses with a smirk on his face, nodding toward the front of the marble block. “It’s fairly clear, wouldn’t you agree? Silly me not to think someone might misunderstand, I suppose. You see, once I reached my one-thousandth year, it was imperative for me to take a bride per the rules set forth by the Grand Elder. Well, obviously, that did not pan out, as you may surmise. My sire thought me entirely too selective and prideful. The punishment for my reluctance was that my coven and I were entombed here until a willing offering became my bride themselves.”

As if to punctuate his statement in agreement, the three coffins rattle again. “I don’t…” you try to deny or reason with him, but the pain magnifies, and you can feel your heart squeezing even more, to the point you’re sure it has stopped. Cold fear curdles in your stomach like ice against the fire that’s kindling below it.

“They’re impatient,” he chuckles. “We can not blame them, though, can we? Just a moment, my beloved, I must see to my court. You will be fine. The discomfort has almost passed.”

The stone is rough against the side of your face as you writhe and groan in agony. Your lungs ache, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you feel like you’re slowly suffocating. The blackness curtaining your vision begins to recede, giving you a clear view of the man walking over to the first coffin. The swagger in his step and utter indifference to your plight has your upper lip curling in a silent snarl.

A slight grin curls the corner of the man’s lips as he turns and perches on the coffin lid. It gives another rattle, which makes the man chuckle and pat the top. Those blood-red eyes lock onto yours. With his free hand, the man crooks a finger at you, beckoning you toward him.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain in your chest flares before it subsides to a minor ache. Your breath wheezes out and then stops, your lungs seeking no relief with an inhale. “What have you done to me?!” You shove onto your knees, patting your chest and throat, frantically seeking to feel your heartbeat or pulse. Nothing responds under your probing fingers.

“Now the fun begins,” the man says, his grin kicking up a notch. “In three…two…”

“Oh,” you moan, throwing back your head and squeezing your eyes shut at the intense throb that vibrates between your thighs. You can feel your body squeezing and pulsing with subtle aftershocks that remind you of a fleeting orgasm. You can’t help the trembling plea that warbles from between your lips, “Please.”

The man huffs a soft laugh. “Come, sweetling, help me with my friends. It seems there is something in my way; and then I’ll help you.” Another rattle comes from the coffin he’s seated on. “Yes, yes, my friend, I hear you.”

It feels like an internal switch flips. You only want the man sitting casually a few feet away from you. Your pupils blow wide, making you blink rapidly as saliva pools under your tongue. The taste of him, ash and hot metal, is palpable. You lick your lips and start towards him, headless of the rock debris that bites at your knees and the palms of your hands. Crawling like this should be degrading, but that awakened primal urge is more potent than any desire to retain your self-respect.

Every movement you make has the need burning inside you hiking higher. By the time you’re kneeling in front of him, you’re panting, and a light sheen of sweat coats your neck and forehead. “I need you,” you whine, gripping handfuls of the thick linen material of his pants and pressing your face against his inner thigh. You inhale deeply, savoring the sultry and warm scent of hot metal and ash.

Slender fingers gently thread through your hair, calming at first, but then a fistful is gripped tight, and your head is pulled back. “Be good for me, and I’ll be good for you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the stinging pain from how tight your hair pulls at your scalp. “O-okay,” you mewl.

The sound of electrical static emits from your back pocket before Taehyung’s voice is muffling through the denim of your jeans, “Everything okay down there? Could have sworn I heard a loud crash and a scream.”

You fumble with shaking fingers to get the walkie out of your pocket. It nearly slips between your fingers, but you manage to cling to it.

“What sorcery is this?” Yoongi sneers at the device. “A warlock in your pocket?”

You shake your head vehemently. “It’s just a walkie-talkie! If I don’t say something, then my other friends will come looking for me.”

“Say what you need. Be mindful that I will have no qualms disemboweling a fiend if I have to.” There is a biting edge to Yoongi’s words and you can see the promise in his eyes. At this moment, though, you’re certain you’d do anything to please him if only so he will give you the relief you so desperately need.

“T-tae, everything is okay,” you pant after clicking the radio button. “I just, um, I fell down, that’s all.”

“Roger that. See you in an hour,” Taehyung responds then the lines go silent.

“Good girl,” Yoongi praises, his sneer morphing into a pleased smile. “Now, see this symbol here, sweetling?” He asks, using the hand in your hair to direct your face toward the top of the coffin. The red symbol stands out in stark relief against the darker wood.

“Yes.” The walkie drops from your limp fingers, clattering to the stone floor, forgotten.

“It’s a nasty little thing—combustion charm triggered by those of my kind. I need you to break it—” he holds up a hand when you try to protest “—it’s easy enough to do, as long as you haven’t fully transitioned. It will only burn a little.” The hand in your hair eases, slipping down to cup your chin. A gentle pressure guides you up until you’re standing, bent over, so you’re at eye level with him. “Do this for me, and I will reward you greatly, my bride.”

Your eyes flutter shut as soft, cold lips press against yours. You can feel the distinct shape of those protruding canines through the thin skin of his lips as they press against yours in a barely-there kiss. Hunger blooms inside, sending you forward in a desperate attempt to deepen the kiss. The man indulges you with a chuckle, letting you press your mouth adamantly against his. His lips taste faintly like cinnamon and spice. You greedily run your tongue over their curved shape.

“More,” you plead, pressing your body along the front of his as best you can with him still seated on the coffin. You grip the front of his silky shirt, trying to bring yourself even closer.

“Soon,” he murmurs against your lips. “First, my favor. Grab a shard of stone.” His strong hands grip your arms and force you back a half-step. “I need you to break the enchantment interring my friends. Just a scratch through the symbol should do the trick. Hurry now, sweetling.”

You turn and crouch down to snag up a chunk of stone debris. As you straighten up, your line of sight sweeps over the crumpled body near the bottom of the stairs. “Jimin,” you whisper, your body automatically stepping forward.

“Uh-ah,” the man behind you tuts softly. “We’ll get to your gift in a moment.”

With your attention focused on Jimin, you become keenly aware of a cloyingly sweet smell wafting from his direction. “What’s that smell?” Saliva pools around your tongue again, reflecting the wetness gathering anew between your thighs. “It smells so good,” you whine. Before you can take another step toward Jimin, a hard hand clamps around your arm and hauls you back.

“I forget how hard it is to control the urge at first,” amusement flavors his words. “Scratch through the symbols, sweetling, so I may give you your reward.”

All you want to do is follow that mouth-watering scent or fall into a manic sexual frenzy with the monster sitting atop the coffin. With a frustrated grunt, you lash out at the coffin lid where the man is seated, intent on doing as he says so you can finally get what you want.

The stone in your hand bites through the wood, scoring a deep gouge through the bottom of the red symbol. A spark of heat engulfs your hand and travels up to your elbow. The rock clatters against the lid as you release it with a pained hiss.

“Ow!”

“A momentary pain, sweetling, but you’ve managed to do it. Hurry, strike through the other two while I open this one.” The man nods toward the other two coffins, scoops up the chunk of stone, and presses it back into your hand. “A small taste,” he muses before cradling the back of your head with a hand and bringing his mouth crashing against yours. A low, feral snarl rumbles from deep in his chest as his tongue forces its way past your lips. Warmth blooms inside your mouth as his tongue sweeps against yours, contrasting wildly with the cooling sensation of his lips. “Now, do it!” he grates out, ripping his mouth from yours and shoving you toward the next coffin.

As you lurch toward the next coffin, driven by how your body responds and aches to return to the stranger behind you, you’re faintly aware of the sound of splintering wood and hushed voices.

Scoring the remaining two coffins leaves you clutching your hand, scowling from the burn ignited by the broken enchantments. You’re kneeling by the last coffin, leaning heavily against the side of it with your hand pressed to your chest. “Everything hurts,” you huff aloud to yourself.

Footsteps crunch through the dirt and debris littering the floor beside you. “You’ve done so well. Once Hoseok is free, you’ll have your reward. Not much longer,” the man says, smiling down at you. He raises a fist and slams it down onto the center of the lid. The wood buckles under the force, dust and wood splinters raining around you.

“I ought to shove a fistful of silver down your throat, Yoongi,” comes a snarky voice from within the crumbling coffin. “Do you know how unbelievably dull it has been to be trapped here with only my thoughts? Absolutely maddening.”

“I’d consider it dull company if I were locked away with you, too,” murmurs a voice coming up behind Yoongi. A tall, dark-haired man comes into your line of sight. His grey shirt and linen trousers are covered in smears of dust and specks of wood splinters that he’s dusting off as much as he can. “At least you had room to move around. These coffins were not exactly made for someone of my stature.”

Yoongi glances back, a fond look on his face for the man walking up. “Namjoon, ever the one to speak of the logistics. I am sorry, my friends,” he bends, reaching into the coffin, and comes up with a spritely and slim man gripping his arm. “If I had not been such a fool, we would not have been in this situation.”

“Yet, we were. Though, I suppose, we are free now thanks to your…uh, whatever she is,” the remaining man comes into view, his arms crossed over his chest. He glares at you. The small streaks of dirt on his apple cheeks does nothing to take away from the breathtaking beauty he possesses.

“Seokjin, let us not allow our previous state to color our current one. We do have manners,” the man Yoongi called Namjoon says, giving Seokjin a pointed look before turning an apologetic one on you. “What a dainty little creature, how delicate. I assume you have started the process?” he continues, gazing toward Yoongi.

Yoongi scoffs, continuing to help the last man out of his coffin. “You wound me, friend. I know it has been a while, but you could at least act like you still have faith in me.”

“The last time we placed our faith in you was when you promised to wed Pylia. Yet, look where that landed us,” Seokjin remarks, deepening his glower.

Hoseok waves his free hand in the air, letting Yoongi guide him over the lip of the coffin with the other. “Do not think to bring up that conniving bitch, Seokjin. You know as well as I that she was no good for Yoongi. I would take a hundred more curses of entombment before seeing him attached to that leech. Good to think she is well and rotting in the ground somewhere by now.”

“Please, gentlemen, if you held your bickering a moment, I would like to finalize the bond with my bride,” Yoongi sighs, turning away from the three men and focusing on you. He crouches down, coming eye-level with where you’re still leaning against the side of the coffin Hoseok was in. “Hi, sweetling. Thank you for helping me free my friends. I do apologize for Seokjin’s poor manners, but Namjoon and Hoseok have at least kept their heads over the years, it seems.” A derisive snort comes from behind Yoongi as Seokjin turns and stalks away.

“What’s this?” Seokjin calls, the irritation in his voice replaced by surprise and awe.

Yoongi glances back, peering around the base stone he was interred upon. “Ah, yes, my wedding gift. Come, sweetling. You have met my friends; now let me meet yours.”

His cold fingers wrapping around your arm elicit a soft moan from low in your chest. “Yes,” you suck in a short breath and desperately grab for any handhold you can get of him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and clutch into the material of his shirt again. Before you can lean in and capture his mouth, he’s chuckling and pulling back to stand. You follow him up, your body moving with a mind of its own; your hips press firmly against his side, and your lips find the soft spot of flesh below his ear.

“So eager,” he smirks. “There is but one last step. I am sure you will enjoy this as much as we will.” He ushers you as best he can, with you still clinging to him and nuzzling at his throat toward the far side of the room back to the staircase leading up.

You’re so focused on how his body moves against yours; the friction and rub of fabric along your skin with each step you take elicit small sighs of pleasure from you. There is a moment when awareness ebbs through the cloudy haze of lust filling your head when your senses register something else, something subtly familiar. A tangy sweetness permeates the air the closer you come to the stairs.

“Mmm,” you moan, mouth-watering as you finally relent and lift your head from Yoongi’s neck. “What is that?” you whisper huskily.

“That, sweetling, would be what you called ‘Jimin’.”

That name lands like a swift kick in the gut. “What? Oh no, Jimin!” You shove away from Yoongi, quickly untangling yourself and dropping to your knees beside the slumped form of your best friend.

“Careful now,” Yoongi chastises. “You are in a heightened state of being. Getting too close without the proper control could trigger a blood frenzy, and then, well, you may hurt the poor fellow even more than he seems to be already.”

The hand you had suspended in the air as you were reaching for Jimin drops immediately to your side. You don’t want to hurt him. “Help him, please.”

Yoongi kneels on one knee beside you, his dark red eyes roving over Jimin as if in assessment. “Only you can help him now, sweetling. I can hear his heartbeat, but it is quite faint. There is not much time. Here,” he says, gently shifting Jimin’s body, so it comes to rest face-up, “be swift.” Jimin shudders slightly, his eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids. Blood covers half his face and plasters his hair to his forehead.

You suck in a ragged breath that brings that tangy sweet smell into your lungs. An ache throbs in your jaw and echoes between your thighs. “What can I do?”

“Just a bite,” Yoongi whispers, “to start a new adventure for you both.” He delicately lifts Jimin’s arm, twisting it, so his wrist is presented to you. “I know you want it. I can feel the change in your breathing and smell the arousal now beginning to seep from your body.”

A full-body shudder racks through you as you fight the urge to latch onto Jimin’s proffered wrist. Your eyes water and you subconsciously drift closer, stopping when your lips brush against the warm skin along the side of Jimin’s arm.

A soft, tantalizing thrum beckons just below the surface of Jimin’s skin. It’s so faint that you’d missed it before, but now being so close, it’s like a siren’s song mournfully drifting on a warm summer breeze.

“Just bite him already,” someone sighs from behind you, clearly disgruntled. There is a hint of aggression in the voice that has all your receptors firing at once. Your instinct surges to the surface, replacing any hesitation that remains.

Ecstasy spills on your tongue as your teeth sink into the soft flesh held daintily between Yoongi’s slender fingers. The ache in your jaw coalesces into sharp points; you can feel your canines elongating and piercing further into the meat of Jimin’s wrist.

“That’s it, beloved. You’re doing so well. Focus on the way his heartbeat feels against your tongue. The moment it stops, you have to also stop,” Yoongi murmurs encouragingly in your ear. You can feel his body pressed against yours. His free hand slides under the back of your shirt, and surprisingly, it’s not nearly as cold as it was before. It’s actually quite pleasant.

He rubs a slow circle on your lower back, and then his hand slides around until it rests on your lower belly. Yoongi shifts so he’s kneeling behind you, his knees to either side of your body. Soft lips press against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, placing featherlight kisses.

You suck in a mouthful of Jimin’s blood, letting it slide down your throat with a slow swallow. Yoongi slides his fingers down, flirting with the top of your jeans before teasing beneath the fabric in playful flits and caresses. You shudder against him, nearly ravaging Jimin’s wrist.

You’re faintly aware of Namjoon kneeling down on your other side. The other two men are but small presences that register somewhere behind you. It’s easy to feel the moment Jimin’s pulse ceases. “I will take care of it from here,” Namjoon says lightly, holding out his hand in front of you.

“Let go,” Yoongi instructs, his voice laced with authority and husk. You reluctantly pull off Jimin’s wrist, letting it flop into Namjoon’s waiting palm. “Good girl.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a chill ripples down your spine. “Fuck,” the curse is liquid on your lips, bubbling with the blood now dripping down your chin. It turns into a ragged moan as Yoongi’s fingers dip even further and press against the front of your panties.

“Do we really have to stay here while he fucks her?” comes the same disgruntled voice from before. “I would much rather go find my own warm body to sink into.”

“Hush, Seokjin,” Hoseok admonishes. “I am sure the two heartbeats I can feel upstairs will satisfy you once Yoongi is done here. There is a process to these things, you know that as well as I.”

“Hoseok is right,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. He gathers Jimin’s limp body in his arms. You watch as he brings one of his wrists to his mouth, and much the way Yoongi did to you, he opens the skin with his fangs—which are shorter than Yoongi’s you note—and presses the oozing wounds to Jimin’s lips.

Jimin’s body convulses, his eyes spring open and swivel until they land on you. They go wide as he takes in the sight of you slouched against Yoongi with his hand shoved down the front of your pants. Jimin tries to speak, flailing in Namjoon’s arms, but from under your lowered lids you see the moment Namjoon’s blood triggers something inside of him.

“Fuck!” Jimin finally jerks his mouth away from Namjoon’s wrist. He writhes, twisting in the other man’s lap. “What have you done to me?!”

“He’s feisty; how cute,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “What a wonderful gift, indeed. Jimin, right? Well, what we have done is allowed you to join my sweetling here in a lifetime of eternal power and glory. You are now a part of my coven.” Pausing in his explanation, Yoongi finally pushes your panties aside and delves his fingers into your wet slit. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” he crows, laughing as you moan loudly and thrust your hips forward to force his fingers deeper. “Mmm, I am sure that by now you are feeling the effects of Namjoon’s blood. A mild side effect of the vampire venom, but a wonderful attribute if I do say so myself.”

“I need you,” you plead, trying to twist around in Yoongi’s arms and seek further pleasure.

“Stop touching her!” Jimin yells, drawing your attention back to him.

“Minnie, chill out. Isn’t this what you wanted? For my vampire fantasy to come true?” you snarl the last part, baring your newly elongated fangs at him.

Jimin groans, the sound is slightly pained. “Oh, holy hell, what’s happening to me?” Namjoon loosens his hold enough that Jimin rights himself and ends up sitting between Namjoon’s knees.

“Shh, you are entirely too pretty to have such a sour look on your face,” Namjoon coos, wrapping his arms around Jimin again. He intentionally places one of his big hands on Jimin’s belly, letting his fingers splay out across the flat expanse. “Just watch as Yoongi takes care of his bride, then I will take care of you, I promise.”

Yoongi slips his hand from inside your pants, much to your disappointment. His nimble fingers had only just begun stroking languidly over your clit, barely scratching the surface of the desire and ache that has been burning inside you since the moment he exploded from his stone prison and sunk his fangs into your neck.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, throwing a frantic look back at him.

He chuckles, poking at the tip of one of his fangs with his tongue. “Why, sweetling, I have not yet begun.” You cry out as Yoongi shoves you forward onto your hands and knees, hiking your hips up in the process. “Beg for it,” he growls, shoving his hips against your ass so you feel the very prominent evidence of his own arousal.

“Please, please. Please!” you beg as requested, thrusting your ass out in invitation.

The seams of your jeans groan and stretch with how quickly Yoongi snatches them down. The button snaps and the zipper pops from the force. Red streaks mar your hips and thighs where the rough denim abrades them.

“Stop that! What are you doing?!” Jimin grunts, straining against the hold Namjoon has on him.

Hoseok comes around and kneels beside Namjoon, working his fingers around one of Jimin’s hands. “It is quite simple. They are blood mates and this is one of the more enjoyable points. We will be lucky if they are not coupling once every hour for the entire next moon cycle.”

“Mmm, we shall see how well my self-restraint holds up,” Yoongi muses, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. You feel like you’re burning up, panting to try and get more oxygen into your lungs even though your body no longer demands it. “You are absolutely dripping, sweetling. This cunt looks utterly divine, I look forward to tasting it. But, first—” the drawstrings holding the front flap of Yoongi’s trousers closed slip free under his slender fingers “—your reward, as promised.”

A shuddering moan bubbles from you as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and firmly kicks his hips forward in one fluid motion. Your mouth gapes open, eyes watering from the intrusion, as your body protests the initial stretch. His hips retreat and surge forward again, setting a relentless pace. Obscene sounds emanate from between your thighs and pour from your mouth.

“Yes!” You rock back into each thrust, surprised and thrilled with the near instant response from your body. Your arousal peaks and you’re left hovering on the precipice of an orgasm. Deep inside, you can feel that all it would take is a command from your body to send you into oblivion.

“Watch close, pretty one,” Namjoon murmurs to Jimin, who is now shamelessly rubbing his ass against Namjoon’s crotch. Hoseok is using his hand holding Jimin’s to caress and massage the front of your friend's jeans, which are straining with Jimin’s very apparent erection. “This is what having a blood mate means.”

Yoongi tilts his head back, opening his mouth wide. His fangs glint in the light from the skewed stand lamp before he whips down and buries them into the side of your neck from behind. His hips continue to pound into you, the angle forcing him even deeper. He wraps an arm around your waist and brings the other around and presses the inside of his wrist against your lips. Your body responds on instinct, lips curling back and your own fangs sinking into his flesh.

The taste of sweet nectar explodes on your tongue at the same time as your body locks up in a fit of the most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced. Your vision flickers, ebbing in and out of clarity. “Fuck,” Yoongi growls into your neck, the vibration sending further shocks down your body. You throb and pulse around him, coaxing his own release.

“They can feed from each other indefinitely,” Hoseok says softly, his voice barely carrying over the residual moans and grunts coming from you and Yoongi. “Mated for the rest of their existences.”

“W-will that happen to m-me?” Jimin whines, mouthing at the side of Namjoon’s throat.

“Maybe one day,” Hoseok nods. He encourages Jimin to open his jeans so he can slip his hand inside. “For now, you have us. You are bonded with our coven, a part of our whole. We will give you everything you need. Though, right now you need—“

Hoseok is cut off by the sound of shuffling footsteps coming down the stairs. “Hey, Jimin, you guys okay down there? It’s been over thirty minutes since we were all supposed to meet upstairs.”

“It seems our new friend will be getting exactly what he needs soon,” Seokjin intones, speaking for the first time in a while. He’s lounging against one of the open coffins, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the bottom of the stairs curiously. “I wonder if either of them will scream.”

“I hope you two aren’t fucking,” Taehyung’s voice echoes from the stairs, coming closer. “You guys aren’t answering me on the walkie, and I can’t think of many reasons why you wouldn’t be—“

“What the fuck!” Jungkook exclaims as he and Taehyung come around the final bend in the stairs and see what awaits them.

“Don’t hurt them,” you manage to sigh, barely holding onto consciousness as Yoongi pulls out and cradles your limp body against his.

“Oh, sweetling, we will not hurt them…much.” Yoongi offers a toothy smile to Taehyung and Jungkook, who are frozen at the bottom of the steps, gawking at you and Jimin. “Seokjin, welcome our new friends.”

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[blackjackkent]

Here we are!

It's as pleasant an atmosphere as you'd expect. The air has a greenish tinge to it and there's a distant, sourceless hum all around. Flocks of agitated bats flit around the ceiling.

There are several thralls wandering the building, mopping and cleaning and mumbling to themselves. All of their names start with V, which feels a little on the nose.

"The master is pure," one of them mumbles as Hector approaches. "His palace must be pure. No stain. No smudge. No taint. Pure."

They're not paying super good attention though because Hector was able to steal a giant painting off the wall and it wasn't even treated as stealing by the game, let alone by the house's inhabitants.

There is a lower floor to check out, plus a few side rooms on the floor where we came in, and... this:

That seems fine. Let's look at literally anything else first.

A man named Vilhelm approaches the group as we start to head for the stairs. I was originally going to describe him as a thrall, but his eyes aren't red, which leads me to believe he might actually be in control of himself here, oddly enough.

"Another guest for the master's celebration? I'm afraid you're too late, you'll have to--" he begins, then double-takes. "Master Astarion? What are you doing here? Why aren't you downstairs?"

Hector may be bad at lying, but to Astarion it comes like breathing, flows out of him like water. "Well, obviously I'm on my way down now," he answers smoothly without missing a beat. "So if you could just point us in the right direction..."

Vilhelm looks, if anything, more alarmed. "But you're too late. The doors have been sealed - the ritual is about to begin!"

Gods, Hector thinks grimly. We really could not have cut this any closer, could we? Even if he was good at subtlety, it seems as if the time for it may rapidly be running out.

He looks steadily at the man, raises one eyebrow, and says firmly. "Take my advice. Run. Get out of here while you still can." If this man truly isn't a vampire (yet), he'll give him one chance to leave.

But Vilhelm doesn't take it.

"Abandon the master?" he says, baffled. "At his moment of triumph? What is wrong with you?" He flicks a glare at Astarion. "Do you wish to spite him again?"

Shaking his head, he begins to back away. "I do not have any more time to waste. There is too much to do. Too much to prepare."

Turning, he darts away down the corridor.

------

"Damn," Hector mutters.

"We were all like that," Astarion says bitterly. "Not even a moment of rebellion. We could no more stand against him than we could fly. Impossible. Not even worth thinking about."

Hector gives him a sideways look. "You're not going back to that," he says quietly. "You make your own calls now. Whatever happens here, you're free already - we're just confirming it."

"I know," Astarion snaps derisively. "Don't waste our time stating the obvious." But there is a hint of agitation in the way his eyes flick around the room, taking in every detail, watching every shadow, that leads Hector to believe he might have needed to hear it more than he let on.

[zoroara]

OCtober challenge Day 7 - Clean

After a long ass mission Tyr needed to do himself because no one else could be trusted to complete it. He almost dropped to sleep then and there when he got back to HQ. But he needed to have a shower first or he'd have to wait for his bed clothes to get washed tomorrow since they'd be stained with blood.

Once he finished his shower and got his pajama bottoms on he was about to head to bed. Till he glanced into the mirror and realized his waterproofed eyeliner was on his face still. God damn it.

"I really don't make it damn easy fer myself do I?"

He grabs his make-up remover, twisting the bottle's lid off and placing out of the way, then grabbing a cotton swab he held it to the top of the lid tightly with his thumb, creating a seal as he tipped it upside down. Once he figured it saturated enough he flipped it back over and started cleaning his eyes.

That was certainly a hard trick to learn at first, but he was stubborn enough about his looks that he had to learn it. He didn't seem to be the type but really, that's just cause he made it look effortless. Appearance was damn important to intimidation factor. The ability to make people falter in a single look was not something he'd ever give up. Even with these minor pains.

Tyr's a very funny man. He looks and acts like he doesn't give a shit about anything and that he doesn't think in the slightest. But he is constantly analyzing other people, and carefully picking apart social and mental constructions so he can manipulate them as he pleases. It goes down to even so much as his make-up.

He's loud, brash and aggressive, but he allows himself to act that way to hide the fact that he's been mentally running circles around everyone else. He leans into people's perceptions of him constantly.

Also drawing him with wet hair is so funny. It just looks wrong.

[alltonguenocheek]

i’ve seen the way you circle my yard you’ve heard i keep my door unlocked at night stalking the perimeter of sharpened picket fences eyes shine from the darkness, reflecting my sickly porchlight they’re either ravenous eyes of a wolves dance or beacons of reverence, the last stop on a pious mans pilgrimage

so tell me, are you after salvation or a fistfight? cause all ive got left to give is two white-knuckled grips of daisies, a mouth of stained glass shards for teeth, and i don’t bank much on keeping either.

so don’t expect me to be kind, dont expect an act of mercy, cause i’m near over playing saint; being holy never did much serve me more than indents in the carpet, and the bloody knees to match. you should consider this a warning, im not your second chance.

and if given a choice this time, between your throat or mine to lay on gods dinner plate, id take that axe without waiting, shatter your vertebrae into bits, polish them for rosary beads to add to the noose round my neck. dotted bruises a birthmark of sisyphian bloodline, counting how many times i’ve rolled boulders over lions dens, not realizing i sealed myself inside.

but i’ve got no more realty on this body for tattooed claw marks; no more heaven-branded martyrdom. and you can damn me for it, but it wont be me in that long dark again; it wont be the lion bones im numbering. you see ive handed absolution out like taffy, given my good graces as goodbyes; i’ve seen how faith is treated as a weakness, and that well runs pretty damn near dry.

but violent intentions don’t make me proud, i give you warning with good reason. ive never wanted to be an ill omen, but this broken window went well past fragmented perspectives. a thousand eyes mean nothing when they’ve been gouged out, and there aren’t many more thousand hearts to offer. it’s nothing personal, just caution to be sure, that the empty chests i gift one to aren’t hungry jaws of wolves.

so i hope you can understand why the front gate is locked, why i can’t let just anyone near the door when it doesn’t even shut. and if i creep to the fence and throw it open, you better throw the first swing if you aren’t here for full devotion. better devour me if your arms aren’t for warmth, before i decide daisies aren’t my style; before i wear this crown of glass with pride; before i find a taste for copper instead; cause if you don’t knock my teeth out first, it’s a good bet you’ll find them sinking into your neck.

//n.thorne//

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[quindolyn]

Please can i request a smut with young sirius black where the reader is very insecure and dosen't think she deserves him. Where he praises her and shows her just how pretty he thinks she is. Could you include daddy kink, praise kink and pet names if you are comfortable with that?

(also thank you for the sympathy Chinese food)

Worthy || Sirius Black

Word Count: 3,654

Notes: Not quite sure how I feel about this, I feel really out of it and have felt like that for a couple of days. I hope you enjoy it though anon, usually I post the request then the piece but doing that makes my blog kind of cluttered and I know I think it’s cleaner when people answer requests like this but I don’t know if I’m going to stick with it.

Warnings: insecure!reader, mad Siri for like 2 seconds, oral (female receiving), praise kink, daddy kink, petnames

Masterlist

“Siri we need to talk.” Yes, be blunt, be straightforward, no beating around the bush. You weren’t going to prolong this any longer than necessary. It was time to set Sirius free, he didn’t need someone like you holding him down, holding him back. And it was time you told him that.

“Yes, poppet?” He quirked an eyebrow, setting his book next to him on the plush couch of the Gryffindor common room. 

“I-I was hoping we could have this conversation in private, in your dorm maybe?” You shifted your weight from foot to foot, your anxiety causing bile to rise in your throat, threatening to make you sick all over Sirius’s shoes.

“Everything okay (Y/N)?” He asked you, his eyes swimming with concern as he ushered you up the stairs to his dorm, a hand resting protectively on the small of your back. 

You didn’t answer him, instead going to sit on his bed once you reached the dorm room, toeing at the fringe of the worn carpet that had probably been there for decades, keeping your eyes on your feet instead of meeting the raven haired boy’s eyes. Leaving them instead to gaze at the top of your head. 

“(Y/N/N)? Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

Breathing in deeply you steeled yourself, straightforward, get this over quickly, “We need to break up Sirius.”

“What?” You winced, he sounded angry and you were sure that had you been able to meet his eyes they could’ve portrayed his anger as well.

“I said that we nee-”

“No, I heard you!” He growled, his hands balling into fists, “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want to break up with you, don’t I get a say in this?”

“Well I want to, Sirius, and last I checked it took two people to make a relationship work, we can’t make this work if I don’t want to!” You yelled, finally raising your head to meet his visage and your heart broke.

Sirius looked heartbroken, betrayed, horribly sad, and angry. And for a second you regretted telling him that you wanted to break up in the first place.

Because you didn’t want to, you had to, for Sirius.

“That’s bullshit (Y/N)! Who is it?”

“Sirius?” You asked incredulously, what did he mean ‘who’?

“Who have you been cheating on me with? Who the fuck?” In his anger he picked up a book abandoned on your nightside table, throwing it onto the floor.

“W-What?” You stuttered, trying to keep your tears at bay.

Sirius growled, literally baring his teeth like a feral dog, “You heard me, who the fuck are you cheating on me with? Diggory? Snape?”

“I’m not- I didn’t- I-” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in attempts to calm yourself before continuing, “I didn’t cheat on you Sirius, I would never. This is just what’s best for you.”

“How can not being with you be best for me? I don’t wanna not be with you! Why can’t you get that through your head?” He sounded more desperate now than he did angry now, almost as if he could tell that there was something off with you and your motivations behind your hurtful words.

“You are so much better than me Sirius! You’re wonderful, and you’re smart, you excel in our subjects without even trying, you’re charismatic and witty and just plain funny! Not to mention that you’re drop dead fucking gorgeous, and I’m- I’m not. You’re everything Siri, you’re my moon and my sun and my stars, you’re the whole fucking galaxy and you deserve at least that much. And god damn it, Sirius! I’m nothing! You deserve someone half as wonderful as you are, I’m barely a fraction of a percent.” Your voice broke more at the end than you would’ve liked.

You watched as Sirius’ face fell, his bottom lip wobbling as tears flooded his eyes, which once swam with anger were now drowned in guilt and sorrow. “Puppy,” He sniffled, pulling you up into my arms as he buried his face into your neck, “Puppy, I never meant to make you feel like that. You’re everything, my love, you’re wonderful and perfect for me. I love you so much, I’m so sorry I wasn’t good enough at showing you that.” His grip tightened on you with each word until you could feel him constricting your blood flow.

“S’not your fault Siri, you’re just so much better than me. I feel so bad holding you back.”

He pulled away from you, finally allowing you to properly inhale, cupping your face in his strong hands, tilting your head up so he could look directly into your eyes. 

“You, my love, do not hold me back, you propel me forward every day and make me strive to be a better man for you. Please don’t leave me, baby, not because of this, not because you think I deserve better. I don’t even deserve you, especially if I haven’t made you feel as great as you are.”

You were an idiot. This man loved you, maybe almost as much as you loved him. You couldn’t just leave him, but you also couldn’t stay and continue to hold him back. What the fuck were you supposed to do?

“Siri,” A sob tumbled from your lips as you threw yourself at his toned chest, letting your tear stained cheeks rest against the soft material of his shirt, “Siri I- I’m so sorry I love you so much I just- I just…”

“I know love, I know,” Sirius soothed you, petting your hair with one hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist pulling you flush against him. “But you are wonderful, you are the light of my life. Let me show you how stunning you are, how beautiful and gorgeous I think your body is. Let me show you how much I love you.”

“Okay,” You responded, knowing that Sirius would require verbal consent before so much as touching you.

He walked you back until your knees hit against the edge of the bed, easing you down onto the mattress, then pushing your back down so that you were lying on your back, staring up at him through your water logged lashes.

“Look at you baby girl,” He cooed, standing in between your legs, looking down at your form, long curtains of ink black hair falling into his face. 

Feeling heat rush to your face you moved your hands to cover it from the intense gaze of your boyfriend. 

“Hey there pup,” HIs large hands reached for your wrists, gently pulling them away from your face, pinning them to the bed on either side of you, “There you are pretty girl, don’t hide from me please, wanna see my pretty girl.”

“Sorry,” You murmured.

“Don’t have to apologize to me darling, just want to see you.” He began unbuttoning his black button down, his nimble fingers worked quickly, pulling the buttons out of their holes. As he shrugged his shirt off of his body, revealing the entirety of his upper body to you, you felt your mouth go dry, how were you supposed to compare to that?

In your panicked haze, you didn’t notice Sirius’ fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt until you felt the warm pads of his fingertips dancing along the supple flesh of your stomach. A small gasp escaped your parted lips accompanied by a small wince.

“You’re so soft baby, so soft in my hands,” Sirius praised, allowing his rough palms to slide to your waist where they squeezed gently, “Can I take this off of you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you nodded your consent, raising your arms above your head so that Sirius could slip the garment off of you, letting it drop to the floor next to his feet. You resisted the urge to fold your arms over your now bare torso as Sirius took his time ogling you, he swallowed repeatedly, sure he’d seen you naked before but your body would never cease to take his breath away. 

“Baby,” He crooned, his eyes flying up to meet yours, “Your tits look so pretty in this bra, pretty color on you too, did you buy it for yourself?” Slowly, giving you time to stop him, one of his hands wandered to your clothed breast, giving it a nice squeeze through the lacy pink fabric. 

“Uh huh, bought it over the summer with Lily and Marlene,” You answered, watching his face as he observed your heaving chest, feeling suddenly very courageous you spoke again, “You um, you can take it off if you’d like.”

This brought Sirius’ attention from your chest up to your visage, “You sure m’love, don’t have to take it off yet if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” You gulped, eyes wide, mouth dry, “I want to.”

“Arch your back then for me pup,” Sirius’ deep baritone commanded to which you promptly obeyed, allowing Sirius’ hands to slip between your back and the mattress as he expertly undid the clasp in what must’ve been record time before slipping the delicate straps off of your shoulders.

Not giving you time to be embarrassed at your progressing state of undress Sirius surged forward, slotting your lips with his, drinking from you like you were a canteen of water and he had just hiked through the Sahara. He braced himself on his forearms which rested on either side of your head, letting his tongue trace trace the seal of your lips once, twice, three times, he then plunged deep into the velvet of your warm mouth. He was gentle as he mingled his tongue with yours, brushing against yours with his. 

You let out a small moan into the kiss which had Sirius’ eyes rolling back in his head, “I wanna show you how much I love you (Y/N),” Sirius murmured into your neck as he pulled away from your lips, instead leaving small kisses down the column of your throat, “We can stop if you want to, but if not I need to show you how special you are. Can I show you?”

You managed a small “Yes Daddy,” as you felt him grin into skin.

He looked up at you, eyes twinkling, “Such a good girl for me pup.”

Much to your vexation Sirius pushed himself off of you but you were settled slightly when you saw him start on the button of his pants before doing the zipper and pulling them down his legs leaving him only in his boxers. 

He resumed his position on top of you, gently taking your hand from where it lay on the bed to place it over the soft material of his worn boxers, “You feel that Puppy? You feel how hard my cock is?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“You did that to me!” He beamed down at you, his hair only slightly obstructing his view of you, “That’s how much I love you, how fucking hot you are, got me so hard so quickly, no time at all baby girl and Daddy’s already desperate for you.”

You were unable to prevent the rush of heat to your face at his comment, hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell just how flustered he could make you.

With your agreement Sirius finally pulled down your leggings and panties in one fluid motion, gently pulling them off of your feet before he rid himself of his boxers.

“Fuck, love,” He swore before kneeling before you and pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle, “So sexy all splayed out for me on your bed, these legs,” His hands ran up and down your calves before venturing up past your knees to your thighs where they gripped the flesh, not hard enough to bruise but just enough to convey his emotion through his loving touch. 

At his repeated praise you felt your wetness beginning to gather in your pussy, a small knot beginning in the pit of your stomach as he traced his lips up your calves, just barely grazing your flesh tickling your skin.

Once he got to your thighs his small kisses became open mouthed, and wet, leaving trails of saliva in his wake as he started leaving dark bruises on your legs. “I love your legs darling, the way they look in your uniform skirt, your leggings, jeans. Love them so much.” He left a soft kiss on the top of your thigh, taking note of the shiver that ran through your body.

Pushing your thighs apart he inched you closer to the edge of the bed, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders allowing him to face your pussy head on. “Gonna make you feel so good baby, you deserve to feel good.”

He moved his arms to pin your hips to the bed, giving him more control in what he was about to do. He parted your folds with his nose, allowing him to inhale your scent.

“You smell heavenly Puppy, one of my favorite things about you, your pussy smells like heaven, and fuck does it taste good.”

As if to prove his point he leaned forward, licking a broad stripe from your hole up to your clit, letting out a moan at your taste. The vibrations from his moan sent shockwaves through your clit, feeding the knot growing in your stomach you clenched your thighs around his head.

He took it as a sign of encouragement and began sucking on your clit, pulling the sensitive nub between his lips he released hums reveling in the way they made your thighs clench around his head.

You clasped one hand over your mouth in attempts to muffle your moans from spilling out into the dorm room. And though it did do a fine enough job at it, not good enough for Sirius not to hear an especially loud whine when he nipped lightly at your clit.

“Puppy?” He raised his head from between your legs, cocking his head to the side like the puppy that had become synonymous with your name, “Wanna hear you please, want to hear the pretty little noises you make when I eat your cunt.” 

As he spoke he inserted a single finger into your quivering hole, wanting to stretch you out for his cock which was aching and desperate to be buried deep inside of you. With his other hand, he reached for the wrist of the hand covering your mouth, pulling it away from your face to lay on the mattress where he interlaced your fingers with his, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

Hoping you would follow his instruction and let him hear you he ducked down to return his mouth to your clit, sucking on the nub again without stopping his finger which was still making its way in and out of your hole. Not satisfied that he was making you feel good enough he inserted a second finger into your cunt, stretching you out even more.

Sirius smiled into your pussy when he heard you moan, “Fuck Siri!” 

“Come on Puppy,” He pressed a kiss to your hip bone, “That’s not my name, you know it, tell me what my name is good girl.”

“Daddy,” You gasped, thrusting your hips further onto his fingers which still continued their agonizingly slow pace, “Daddy, feels so good.”

“I know baby, I know,” Sirius pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, letting his cheek rest against the soft flesh as he looked up at your writhing, perspiring form, “Gonna stretch you out on one more finger then you should be ready for my cock Pup, one more then I get to be inside of this beautiful cunt.” His gaze drifted to your pussy, which was beautifully swollen for him.

“Please Daddy,” The whimper left your lips with you barely noticing, “Please want your cock.”

“Want to give it to you my love, just gotta get you ready.”

Suddenly feeling the need to be inside of you now, no doubt caused by your begging, he added another finger inside of your cunt, trying not to pay too much mind to the way you clenched around him, afraid that if he did he wouldn’t be able to think straight.

How could someone’s fingers feel so good? The knot in your stomach continued to get tighter and tighter but you still craved more, you needed him inside of you. 

Simultaneously you breathed both a sigh of relief and released a bereft whimper as he pulled his fingers from your cunt, making a show of bringing them to his mouth where he licked them clean, closing his eyes in pleasure as your taste bled across his tongue. 

“You taste so good Puppy, like candy,” Seeing that you obviously didn’t believe him he leaned down so his body was pressed to your and gently eased your mouth open before collecting spit in his mouth and spitting it into your’s. “See? See how good you taste? My favorite taste in the whole wide world. Swallow for me Puppy,” He grinned as you obeyed, “Good girl,” He praised with a kiss to your forehead.

“Now can you scooch up on the bed for me?” Once you were carefully rested further up on the bed, your head lying on a pillow, Sirius climbed on top of you, lining the weeping head of his prick up with your opening. 

You couldn’t stop the moan that left your lips as he fully sheathed himself inside of your heart, the head of his cock prodding at your g spot thanks to the slight curve of the member.

Sirius smiled down at your face which was contorted in pleasure as he guided one of your hands to the base of your stomach, “You feel that? That’s me, that’s how good you take my cock love, I can feel it in your tummy.”

“I can feel it Daddy,” You answered feebly, Sirius’ grey eyes shimmered with adoration and pride as he looked down at your stomach before coming back to meet yours.

“You have the prettiest eyes darling,” He cooed, leaning down to kiss the outer corners of your eyes. He began thrusting in and out of you, his strokes, slow and deep as he took his time pulling out and then pushing back in. 

“So wet for me, slid right in because you were so ready for me baby, and now you’re squeezing me so good.” The praises fell from his lips one after another, wanting to broadcast to you his every thought about how perfect and wonderful you were, hoping that maybe something would be able to get through to you.

The feeling of Sirius inside of you was absolutely heavenly, it was a full feeling unlike any other. His width was just enough to stretch you but not enough to cause too much pain, you wrapped your hands around his neck, burying your face in his chest as he continued moving inside of you. 

“I love you so much, I love you (Y/N), you are my everything darling,” He slowed down his strokes, taking his time with each, “I’m so sorry I haven’t shown you that, but I love you more than I could ever properly tell you. Love you so much that you’re going to make me cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.”

The both of you giggled at that, knowing that Sirius was usually able to go for multiple rounds, and the slight clenching around his prick as a result of your laughter did nothing to help matters. 

“Could you go a little faster Daddy, please?” You asked timidly, needing more stimulation as the knot in your stomach continued to tighten both at the feeling of Sirius nestled deep inside of you and the flattery he kept serving you. 

“Such good manners Puppy,” He took the note quickly, speeding up his thrusts just enough, “Such a pretty girl taking my cock, your pretty hair all splayed out around you, like a halo. Makes you look like the angel you are.”

For some reason his comment had tears ebbing at your eyes, you barely noticed as a few escaped and rolled down your cheeks.

“Puppy, does it hurt? Why are you crying?” Worry was etched across his features as he gazed down at you, ceasing his thrusts.

“I don’t deserve you,” You blubbered, willing the tears to stop, “You’re just too good for me.”

Sirius leaned down, resuming the movement of his hips, kissing the tears off of your skin, “No I’m not, you deserve me Puppy, you deserve me. And I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.” 

You used your arms to pull his chest against yours as he sped up his thrusts, trying to convince you that you deserved this, “I-I’m going to cum Daddy, gonna cum. Can I cum Daddy?”

“Of course Puppy, cum for me, be a good girl and make a mess all over my cock. Be my little messy bunny, gonna cum with you.”

He rocked his hips against yours three more times before he exploded inside of you, rope after rope of cum coating the inside of your walls as you released around him. Making a mess just as he’d told you to, feeling the knot in your stomach unravel, perhaps not as intensely as usual but so much better.

Your whimpers of “Daddy” quieted as your pleasure overwhelmed you, drowning you in your orgasm as you continued to clench around Sirius’ cock, hips still bucking to meet his.

In his release Sirius repeated “I love you”, over and over again, chanting it like it was a prayer, like a promise.

“I love you,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your cupid's bow as you unclenched your eyes, “And I’m going to spend the rest of my love showing you just how much.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete

[mxvladdy]

Hello! I love your writing and I may have a prompt, if it strikes your fancy. I'm aware it might not be entirely lore-friendly a request, but I love relationship shenanigans in Obey Me, so I got to ask: how do you think Luci, Diavolo, Satan and Beel would help their anxious SO adjust when MC begins demonstrating mad prowess in witchcraft right after they first spend the night together? Sex, power and pacts seem to go hand-in-hand in related media, but no one really planned for it in their case!

Awww thankie and sorry for the long wait! I’m glad you like my writing! I hope you like this! It gave me big thirst lmaooo

Lucifer

Mmmm you smell of him in the morning. He positively oozes from your every pore. Rich and spicy, like amber and freshly turned earth.

Good. Let it be known to all that you were claimed. Thoroughly.

He put his daily routine on hold for you this morning. He was weak to your pouting.

He’ll stay in bed for a little bit to indulge you. But duty calls and work waits for no demon

Neither of you really pay attention to how hard you are clinging to him when he tries to extract himself to get dressed

You both just kind of chalk it up to neither of you want to part

The day goes on as usual for him, meetings, paperwork, meetings, punishing Mammon, meetings

But the whole time something was nagging at him. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. He just felt like he forgot something important

But that’s impossible-

The wall explodes out behind him cutting Lucifer off mid-sentence. The rubble and great ball of flames miss him and Diavolo by mere inches only because of the latter’s quick reflexes. “Are you alright my friend?” Diavolo asks golden eyes alight with surprise. Lucifer could feel the prince’s defensive magic prickling his skin in response to the pungent magic wafting out of the hole.

“Of course-” Lucifer steps back, straightening his jacket’s lapels, the near-miss ruffles his feathers. Both men step closer to the hole. His hackles raise.  The power emanating from the crater was far too familiar. Someone dares to use his magical signatures without permission.  Snarling into the abyss he marches forward. He ignores Diavolo’s calls to wait and strides through the hole. His wings flare up from his back along with his temper. He walks through each wave of magic that washes over him. With each destroyed wall he steps through more and more of his demonic form comes forth till he is more beast than man. Strolling through the final hole he stops. His red eyes sweep across the scene in front of him. As the seconds' tick by his mood morphs from rage to shock, then to a sense of blinding pride.  

“Well-” He crosses his arms and smirks. He turns his gaze to the epicenter of the damage.

“Luci, I am so so sorry.” You mutter aghast behind your fingers. “I-I don’t know what happened.” You were never the best student in any of the practical classes. The teachers made exceptions for you and your lack of magical prowess. In this class, the teacher always paired you up with Solomon or Luke so they could help you prepare the necessary spells and runes. But you felt so different today, stronger and sharper. Damn near unstoppable even. Just the thought of someone else doing your work made something deep inside you seethe. You didn’t need help, you’ve seen and heard the incantations a thousand times before- it wouldn’t hurt to try…Well, let’s rephrase that, it didn’t hurt you to try.

The classroom was totaled. Dust, rubble, and burning pages all float around you like a post-apocalyptic snowstorm. Soot from your uncontrolled spell blacked your clothes and skin, next to you Solomon stands rigid in shock white brows disappearing into his hairline. Quietly you lick your thumb and forefinger and put out the small blue flame singeing his bangs. “Thanks.” He spits out around a mouthful of ash and grit.

Lucifer coughs to draw all eyes back to him. He takes inventory of the room, making sure all the other students scattered about were still breathing. Satisfied he beckons to you with a finger. “Come.” You jump into motion, scrambling up and over the rubble to grab his outstretched hand.

“Lucifer.” He cuts you off.

“Not here,” He smiles warmly rubbing at some soot staining the tip of your nose. “Come let’s get you cleaned up.”

_____________

“Should I be worried?” You ask, stepping out of Lucifer’s private showers wrapped in one of his sinfully soft towels. “I’m not going to blow stuff up on a whim now, right?” You plop down on his bedroom’s couch. Lucifer hums noncommittally by his liquor cabinet.

“I doubt it. How do you feel?” He takes a seat beside you handing you a glass and grabbing your legs to drape them over his. You take a swig from the glass, the heat of the liquor getting rid of the lingering shock from class. How did you feel?

Your bones hum with some unknown energy and there was a fire coursing through your veins. “I feel like I could take on the world. Like I dominate half of the Devildom.” Lucifer’s smile was nothing short of smug.

“Good.” He sips his drink.

“Good?” You lean forward expectantly.

Lucifer strokes your cheek coming in to inhale your fresh scent. The commingling of his and your own was beyond arousing. “There is more than one way to seal and strengthen a pact, my beloved.” He pulls you into a chastened kiss, feeling your cheeks heat with a dawning realization of what he meant. “You have now given yourself to me in both body and soul. The- bonus perks were inevitable.” He parts from you, reaching for his glass.

“Will it go away?” You honestly didn’t know if you could handle any more curveballs down here.

Lucifer laughs swirling the dredges of his drink before downing it in one go. “Ideally no- but over time if it isn’t reinforced it will weaken and disappear on its own.”

“Reinforced?” The heat of your drink seems to dip lower down your body. Your demon scoffs giving you a knowing look.

He drags you onto his lap. “Are you truly satisfied with just a night with me αγαπούλα μου?” A gloved finger tugs at the hem of your towel. “If I had my way I would keep you full and drunk on my power for all eternity.” He captures you in a searing kiss draping you over the cushions of his couch, his eyes turning predatory. “Do not worry about the side effects.” He purrs caging you in. “We have all the time in the world to get you accustomed to them.”

Diavolo

He knew. This bitch knew before he ever got you in his bed-chamber. Just think of the entertainment value~

So when he sweeps you up into his quarters for the night day weekend, he just forgets to mention it to you

He is curious about how his magic will affect a human of celestial descent. Will it show up all at once? Or over a long period of time? He hopes that your blood doesn’t cancel out his claim on you

He watches you like a hawk for a while- and nothing…

Hmm. Perhaps it just didn’t take the first time? No matter, try-try-try again as the saying goes. He certainly doesn’t see you complaining

But as the week passes he slowly puts it on his backburner as his work begins to pile up again

You on the other hand are having a time. One day you are fine and dandy and the next you can read and write in languages you’ve never even heard of.

Then you started seeing some frankly crazy shit. Had the ghost at the house always been this active?

The last straw for you was accidentally freezing half of the house’s rose garden with a sneeze. To say you are panicked is an understatement

Frazzled you run to the only mage you could (kinda) trust

“It’s not funny!” You hiss frantically staring bewildered at your friend. Your look of panic just makes him laugh harder. “Stop seriously Solomon! Gods, what did I do?” You scrub at your face hard. If you made yet another freaking pact with a demon you were going to lose it. Seven idiots were enough for several lifetimes.

Solomon howls at this, drawing curious and rude looks from the surrounding tables of the tea house. You swat at his shoulder hissing like a cat. “Sorry- sorry” He hiccups. “Your turn of phrase was just so fitting.” He collects himself by taking a sip of his tea. “Tell me, what have you been doing of late?” He smirks around the rim of his cup.

You squint at him not getting it. His keen eyes drift down to land on the garden of purple and blue bruises littering your neck. You slap a hand over your hickeys. He smiles leaning over conspiratorially. “What’s it like to sleep with a God? The perks are amazing no?”  

You shook your head. “I-what perks?”

“Oh~ Loverboy didn’t warn you of certain side-effects?” The mage leans back in his chair. He was going to have a great time today. ___________

Unbelievable. You march up the walkway to the palace, your mind absolutely reeling. Did he know about this? Of course, he did-how could he not! Did he just forget? No- Diavolo was many things, smart, cunning, conniving, but never forgetful. You knew him well and knew he had to be on the lookout for “side effects” as Solomon put it.

Fine, two can play at this game.

“Ah! Mio Giglio! How are you?” Dia glances up from his mountainous amount of paperwork when you throw open his office door. He rises in one fluid motion to scoop you up in a tight hug. Now that you know what to look for, you hone into the way he holds you. His large hands run down your back and sides possessively, he clings to you rubbing his bulking frame on you like a cat marking you. He leans in close to rub the bridge of his strong nose up and down your clavicle and neck. You feel his hot breath on your skin when he exhales. How had you not noticed this?

“Good, and you?” You smile into the fabric of his shirt. Carefully you wrap your arms around his solid waist. You hug him lightly so as to not give away your little surprise.

“Better with you here.” He chuckles stepping back to return to his desk. You follow closely behind waiting for the perfect time to strike. “What have you been up to?” He asks innocently, going to sit back down. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

You hum nonchalantly coming up behind him to rub at his tense shoulders. “Nothing much.” He nods closing his eyes as your fingers dig into sore muscles. “Usual school week, made some new friends...Went shopping with Asmo and Luke this morning. Bought you some treats, hidden from Barbatos of course.” You drop a quick peck on his cheek. Diavolo smiles sinking lower into his chair. He hopped it was something with lemon or orange, they were in season now. Barbatos had been on the warpath with his sugar and carb intake of late. “Then I had tea with Solomon and he filled me in on some very interesting facts.” You kiss his hairline.

“Mmmm?”

You pull away from his warmth to come around to straddle his lap while he is distracted. He jerks at your sudden weight on his lap but relaxes almost immediately. He opens a golden eye, not even realizing he had closed them. Your demeanor shifts when his gaze is fully set on you, all sweet innocence gone. A cheshire grin spreads across your face. “Funny you should ask if I’m feeling ok. I have been feeling a bit off of late.”

Diavolo tenses. “Are you well?” He tries to reach for you, his arms coming off the armrests of his desk chair. You strike like a viper, your small hands wrap and lock around his thick wrists pinning them to the chair. His eyes bulge in shock. You watch coyly as his biceps bulge under his clothes. He tries to break free for a few minutes before settling back. “I see-”

Leaning in you brush your lips across his ears, heart racing with excitement. “You forgot to mention quite a few things, Dia.” The low purr he emits shakes both of you.

“My apologies.” He admits. “You know I love a good show. Shame I missed it.” He throws you a rogue smile. “Forgive me?”

You slide closer until you rested chest to chest, legs wrapping around his to pin him down further. His purr drops down an octave. Locking eyes with him you remove a hand from his wrist daring him to move. He doesn’t. You move slowly and deliberately resting your hand on his strong neck. His reaction was instantaneous. His pupils dilate, and the gold of his irises turn molten. You start to feel his magic seep out, you match it, giddy with excitement that you could. “Only if you work for it.” You smirk.

Diavolo nods readily, licking at his dry lips in anticipation. He was more than ready to atone.

Satan

He is a good noodle and has the decency to tell you what will happen beforehand

It’s only polite to give you a heads up before he breaks your headboard

You both are curious about how it will affect you. He at least is excited to teach you some practical magic

Plus the idea of you pranking Lucifer with magic? Sublime.

He smells it blossoming under your skin while you sleep.

It’s sharp and minty with a smoky finish. Then the power hits him like a brick to the face. He is in awe.

It’s like an electrifying feedback loop that just energizes and excites him and you feel it too. He’ll lose himself in you and your body again, hyped up on the headiness of it all.

Once he has *cough* cleared his head *cough* he takes you out to try out your newly found powers. He has so many things he wants to teach you.

Satan kneels beside you nodding his head in approval at your chalk markings. Your lines weren’t exactly steady, he could see how your hand shook as you copied his paperwork but you followed it dutifully. He finds your nervousness adorable as if he would let anything bad happen to you. At his go-ahead, you get to your feet. Turning your palms down towards your summoning circle you recite your spell and watch in amazement as your runes glow bright green underneath you. In a flash of blinding lights and smoke, you sense the pull of the creature emerging from your rune work. Delighted you look down at your handy work.

“Congratulations my darling, exceptionally done.” He grins proudly from his perch by his bookshelf.

You bend down and pick up the little critter. “What is it?” It looked like a blob of flan but firmer. Its squishy form shivers in your palm when you poked it. Its body giving way under your gentle poke. It was dark green but lightened to an electric green at its base. It was surprisingly warm.

You feel Satan coming up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. “It looks to be a lesser familiar, not bad for your first time summoning ever.” The jelly wiggles at his praise even though you couldn’t find any discernible features on its smooth little body. You turn it this way and that in your hand, even though it didn’t have eyes you could sense it was sizing you up to.

“What can it do?” You raise a brow at your companion. His arms circle your waist, his grin turning mischievous.

“Let's find out.”

________

Your lungs burn, each breath coming hard and sharp while you run. The sound of your pounding feet was swallowed up by the rush of foot traffic around you. Satan drags you behind him ushering you both around the throng of students. “Quickly!” He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a brilliant smile. “The further away from his office we are the less likely he could blame us.”

You laugh breathlessly along with him.

________

“What Belphie say?” You lean onto Satan’s shoulder to peek at his phone. The two of you sit, crowding in on each other's space underneath a desk in one of the unused classrooms.

“It’s glorious. Everything is covered. He says it looks like magic won’t remove it either!” He cackles showing you his screen. Belphie sent him a selfie. He is grinning devilishly from ear to ear throwing you both a peace sign through the screen. In the background, you could clearly see a very irate Lucifer. His face was red with fury and his clothes covered in green goo. His office was wrecked. Your little jelly did a number on it, you hadn’t expected it to expand as large as it did. Your familiar popping on the edge of Lucifer’s desk wasn’t intended either, but totally worth it. “Think you can summon another?” Satan asks, darkening his screen. You shake your head, whatever power you had earlier today had been drained after your little stunt.

Satan nods in understanding. “Shame- imagine what one of your jellies could do to Diavolo’s office.”

“Satan-”

He chuckles wrapping an arm around your back. He plants a loud kiss onto your forehead. “Alright-alright. Perhaps after a bit of a rest and recharge?”

You poke his leg playfully and laugh. “If you wanted to have sex again you could just ask.”  

He dips low and kisses you. “Well then- if you are up for another round of delinquency…”

Beelzebub

Sweet baby didn’t know-

Well, he knew about it. Lucifer had given everyone “the talk” about it a couple of millennia ago.

He never really thought about it before you because he didn’t sleep with humans often (Him so big, human so smol if he isn’t paying attention it could be...bad)

So when you drag him into your room he just doesn’t think about it. You are both so oblivious

He doesn’t think about the shift in your scent, your kisses were just as sweet as always. If there was a peppery aftertaste to your kiss he chalks it up to something you had for breakfast

He doesn’t think anything of it when you practically drag him from your bed to shower together before school

He doesn’t think about it when at lunch your appetite starts to rival his

He starts to think about it during P.E. when your dodge ball puts a demon down for the rest of class

He definitely notices when you pin him down to steal his sandwich during your picnic date

Now he’s freaking out, whether it's because you are showing inhuman strength or the fact that you stole his food who knows

You nab yet another one of his sandwiches and start munching away with a hum of happiness. “Hey, babe.” He rumbles beneath you. “You feeling alright?” He wraps his large hands around your waist. Your weight was warm and comfortable over his prone form. He had whisked you away for an afternoon picnic, something to spend more time with you alone. After last night he craved being around you more than anything. He had packed enough food for him in mind. But it looks like it wouldn’t be enough. Odd. Beel rests his head back on the thick blanket protecting you both from the slightly damp grass underneath.

“Hmm?” You swallow down a mouthful of ruben. “Yeah! Famished though.” You lean back on his strong hip and swipe your finger around your mouth to brush off some crumbs. You reach for the other half of his sandwich to devour but pauses when you catch Beel’s kicked puppy look. With a huff of amusement, you offer the other half to him letting him chomp down with a fanged smile in thanks.

He chews in silence, watching you pick up a bowl of fresh fruit. Hmmm… He runs his rough palms up and down your thighs and hips ignoring your squirming and giggles when he runs over the thin skin of your sides. He squeezes you lightly. Huh- Your muscles were firmer than this morning, now that he was looking closer he could see that your frame was a bit sturdier too. Still his perfectly lovable and squishy human but more solid around the edges. In a last-ditch effort to figure out what has changed, he reaches out for his pact mark.

He jerks forward, upsetting your position on his lap, causing you to tumble backward, fruit flying everywhere. “Beel!” You shriek. He shushes you, squeezing your cheeks between warm hands.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?” You repeat. “What dessert? I’m pretty sure the fruit was part of it...but I mean. If you want grassy cantaloupe it’s all yours.” You eye the remains of the seasonal fruit laying around you and then at the basket. You were pretty sure you saw some pastries at the bottom of it too.

“We had sex.” He blurts out bluntly, and quite loudly.

Your face heats. “Yes, thank you for the reminder.” You push him off sitting up on your elbows. “Please, why don’t you yell it out for all the wildlife to hear too.”

Beelzebub shakes his head groaning. “No-I forgot to warn you about our pact.”

Ahh-oh. You eye him wearily. If he was stressing you were stressing, it wasn’t like him to get so bent out of shape. “Ok-is it, like bad?”  What were you going to die? That would be a big thing to just forget. “How about you fill me in big guy.” You listen enraptured while he jerkily explains how you have strengthened your bond exponentially without even realizing it. Magic, super strength, the appetite, all because you jumped his bones.

Nice.

It sounded so cool- but then overwhelming all at the same time. Was it permanent? What if you lost control and actually hurt someone for real.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it-I just. You felt so good.” He wilts. “I should have been more careful- this is the first time I’ve done this.”

“Beel-”

“I swear.” He bulldozes over you. “I didn’t mean to keep this from you.”

You cut him off, combing your fingers through his hair soothingly. “I believe you, Beel.” You smile reassuringly. “It’s not like it’s gonna hurt me...right?”  He thinks about it for a minute then grunts, shaking his head. You grin brighter stretching out your arms. “And I get some cool powers right?”

He nods again. “For a bit yes.”

You get up off the ground excitedly. “Right then! You’ll show me the ropes right? I’ve never done anything magical before!” You look at your palms as if fire or sparks were going to fly out of them. Beel rises to his feet too.

“You sure? I doubt I will be as good of a mentor as Lucifer or even Belphie.” He looks around the large grove of trees and sprawling grassy acreage around you both. You both were far away from the populated areas of the mountain pass and town. He could practice with you freely and without worrying about damaging anything important. “Not the date I promised, but if you really want me to show you some stuff…” He offers you a shy smile. He did have a few cool tricks he could show you. You nod already rolling up your sleeves. Well- if this was what you really wanted then he would be glad to show you.  

[iwaslut]

— silence

synopsis: the aftermath of an assassin’s bullet.

note: acts as a sequel to “a moment,” but it’s not necessary to read it beforehand.

ft. jean kirschtein, mikasa ackerman, and connie springer.

warning: season four, episode eight spoilers, angst, referenced character death, blood.

the quiet is deafening.

the solemn atmosphere that’s now replaced the once jovial celebration of the scouts is nearly suffocating. it’s difficult for you to believe that only a little while ago, your comrades were reveling in paradis’ supposed victory. this doesn’t feel like one.

the soft whirring of the aircraft’s engine and the slight shuffling of soldiers around are all muted to you as you sit alone in a darkened corner on the harsh wooden planks of the floor.

your knees are drawn up close to your chest as you blankly stare at your hands outstretched in front of you. with your palms turned up, you can’t tear your eyes away from the redness that stains them. you can’t look away from the blood that once belonged to your sister.

you ball them into fists and let them drop onto your kneecaps, and lean your forehead against your knees.

when will it end?

a warm hand gently lands on your shoulder and without even looking, you already know who it is. with your head still firmly pressed against your knees, you allow jean to slowly unfurl your clenched fists. dark crescents mar your palms and you feel a trickle of cool liquid drip onto them before jean drags a damp washcloth over them, cleansing your hands of the dried blood that coats them.

he works slowly, dragging the cloth over every crevice of your palm and in between each of your fingers. he pretends to not notice the way your shoulders begin to shake or the muffled sobs that escape pass your sealed lips. once he’s sure that your hands are entirely clean, jean takes a seat down beside you and tiredly sighs.

after taking a few deep ragged breaths, a futile attempt to regain some composure, you turn your head to the side to look at the man you’ve loved since you were trainees.

his knees rest against his chest, similar to you, and his hands are firmly pressed over his ears as strands of his grown out hair are harshly entangled in between his fingers. his stare is directed towards the ground, but you can make out the tear-stains that are still in the process of drying on his cheeks. you reach out, gently tugging jean’s hand away from his face and forcing him to loosen his grip on his hair.

“who’s going to steal food off of my plate now?” you blurt out. you rub your thumb over the backside of jean’s hand, an action that brings comfort to the both of you. tears blur the corners of your vision once more as you focus your attention on the action of moving your thumb back and forth over and over again.

jean lets out a watery chuckle and leans his head against yours. he flips his palm upward and folds his fingers over yours before sighing heavily.

“i don’t know,” he admits.

the silence that fills the room is unsettling.

ever since your first encounter with a titan all those years ago, you’ve suffered from nightmares and insomnia, but that’s not what’s keeping you away from sleep tonight. no, the distinct lack of a certain sound is what’s causing sleep to elude you this evening.

you don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry at the fact you can’t fall asleep without sasha’s obnoxious snoring.

turning onto your side, you pull the thread-barren blanket that’s pooled around your chest back up to your chin and look out the window. your eyes follow the thin trail of moonlight that seeps through the glass of the window. the faint light dully illuminates the interior of the room, and your eyes fall upon your remaining roommate.

you know mikasa can’t sleep either.

if one were to just briefly look over at mikasa, they’d think she was fully asleep. lying flat on her back and completely still on top of her cot, one might even mistaken her for dead. but after being roommates for so long, you’ve come to know the subtleties that distinguish whether she’s awake or not.

it’s almost unnoticeable and you have to strain your ears to even hear it, but mikasa’s breathing pattern is off. if she were asleep, her breaths would be nice and deep and there’d be a certain rhythm to it. right now, her breathing is erratic, a mesh of shallow inhales and deep exhales as if she’s trying to catch her breath.

neither of you can fall asleep without the cacophony known as sasha’s snoring.

it’s something that worsened as sasha aged. when you were kids, you used to threaten that you’d smother sasha with a pillow if she continued to make so much noise at night.

but now as you lie awake in the middle of the night, you miss it more than anything.

you sit up straight in your bunk and toss your legs over the side. the ground is cool against your bare feet, but you pay it no mind. curling your blanket around your body, you patter over to where mikasa is.

“c’mon,” you whisper, placing a hand on her bare arm. her gaze shifts from the bottom of the empty bunk above her to you. “i’ll make us some tea right now.”

mikasa doesn’t reply, but gives you a small nod before hoisting herself out of bed as well.

you both will have to learn how to become accustomed to the quiet.

out of all of your friends, there is nobody who can really understand how you feel right now besides connie.

sasha was family to the both of you - your other half.

although you loved your sister with all your heart, you were overjoyed that she managed to find someone like connie to stick by her side.

you fully believe that connie and your sister were soulmates if such a thing were true. whether platonic or romantic, there’s no arguing that the two complemented one another like no other. you couldn’t have connie without sasha, just like how you couldn’t have sasha without connie.

they brought out the best in each other and never failed to lighten the mood amongst your friends whenever things got too dreary.

god, you miss your sister.

it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how connie will turn to the side while your friends are walking around town with some remark on the tip of his tongue just to clamp his mouth shut once he realizes no one’s there. or how his eyes linger on the spot to your left for a few seconds longer than necessary before flickering back up to meet your gaze when he greets you and jean.

mealtimes are the worst.

you used to look forward to them; you may not have had the same appetite as sasha did, but you appreciated the opportunity to eat as well as the time to spend with those closest to you.

now, you nearly dread them.

an effort at minimal small talk is made at the table before it quickly dies off as you all push around the food that’s been prepared for your meal. the quality of your meals has improved since the days you were cadets, but not by much.

“sasha would’ve loved this.” the sound of connie’s voice breaks the silence. with his elbow lying on top of the table, connie’s head rests in his hand as he spoons through the porridge in his bowl.

“yeah,” you agree quietly, looking down at your own meal, “she would’ve.”

jean places a hand over yours, and you shoot a grateful smile his way. another gap of silence fills the air once more as you all soak in connie’s words.

“i think we should enjoy every meal we’re able to spend together.” the firmness in your voice startles both jean and connie who turn to look your way. “and once this damn war is over, we’re going to travel all over the world and taste all the food there is.”

tilting your head up, you look at connie sitting across from you. his eyes are still filled with weariness, but he gives you a small, but genuine smile in return.

“okay,” he says while nodding. jean squeezes your hand in agreement and you all go back to eating your food.

mealtimes will forever remind you of sasha, but the quietness that proceeds isn’t as stifling as it once was.

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

[tangleweave]

{OOC Note: Because this is an RP blog, normally I would attach a reply to the bottom of this. But it hits me so damn hard, I really and honestly don't have the words for it just now. It's so incredibly moving and powerful, my analysis is that it stands strong on its own. In fact, I'm coming up with a drabble to write in eventual reply, but here and now, in this moment, this submission deserves its own spotlight. This is masterful writing and I count myself as one of the luckiest people on Earth to call @brooklynislandgirl my writing partner and one of my dearest friends. I am utterly and thoroughly blown away. I raise a glass to you, D, and hope that my prose can find its way to equaling yours.}

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

{{Fluttering Confessions meme}}

"You're my Hokupa'a, Stephen."

She turns away from his windows and the tender smile on her full lips is curved only for him, the wine-red stain she wears almost perfectly matching the dress that wraps around her frame. Each step is graceful, accentuates her natural beauty. She stops only a hand-span away from him and reaches up, adjusting the tie at his throat, retucking the points of the shirt's collar. Heavy lidded gaze however meets his and doesn't shy away. In their depths he can see alternate suggestions for their evening.

They don't have to go to the awards ceremony, presenting him with a physical token of his genius, the pioneering of the Strange Technique. That instead they could pop open the incredibly rare, incredibly expensive bottle of 1959 Dom Perignon champagne she's got perfectly chilled for their private celebration. That they could leave a trail of their clothes from living room to their bed. That he could drink the heady brew from every curve and hollow of her body before making love to each other the whole night through.

Beth has never been more in love with her husband than she is right now, and pride radiates from every fibre of her being.

"And now, da whole world can see why."

~*~

"You came."

It carries the connotation of 'who let you in here'. And she lets that anger rise up without considering trying to mollify it. Anger is a purifying fire that lays waste to doubt and to pain when the conflagration burns hot enough, she knows this all too well. Love is the only other emotion that can both cure and cauterise in equal measures and she knows that is too much to ask of him.

She lifts her head from how it had been bowed, the dark circles under her eyes speaking to the red eyed international flight, and all the way across her Mother's eastern arm, she'd prayed. She'd begged for his life. One of only two things she'd ever asked for in her entire life. And if the gods could not grant her this one boon, she prayed that his would end peacefully, that he would be spared from the exquisite anguish she could feel racing through his system and pooling in his arms, his chest, his face.

Even now the ravages are painful to look on. The same side of his mouth where his often sardonic smile lifted at the corner is swollen, twisted. The cut is deep. It is as furious as the rest of him. That same side's eye, tumescent and bruised, sealed shut. All of the lacerations. And still he is the most beautiful man she's ever seen. Maybe even more so now, inexplicably. He would say it was her bleeding heart for stray and broken things. She would have countered with the fact that he'd been broken long before they even met, so maybe he's right.

She can't bear to look at his hands, not yet. She has work to do, yet.

"Of course I did."

Under her breath, she finishes the chant she'd begun hours ago; entreating Lono, the god of healing, to make instruments of her hands. She lifts up scissors with surprisingly steadiness before she makes the first incision to the bandages. They become tinged with a new bloom of crimson, though this time, it isn't his blood. Everything comes with a cost, and she will sacrifice all of herself if that is what is required to heal him.

"Not da Admiral, not da hospital staff... Even da Gods wouldn't stop me from reachin' you, Stephen. Maybe not even you, yaself, could."

~*~

"Forceps."

She hands over the instrument.

"Ten-blade."

She waits to let go until she's sure he's got a grip.

"Spreader."

"Oh my god, Fen. It's a pizza, and I don' even eat dat much, your lines don' have t' be perfect."

The look on his face, she immediately laughs and sets her hand on the back of his wrist.

"I love you."

That peaked brow lift.

"Doesn't mean dat I won't eat you if you don't hand ovah da plate."

He laughs, and maybe her heart flutters a little.

Or it could be hunger pains.

It doesn't matter, he's plucked a slice of mushroom off her half, and feeds it to her.

~*~

Maybe he said her name. Maybe it's just the sensation of his knuckles against the arch of her cheek and the subsequent flinch because she doesn't want him putting even the slightest pressure on his scars. Maybe it's the sound of his heartbeat echoing in her ear and urging hers to match its mostly tranquil pace. Maybe its a far more simple and ultimately more complicated answer than that.

But whatever it is, Beth's lashes flutter. Gives the impression of storm clouds passing over the tropical canopy of her gaze before they lower fully to conceal her eyes, which themselves drop to the vicinity of his feet. Looking down but not away. Never away. Her throat rises and falls with a breath, which leaves her as a self-deprecating little laugh. Not one that curves her lips. Not one that wrinkles the corners of her nose and shows him her teeth. This is softer, much more delicate a thing because she's grasping at an apology. An excuse.

Something she's done a hundred, a thousand, times before. Mostly because she can't bear to shoulder even the idea of his disappointment.

"Sometimes I... I get small kine los' in your eyes."

[marmolady]

Back to School

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, hints of Quinchelle

Summary: Endless Ending. The Catalysts are heading back to school. Or, at least, most of them are. For Taylor, Hartfeld is a whole new beginning... but the past isn't done with her yet.

WARNINGS: Character death (flashbacks), self-harm.

Word Count: 6348

Chronology: After 'Homecoming' and 'Clarity'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic​

Thanks for reading

“Stay with me, okay? S-stay with me!” Taylor frantically tried to stem the bleeding with the shirt she’d taken off her own back, but it was already stained through. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too. Not you, Diego, please…. P-please…. Please….”

His breath rattled in his throat, strained and weak. “T-tell… tell Varyyn I’m… I… s-sorr--”

“No. No. You’ll tell him yourself, all right? You’ve got to hang on, Diego, please….”

Even as Taylor spoke, she could feel her friend’s fingers growing cold in hers. A distant yell sent a chill down her spine. The Arachnids were closing in. If she was going to get Diego to safety, she had to get him on his feet. Fast.

“...Tayl… you… f-find…” he croaked.

Taylor tried to meet his gaze and failed. He couldn’t see her there before him, though he was trying… he was trying so hard…. Until his eyes were still, searching no longer.

And she shrieked. She screamed into the night, knowing that she was good as sealing her own fate but not caring. How could she care anymore? She was alone. She collapsed into the blood-soaked chest of the best friend she’d ever had… and howled.

“Taylor!”

Woken by a shake, she kept on screaming, her body convulsing with violent sobs. Where was she?

Diego… Diego, no….

Estela cradled her face, stroking tenderly with gentle fingers. But all Taylor could see was a lingering vision of unseeing eyes. Of blood, and death, and….

“Shh-sh-sh-shh…, it’s over, amor. Everyone’s safe….”

Taylor tried to ground herself, to bring herself back, but she was swimming in anguish-- no, she was drowning.

“Diego!”

More urgently, Estela stroked Taylor’s face and hair. Her own eyes were sparkling. “Querida, he’s fine. He’s safe-- I swear he’s safe. Taylor-- Taylor? I need you to come back to me, baby….”

Something about the fear in that voice snapped Taylor to reality. Estela. Estela was holding her. They were… home.

The tears kept coming. Why? Why was she not allowed any fucking peace? She was broken… her head was broken….

She couldn’t stop howling, even as she was held. The blood could still be on her hands… she could feel it there….

“I… can’t… make it… stop…,” she whimpered. Her hands trembled as she lifted them; they tingled with the expectation of what should have been there but wasn’t. Why won’t it stop?  She raised a hand to her head and smacked herself with all the force she could muster.

“I… can’t… make it… STOP!” Taylor hollered, and she slammed her open palm to her head again and again, resisting Estela’s panicked grappling. “MAKE… IT… STOP!”

Then Estela managed to wrestle her way to Taylor’s hands. The grip was like iron, though Taylor kept on struggling.

“Taylor-- Taylor!”

“LET… ME… GO!”

“I’m sorry.… I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s okay that you’re overwhelmed and you’re scared, but you can’t… you can’t hurt yourself like that.”

“LET ME… let me….”

Taylor screamed and sobbed, but she stopped fighting at the sound of the pain in her wife’s voice, and let herself be cradled and gently rocked.

“Sh-shh-shh… I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much…,” Taylor whimpered through her tears. “I--I can’t stand it anymore.”

“I know, mi amor. I know.” Shaking, Estela softly kissed her wife’s temple. “Will you be all right if I let go? I’m just going to grab you a tissue, okay?”

Just then, there was a loud rapping at the door, followed by Quinn’s voice.

“Can we come in? It’s me and Michelle… just a little worried about you guys.”

“Yeah… come in. And if you wanna help, we could use some tissues.”

At the sight of more friends, looking towards her in concern, Taylor cried all the harder, and very quickly she was being hugged by Quinn and Michelle… and Diego, who was also now wide awake and worried. Surrounded by friends’ arms and soothing words, she let her emotions flow forth until she had no tears left to cry.

With the risk of Taylor hurting herself diminished, Estela stepped away to get a hold of herself. “I’ll just get you a drink of water, cariña, okay?”

Taylor blew her nose noisily. “Actually, um, I might get up for a little while. If I try and go back to sleep now, I’m pretty sure it’s just gonna be nightmares all over again.” She shrunk into herself guiltily. This was not the ‘good night’s sleep before the first day of college’ that everyone had in mind. “And I don’t expect everyone to stay up just for me--”

“Oh, shut up, Taylor.” Michelle offered another tissue. “The sooner you let us help you, the sooner we can all get some sleep, all right?”

It turned out-- unsurprisingly, given the noise-- that the rest of the house had been woken by Taylor’s shrieking.

“So, uh… someone getting murdered up there?” Zahra quipped as the group descended the stairs.

Estela gave her a look, but turned her attention quickly back to Taylor. God, she was still shaking like a leaf… and then Estela realised that her wife wasn’t the only one.

Pull yourself together. For fuck’s sake.

If she was going to be any use at all, Estela knew she needed to sort herself out… and it felt like she was on the verge of breaking down sobbing. “I’ll… I’ll get you that drink, Taylor.”

Grabbing a glass from her wife’s bedside table, Estela retreated to the bathroom and collapsed over the basin with her head in her hands.

Taylor hadn’t hurt herself before. The way she’d hit herself over the head, as if determined to pound out a part of her she couldn’t stand… it struck Estela as hauntingly like the way she herself had lost immunity to her own fists in her frantic need to purge the poison. It hadn’t happened many times-- four?-- five at the most-- but Taylor was like a human sponge; it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she’d been influenced by her wife’s response to trauma and taken it as her own. That was troubling.

Estela felt ill. Sick with guilt. Helpless.

So, when Raj popped his head around the door to offer a hug, she all but fell into his arms, all the bottled-up frustration bursting forth.

“I know it was stupid and naive,” she lamented against her friend’s chest, “but I really thought we’d cracked it.”

“I wouldn’t say you haven’t cracked it,” Raj said thoughtfully. “Taylor used to have these visions most nights, right? If this is the first time it’s happened since you guys moved in here, you must be on the right track… but even the right track’s gonna have a bump in the road here and there.”

“If she’s waking up screaming in the middle of the night, ‘the right track’ isn’t fucking good enough!” To her frustration, angry tears splashed down Estela’s cheeks. Crying wouldn’t do a damn thing to help Taylor. Roughly, she rubbed her face dry. She should have seen this coming; stepping foot into Hartfeld University as a student would be, for Taylor, incredibly significant. Estela had known Taylor was stressed leading up to the start of term. She should have done more….

“Yeah… I know. And it’s not fair at all-- after everything our girl was prepared to do for us, the least she deserves is a bit of peace at the end of it. So, we’re just gonna have to keep on taking good care of her. Like she always does for us. You know-- if relaxation is the key to Tayls’ good night sleep, I’m happy to give coaching….”

In spite of everything, Estela spluttered a laugh. “Raj, if Taylor ever wants to give the getting stoned route a try, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know about it. If I’m honest, some days I could probably use some of that shit myself.”

Raj grinned. “Even just the thought got a smile out of you-- that’s a win! But if a good hug is more your thing, I’m more than happy to deliver on that one too.”

Estela exhaled slowly, her eyes shut. She’d needed that hug… more than she’d known. Those disturbed nights punctuated by the anguished sobs of her poor wife crying out in her sleep, and it had been all Estela could do to stay calm enough to offer any kind of soothing comfort… they’d taken a heavy toll.

“I need to go back to her,” she said quietly.

“So, Tayls,” Craig had been asking, as if it was the most everyday thing in the world, “what’s the worst way I died? Gory details!”

“Craig!”

“I mean, we’re all curious, but come on!”

“What? You know what they say, ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’-- I mean, it’s not like any of those things are actually gonna happen now. There’s nothing to be scared of!”

Taylor’s mouth hung open. Actually… would that help? It wasn’t an approach she’d even considered. But as her mind flickered back to the vision of Diego dead in her arms… the feel of the weight of his body, she knew she couldn’t do it.

“I, um, I don’t think I’m ready. To laugh about these things. When I have these dreams it’s like… they’re fresh. New and visceral and vivid every time.  I… I can’t bounce back from that and just laugh. Maybe in like… a couple of weeks? That’s if it doesn’t happen again. But it’s like I’m living it. And when I wake up… all the shock, and dread… it’s all still there.”

Everyone was quiet. Taylor didn’t blame them. How the hell could anyone know what to do with this? Estela sat down beside her and offered the glass of water.

“Thanks, babe,” Taylor murmured. Her throat was parched and sore… she supposed screaming bloody murder could do that. She took a few sips, then let herself relax into the couch, and Estela’s and Diego’s arms around her.

“I think, “ she said, “I underestimated how nervous I was about starting tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen, but I guess it’s ‘cause I feel like… well, a bit of a fraud.”

Zahra scoffed. “Freaking pseudo-humans think they can muscle in on our school. Man, they’re letting that place go to shit.”

Taylor looked at her, taken off guard, then slowly… she started to laugh, until she was near doubled-over. Wheezing, she sat up and wiped away a tear. “Oh my god. It’s ridiculous!”

“Honestly?” Michelle said, “I think it’s going to be surreal. ‘Normal’ is going to be hard, after….” She shuddered, and Taylor knew where her mind had wandered to… the smoldering wreckage that was a past not another soul bar the twelve of them could ever comprehend.

Quinn hugged Michelle tightly. “That’s why we need to keep doing this. Sharing the burden. If we can survive the end of the world that way… well, that’ll be how we survive the aftermath as well.”

Regaining her breath, Taylor snuggled into Diego’s shoulder. She’d been the damsel in distress tonight, but come the next, it could be any one of her friends drowning in the enormity of what they’d survived. And she’d be there, offering a shoulder, as they’d done her. Taylor closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing; slow and deep into her belly. The horrors would fade, just as long as she could keep them at bay for long enough for them to do so.  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t well-used to the challenge; it had become almost routine until she’d thought she’d mastered it. Her friends had gathered around her, offering whatever comfort they could give, and that was the best hope she could ask for.

Raj sat bolt upright, clearly struck by inspiration. Always a worry.

“Guys! Gu-u-uuys!”

Taylor snorted an affectionate little laugh. “Raj! Ra-a-aaj! What’re you thinking?”

He jumped up and began moving furniture out the way.

“This is ominous….” Zahra muttered.

“Okay, doodlejumps, everyone one the floor! Sitting in a nice, wide circle.”

“Yup. I knew I had a bad feeling…. If this isn’t ‘pass the bong’, I’m out.”

Raj was undeterred, in spite of the scepticism shown by a chunk of the group. “Now, lie down, so that your head is resting on the belly of the dude or dudette to your right.”

“Er, okay,” Diego said, angling himself so that his head would fall to Taylor’s middle, “kinda weird, but why not?”

“Is everyone in positio--”

But Craig was already laughing; being sleep-deprived and tickled by the movements of Zahra’s diaphragm, he couldn’t help it if he tried. And Quinn with her head on his belly, found herself jiggled up and down in a most giggle-inducing manner.

“There you go-- you’re doing it!”

Bouncing up and down on Estela’s firm belly, Taylor laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Which made both Estela and Diego laugh more, which made her laugh more…. And so, Raj’s laughing circle worked its magic. It was simple, and silly, but actually… it worked. She was smiling so hard her jaw ached. The genius of Raj had struck again.

She laughed until…. “Okay, okay, I c-can’t breathe! Too much laughing!”

Taylor sat up clumsily, and a rosy-cheeked Estela put an arm around her once more, still giggling herself.

A rather uncharacteristically disheveled Michelle caught her breath long enough to give Raj a look of incredulation.

“I hate the fact that I feel so much better after that.” She collapsed against Quinn’s shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t even want to know how ridiculous we all looked just then…. The things I do for you people….”

“For what it’s worth,” Taylor said, “I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

It would be over an hour before everyone at last trundled along back to bed. An hour that Taylor’s loved ones had filled with chamomile tea, a giggly session of group yoga, a massage with soothing lotions from a talented Michelle, and many, many hugs. She even managed to snag a hug from Zahra; very brief and well out of sight of anyone else, but a hug nonetheless.

Taylor sunk into the mattress with a quiet moan, and curled her body into a ball, soon to have Estela’s wrapped lovingly around it. She was tired… so tired that the weight of her eyelids was painful. But she was relaxed, more-so than should have been possible after the horrific vision she endured, and with something as momentous as her first day as a student at Hartfeld lying ahead.

“Duerme ya, dulce bien; mi capullo de nardo,” Estela sang softly as her gentle fingers stroked Taylor’s hair.

Taylor closed her eyes, knowing nothing but the feel and sound of her wife. The surest thing she could ever trust in.

“Despacito duermete, como la abeja en la flor.

Duerme ya, dulce bien;

Duerme ya, dulce amor

Dulces sueños tendrás

al oir mi canción.”

And Taylor slept soundly, cocooned in love.

_________________________

As she pulled the van up into one of several car-parks on campus, Estela was struck by how right Michelle had been about it feeling surreal to be back in this place. The only reason she’d ended up there to begin with was because she’d intended to kidnap one Aleister Rourke and hold him hostage to gain access to his father. Circumstances had… definitely changed. That she was studying now wasn’t just a means to a probably violent end; it was to equip her to live a life fulfilling and true to who she was.

Her passengers piled out of the van; usually, those without a class first-thing would more than likely take a bus in later, but today felt significant.

“How are you feeling?” Estela checked in with Taylor, noting that she looked rather like someone on the verge of vomiting.

Taylor felt rather like she was on the verge of vomiting. She was a walking jumble of nerves. The smile she gave her wife was shaky. “It’s just… weird. Other than the Lernaean Gate experience, and I’m trying to keep that out of my mind, I’ve never stepped foot in this place. But I look over there, and I know that’s the Humanities building, and the best coffee shop on campus is around that corner, and if I were to bump into another Freshman, I could probably give them accurate directions to whatever lecture hall they were searching for. I know all that, and still… it’s new.”

“It’s okay,” Estela said gently, finding Taylor’s hand and squeezing it. “All the other new students are gonna be freaking out too. You’ll blend right in.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” Taylor took a deep breath. This was nothing, nothing that she couldn’t handle. When she stepped back and looked at it logically, there was obviously no threat. All those months of building this up in her head sure had wreaked havoc on her. “What do you have up first? Was it the subject on discrimination and identities?” That sounds right.

Estela nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.” She had just the three classes on this first day; one each for Identity and Discrimination, Conflict Resolution and Peace Building, and Social Development. Having opted to change her major from Business Studies to Peace and Conflict Studies-- something that hadn’t even been an option when she began studying in San Trobida-- she was starting this school year as a Junior rather than a Senior.

She wasn’t alone-- Craig had also decided to change direction, now focusing his degree on Game Development. “Well, uh, that sounds… fun,” he said, grateful that Introduction to Computer Game Design would be his first lecture. It was something he’d wanted to try out back in his Freshman year, before he’d gotten swept up in the popularity that came with joining the football team. Now, his inner nerd wouldn’t be hidden in shame. “Anyways, I’ve got to go-- I actually don’t wanna miss this class. Weird. That’s like… never happened before.”

He shuffled off with Zahra, who rolled her eyes as she swung an arm around his shoulder.

Taylor pulled Estela into a kiss. All too brief, for they had company, and because that Identity and Discrimination lecture wouldn’t attend itself.

“You still on for coffee?” Quinn asked Taylor as the rest of the group broke off for lessons. “Grace says she’s on the way there now.”

With a tight hug goodbye, Taylor let Estela go off to her lecture, and joined Quinn in a brisk walk to the coffee shop.

As with much of the Hartfeld campus, the coffee shop felt as familiar as if Taylor had been there many times before. Rather than feeling odd, in this particular instance it added to the warm and comforting feel of the place…. It was like a hug from an old friend.

And the coffee itself….

“Actually, that’s a nice cappuccino!”

“Good enough that you’ll convince Estela to give it a go?” Grace asked, a twinkle in her eye. She knew well from experience that, as a rule, Estela found American coffee to taste-- to quote her directly-- ‘like ass’.

Taylor snickered. “I could get her to join us no problem, but I’d put money on her sticking to her flask of a superior Colombian brew.”

Whether it was a world-beating cup of coffee or not, it certainly fulfilled the job of giving Taylor the wake-up she needed. It was hard not to keep on apologising for being the cause of a disrupted night’s sleep, but she bit it back. There was no shame in not being okay. Soon enough, it would be someone else’s turn, and she sure as hell didn’t want anyone else beating themselves up the way she did. Estela had always been very quick to snap Taylor out of hypocritical thinking where guilt was concerned, and it was appreciated. So, Taylor just let herself enjoy a warm brew and the company of two of the best friends she could ask for as they pondered on this new year of college.

“Ooh!” Quinn cried suddenly. “You could try ‘Hartfeld Creates’; it’s basically a club for people who are into arts and crafts of all kinds-- well, basically, anything that you create yourself.”

That sounded all right. If she was going to ingratiate herself into the school community, starting with something Taylor already had an interest in wouldn’t hurt.

“Do they take bumbling beginner knitters like me, d’you think?”

“They do a big exhibition at the end of the school year; if I remember correctly from last time, there were definitely a few knitters showing off their work.” Quinn took another sip of her coffee, then looked up with a shy smile. “Actually,” she said, “I’d wanted to sign up, but commitments were always tough for me. I guess… there’s nothing to hold me back now.”

Grace returned the smile. “It sounds like a good excuse for me to really start diving in to fractal art. If you wanted, we could all sign up together.”

“I think I might really like that,” Taylor said, and she licked froth from her lips. Estela was missing out-- this was a good coffee. “At least I’ll know there’ll be two people who will say nice things about my lumpy knitting.”

She brought her mug upwards to chink with her two friends’.

“To new experiences!” she toasted, before hastily adding, “--of the low-key variety!” No more sea monsters for me, thank you.

Before Taylor knew it, the next of her new experiences had rolled around. She’d found her way to the lecture hall for Introductory Spanish without a sweat, as if she had a campus map pre-downloaded in her brain. It was weird, but she did turn up looking less frazzled than a few of her classmates, so it had its value. Taylor took a seat beside a mature-aged student, quietly relieved that not everyone in her first class was fresh out of high school. And, of course, being Taylor, she immediately made herself acquainted.

“Hi,” she said, offering a hand that was gratefully shaken, “I’m Taylor.”

The silver-haired woman returned a smile. “Lovely to meet you. Sue.”

“Is this your first class, too?”

“Not my first class-- I just came from a Molecular Biology lecture-- but it’s my first day, so still getting my head around how it all works. I did try college years back, but, you know… life happened. I can tell you it’s changed a lot since then!”

This was so much easier than Taylor had anticipated. Caught up in her own head, she found herself frequently falling into the trap of underestimating the qualities that had always best served her. She wasn’t just the glue that held the Catalysts together simply because she’d been created as a perfect match to their needs;  it was more than that. Taylor loved people. She was good at people. So long as she focused on her innate humanity and not the part of her that felt alien, she could find her confidence.

“So, Molecular Biology, and Introductory Spanish. That’s broad. I’m guessing you don’t have a major in mind yet? I’m the same.”

Sue chuckled. “Well, I’m not studying for anything in particular. No one strong direction. To be honest, I don’t have a great deal of interest in a career change. I work part-time from home, which suits me fine. Plenty of time for the grandkids. But I have always loved to learn. The way I see it, if I’m to broaden my horizons, I might as well cast a wide net.”

“Fair enough,” Taylor said. “There’s certainly the range here to do that. I found it a little intimidating to have so much choice. I vaguely know what direction I want to take, but really, until I give things a go….” She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s really going to grab me, I don’t know.”

“There’s something to be said for the fun being in the journey. I know I’ve always wanted a university education, and I’ve always wanted to travel. Both things are coming to fruition after more years than I care to count, but I wouldn’t trade any of the stops along the way for anything. That’s what inspired me to take Spanish-- Latin America is high on the list.”

“You should go off the beaten track and give San Trobida a try! It’s really beautiful.” Taylor suggested to an intrigued nod. “For me…. My wife’s Colombian-San Trobidan and my best friend’s Mexican by blood. I’m kinda curious about what they say to one other about me.” She smiled cheekily, had a momentary realisation of ‘oh, I’m not sure how LGBT-friendly this older stranger is’, then realised Sue hadn’t batted an eyelid, and continued. “No, we’re probably going to end up spending a lot of time in San Trobida; my wife’s only family is there.” Well, I guess that’s not even entirely true anymore. “A bit more Spanish will serve me well. Wifey’s teachings have mostly centred around curse words and romantic pet-names… neither of which are appropriate in all circumstances.”

Sue gave a short laugh. “It’s a useful language,” she said. “Widely used. And once you know a bit of Spanish, you find related languages start to make some sense as well. French is next on my list.”

And so, by the time the professor arranged his notes and set up the projector, Taylor had realised that she really needn’t have worried about a thing. She was a social butterfly; on La Huerta, or anywhere else. All she had to do was spread her wings.

_____________________

Estela’s morning had been uneventful. Her classes had basically been introductions to the respective courses; general overviews of what to expect in the coming weeks and months of study. This was just as well, because she found her mind wandering.

The previous night’s events had rattled her. So long it had been since Taylor had one of her horrific nighttime visions-- the last one had been back in San Trobida-- Estela had been caught off-guard. Once again, that helpless feeling was seemingly inescapable.

She sat down in the library and buried her head in her assigned Peace and Conflict textbook, trying to focus for long enough to string two sentences together.

It was just a freak thing because of all the build-up to starting college. Chances are, she’ll sleep like a baby tonight.

Babies sleep like shit.

Who came up with that dumbass idiom anyway? No one who ever met a goddamn baby….

Taylor had always been prone to vivid dreams; dreams that weren’t normal dreams. Actually, on La Huerta, Estela had experienced a few of those herself. But after Taylor released the part of Vaanu that resided in her, things changed. The memories gifted to her by the Endless took over all of Taylor’s dreams. Between the two of them, they’d managed to note patterns; flashes of violent scenes had-- without fail-- been in the wake of a period of stress, while a reduction of Taylor’s waking anxiety led to lighter scenes playing through her head at night. The key, they’d deducted, was to ensure she went to bed relaxed and happy. Estela couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid to think it was a phase that had passed; it had simply been a case of waiting for a significant enough stressor and --whoomp-- back to nightmare city. And once Taylor closed her eyes each night… there wasn’t a damn thing Estela could do to keep her safe from the cruelties of her own mind.

Estela glanced at the clock. It would be three-quarters-of-an-hour at least before Taylor was done with her second class. She should at least take a few notes while she waited.

Then a voice echoed out from behind one of the rows of shelves.

“.…I’m still not convinced scar-girl wasn’t somehow involved. Nine students disappear off the face of the earth and that creeper just happens to be with them? I’m not buying it.”

In an instant, Estela felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks, and her stomach drop. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected much different but… she’d hoped she could get through the first day without… without…. How could it not hurt? Pointedly, she kept looking down into her notes, though any remaining hope she might have had to actually focus on them had fled. Nine students? She didn’t even count; she was an ‘other’. As everyone had always seen her. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let anyone see that it gets to you.

“Oh my god-- right? I can’t believe they let her back here after what happened….”

Another voice cut through, sharp and comfortingly familiar.

“I’m sorry-- are you serious?” Michelle demanded.

“...We didn’t ask you!”

“I know, I know. You’re just too busy making up poisonous gossip about a person who you’re well aware has just survived a traumatic event. Classy!”

“What the fu--”

“I’m sure the dean would be interested in hearing all about your treatment of one of the Hartfeld Ten. Someone the rest of them owe their lives to several times over. Or, you know…. The both of you could just get out of here, and while you’re at it…. Get. A. Fucking. Life.”

There was some rude and clearly embarrassed muttering aimed in Michelle’s direction, the shuffling of feet, then quiet.

Estela realised she’d been holding her breath. Everything was different now. The sting was still real, but coming up behind it was something soothing. And she wasn’t the ‘other’ any longer; not in that moment.

“Michelle….”

And Michelle came around the corner, a look of horror across her face. “Oh, shit--you heard that?”

Estela offered a shaky smile. “It’s okay; I’ve heard worse.”

“It’s not okay! It’s not remotely-- They’re just… assholes. Self-absorbed, ignorant assholes.” Michelle was shaking with fury. And Estela found herself not surprised those students scarpered quickly as they did. “You would not believe how close I came to slapping those bitches just now--”

“No, I can guess. Thank you.”

“I used to be friends with people like that. Or… I thought they were my friends. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that now I’ve got the real thing.”

Michelle pulled off her shoulder-bag and sat down in the chair beside Estela.

“Are any of them still here?” she asked. “The people you used to know.”

“’Know’ is a strong word in hindsight,” Michelle commented dryly. “But, the vast majority graduated when I was meant to, or the year after. There are a couple of girls I was in the sorority with who were Freshmen at the time. I caught a ‘you saw Michelle Nguyen’s gay now?’ ‘thank god we saved poor Sean when we did-- he deserves so much better’.” She rolled her eyes.

Estela huffed. “Ignorant assholes,” she affirmed. She looked back down at her notes. “Too bad, though. So far up their own asses they missed out on knowing the most amazing friend a person could ask for. Sucks to be them.”

There was quiet, and noting the silence, Estela raised her eyes to see Michelle looking at her with the warmest, most appreciative of smiles. Somewhat shyly-- she’d not intended to stir up deep emotions-- Estela returned it.

Michelle glanced around, checking there was no one in earshot. “I was talking with Grace earlier; bringing her up to date on everything that went down last night,” she whispered.

Estela quirked an eyebrow. “Any words of wisdom there?” she asked with a soft sigh. “Anything at all, I’ll take it. Please.”

Sympathetic, Michelle reached out and squeezed her friend’s arm. “We’re going to look after each other. That’s the best wisdom I think any of us has to offer.”

It was hard to argue with that… but it didn’t feel like enough. Not when Taylor was still being wrenched back to the darkest of places, powerless make it end.

“We wanted to float an idea with the others,” Michelle continued, sensing Estela’s helplessness. “Maybe we could get together every month, every fortnight… whatever it might be, and all of us just… talk. Like therapy, but just us, because so much of what’s been the fucking hardest we can’t tell anyone else. I dunno… maybe Quinn will bring cupcakes or something….”

“That usually reels everyone in,” Estela noted, a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t a bad idea. For herself, she’d looked at the idea of some kind of counselling, but it had come down to the fact that she’d only really want to do that with a therapist from San Trobida-- someone who understood where and what she’d come from. That was a tall order, even before the challenge of dodging around sensitive La Huerta business was considered. Obviously, everyone else would also need to get help in their own ways, but for some things, they had to be one another. “I think…. I think that might be a really good idea.”

_________________________

“See? You survived two whole classes!” Diego laughed, coming out of a lecture theatre beside Taylor. He’d made a point of choosing at least one best-friend-friendly elective, landing on ‘Gender, Sexuality and the Media’. If the first lecture was anything to go by, they were going to enjoy it. “All those nightmares for nothing.”

Taylor sighed dramatically. “All we’ve gotta do now is hope my brain gets with the programme. She can be tricky, that one.”

With a kind smile, Diego gently bumped shoulders with his friend. The night before had been eye-opening. Of course, Taylor had told him all about the ghastly visions she’d been haunted with, but to be present through the aftermath… it had slammed it home just what she’d been enduring. And he didn’t know she’d kept herself together as well as she did.

“Hey… it’s all gonna get better.” As Taylor met his eye, appreciative but unconvinced, explained. “The way I see it, you’re basically Stitch right now--”

“I’m gonna need you to spell this out for me,” Taylor said with a laugh.

“Ha. Trust me, it’ll all make sense. You know how Stitch had been made for only one purpose, and he felt kinda lost when all that was gone? That’s you.”

“I… guess….”

“Hear me out!”

“Always.”

“Well, when Vaanu left you, there was this big empty space left behind. And The Endless’ memories are basically you clinging to what your purpose always was-- to care for us all. It’s like Stitch; you don’t have your own memories to take up space, it’s just you and your purpose.”

Taylor stopped in her tracks. “Hang on. Is Estela my aggressive, lonely orphan Lilo?”

Diego sputtered a laugh. “I’d like to think Estela and I are both your Lilo. But what matters is that’s not going to last. All that empty space is going to fill up, day by day.”

“I… really wanna believe that.”

“I know.” He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “You know what else I think? I think the more you see that we’re all okay, the less you’re going to have that protective part of your brain setting off those nightmares as alarm bells to you. And for as long as it takes for you to be okay… I’m here for you. We all are.”

Taylor looked into his earnest face and saw only genuine love and care. And it broke her heart, because she couldn’t gaze into his warm, dark eyes and not see their light going out. A hard lump rose in her throat, choking her, and she buried her face against Diego’s neck, hugging him tight.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Really. Thanks.”

Finally pulling away from an embrace that had been so needed, Taylor and Diego hurried toward the green wooded area of campus where they’d arranged to meet Estela.

She was waiting for them by the fountain, her eyes lit with a smile at the sight of her beloved.

“Hola, mi angel!” she called out as they approached. “Te traje el almuerzo. Quieres encontrar un lugar?”

“Hahaha,” Taylor said sardonically, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly for good measure. “Yes, one lecture and I’m not fluent. Clearly university is money down the drain. Pfft.”

“Joder!”

“That, I understand.” She reached for Estela… the simple feel of her bringing her instantly home. “If we ever have an exam on curse words, you’ll have me on the trajectory for an A.”

What a relief it was to see Taylor happy, joking. Estela wrapped both her arms around her wife’s neck, and just held her. And when she finally released Taylor, it was only for her to move in once more to kiss her.

“Uh, guys? Are you going to do this after every block of classes? I might need you two to get a room.”

“Por favor! You love it. We all know you’re as invested in Taylor’s love life as you are your own.”

“Hey!” Diego exclaimed, hand to his heart as if mortally wounded. “A little rude, but true. But, I guess I can leave you lovebirds to it for a few minutes. Is it sad that I’m dying to see if they have anything new in the food court?”

And so, Estela and Taylor were left to wander a beautiful corner of the sprawling campus. Estela hooked her little finger in Taylor’s, and everything that had once made this world hostile melted to nothing. It was hard sometimes, not to feel like a round peg being forced through a square hole. Somehow, Taylor softened the world’s edges to her… and when she was near, Estela fit. Just as she was.

“Querida?” Estela looked at Taylor, and adored her. She could only hope that in her, Taylor found the same sense of belonging… the kind so strong that it defied all else.

“Mm?”

“I really love you.”

Taylor’s heart swelled. As it did every time she heard those words stated anew. Every time, it was a promise that for all the pain that still lingered, everything really would be all right.

“I really love you, too.”

[hualianff]

Untethered III 《II》

Hold On – Park Yun Seo

White noise rings through Xie Lian’s ears, replacing the brutal assaults of battle until they fade away into the background. Beads of rain make contact with Xie Lian’s face, soaking his hairline and his clothes. But nothing else matters in this moment besides the ring Crimson Rain holds hostage, away from Xie Lian’s heart.

“It’s common courtesy to answer when someone asks a question, little Prince,” the pirate captain sings, pulling tighter on the ring until the chain feels like it’s going to snap.

“No!” Xie Lian gasps worriedly. His hands fly to grasp the ring, effectively unhooking it from Crimson Rain’s sword, but cutting his right hand in the process. Blood immediately oozes from the small wound, cleansed by the rain and sliding down to splash onto the deck.

Xie Lian grimaces while inspecting his hand. His other palm closes around the ring protectively, pressing the cool surface to his lips. The prince unconsciously closes his eyes, memories flooding his mind, letting through five year’s worth of forbidden euphoria.

He envisions the grungy tavern on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Xianle, where Shi Qingxuan had convinced him to sneak out to explore outside the palace walls. He can taste the muskiness in the air, hear the drunken pandemonium. Shi Qingxuan had eventually gone off to gamble–particularly well-versed in wagering despite being of nobility status–leaving Xie Lian sitting at the bar alone, unsure of what to order.

Xie Lian remembers a mysterious figure taking the seat to his left, draped in a red overcoat with an eyepatch covering his right eye. The stranger did not hesitate to call the bartender over, ordering two beverages with a slight lilt in his baritone voice. Xie Lian awkwardly fixed his gaze onto his glass of iced tap water, hoping his common robes, untied hair, and makeup-less face would go unrecognized.

That, and the fact that he had no experience ordering or drinking alcohol, even at twenty-years-old.

The bartender brought over the eye-patched man’s drinks, setting them down with a thunk! Xie Lian was content to watch for the stranger’s drinking partner from his peripheral vision, perhaps even pick up on how to drink in the proper manner. He would be damned if he didn’t learn one useful thing during this night of freedom.

However, Xie Lian was not prepared for the man to grab one glass and slide it in his direction. Xie Lian froze in his seat, sitting with his back ram-rod straight, hands neatly placed in his lap. Should he kindly refuse the offer? Unsupervised drinking was certainly risky. Or should he take a cautious sip? He would think that was the polite thing to do.

But before Xie Lian could react, the man casually angled his body towards him, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his face with his palm.

His next words made Xie Lian’s heart come to a complete halt.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian’s memories abruptly shift, and he is transported to the day when he first saw Ghost Ship. It appeared out of nowhere, easily twice the size of the traveling ship Xie Lian had taken to a neighboring kingdom. When the royal guards jumped to attack, Xie Lian simply held a hand up, stopping them in their tracks.

The prince walked to the side of his ship, assessing the Ghost Ship with keen eyes. Ghost Ship was traveling at a faster speed, quickly passing the royal ship by with no intention of initiating battle. When the better half of its length sailed beyond Xie Lian’s sight, the man steering the wheel came into view. As if in slow motion, Xie Lian locked eyes with the man, who donned familiar red and an eyepatch, and also wore a signature captain’s hat.

A captain. A pirate captain, Xie Lian remembers thinking, captivated by those broad shoulders, tattooed skin, and eccentric clothes. The same pirate captain circles in on him like a hungry shark, scimitar scraping along his arms and back, tearing the drenched fabric of his robes.

“Who knew the Prince of Xianle cares so much for a plain piece of metal?” Crimson Rain continues spitting his words like poison.

Xie Lian curls in on himself, trembling.

When pirates began uncharacteristically wreaking havoc on the docks of Xianle’s ports, Xie Lian often rushed to the scene to fend them off himself. Specifically, a pirate who could give Xie Lian a run for his money when it came to sword fighting, but always escaping with an evil smirk painted across his lips.

When Xie Lian had nearly drowned, those same lips had pressed against his own to breathe air into his lungs.

That had been his first kiss.

A few months later, Xie Lian had snuck out of the palace once again to the very same dock at the end of the port, where a certain pirate awaited him.

The images flitting through his mind now blur together, becoming unrecognizable except for the sensations imprinted on his body.

A warm body claiming him in a king-sized bed, among silken sheets and the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It was almost too dark to make out the man on top.

Almost.

One lust-filled eye bore down at Xie Lian.

“You like that, Your Highness?” the baritone voice growled into his ear.

Xie Lian hears his answering moan play inside his head and inhales sharply.

Between the secret meetings came secret letters specially addressed to the prince. They appeared with the changing winds, anonymously delivered under the pretense of confidential mail sent from other royalty. But no one could imitate that atrocious handwriting, nor invoke the same joy from Xie Lian when seeing his favorite red, butterfly seal.

Isabella’s Lullaby – Takahiro Obata

“It’s from someone special,” Xie Lian grits out, hanging his head low. The ring–presented to him with the most tender gaze and gentle hands–symbolizes hope. A promise of unconditional love.

“Trust me,” a low whisper ghosted against Xie Lian’s temple. “I’ll come back for you.”

And Xie Lian believed him.

That was one year ago. The spontaneous visits stopped, and so did the carefully crafted letters. With no one to confide in, Xie Lian spiraled down underneath everyone’s expectations and his own realized failure. He had been foolish. Blind. Naive.

Within that one-year period, Xie Lian lost faith.

Not in his love. Never in his love.

But in destiny. In free will. In god.

The one thing, one person, he needed most in this lifetime, was no longer within his reach.

Until now.

“Where will you run now, dear Prince?” Crimson Rain’s voice brings Xie Lian back to the present. His eye holds none of the familiar warmth it once did when he slipped the very same silver ring onto Xie Lian’s finger.

The rumbling and squeaking of footsteps make their way towards the pair, Xie Lian’s royal guards abandoning the protection of the ship to come to their prince’s aid instead. But even as Xie Lian gazes up at Crimson Rain’s, brandishing that strong jaw and classy smirk, the prominent eye patch, and the shimmering eye that radiates insanity, Xie Lian feels a certain sense of peace wash over him.

It’s finally time.

Xie Lian gives the pirate captain a hostile smirk of his own, taking out the white ribbon holding up his hair and letting the rain weigh down his brunet locks.

“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian croons knowingly, widening his eyes in faux innocence. The instant look of surprise on Crimson Rain’s face is all Xie Lian needs before kicking the pirate’s sword to the side, scattering it a few meters away. Xie Lian dives for the exact sword, adjusting to the new weight and shape of the weapon. His palm throbs where the cut splits further open, blood staining the hilt.

Xie Lian swiftly points the sword at Hua Cheng’s jugular, their positions now switched.

Now, it is the pirates who are yelling chaotically, demanding their captain not let a rotten prince get the best of him. Hua Cheng simply clicks his tongue, signaling his men to retreat.

“Your Highness...” the pirate captain murmurs. Xie Lian digs the sword more insistently into Hua Cheng’s skin, forcing the pirate back. Xie Lian herds him onto the official plank, where traitors are typically executed, sentenced by the prince himself.

“Back. Up,” is all Xie Lian offers bitterly, his long hair curtaining his face, body still tense even though he has the upper hand. Hua Cheng holds his hands up in surrender, his hair drenched with rain, the long braid crooked where it cascades down his right shoulder.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng addresses in a sweeter tone. “My dear Prince, if you could see yourself now.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly.

“You are a beautiful sight,” Hua Cheng rasps out, no more than a whisper. Yet, Xie Lian catches every word, and his heart clenches painfully.

Of course, Hua Cheng would think that.

Xie Lian’s sword wavers, but only because the pouring rain has stolen every bit of warmth as it washes down his body, making him shiver. The prince knows everyone’s attention is on them, the royal guards cheering their prince on in hopes that this conflict will end in their victory.

But they remain unaware of their biggest defeat.

The Prince of Xianle had fallen in love with a pirate.

With an unbearably heavy heart, Xie Lian draws his sword back. Tears leak out of his eyes and stream down his face, mixing in with the rain. In this very moment, Xie Lian feels the most suffocated he’s ever been, and wonders if this is truly what it feels like to be on the brink of death.

As if it happens in slow motion, Xie swings the sword with all the power he possesses. Hua Cheng’s arms stretch open in vulnerability, lips forming into a small, understanding smile.

“Gege.”

Something inside Xie Lian shatters. The familiar term of endearment is for Xie Lian’s ears only. His heart pounds against his rib cage with the ferocity of an imprisoned soul, screaming at Xie Lian to ask not what he would wish for in death, but what is he willing to live for?

The answer is right in front of him.

“I’m back.”

《Bonus I》

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act XI

Masterlist (read previous and future ones here!)

Act XI

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, murder, guns, knives, weapons, foul language, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

“Miss Hwang,”

Yeji turned around to see a messenger awkwardly standing, he was oddly keeping his distance as if she carried the contagious madness.

“Yes?”

“Your parents ask for your presence in their office. They would like to speak to you right now.”

And they didn’t even bother to check what had happened downstairs in their own house, how thoughtful.

“Regarding what?” Yeji asked, anticipation building up causing her to fiddle with her fingers behind her back. “They did not say. They just asked for your presence. Immediately.”

Yeji let out a sigh as she made her way upstairs, she glanced back at the pool of blood all over the living room, how on earth would they clean this up. She also noticed her relatives talking so casually amidst the scene, as if nothing happened. As if it wasn’t contagious.

As she approached her father’s office, the door immediately opened. Yeji was taken aback by the sudden appearance of her father holding the door for her, it was as if he was waiting for her all along.

“You asked for my presence? Are we to discuss recent matters?” Yeji asked as soon as she sat across from her father and mother. Lord and Lady Hwang only looked at each other as Yeji noticed something in her father’s hands. He held a creamy white envelope sealed off in a rich gold stamp. She eyed it as well before glancing back to her father.

“How are we going to get rid of the bloodstains downstairs?” Yeji asked again, leaving her first questions unanswered.

“We’ll call for someone to clean it up.” Her mother said, dismissing Yeji’s current worries.

“Mama, it’s the madness. It’s in our house now, who knows who else will suffer. It could be a viral contagion, we should ask the other servants if they made contact with the ones who tore their throats out.” Yeji explained, ultimately regretting the decision seeing as her father narrowed his eyes at her in confusion while her mother eyed her quizzically.

“What made you assume it was viral?” Lady Hwang asked simply, no tones of suspiciousness in her voice.

Yeji froze as soon as she realized she blurted out a piece of information she found out from Jeno, but she had to remain calm. Her mother wasn’t the type to stay silent when she finds something suspicious, she was the type to confront someone directly.

“Hearsays,” Yeji replied calmly, “At this point, anything is possible.”

“Moving on,” Lord Hwang said firmly, clearly wanting to dismiss the current topic. “Summoning you here to talk about this madness wasn’t the reason we called you here.” He pushed the thick white envelope he was holding towards Yeji.

“What is this?” She took it, observing the intricately written gold letters curve with elegance. It was heavy as well.

“An invitation,” Lady Hwang explained, “To a masquerade ball from the Chinese.”

Yeji opened the envelope recklessly, wanting to get it over as soon as possible. She read that it was indeed an invitation from the Chinese, specifically signed by a man named ‘Xiao Dejun’

“It’s going to be held next week in the gazebos,” Lord Hwang added as he redirected his attention to the other stacks of paper on his desk. “They want to celebrate the joined forces and powers of Korea and China!” He recited flatly as Yeji read the exact same lines on the invitation.

We are extending our warm welcome to all of Viper-gang members, it reads in royal blue ink.

Yeji heard her mother scoff, causing her to tear her attention away from the invitation and towards her mother. Lady Hwang had a clear expression of distaste on her face, obviously not buying whatever the Chinese had written on the invitation. “If they wanted to celebrate, then they should start remembering that this is our country, not theirs.”

“However,” Lord Hwang added, as if he didn’t hear what his own wife had to say, “If they wish to celebrate, then let us celebrate.” Her father said sternly, he looked up to his daughter staring at him with a mouth opening and closing, finding the right words to say. “Also I believe there is another invitation somewhere in that envelope?”

Yeji rummaged through the invitation to reveal another card, this one bright red in color and had silver lettering,

It was from the Lius.

But it wasn’t for Yeji, it was for her father. Mr. Liu was requesting another meeting despite how many times they have been turned down. A few weeks ago, Yeji turned him down only for her to turn down his son as well. She didn’t know why they were so adamant about selling their product, they weren’t prominent nor known whatsoever. In fact. Nobody knew who they were or where they came from.

“Well,” Yeji said as she slid the envelope back to her father’s hands, “Why should this concern me?”

Something about the silence irked Yeji, the silence contained unleft words from both Lord and Lady Hwang’s mouths. They were waiting for something, an answer, a follow up.

“Well,” Lord Hwang began, “I would greatly appreciate it if you were to go with me,” He finally said as he folded his arms against his chest.

“You’re not certainly making me go to this ball, right?” Yeji asked to confirm, eyes shifting to her father who had a serious expression on his aging face to her mother who looked like she wanted to end this conversation immediately.

“It’s always your choice, Yeji.” Her father said flatly. Something to know about Lord Hwang is that he never took no for an answer, especially when it came from a family member. Better yet, his own daughter. “But I prefer if you would.”

“Appa,” Yeji whined, “I did enough partying in America to last me the rest of eternity. Surely the Chinese could discuss and bargain all they want, but in the end we always know they will never have the final say in this country.”

“Yeji,” Lady Hwang scolded.

“What?” Yeji retorted, righteous.

“No, she has a point.” Her father said as he raised a hand to stop Lady Hwang, “They only wish to mingle and propose their products to me, I would let you go if it weren’t for a certain someone requesting your presence.”

Lord Hwang had his gaze pinpointed on her. Yeji however, remained silent. She blinked once, then twice. She already knew where this conversation was heading towards.

“I see,” Yeji decided to say plainly, she didn’t want to press on whoever requested her presence. Judging by the sent invitation from the Chinese, and a separate invitation from the Lius, it was already a dead giveaway.

Yangyang Liu.

“We need all the power we can get. We need the forces, the allies, the security and comfort knowing that we will continue our reign in this city. I need you to be my little translator when they mutter something in Mandarin, thinking I can not speak their mother tongue.”

Yeji made a disgruntled groan from her throat. “As you wish, appa.” She stood up and took the letter from her father’s hands once again. “I’ll go as you wish!” She exclaimed as she tried to walk outside Lord Hwang’s office. Just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, her mother suddenly spoke up. “Wait,”

So. Damn. Close.

Yeji turned around as she cocked a brow, “This….Yangyang,” Lady Hwang started “Why is he requesting you?”

Lady Hwang said his name as if it held meaning to her. Lady Hwang thought that it had some effect on her, she didn’t know that that effect would be her getting annoyed more than anything.

Yeji pursed her lips into a thin line, “He is Mr. Liu’s son, obviously.” she replied, apathetic. “I believe the main reason why they requested for another meeting is because they are still trying to sell their product to us.”

“Is he handsome?” Lady Hwang asked, curious for herself rather than her own daughter.

“My god, mama.” Yeji replied as she tried to stop herself rolling her eyes. She walked towards the door again, hopefully able to leave this time. “He is just using me, this is just business. If you would excuse me, I have to–what the hell are you doing?”

The latter part was directed to Hyunjin, who was standing right in front of her as she opened the door.

“Relax,” Hyunjin smiled a very much fake smile, “I was on my way to the balcony.”

They both knew it was a lie–Hyunjin not bothering to try and make a more believable expression. Yeji closed her father’s door with a loud thud. She waited for her cousin to say something, but he only stared back, his plastic smile not leaving his face.

“Well do you have anything to say to me, Hyunjin?” Yeji asked, crossing her arms. Hyunjin’s smile only grew wider.

“Only one,” He said as he eyed the door, knowing full well that Lord and Lady Hwang could hear their conversation, “I just can’t wait to go to this party, jiāchǒu bùkě wàiyáng.”

Yeji stiffened, satisfied with the reaction he had caused, he turned around merrily and left. He shoved his hands to his pockets as a whistle from a song left his lips.

The family’s shame shouldn’t be exposed.

“Méiyǒu shé me kě jiēlù de,” Yeji muttered. She stomped as she went down the stairs, glaring at the relatives who were still near the crime scene, happily going on with their latest gossip they just had to share. She made a beeline towards the kitchen to see Karina seated on the counter chomping down on an apple. She had no idea how Karina managed to find an appetite when she was seated right in front of a huge stain of blood.

“So?” Yeji asked as she tapped the counter beside her cousin.

“What? Oh, I gave up trying to remove the stains ten minutes ago.” Karina answered as she took another bite of her apple. After chewing for a while, she tilted her heads towards the side as she looked at the stain.

“It kinda looks like a dog, don’t you think?” She asked as she looked at Yeji who looked at her with a concerned look on her face.

Yeji only stared at her as she swallowed her bite. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon,” Yeji replied, shaking her head. “You busy? I need your Rover ties.”

“For the nth time–” Karina answered, rolling her eyes as she tossed remnants of her apple towards the trash bin, “I do not have Rover ties. What am I finding though?”

Yeji grinned, one thing she loved about her cousin was her eagerness to play spy and to go to unknown grounds. “Jinyoung Park’s address.”

Karina only needed to wrinkle her face, not quite surprised for the sudden request. Yeji could ask her to go get the weirdest most bizarre things, and she would still oblige. Yeji didn’t need to reason out her request as Karina leaped from the counter and feigned a salute to her cousin, her lips turning into a quick smirk. “Yes sir!”

…

“Lice?” Jeno echoed in disbelief

“Lice-like,” Kun corrected, head shaking in the process. He examined a strip of skin he collected from the corpse Jaemin and Haechan brought back to them. They could see the tiny bulges of pockets where the dead insects resided. Jaemin was turning pale while Haechan had his fingers placed on his mouth.

“They jump from one host to another like lice through the hair, I believe they only die when the host dies.” Kun went on as he further pressed onto the membrane, beside him was Doyoung audibly gagging from the sudden autopsy they had to perform. Nevertheless, the Neos had seen far stranger things.

“Oh good heavens,” Jaemin suddenly blurted, feeling dizzy as he gripped onto the table. “We could have been infected.”

Haechan made an exaggerated groan, “They’re dead already,” He said as he motioned towards the insects and the dead body.

“And yet you made me dissect that,” Jaemin retorted, recalling the previous scenes. He shuddered, suddenly remembering how disgusting it was. His body was on full vibrate mode, “How–”

“Gentlemen,” Jeno prompted, his fingers drumming the table he leaned on. He suddenly felt like all the oxygen from the lab was being sucked out, he couldn’t breathe. He had already woken up with a throbbing headache since he wasn’t able to get a good sleep. He tried to redirect Jaemin’s and Haechan’s attention back to Kun, but it didn’t work.

“I told you, my hands were full.”

“You were holding two knives, you could have easily slipped them in your goddamn pockets.”

Jeno gave an apologetic smile to Kun, there was no way he could get Jaemin and Haechan to stop. When the two weren’t busy discussing theories or other normal things, they would argue. Most of the time, it would be about nonsense things that shouldn’t be worth debating over. They would get so engaged in each other until you could see one of their faces going red, or vines starting to pop out from their necks.

“As I was saying,” Kun continued, realizing the two men infront of him had no signs of stopping anytime soon, “since we have much more advanced resources in our facilities than all of Seoul, I could try manufacturing a cure, if that sounds good to you.”

“The only thing that sounds good to me is when you finally shut the fuck up!” Jaemin suddenly exclaimed to Haechan, causing Kun and Jeno to turn their attention once again to them.

“Yes,” Jeno pleaded, making Kun smile a boring smile to him. “That would be great. Thank you, Kun–”

“Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Lee.” Kun tutted, “I can’t manufacture anything without you and your friends’ help.” Kun’s last statement effectively made Jaemin and Haechan to stop fighting. They exchanged glances and slowly turned towards Kun, who was serious as a priest giving a sermon.

“Anything,” Jeno promised, making Jaemin quirk a brow as Haechan nudged him to prevent hearing his whining. “I need to run live experiments,” Kun nodded to himself, “Yes, a live victim. You must find me a live victim.”

“A live–”

This time it was Jeno’s turn to nudge Jaemin’s side.

“Noted,” Jeno said quickly, hoping his two friends would stay silent, “we’re on it. Thank you, Kun. Truly.”

When Kun nodded to them, Jeno pushed himself off the table he was previously leaning on. He quickly dragged both his friend and cousin towards the exit. Jeno was rather quite impressed when Jaemin managed to stay silent the whole time they were making their way towards the doors, not hearing a single whine nor complaint leave his lips. It was only when they were under the dark sky clouding the city did Jaemin finally burst.

“Ya! What the hell?! How the hell are we supposed to find a live victim?! Who the hell would be our live victim?! You know what, don’t answer that. I volunteer in Haechan to be the experimental–Ow!” Jaemin’s rant came to a stop once he felt Haechan’s palm smack him on the head. Jeno sighed as he continued to walk, kicking a few pebbles blocking his way. Jaemin, full of energy as always, was bouncing.

“Careful,” his cousin warned. “Might trip on a pebble.”

“You’re giving me a headache.” Jeno replied as he turned around.

“How are we supposed to know a victim is a victim?” Jaemin went on as he ignored them both, “We only know they were infected once they have succumbed to it! Not to mention they only have a solid five minutes left before they die.”

Jeno shut his eyes momentarily, when he opened them again he felt like he could fall asleep that instant. “I don’t know.”

The walk home was just Jaemin and Haechan bickering once again. Jeno barely contributed to their usual debate for his headache only grew worse. Once they reached the entrance of the main mansion, Jeno could only muster a quiet farewell, leaving Jaemin and Haechan to stare at him. They understood him though, they knew Jeno always got silent when he had too many thoughts clouding his head.

Jeno meekly opened the heavy entrance doors. All he needed was a quick nap and maybe a few pills to ease his throbbing headache so that he could come up with a plan for Kun’s–

“Jeno,”

Jeno’s head jerked up to his father looking down on him from the top step of the staircase. His eyes narrowed at him per usual, his lips forming into a thin line.

“Yes?”

Without saying a word, he extended his hand to give Jeno a piece of paper. He thought that his father would come down to meet him midway, but Lord Lee only remained where he stood. This caused Jeno to hurriedly come up the stairs to keep his father from waiting. The piece of paper turned out to be an invitation with a name and address written in reflective silver ink.

“Find him,” Lord Lee sneered when Jeno looked up for an explanation. “I have heard from my advisors that the Rovers may be the center of all this madness.”

Jeno’s fingers tightened on the invitation he held, “What?” He asked, quite taken aback on the sudden request, “But the Rovers have been trying to be on our side for years–”

“Yet we push them away everytime,” Lord Lee refuted, not interested in what his son had to say, “Obviously they are changing strategies, trying to side with the Vipers seeing as we lost them. Before they could do anything we must counter them immediately. Stop them.”

Was it simply the Rovers’ strategy? Were they trying to kill all those in a gang or mafia so that the violence could finally stop? Were they trying to panic the crowd so that the crowd would listen to them? So they could rule over?

“How am I to stop a whole political party?” Jeno murmured quietly, “How am I to–”

Before Jeno continued, his father had slapped him on the head causing him to grip on the stair’s railing to prevent him from falling down the stairs. He moved away from his father, hoping he could avoid a second hit. He shouldn’t have countered his father vocally when he was an arm’s length away.

“I gave you a name and an address, did I not?” Lord Lee snapped, growing impatient with his own son. “Go. See how true the word on the street is.”

With that, his father returned to his own office, not even bothering to glance back at his son. He gripped the piece of paper tightly, his head throbbing worse than before, Jeno inhaled before muttering bitterly,

“As you wish.”

[rextasywrites]

Little Darling 3 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"Mia trashed around in her sleep, not able to find a minute of rest. ‘No...no...Rosy...Ethan…’, her whimpers were heard all over the floor, making Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters look up from their studies. The daughters shared looks while Lady Dimitrescu let out a sigh, standing up. “Let me handle this. I know how she is feeling.”, as she walked to the room Mia was staying in. Cold sweat covered the woman’s forehead, her face pulled into a grimace. ‘Oh Mia, how similar we are’, Lady Dimitrescu thought as she walked over to the woman caught in a nightmare called life."

two chapters in one day? this fic has taken over all my creative ideas atm! :D <3 <3 <3 hope you enjoy it! !!!Flashbacks are written in cursive!!!

Warnings: tw for the turning of Lady Dimitrescu and the abuse and torture she had to face before!

Part 1 Part 2

“No! No! Get away from me!”, Alcina cried out as the men stepped closer to her. Armed to the teeth and not in the mood to take prisoners. Dorina clung to her mother’s leg, not understanding what was going on. As Alcina had her back against the wall, she knew she was losing.

“Get here, witch. Go without a fight and we might let you live. But only might!”, a round of disgusting laughter spilled from the lips of the knights. In no time, they had Alcina and her children tied up, on horseback transported to the castle of the king. Once they arrived, everything went black for Alcina the moment a heavy piece of iron hit the back of her head.

The next thing she knew was darkness and pain. Alcina’s head throbbed as she looked left and right - she was the only one in a dark cell, sitting in some kind of unknown fluid that was staining her dress, leaving her shivering and feeling filthy. But at least these knights let her keep her clothes, which was an improvement to the last time she had been taken for ‘witchcraft crimes’. The only reason why she managed to walk free was because she helped the king with a serious illness. ‘Leave this kingdom and never come back’, they said to her. And that’s what she did. Barefoot and pregnant, she ran for her life and never looked back. But the past would always come to haunt her.

A small light was flickering in the hallway leading to the cell, once the candle reached a certain height, it managed to illuminate the cell a tiny bit. Mold was growing in a corner of the cell, making Alcina cough at the mere sight. Staying in here for too long would make her sick for life. How long has she already been in here?

The door to the cell was thrown open, some knights marching in. They wordlessly ripped the restraints off Alcina’s body, pushing her with them. Fighting back would get her killed, so she remained silent. Just let them do, and maybe they realize the mistakes they are making. But Alcina realized her mistakes the moment she laid eyes on the dead bodies of her children.

Mia trashed around in her sleep, not able to find a minute of rest. ‘No...no...Rosy...Ethan…’, her whimpers were heard all over the floor, making Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters look up from their studies. The daughters shared looks while Lady Dimitrescu let out a sigh, standing up. “Let me handle this. I know how she is feeling.”, as she walked to the room Mia was staying in. Cold sweat covered the woman’s forehead, her face pulled into a grimace. ‘Oh Mia, how similar we are’, Lady Dimitrescu thought as she walked over to the woman caught in a nightmare called life.

The knife was probably rusty but still good enough to cut into prisoners’ body. Alcina screamed in pain as her wrist was cut open, the blood pouring on the floor under the table she was restrained against. A man dressed like a plague doctor came up to her, pressing an unidentified ‘plant’ against the open wound. The wound sealed upon its touch, taking in the ‘plant’ under scraps of blood and regrowing skin. It felt like Alcina could feel the plant growing under her skin, sprawling through her bloodstream, burning like the fire she had used to keep herself warm just mere hours ago. Was it the mold she had seen in her cell?

And suddenly, the restraints felt like warm butter against her body, and with a quick movement, Alcina ripped them off her body. The changes were instantly present. Her muscle mass doubled in mere seconds, and any attack from the knights in the room felt like someone was brushing against her. Alcina threw the men against the walls of the mysterious room, breaking their necks with a few simple strikes. Once all the knights in the room were dead, Alcina broke free, noticing how her height was slowly increasing. Centimeter by centimeter, she felt larger and stronger than anyone or anything she had ever seen before. The feeling of power was something she could get used to.

After running amok in the castle, killing everyone and everything that came into her sight, Alcina threw all the dead bodies into the cellar to rot. Her babies got a funeral in the backyard of the castle, and word spread fast. A monster was living in the castle of Dimitrescu, ready to kill anyone that came close enough for it to smell the human. Was it a vampire? The locals tended to stay away from the castle, not in the mood to be murdered by a monster. And Alcina, now called Lady Dimitrescu in memory of the king she had slaughtered with her bare hands, only killed when she was very thirsty.

Mia gasped and sat up on her bed, shock and fear written across her face. Lady Dimitrescu was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with so much pity. She remembered the pain she had to go through hundreds of years ago as if it was yesterday. “Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu whispered as she stepped closer to the woman in the bed, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Tears welled up in Mia’s eyes as she thought of her dream. Ethan. Rosy. Slaughtered by the same man who slaughtered her like some pig in a den. “I-”, Mia choked out, but Lady Dimitrescu just placed a hand on her shoulder, showing her as much comfort as she could.

“You don’t have to say anything. I have been through the same pain before. It’s okay. Just let it out, Mia.”, and with those words, every dam in Mia’s body broke. Sobbing against the chest of a fucking vampire, Mia let out all the feelings she had kept hidden and locked away inside of her.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair! I just want a damn family and not deal with bio weapons!”, she cried as Lady Dimitrescu tightened her hug a little bit, staining her dress with tears and snot. “Ethan nearly died because of me before! Rosy might die because of me! What an useless bitch I am! I cannot even keep my family safe!”

Her cries of hate and sorrow filled the halls of the castle as she begged to every God out there for mercy and to let this nightmare end. But Lady Dimitrescu knew, any God had abandoned humans a long time ago. With soft ‘let it out’s, she was able to calm down Mia sooner or later, until the woman was exhausted from all the screaming and crying she had done.

“Here”, the door was suddenly opened with Cassandra standing in it. She was carrying a glass of cold water, handing it to Mia as she dried her face off the tears and snot in a handkerchief. “You must be thirsty after so much crying.”, instead of waiting for an answer, Cassandra left the room in a hurry, leaving Lady Dimitrescu and Mia alone again. Mia gladly drank some of the water, the incoming headache from crying already around the corner.

“You should try to rest now, Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu said while she stroked over Mia’s back, giving her at least some comfort in these horrible times.

“Can you stay here? I am so scared.”, Mia asked the vampire lady to her surprise. But who was she to deny such a sweet request?

“Of course, Mia Winters.”, she chuckled. With a quick movement, she took off her heels and moved with Mia under the blanket, an arm around the woman. Lady Dimitrescu was cold all over, but this helped Mia with her incoming headache as she slowly relaxed into sleep. “Good night.”, Lady Dimitrescu said before she placed a kiss on Mia’s forehead, and for a moment, Mia could pretend she wasn’t in a castle in Romania with her family in danger.

[whumpywhumper]

Ohh can we have some uh 'painful wound cleaning' for the BTHB? That is such an underused trope, but damn is it good -S

So this ask has been sitting in my box for like. . . a year? Sorry it took so long 😅 @badthingshappenbingo prompt

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @insanitywishes @oceanthesarcasamfox @walkingchemicalfire @voidwhump @imagination1reality0 

Huge thanks to both @0idril0 and @rosesareviolentlyread I couldn’t ask for a better hype team 

Follows directly after: Help Me Find You and here is the Masterpost

PAINFUL WOUND CLEANING 

V***V 

“Oh, good. You’re awake, darling.”

Amused, Lucien looked down at the witch as he leaned against the door frame. He watched as his newest acquisition moaned pitifully, wet tear tracks glistening on his cheeks from the overhead fluorescent lighting. Lucien knew that the first injection was always the hardest on his prey, the victim’s body not knowing how to make sense of the toxin, the venom wreaking havoc on their senses. The witch was no different. Markus was visibly trembling, curled on his side, his tall frame wracked with spasms as he tried, and failed, to move away from the door.

He wouldn’t be able to for a while yet. There was enough venom in Markus’s system, by Lucien’s instincts, to keep the witch down for days. He had absolutely flooded the other man with it in an effort to neutralize him long enough to get him to the nest, and even a day later, the smell of it was thick and heavy with every pulse of the witch’s heart. The venom did more than keep Markus down though, it marked him as Lucien’s, and any other vampire would be facing the Elder’s wrath if they tried to claim the witch’s blood for their own.

Markus was Lucien’s to do with as he pleased. To hurt, to bleed, to take apart piece by piece. That possessive thought made him rumble deep in his chest, the sound making Markus flinch and softly gasp. The predator part of Lucien’s brain picked up on the pain, disorientation and confusion his darling was expressing. The vulnerability. All for Lucien.

It was delicious. Intoxicating. He wanted more.

His venom glands throbbed with the burgeoning desire to release more of his toxin into the long column of Markus’s throat, to throw the writhing anguish of the witch into a tailspin so that every lungful of air was an agonized gasp, every flutter of skin over thudding arteries was a bruising throb. It would be easier if the witch gave in, let his brain accept the chemicals that would light up the pleasure center in his brain, so that all he would feel was ecstasy. But this had its own appeal, its own power that added to the high of magic in Lucien’s belly. The Elder had  downed something powerful enough to make lesser predators afraid, and Lucien had turned it into his own private feast of pain and blood.

Lucien let his lips pull away from his fangs in a smile, eyes coating with black as he allowed the predator under his skin to stretch, appreciating the moment. His tongue pressed against the swollen glands in his mouth, skittering jolts of pleasure running down his spine. The Elder knew the effects of his own venom intimately. Not as vicious as a Red like Christine’s, not as intoxicating as a White’s. His venom rode the line, and the harder Markus fought against it, the more it would make him feel sick and drugged, like every movement was tearing his muscles apart.

Based on the pained whimper that punched out of Markus’s chest as he squeezed his gorgeous, green eyes closed, he was fighting it hard.

It was easier, usually, to control his prey if Lucien glamoured them into giving in, glamoured into going under with waves of pleasure so that they were malleable and compliant, but that wouldn’t work with a witch. All but the weakest would be able to fight off a vampire’s glamour, one of their few defense mechanisms, and Markus was anything but a weak witch.

The magic in the other man’s blood had almost knocked him on his ass as he’d tasted it.  Rich and earthy, full of subtle notes of honey and spices. Even a day later, Lucien’s slow metabolism was still working through the residual magic, the high thrumming through his system. Not to mention the fact that Markus had put up a hell of a fight for being unprepared, injured, and taken by surprise. Lucien could still feel his face burning from the direct burst of sunlight to his skin, his glamour blowing apart, the way he’d been thrown through the air with only a word. It was fucking impressive.

If Markus had been prepared for him in that alley? Lucien wouldn’t have been able to take him, and the Elder wasn’t going to refuse this gift of coincidence.

The dynamic pull of the promise of strong prey had Lucien scenting the air, and the sweet smell of magic laced blood made his mouth water and his venom glands swell further. His eyes were drawn inexorably to where he’d quickly bound the gunshot wound in Markus’s shoulder. The temporary dressing was soaked through, dark red blooming through the white gauze.

Lucien wanted to feed, but the wound needed to be cleaned or the witch was going to die of infection before Lucien could enjoy him.

He stepped forward, dropping the heavy, black bag dangling from his hand onto the hard concrete with a thump. His rumble turned into a purr when the witch flinched, little noises of pain tripping out of his mouth like daisies in a field, and pushed the door closed behind him. Trapping them together in the small room. They would be moving back to the nest soon, but he wouldn’t give Markus any opportunity to escape, however unlikely.

Markus whimpered when the door slammed home, muscles tightening under his faded t-shirt as he shifted away from the noise. Lucien tutted, moving slowly toward the witch like one would a wounded animal. “Don’t worry, darling,” he crooned, “I promised I’d take good care of you, didn’t I?”

Kneeling next to Markus, he pressed his fangs into his lower lip to still his growing grin as the witch blinked rapidly, eyes wide as he tried to focus on the predator above him. He reached down to put his fingers through Markus’s sweat damp hair, but the witch jerked back, crying out as the venom tore through his body.

Lucien chuckled softly, finishing the movement to wrap a handful of silky strands around his fingers. “You can’t get away from me that easily, darling.” The witch’s breathing was turning sharp and panicked, and Lucien drank in those unfocused green eyes that stared up at him with dazed terror before pulling his hair, stretching the long column of his throat so he could see the sealed bite wound over his jugular.

Markus groaned, eyes squeezing shut, and another possessive thrill ran up Lucien’s spine, his purr deepening as he pressed his thumb against it. The pulse of blood under the other man’s skin was so alive, frantic and pumping with abandon. The witch’s breath hitched when he moved his injured arm, ostensibly to push away Lucien’s hand, the scent of fresh blood filling the air as he aggravated the bullet wound.  

The vampire shuddered, glands filling with more venom as the urge to bite became almost unbearable. He swallowed thickly, tasting the venom that spurted out onto his tongue. “God, you’re not going to be good for my self control, beautiful.”

The witch’s eyes cracked open to glare up at Lucien, his weak flare of defiance subsumed by delirious terror. “Fuck off,” he panted, trying to pull away from Lucien’s hold on him. The Elder couldn’t have that. He tightened the grip he had on the witch’s hair, other hand sliding from his neck to grab a hold of his bicep tight enough to bruise. “AH!”

“We’ve talked about you being nicer to me, Markus,” he murmured in warning, “that’s no way to treat the person caring for you.”

Markus turned his face down toward the floor with a tight groan, but he didn’t try to get free again, his breaths coming in short, staccato jerks. From this close, the Elder could hear every strangled noise that Markus’s corded jaw held back, could feel how his lax muscles faintly trembled under his grasp. Licking his lips, the vampire loosened his hold on Markus’s bicep, running his hand over the warm, exposed skin of his arm as he examined the stained gauze wrapped around the witch’s shoulder.

Lucien didn’t like using a gun, the waste and damage of it irritating him, going against his usual methodology. But, after Chicago, he wasn’t in the mood to run down his preferred prey.

He let the glamour hiding his claws fade away, the sharp tips allowing him to cut through the blood glutted gauze easily. Markus flinched at the soft skkrt of ripping fabric, hair pulling taught under Lucien’s other hand. “So jumpy,” the vampire taunted, drinking in Markus’s pained moan as he pulled the pressure pads away from the injury, “I told you I was taking care of you, Markus. The least you can do is believe me.”

Markus whimpered, eyes wide with impotent fury as he drew agonized breaths through fear clenched teeth, weakly struggling to get away from Lucien’s restraining hands.  The defiance was beautiful. Even overpowered and terrified out of his mind, the witch wasn’t surrendering to him. Making Lucien fight for every inch of dominance.

It thrilled him, made every noise a surrender.

Lucien couldn’t hold back his chuckle, his claws shredding through Markus’s t-shirt to expose the witch’s shoulder, ignoring the weak squirming and half-voice protests as more and more skin was revealed. “S-stop, fuck--nnn!”

“I have to see it to treat it, darling,” he purred, releasing the other’s black hair to settle along the join between the witch’s shoulder and neck, preparing to hold him down. Slowly, carefully, he palpated the area around the bullet hole, fingers staining red as they smeared through fresh blood.

Markus’s eyes screwed shut, throat working on a muffled scream as he tried to jerk away from the pain. “Now, now, darling,” Lucien scolded, pressing him down, exerting enough pressure to bruise as he controlled the other man’s movement. Despite Markus’s weak struggles, Lucien kept the witch on his side so he could see the entry and exit wounds before dragging the bag he’d brought in closer. Straddling Markus’s stomach, his powerful legs caging in the witch’s torso, Lucien reached over to slide open the zipper, revealing his medical supplies.

Before he got started, he slowly pet through Markus’s sweat damp hair, his thumb brushing over his tear streaked cheek to spread the salty moisture. “I guess I should have expected that you wouldn’t be able to hold still yourself,” he murmured, feeling the clench and release of Markus’s abs as the witch panted through the pain. He brought his hand back to Markus’s throat, making the witch still under him as his claws pricked against the delicate skin.

Lucien revelled, for a moment, in the satisfaction of holding his prey down. His eyelids fluttered, and he swallowed a sticky gush of venom as he took in a deep breath of blood scented air. The simple act of pinning Markus against his best efforts to get away soothed some of the predatory drive that was pulling at him, telling him to feed and subdue. The undeniable control settling some fractured part of his soul.

Groaning under his breath, his blood  stained hand followed the line of Markus’s arm to find his wrist, squeezing hard enough to hear the bones grind together. “Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy your struggling, beautiful--” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the bloody ball of Markus’s shoulder, “--it will probably hurt less if you don’t.”  

“Lemme go,” Markus whimpered, voice thick and slurring, his wrist flexing in Lucien’s grip. Behind him, the Elder heard the other man’s feet seeking purchase on the floor, but Lucien’s weight was more than enough to keep his weak prey in place.

“Darling,” Lucien crooned, a smile in his voice, “you’re not going anywhere.” His long fingers spread around Markus’s throat, squeezing until the witch’s breathing turned into a harsh wheeze. “Now, shhh, stop struggling.”

Markus’s Adam’s apple bobbed against his palm as the witch struggled to breathe, his eyelids fluttering  as his oxygen was restricted. His lips separated, mouth slung open on a desperate gasp as he started shaking in earnest. His already weak struggles weakened further, ugly wheezing his only movement until Lucien let up. He didn’t remove his hand completely, but the witch stayed still, a low sob coloring his next inhale. “Good boy,” Lucien praised softly,  “good boy.”

<~>

“Good boy,” the man murmured, his voice barely audible over the frantic pounding of Markus’s heart, “Good boy.”

Markus whimpered, red hot shame filling his lungs as he dragged in another mouthful of air, his head pounding from the lack of oxygen. His body refused to do more than shake, too weak and addled to do anything other than obey the implacable command to stop struggling. The hand resting on his throat and the impossible weight straddling his torso reinforced the fact that he was helpless. At the mercy of someone much stronger than himself.

He wanted his magic, but he couldn’t sense the energies in the air, the touch of bare skin against his own igniting nothing more than rabbit-like fear. Mindless terror infested Markus’s muddied thoughts, scattering them like roaches. Nothing made sense without his magic, he’d never been without it, and every rational, decision-making part of Markus’s brain was on the verge of jibbering screams.

I want Illyn back, please, fuck, just stop.

His bad arm was manipulated at the wrist, trapping it with the other man’s knee against Markus’s belly, and a ragged moan dragged itself out of the witch’s mouth like reluctant roadkill. The noise entwined with the lingering ache of his esophagus as air rasped through his vocal cords, and he swallowed past the cottony taste of dehydration.

With his eyelashes clumped together against his cheeks, Markus couldn’t see what his captor was doing, but the sudden jettison of liquid against his shoulder made him cry out as the throbbing bullet wound ignited. Markus screamed, bucking up against the heavy weight over his torso, his pained shout transforming into choked sobs as the assault didn’t let up. The liquid spread down his chest to soak his shredded shirt and puddle on the ground. Markus shuddered, every jerking inhale an agonized moan through numb lips as the flush moved to the exit wound.

“Easy, darling,” crooned the honey-coated voice, strong hand still an unforgiving shackle around Markus’s neck, “just have to clean it out.”  

Markus swallowed back more dazed sobs, the hollow ache in his shoulder spreading up his neck and down under his sternum, stealing the strength from every heartbeat as more acidic pain pulsed through him.  He flinched when something clattered in front of his face. Blinking open tear blurred eyes, he made out an empty bottle of saline, the innocuous plastic so out of place that it didn’t even make sense to the overwhelmed witch.  

A wet breath hissed through Markus’s teeth, and he shivered. His damp skin chilled in the cold air of the concrete cell, eyelids fluttering as the cold rooted its way through his shocky system. Stop, please, stop. He couldn’t tell if the words pushed past his rebellious tongue or were left to burn their way through his skull, but, mercifully, nothing else was poured into the raw wound in his shoulder.

Black licked at the lingering remains of his excoriated consciousness,  and Markus felt the bruising grip on his throat release as something was pressed firmly against his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the faint, half-formed moans that caught in his throat, and he didn’t have enough control of his body to resist as his arm was moved. The hollow ache transformed into a numb kind of overwhelming agony that wasn’t soothed even as he realized the bullet wound was just being bandaged.

His eyelids fluttered, pain rocking through him again as a hand ran through his hair, the strands at the back of his head grabbed and tugged so that Markus’s slack features were drawn up toward the light. The breath stuttered in Markus’s chest, the movement like spiked chains pulling tight from the base of his skull down his spine, forcing his scant attention on his captor.

There was the impression of blond hair and pale skin before black coated eyes registered, and Markus’s heart sped frantically, fear curdling sour and heavy in his stomach. He made a truly pathetic sound as the vampire, the belated realization sliding in to join his venom laden blood, leaned over him, breath ghosting across his face. He tried to move away, but the air was knocked from his lungs as he was shoved from his side and onto his back.

Markus gasped, lungs refusing to expand for an infinite moment until his diaphragm ripped free of his spinal cord, and a harsh, agonized gulp of air forced its way down his throat. His head was drawn further back, the angle awkward and painful as a low, malicious laugh caressed his ears. “Something you’re scared of, darling?” A cold hand forced its way under the ragged edge of Markus’s ripped, wet shirt, resting heavily over his sternum. “Your heart is about to beat right out of your chest.”

“S-stop,” he stuttered, voice faint, strained, “you can’t—“

“Shhhh,” long fingers pressed over Markus’s lips, silencing his tattered protests, “I can, and I will. You can’t stop me, Markus,” he chuckled as black eyes examined him, a slow, lazy smile revealing long fangs, “you can’t even try.”

Cold, bottomless dread seated itself in Markus’s chest. Taking cozy residence as tears slipped down his temples, and he trembled.  

“You can call me Lucien, little witch,” the vampire said, voice thick with anticipation as he lowered his face, nose brushing along the line of Markus’s exposed throat. The witch was instinctually conscious of the  thud of his pulse, how thin the skin was that separated his life-blood from sharp, piercing fangs, “and, you and I, we are going to get very well acquainted.”