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peachdues · 7 months

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IN THE NETHERWOOD

PART I

KINKTOBER 2023 ♤ WEREWOLF!SANEMI X RED RIDING HOOD! READER

A/N: did I get carried away? Yes. Do I care? No.

Part I is plot + smut. Part II is minimal plot and a lot of smut. Like a concerning amount.

Forgive the pace/editing errors. This was supposed to be a one shot that turned into a two part fic lmao.

CW: violence/some description of gore • mating • knotting/discussions of knotting • biting/mating • feral/protective Sanemi • virgin!Reader who is a big time monsterfucker • oral sex (F!receiving) • Sanemi makes a mess of his breeches • implied murder/other violence by Douma, but left purposefully ambiguous • brief description of another human being eaten

This honestly could be a multi-part fic that continues after Part II, given how much I leave open — but I’ll let you all decide if you want that. For now, enjoy the ride, monster-fuckers. Happy Kinktober!

You’d known Douma’s band of acolytes had been pursuing you for at least a quarter of a mile through the dark wood, and you’d only grown more and more desperate as the excited titter of their voices drew nearer.

You were panicking; with every moment that passed, your legs grew heavier as the weariness of the last day and a half of your journey became a weight you could no longer ignore.

Find the huntsman of the Netherwood! Your grandmother had pled as she’d fastened the thick, scarlet cloak around your shoulders. He guides those in need to far-away villages. He will take you somewhere safe — where Douma cannot find you.

Grandmother did not dare let any of the tears sparkling in her eyes fall as she looped her hands behind you and pulled the hood of your cloak up over your head, concealing your hair from sight. Head north until you come to the river and then head west. You will find his cabin. Go!

Granny had all but pushed you out of her small cottage — the cottage you had come to regard as your home — and off into the chilly, autumn night.

You hadn’t questioned the urgency, though the realization that you would likely never again return to your grandmother — or even see her alive — hadn’t stung any less. But you knew, as well as the old woman who’d raised you after your parents disappeared in the Netherwood, that if Douma got his hands on you, you would never be seen or heard from again.

Just like his four other previous wives.

The last woman he’d taken as his bride had been a dear friend of yours — Kotoha — and she’s arguably lasted the longest, though perhaps that was because she’d been pregnant when the frost lotus containing his marriage demand arrived at her parents’ hut.

The eclectic village worship leader hadn’t apparently minded that Kotoha had been pregnant with another man’s child — she was unmarried, young, and beautiful; it was all Douma required.

The tension among the village women had dissipated once Kotoha had survived the first week of her union with the rainbow-eyed monster. After all, the other three wives had barely lived to see the next morning, never mind seven.

Kotoha had lived several more months — even giving birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy whom she’d doted over, and even you thought that perhaps the rumors swirling through the village had been wrong. Perhaps those other three women truly had run off into the night with various lovers, leaving Douma alone in his mansion in the eastern wing of the village.

The last you’d seen her, your friend had been smiling and bright, happily making her way back to her marital home, baby Inosuke happily snuggled against her chest, as she’d cheerfully waved you goodbye.

Kotoha was never heard from again. Though the village elders had dispatched a recovery team to search for her, no trace of either her, nor the precious baby boy whom she’d loved so dearly, could be found.

A week later, your grandmother opened the front door of her homely cottage to find a single frost lotus resting on her doorstep.

No one turned down Douma’s marriage proposals; but neither did anyone survive them.

And so, your grandmother had packed a small satchel with what meager provisions she could scrounge, wrapped you in her heirloomed scarlet cloak, and pushed you out the door, begging you to find the mysterious huntsman of the Netherwood so that you would not become the village’s newest ghost.

Douma had surely slaughtered your beloved grandmother by now, having learned of her insolence.

You clamped down on the mournful sob building in your throat, knowing if you allowed yourself to give into your grief, it would only slow you down even further, and make it more likely that her sacrifice for your life would be in vain.

Though, in fairness, it might all be for naught anyways; the Netherwood was not a humble forest with only the occasional gray wolf or hungry bear to fear.

For centuries, your village had stood on the outskirts of the dark, ancient wood which divided it from the nervous system of villages and bustling little towns that made up the region. That isolation meant your village had become largely self-sustaining, though a few brave souls managed to make a yearly sojourn across the Wood to trade with establishments on the other side. The forest stretched for miles, encompassing small mountains and rocking ravines that were difficult enough to navigate on their own, especially in disagreeable weather.

But rugged and often temperamental terrain was child’s play compared to the horrors which lurked within the shadows of the Wood.

To start, as you’d come to realize over the last day and a half of your trek, the Netherwood was nothing but shadow. Though you’d surely traveled through the night and well into the following day, not a trace of daylight had pierced the thick canopy of leaves and twisted vines which loomed overhead. Your only indicator that day had, in fact, arrived, had been your sighting of a few songbirds quietly fluttering from tree to tree, as their songs swallowed by the deafening silence of the forest.

But the eerie quiet of the Wood was nothing compared to what you knew prowled within its depths.

You’d grown up hearing tales of the various beasts and cryptids that made the Netherwood their home – and made any unsuspecting traveler their meal. Your own parents had embarked on a dangerous trek into the Netherwood, seeking out a village on the other side rumored to have much-needed medication for your ailing grandfather, only to never be seen or heard from again. Your grandfather had succumbed to his illness not long after, though you’d often wondered whether his guilt and heartbreak hadn’t hastened his demise.

And so the Netherwood had taken your parents and your grandfather, leaving you with only your cherished grandmother as your family. Over the years, those who dared venture into the Wood often did not return, the dark of the forest swallowing them whole and leaving no trace of them behind.

Now, it was through this very Wood that you found yourself running, clinging to the desperate hope that perhaps you’d find this mysterious Huntsman and be saved, though the sluggishness that had entered your exhausted limbs seemed to suggest that you were more likely to be caught by your pursuers. And that was assuming you didn’t end up as something dinner’s before then.

You continued to stumble through the trees, ducking under various branches and batting away stringy spiderwebs, trying not to allow your frustration to get the better of you. After a while, the voices tracking you grew more and more silent, before the walls of the forest swallowed them completely, leaving you utterly alone.

As you shoved brush and thorns out of your way, the forest opened to give way to a small river, though it was barely more than a creek. It bubbled merrily, as though completely unaware of the horrors lurking behind the shadows of the ancient grove of trees.

Several lengths ahead, you spotted something crouched beside the water. Your first instinct was panic, thinking you’d stumbled across one of the nefarious creatures of the Wood, a meal being offered to it on a silver platter, but as your vision adjusted, you realized it was only a man, splashing his face with the creek’s cool reserve.

“A-are you the Huntsman?” You hated how timid your voice was, but truthfully, you’d been running for what felt like an eternity, and each snap of a twig in the Woods around had you on edge. You deserved to be frightened, dammit.

The man snorted before rising to his feet. “I am a Huntsman; whether I am the one you seek, I cannot say.”

He was taller than you and well-built. His tunic boasted a deep v at the chest exposing a vast swath of the man’s sculpted chest, the skin as scarred as his broad forearms. His breeches were by no means skintight, but it was clear his legs were also made from the same, sinewy muscle that covered the rest of him.

Idly, you wondered whether he was as scarred beneath his clothing as he was out of it.

He was handsome, there was no doubt, but his appearance was striking. He had a mop of silvery-white hair, parted slightly to cover the criss-cross of scars etched into the right side of his forehead. Below a pair of startling lilac eyes, you could just make out another jagged scar that extended from his right ear to the bridge of his nose.

He turned back to you, mouth pulled down in an annoyed grimace. “What is your business in the Wood, girl?”

His eyes roamed the crimson cloak draped around your shoulders, and you swore for a moment there was something akin to amusement glinting in his eyes, despite the severe set of his mouth.

You shuddered at the sharp intensity of his lilac gaze. “I seek a guide through the Wood — I need to get to one of the villages on the other side.”

Something in the forest snapped and you flinched, though it did not bother the Huntsman, who only narrowed his eyes at you.

“Are you being pursued?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the folds of your cloak and wrapping it tighter around your shivering frame. “I do not know how many, but they have dogs.”

The Huntsman nodded, stroking his chin in contemplation. “I can get you to the other side in two days; three at most, should your followers pose a problem.”

You were floored at how easily he accepted your request, even with the additional threat of being hunted like animals by Douma’s men, but you were grateful all the same.

“I have payment,” you started, hands shooting to dig through the small pouch fastened around your waist, but the wild Huntsman only shook his head.

“I do not take payment. I will escort you and then I won’t have to worry about any creatures of the Wood sniffing out your bones and getting too close.”

Charming, you groused in your head, though the implication nestled in his words sent another shudder down your spine.

“What is your name, girl?” The Huntsman’s voice pulled you back to him and the forest, his face expectant.

You gave him your name and felt a warmth spread through you as he repeated it, mouth mulling over each syllable like it was wrapped with velvet.

“You can call me Sanemi,” the Huntsman said, reaching for the hand-axe lying on its side by the riverbank. “Follow me.”

---

The Hunstman led you through a winding path that would have been untraceable had you not been watching the way Sanemi’s eyes marked certain landmarks — an errant tree branch here, a particular thorn bush there.

“Since you are being tracked, we need to move right away,” Sanemi had explained as you stumbled after him, your feet snaring over the various bumps and snarls of tree roots that jutted out from the forest floor. “But I need to gather a few things from my cabin. It’s just a little ways off, and then we will leave.”

Sanemi had largely ignored you for the rest of the trek, though he’d only cut his eyes back to you to ask a single question.

“Where did you get that cloak?”

You fingered the heavy edge of the ruby wool that your grandmother had fastened snug around your shoulders, its thick folds providing you protection against the biting chill of the autumn wind. “It is an heirloom. My grandmother said it would keep me safe.”

The Huntsman hummed quietly to himself. “That is one word for it, I suppose.”

“How do you mean?”

Sanemi slowed his pace so that you could catch up and walk beside him as he spoke.

“That cloak is enchanted. Have you not noticed the strange stitching along the hood?”

Your hands flew to grip the edge of the hood drawn over your head. Sure enough, beneath the pads of your fingertips, you could feel the odd swirls of thread forming some indiscernible shapes along the outermost portion of the cape’s top.

“I’d not; this was not my cloak to begin with. It was my Grandmother’s.” You did not know why the Huntsman’s tone made you feel self-conscious, as though you’d been too stupid to notice such an obvious variation in the cape snugly fastened around you. It wasn’t as though you’d been afforded a great deal to time to look over it, in those hurried moments before Grandmother had shoved you through her front door and into the Wood beyond.

Sanemi only shrugged as he continued on ahead, putting distance between you once more, but he called back one final time. “Red is a symbol for many things, girl. I hope your Grandmother at least warned you of that.”

----

Sanemi's cabin was small, but homely. You'd been waiting uneasily near the unlit fireplace at the center of the single-room cabin, unsure whether it would be considered ill-mannered for you to drape yourself across one of the overstuffed armchairs pointed towards the hearth, as the Huntsman milled about, gathering various supplies.

"Have you any preference for which village I take you to?" He called as he rifled through a sparsely-stocked cabinet, scooping up dried provisions into a small leather pouch.

You shook your head. "No, I wish only to get as far away from the Wood as possible."

Sanemi nodded, stalking past you to open another cupboard. Glinting against the dimming light outside, you saw the curved blade of an axe, sharp and polished.

"I can make do with that," the Huntsman said simply. "Though should we run into any weather, it may take longer than three days to reach the other side of the Wood."

You picked nervously at your nails. Any response you could have given him was cut off by the faint cacophany of voices somewhere in the distance.

Brow furrowed, Sanemi crossed the floor of his cabin to a small window and squinted through the fogged glass. Over his shoulder, you could spy the faint glow of fire making its way towards the cabin.

Torches.

You did not need to guess whose torches they were; there was only one reason for a band of men to be in the Netherwood at this hour.

"It's them," you whispered in horror, your heart sinking to your stomach. "The man who is after me -- they're his -- followers. I hesitate to call them men."

Sanemi's eyes narrowed as he glanced back out the window, and you swore you saw his nostrils flare, as though scenting the air.

He gripped you by your forearm, tugging you further into his cabin. “We don’t have much time until they come knocking. I think I can hold them off — but you have to trust me.”

You looked over the wild man, from the thick, silvery scars seared into the rippled muscles of his forearms to the thinner, more delicate scars which crossed half his face, swallowing down any fear you’d had of the huntsman upon first stumbling upon him by the river.

You’d been scared of him, but you feared the fate awaiting you at the hands of Douma and his cronies far more; and so, you were desperate enough to place your life in Sanemi’s rough, calloused hands.

“I trust you,” you vowed, though your voice trembled slightly. “Please just don’t let them take me.”

Something in Sanemi’s eyes tightened as he looked over you, but he nodded, hands reaching for the small pouch strapped to his upper thigh.

“I’m sure you’re going to protest what I’m about to do,” he said quickly, producing a small hunting knife from the pocket. “But I need you to believe me when I say this is the only way.”

“Take off your cloak.” Sanemi ordered, standing tall before you, hand out in waiting.

Your hands flew hesitantly to the metal clasp resting just below the hollow of your throat. “But my grandmother said —“

“I know what your grandmother said, girl, but I’m telling you, that cloak will do you no good indoors. It is only effective out in the Wood.”

You could tell the huntsman’s patience was wearing thin, but still, you hesitated.

Sanemi huffed impatiently. “I swear to you I will return it the moment they leave, but you must remove it now. They will use it to track your scent.”

You shuddered as your fingers quickly freed the small latch, and the crimson wool draped around your shoulders loosened. With some hesitancy, you held your cloak out to the huntsman, who balled the fabric up tight before crossing the floor of his cabin, shoving it into a small armoire and behind several hung pelts and well-worn leathers.

Sanemi was before you once more before you could blink. “Turn around,” he ordered, twirling the knife in his hand to motion you to spin and put your back to him.

You complied without protest, hands twiddling nervously before you, until you heard the unmistakeable sound of fabric tearing at your back.

The corset worn over the cotton layers of your dress loosened and fell to the cabin floor, it’s ribboned ties neatly severed where they’d been laced at your back.

“What in the devil —,” you began hotly, arms jumping to cross over your unsupported chest as you twisted to glare at the huntsman.

A warm hand firmly pushed your shoulder, keeping you facing forward. “Hold still, woman,” Sanemi barked, and the heat at your back disappeared for a moment as you felt him kneel behind you.

To your horror, you felt the outermost layer of your dress lift up and away from you as Sanemi rose, bringing the garment up over your head.

“I asked you to help me, you dog!” You squealed, your attempts to squirm away from the mannerless huntsman at your back futile. “Not strip me bare to do with as you please!”

Behind you, Sanemi gave a great snort. “Helpin’ you is exactly what I’m doing, if you’d shut up for one second.”

Left in nothing but your thin, cotton shift, you silently wondered whether you should’ve taken your chances and continued your trek through the Wood. Surely, being eaten by one of the Netherwood’s more nefarious creatures of horror was preferable to being stripped nude by a half-wild brute in his isolated cabin.

Your musings were cut short, however, as a firm hand wrapped around your forearm and tugged you towards the back of the cabin, where a small doorway closed off the hut’s only other room.

Sanemi kicked the door open revealing a surprisingly large bed, draped in blankets made of the furs of several different animals.

“N-no —mmph!” Your protest was cut off by Sanemi’s free hand as it clamped over your mouth as he hissed at you to shush.

Over the sound of your thudding heart and hard breath as you planted against the huntsman’s palm, you heard the faint but unmistakable sound of male laughter and jeers, cruel and cold.

“They will be here any moment,” Sanemi said lowly, and he removed the hand from your mouth in favor of shoving you none too gently into the small bedroom. Before you could speak, the huntsman gripped you around the waist and tossed you effortlessly onto the bed, your body bouncing slightly against the soft plush.

“Get under the covers and lay face-down in the pillows. Let your hair cover you.”

Scrambling up against the headboard, you looked back to your savior or your villain — you’d not yet decided under which category he fell — but saw that he was already standing back in the doorway, jaw tense and his eyes trained on the front door of his cabin.

He glanced back to you only once. “And move that thing off to your shoulders. Make yourself appear as though you’re indecent.”

With that, the huntsman quickly shut the door to his bedroom, just as a fist pounded against the wood of the door outside.

You kicked your way under the many pelts adorning the bed, savoring their warmth against your chilled skin. Remembering Sanemi’s final warning, you tugged the sleeves of your shift off your shoulders, concealing it and the rest of your body below the soft fur blankets.

The front door of the cabin opened, and you buried your face into one of the pillows resting against the headboard, begging the comforting scent of forest pine and cedar to calm your raging pulse.

“How can I help you gentlemen this evening?” Sanemi called, and you almost laughed at how cordial he sounded, as though he hadn’t just cut your dress from you like a brute.

Any smile you had was immediately wiped from your face at the cold, steely voice which answered him. “We’re searching for a woman. She belongs to someone who is eager to get her back.”

You balled the pelts below you in your fists, teeth grinding. Of course, you’d never actually agreed to marrying Douma, and yet the beast felt entitled to claim ownership over you, as though you were no better than a piece of furniture.

Though, you supposed that wasn’t quite an accurate comparison. Furniture survived Douma; women did not.

“Is that so?” Sanemi’s hardened tone sent shivers down your spine, and you wondered whether his face matched the stony, scathing cadence of his voice. “Well unfortunately for you boys, it’s just me and the wife here. And you’ve interrupted us.”

“Our apologies,” the scout said, though it did not sound as though he was sorry at all. “But you won’t mind us taking a peak? Just t make sure you and your wife don’t have a visitor.”

Sanemi’s answering snarl was soft, but it did not conceal the deadly threat contained within. “Surely you understand why I cannot let a number of strange men into my home, while my wife is indisposed.”

You had to give him credit; Sanemi sounded every bit the dominating, over-protective husband he was pretending to be.

There was a beat before Sanemi sighed, his irritation almost convincing. “Make it quick. And do not enter the bedroom.”

There was a shuffle of feet, heavy and booted, that crossed the threshold of the cabin, and the hair on your skin rose at the charge of violence which filled the air. Breath caught in your throat, you buried your face deeper into the huntsman’s mattress and prayed his ruse would be successful.

The door to the bedroom banged open, startling you with a squeal as you ruched deeper below the pelts.

“I told you to stay out of the bedroom,” Sanemi’s voice almost sounded bored, but it was thankfully close. Your eyes slid closed as you willed your heart to slow its drumbeat against your sternum as the resulting silence hung thick in the air.

“Our apologies,” the apparent leader of Douma’s band of henchmen bit out, his tone acerbic, and his frustration evident. The bedroom door slammed shut once more, and the heavy footsteps quickly made their way back through the cabin and out the front door.

All remained silent in the huntsman’s cabin for several, long moments, and you did not dare to rise from the bed that had become your sanctuary.

After what felt like an eternity, the door to Sanemi’s sleeping chamber pushed open, the light from the main room of the cabin flooding in.

“They are gone,” the huntsman said simply. “It is safe for you to come back out.”

You turned over and rose from his bed, quickly tugging the sleeves of your thin shift back up over your bare shoulders, if not to preserve the last shred of your modesty that the huntsman before you hadn’t cut away.

You were startled by his appearance in the doorway. Though his eyes remained fixed on the wood floor of the cabin, you saw that the man before you was nearly as stripped as you were.

Somehow, in the few precious seconds between him throwing you onto his bed and Douma’s men barging through the cabin door, Sanemi had discarded his lined shirt, leaving everything from the waist-up bare. The only garment which remained on him were his deerskin breeches, and Sanemi had somehow undone its front laces, loosening their fit around his hips. Between the undone cords, you spied a thin trail of silver hair that begun just below his navel and disappeared below the seam of his pants.

It was admirable the dedication Sanemi had shown in perfecting your ruse. To the untrained eye, it truly looked as though Douma’s men had indeed interrupted a husband and his wife as they’d been engaged in acts you’d been told were reserved for the marital bed, the disheveled state of Sanemi’s breeches giving the distinct appearance of having been just barely tugged over naked hips.

The thought made your mouth run dry, and something hot flared in your belly.

Sanemi ignored your apparent ogling of him, as he produced his discarded tunic from the floor where he'd tossed it and shrugged it back over his head.

Wordlessly, he gathered the shredded remains of your corset and handed it to you, keeping his gaze averted to allow you to redress. You managed to pull on your outer skirts back over your shirt, but you fingered the torn strap of your corset.

“You ruined it,” you said, nose wrinkling as you punched it between your thumb and index finger. “I cannot lace it when you’ve torn the stays.”

Sanemi frowned, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he looked slightly apologetic for the state of your outer-corset.

“Corset woes aside, we need to go now, if we are to have any chance of getting you to another village before your fiancé’s men catch up to us.” Sanemi grabbed the leather satchel he'd been packing before Douma's men had interrupted and began filling it once more.

You scowled. “He is not my fiancé,”

“Your keeper, then.” Sanemi amended. The Huntsman stalked back over to the armoire in his sitting room and wrenched the worn doors open, pulling out several pieces of cloth.

“Here,” he said gruffly, tossing you a balled wad of crimson wool. “As promised.”

You accepted the cloak with a small, uttered thanks, and fastened it quickly around your shoulders. The Huntsman then turned to dig through a small cabinet, returning before you with a small spool of sturdy, leather cord.

He held it out to you. “For your corset,” he said gruffly, his cheeks slightly pink. Feeling your own blush creep up your neck, you accepted the offering. Picking the torn garment up once more, you slid it over your shoulders and used Sanemi’s cords to lace the front together.

Truthfully, the finished product wasn’t half bad; the cord was long enough to cross all the way up to the top of the corset, with enough leftover to allow you to pull it and secure it in place around your bust. You tied off the cord with a pleased nod, before looking back to Sanemi in gratitude. Before you could properly thank him, the Huntsman thrust a small basket into your newly freed hand.

"Provisions. For the journey." He said by way of explanation, and you nodded, nestling the handle into the crook of your arm.

Without so much as a glance around the cabin, Sanemi wrenched the door open and allowed you to pass through the entryway first, pausing behind you only to tightly latch the door shut.

And the two of you set off into the Netherwood.

———

You were no time-keeper by any means, especially in a place like the Wood where daylight was hard enough to find; but it felt like hours had passed since you last spoke to the Huntsman, and the silence was pressing heavily upon you — especially the deeper you ventured into the dark of the Wood.

Though Sanemi had been walking ahead of you, you took it upon yourself to increase your pace, until you walked astride with him.

“How long have you been guiding others through the Netherwood?” You asked lightly, hoping that some — any — conversation you could have with the stoic woodsman would distract you from the odd growls and noises concealed within the forest’s shadows.

“A while.” Sanemi’s answer was as brisk as his pace, and you struggled to match it.

“Have you lived here your whole life, or are you from one of the villages nearby?” You pressed, scanning your memory as you tried to recall whether there had ever been a boy with white hair and a scarred face in your village.

“No.”

You waited for him to elaborate, but Sanemi offered no further explanation. You sighed and fell back behind him; if this was to be his attitude the entire journey, you were in for a long few days.

The pair of you had traveled for what felt like several more hours without a word before the silence began to irritate you. You sped up your pace until your stride matched the Huntsman’s, walking with him side by side.

“Why do you live alone in the Netherwood?” You twirled the basket around your hand as the pair of you walked, the nerves you’d felt upon first starting the journey through the Wood having long since abated, in no short part due to the presence of the Huntsman and his axe by your side.

Sanemi did not turn towards you, his eyes remaining fixed on the bramble ahead. “Why did you venture into the Wood alone?”

You groaned. “Is this how our entire journey is to go? Either you give me mono-syllable answers, or every time I ask a question, you avoid answering by responding with your own?”

“That depends, do you intend to keep asking me questions?”

You barely resisted the urge to whack the sullen Huntsman with your basket. “Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “Your time here in the Wood has turned you into a curmudgeonly hermit.”

Sanemi snorted. “You assume I wasn’t one to begin with.”

“I can’t imagine someone who helps travelers cross the Wood was always so churlish and miserable.” You shot back.

The Huntsman remained quiet for a moment, though his air did not carry the same cold standoffishness that you’d come to understand meant he was ignoring you. Rather, Sanemi seemed to be in thought.

“It has been nearly four years,” he said after a long while. “Since I began helping travelers cross the Wood.”

Your eyes widened. “Four years?” That was an awfully long time to risk one’s neck for the sake of strangers — some of whom, you realized, may not have been all that good.

Sanemi nodded and you whistled. “I’m sure you’ve seen many kinds of people attempting to traverse through the Wood.”

“There are only two types of travelers,” Sanemi disagreed. “Those who live to make it to my door, and those who do not. I try not to pry into the privacies of those who do manage to find me.” He cut his eyes at you, accusingly. “And usually, they aren’t so eager to pry into mine.”

You ignored the jab, though it bruised your ego more than you wanted to admit. “You don’t like people, yet you’ve crafted your entire existence around serving them.” You could not stop the amused edge in your words. “It is quite ironic, you have to admit.”

Sanemi refused to dignify you with a response, and so the first leg of your journey continued in relative silence.

The stifling quiet that extended between the Huntsman and you finally subsided once Sanemi announced you’d be stopping for the night and making camp. He’d been quick to notice your unease as you’d cast your eyes nervously around the shadowed trees of the Wood, assuring you that you all were in an area less-frequented by the various terrors that called the forest home.

“I will sit and keep watch,” Sanemi said as you’d curled up against the leaves of the forest floor, your red cloak pulled tight around your frame to block out the autumn night’s chill. “So try and sleep.”

“You are asking me to put a great deal of trust in you, Huntsman,” you said softly, but in truth, you did not feel nearly as afraid of him as you perhaps had earlier in the day.

He snorted, dismissively. “I’ve had you in my bed already, have I not? If I was going to harm you, girl, I would’ve already done so.”

Something tightened in his eyes as he dropped your gaze. “And I would never do such a thing to a woman.”

There was a quiet pain in his vow, such that you did not think his words were entirely meant for your ears. But they comforted you nonetheless, and so, still facing the handsome and mysterious Huntsman, you allowed yourself to relax enough to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

---

The journey was taking longer than Sanemi originally believed.

Three days into your travels with the Huntsman, and you’d barely reached the halfway point in the Wood. Though, that was not due to any fault of Sanemi’s; there’d been a few times when he’d stopped mid-stride, eyes narrowed on some unseen thing deep within the forest that you could not see, but concerned him enough to change course. When you asked, the Huntsman had only grumbled that he’d heard suspicious movement ahead, and that he knew whatever it was, it likely wasn’t human.

You didn’t bother to question his judgment. After all, it was Sanemi who was the expert in traversing through the Wood. You, however, had spent the better part of three days understanding how utterly helpless you were without him.

You hadn’t meant to stumble across it.

You’d only meant to go relieve yourself behind a tree — a simple evergreen, that had looked innocent and unassuming enough.

As you’d quickly learned, however, upon squatting near the tree’s base, it was anything but innocent. For no sooner had you moved to pull your skirts out of the way had you felt a spiny hand close around your forearm, its knife-sharp fingers digging into your flesh.

The withered, bony had was connected to a sinewy arm, covered in ridged, black skin that made up the panting, salivating bat-like creature that had managed to camouflage itself against the bark of the tree.

You’d taken one look at the rows of sharp, yellow teeth and screamed loud enough to startle the dead.

Loud enough to bring a certain Huntsman crashing through the brush, axe clutched tightly in hand, his eyes wild and bright.

“Duck,” he’d barked once, and somehow you’d managed to wrench yourself to the side of the devil as Sanemi’s weapon buried deep into the creature’s face, the beast releasing your arm and stumbling back with a pitiful gurgle before it dropped to the floor.

You’d hardly had the chance to collect yourself before the Huntsman was stomping over to you, yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you away from the nefarious little tree.

“A goddamned hidebehind,” he furiously spat. “Of all things to provoke, you choose a fucking hidebehind.”

Sanemi ignored your slight protests at being manhandled back to the path he’d identified as leading out of the Wood, too lost in his own raging assessment of you.

“How the devil a pretty little thing like you managed to make it to my door in one piece is the only thing that makes me consider there may be a higher power, given how foolishly reckless you act in the Woods where there’s no shortage of creatures that would want to devour you —“

The Huntsman continued his rant, but your ears only picked up on a single fragment of his ramblings.

“You think me pretty?” It was silly, yet the notion that the devilishly handsome Huntsman accompanying you found you worth looking at made something in your stomach flutter.

Sanemi shot you a withering glare. “You may think me a miserable recluse, girl, but even I have eyes.”

You didn’t know why, but the comment made you smile for the rest of the night, a curious warmth blooming in your chest.

----

You settled for the night among a small circle of trees. Sanemi had helped you shake down a bed of pine needles from a nearby tree, allowing the fragrant nettles to form a soft bed for you against the forest floor.

You watched him repeat the process to make his own bed, your eyes curious. "You seem to have a great deal of experience with this," you mused.

Sanemi produced a single apple from his pouch and sliced it in half with a small hunting knife he kept strapped to his hip. He tossed you one half before he stretched out on his pine needle bed, propping up one cheek on his fist as he faced you. "I s'ppose sleeping outdoors is something of a family trait."

That piqued your curiosity. Though Sanemi had not divulged any details of his personal life with you, you'd assumed he'd been a true loner in his cabin in the Wood.

“You speak as though you still have family,” You bit into your half of the fruit, chewing slowly as you thought. “Do you?”

Sanemi nodded. “No parents to speak of, but a younger brother — a few years younger than you. Still a boy, though in a man’s body.” He scowled. “The little brat has outgrown me.”

You smiled at the obvious fondness belying the irritation on his face. “A boy bigger than you? I find that hard to believe.”

Your gentle praise had the intended effect of making the Huntsman look slightly smug, before the same sour look passed his face. “He has grown slightly taller than I, and by all accounts is still growing. I have a feeling he will try and hold it over my head the next time I see him.”

You wondered if Sanemi’s younger brother would literally do so, and the thought made you smile.

“You said the next time you see him, but you’ve said you have no parents — where does he live, if not with you?”

Sanemi grimaced, chucking the last of his apple core behind his shoulders. He remained quiet for a long moment before answering.

“He lives with a friend; he can take better care of him than I can right now.”

Something about the Huntsman’s tone made it clear the topic was a sensitive subject for the young Huntsman, and so you elected not to press the matter further.

“And what of you?” Sanemi said gruffly, surprising you with his willingness to engage in conversation as the two of you continued your trek. “I know you said you had a Grandmother, as she was the one to give you that.”

He nodded pointedly at your cloak, and you saw that curious heat enter his eyes once more at they combed over the scarlet wool draped around your frame. But the mention of your grandmother caused a lump to form in your throat that took you several moments to work around, the damning prickle of tears stinging your eyes.

“I do,” you said hoarsely after a moment. “Though I do not know if she survived after helping me escape Douma. Even if she did, I know I shall never see her again.”

Though your vision had become blurred by your tears, you could have sworn you saw Sanemi’s hand twitched towards you at the sound of the wobble in your voice.

“Douma,” he repeated. “Is that the person you’re fleeing from?”

You nodded, exhaling a shaky sigh. “He claims to be my fiancé but I accepted no such proposal.”

Sanemi leaned against the wood of a tree opposite from you, arms folding across his chest. “Then he does not know what it means to be a fiancé,”

You gave a watery chuckle. “No, I suppose he does not.” You chewed on your lip for a moment. “But Douma does not ask; he demands and he expects. His offer was not really a request for my hand — it was a warning that he would collect me to do with as he pleased.”

Sanemi tensed. “What do you mean by that?”

You combed your fingers through the tangled tresses of your hair, and anxious habit you’d had for as long as you could remember. “In the last three years, Douma has taken four young women from the village to be his wife; every one of them has since disappeared.”

The Huntsman sucked in a shocked breath. “What has happened to them? Has anyone searched?”

You smiled ruefully. “I do not know; no one does. Search parties were dispensed each time, but those who looked came back empty-handed.” Your eyes remained fixed on the small, flickering flame of the campfire. “He claimed the first three ran away into the Wood; said they’d left him to be with a lover.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, seeking comfort in your grandmother’s cloak. “Quite the coincidence, is it not?”

“Quite nefarious,” Sanemi remarked darkly, shaking his head. “And what of the fourth wife?”

Your head dropped. “My dear friend, Kotoha,” you felt the tears begin to gather in your eyes once more. “She was pregnant when Douma demanded her hand, but he did not appear to care. She gave birth a few months later — a beautiful baby boy named Inosuke.”

“She seemed happy for a while after that, and I thought perhaps Douma had been telling the truth; by all accounts, he was kind towards her,” you continued, fighting the shiver trying to lick its way up your spine. “But then Kotoha disappeared, and Inosuke, too.”

Sanemi stiffened at that. “When was this?” He asked suddenly, his tone urgent.

You looked up at him, startled. “Just a week before I found you.”

Sanemi swore lowly, his hand dragging over his face. At your questioning look, he continued.

“A few days before we met, I was leaving to check on a series of caves that I frequent in the east,” he began. “I was half a kilometer from your village when I —,” he hesitated. “Spotted a few men, dragging something through the trees. They seemed to come from your village.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Did you see —?” Your question choked off as your voice cracked.

Sanemi shook his head. “All that was left was a pile of bones. Just one person’s. But there were shreds of cloths mixed in,” Sanemi’s mouth twisted down in a snarl. “Clothes belonging to a young child. But no sign of their bones among the adult’s.”

A cold, clammy sweat broke out across your forehead. “But Kotoha was hardly missing a week — surely that’s not enough time for her to be reduced to bones?”

Sanemi opened his mouth but closed it before he spoke, his eyebrows knitting together as he struggled for words.

“I have seen things in the Wood that are capable of stripping flesh in a matter of minutes,” he said carefully, eyes trained on your face. “It would not be unheard of.”

You felt the blood drain from your face as nausea wracked through you. “Oh gods,” you moaned, arms shakily coming to rest upon your knees to brace your head as it fell into your hands. “Oh gods — Kotoha.”

You remained like that for several moments, viciously fighting against the roiling of your stomach, desperate to keep down what meager rations you’d managed to eat.

Sanemi called your name, soft and gentle. You waited a moment, focusing on taking several, steadying breaths before you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“So that is to be my fate once he catches me,” you whispered in horror. “To be reduced to nothing more than a pile of bones and tossed into the Wood like garbage.” You shuddered as another wave of nauseous dread sluiced through you. “And I cannot even fathom what will be done to me before then.”

“It will not,” Sanemi’s answering snarl was soft but vicious, and it broke through the cold terror threatening to knock you off your axis. “I will get you out of this forest and you will be free. Mark my words.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep, Sanemi.” You warned, your eyes still wide, haunted. “If he catches me, he will do worse to you; death will be a kindness he will withhold.”

Despite the solemnity of your words, Sanemi only scoffed. “I assure you, he would do no such thing.” He looked to you, eyes serious. “And I would kill him before he had the chance to so much as look your direction.”

You wanted to dismiss his words as nothing more than the bragging of an overconfident, idiotic man. But something in both Sanemi’s tone and the way he was leaning against the tree — one foot resting causally against the bark, the other stretched out before him, supporting his weight, with his arms folded across his chest — made you think perhaps Sanemi’s confidence was more than mere bravado.

Even though you knew you shouldn't, you took comfort in it; in him.

"You're a good man, Sanemi," you said quietly. "Better than most."

Sanemi scoffed, shaking his head, but the shadow over his face betrayed his own internal turmoil. "I am not half the man you'd like me to be."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, head tilting in question. “Do you care what I think of you?” When the Huntsman did not answer, you pressed. “You worry that I think ill of you — why?”

Sanemi, at best, was confusing. Maddening. He spoke to you gruffly, as though his years in the Wood had made him forget all semblance of decorum and basic human decency.

Yet, there was something else, too; though you hadn’t much experience being desired by men, Sanemi had shown you a particular level of care. He always handed you your dried rations first, ensuring you’d eat your fill before he; he always offered a hand to help you over a particularly tricky stretch of terrain, carrying your basket for you without so much as you having to ask.

Then, there’d been the way he’d cradled you close earlier in the day, when you stumbled upon the poor man whose body had been mangled and half-eaten by one of the Wood’s inhabitants. He hadn’t needed to tuck your head against his chest like he did, holding you tight as he spun the two of you out of range, to avoid joining the lost soul whose entrails were strewn across the forest floor; he hadn’t needed to comfort you and wipe your frightened tears.

But he had.

The realization hit you like a boulder. “You feel protective of me,” you murmured in awe, your eyes locked onto him even as he shifted under the weight of your stare.

Sanemi tried to scowl, but it came off as more a wince. “I feel protective towards any woman who is being treated as something to abuse. What your fake-fiancé has done is abhorrent.”

His voice quieted. “You do not deserve that fate. You deserve to find something good — something that will make you happy.”

You hummed, pretending you were in thought as you began to slowly close the distance between you. “I would like to be happy,” you conceded.

“You should be,” Sanemi answered.

“I have felt happy here in the Wood,” you continued. “Have you, Huntsman? Felt happy here in the Netherwood, I mean?”

Sanemi swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”

You took another step. “Recently?”

“Recent enough,” Sanemi watched you warily, his voice like gravel.

You clicked your tongue. “Have you enjoyed our time together? However brief?”

At this, Sanemi rolled his eyes. “You have certainly kept things interesting, when you’re not desperately trying to become a meal for some hungry beast.”

When you did not answer, Sanemi looked nervously back to you, and his voice softened. “Yes. I have enjoyed it.”

You felt like you were stripping him back, peeling back layers of sarcasm and steel that he’d carefully erected to keep himself from getting close — from caring.

But you were doing it; and he was letting you.

“And you think I’m pretty,” you added, taking another step towards him.

“Aye,” Sanemi croaked, his eyes fixed on your face, the the flicker of the small fire only adding to the heat blazing in his lilac gaze.

You drew up before him, the toes of your boots just touching his. “I find you quite pretty as well, Huntsman.”

Sanemi’s eyes closed, his shoulders tense. “I am to deliver you safely to the nearest village.” Lilac irises opened to meet yours and he looked at you gently; apologetically. “We cannot do this.”

You did not balk. “And if I wanted to stay with you?” You whispered, fingers coming to toy with the folds of his tunic. “What would you say then?”

Sanemi breathed out a soft sigh of your name, the syllables dripping like honey from his lips. “It is not possible, I’m afraid.”

You looked up at him through lowered eyelashes and noted how his gaze flicked down to your lips before back to your eyes. “Why?”

Sanemi’s hand gently brushed a few loose strands of hair back from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and you leaned into the warmth of his touch. “Because you are a beautiful, little lamb, and I am a wolf in a forest of beasts. You do not wish to spend your days here, in the darkness.”

“You cannot speak to what I want,” you challenged, your fingers rising to clench around his wrist, to hold his hand in place against the side of your head. “My life is my own now; I have no set path.”

“But I would like to travel down yours,” you added quietly, after a moment.

“It is not one open to transients,” Sanemi warned, though his other hand rose to rest against the dip in your waist, holding you against him.

You only shook your head. “I do not intend to be temporary, Sanemi. I wish to stay with you. I wish to help others as you have helped me.”

“I’ve yet to help you,” Sanemi said wryly. “Our bargain was that I deliver you to one of the villages on the other side of the Wood. We are still making that journey.”

You stretched up on your toes and boldly pressed your lips against the hollow of his throat, savoring the skipping pace of his heart beneath your mouth.

“A new bargain, then,” you offered. Sanemi said your name once, as though in warning, but when he did not levy any threat, you only continued, moving your lips up under his jaw.

“You get me to the other side of the Wood. If I still want to stay with you, then you will let me. If I don’t, we will part ways at the first village we come to.”

You’d kissed your way to his lips, but held back, allowing that final line to remain in place between you even as your resolve wavered against the force of your desire for him — for this Huntsman of the Netherwood.

Sanemi’s eyes fell to your lips, hovering so very closely to his own. “You assume I want you to stay,” he murmured, though he made no move to push you away. “You assume I want to look after a lamb forever.”

You smiled softly. “Even a lamb can help take care of a wolf.”

Sanemi’s eyes were full of a wariness edged by the faintest trace of hope. “Aye, I suppose that’s true.” The hand against the side of your head fell to caress your cheek. “And as infuriating as I find you to be,” he leaned in close, his lips just barely touching yours. “I do think you quite beautiful, little Lamb.”

You surged forward with a breathy gasp, lips feverishly meeting his as you begged the Huntsman to consume you whole.

Sanemi responded with equal fervor, his arm locking tightly around your waist as the hand against your face tilted your head slightly to the right, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

You’d shared a few stolen kisses here and there in your youth with some of the village boys, but never before had you been kissed like this. Never before had you known the passion and all-consuming vigor that the Huntsman poured into you, as he walked the two of you back over roots and loose stones to press you against the roughened bark of a nearby tree.

No, those kisses had been child’s play. For the way Sanemi’s mouth moved against yours was enough to make you feel as though you’d been dipped in lantern oil and set aflame, and yet you could not find it within yourself to care that you were burning. Not when he molded you against the rigid planes of his body as though to absorb you into his being; not when his thigh slotted between yours, its muscle brushing against a sensitive spot between your legs that had you gasping and Sanemi groaning into your mouth.

As quickly as it began, it ended, Sanemi breaking away from your lips with a strangled pant as he leapt back, as though scalded by the inferno he’d lit within you.

There was something untamed in his gaze as he regarded you, his breath choppy as he collected himself. Still stunned by the ferocity with which he’d kissed you, your fingers jumped to your lips, noting the slight swelling now there.

“I was wrong about you,” Sanemi said breathlessly, his cheeks tinged an alluring shade of pink. “You may not be a lamb after all.”

Your fingers dropped from your lips as you raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I am a wolf?”

Sanemi shook his head, that wildness still blazing in his eyes. “No, not a wolf.” His voice dropped to a purr as he regarded you with a look that made your thighs clench. “You are temptation given physical form.”

——-

Neither of you spoke of what transpired against the tree for several hours, though you’d managed to brush aside any lingering awkwardness with light conversation about Sanemi’s time in the Netherwood.

And, despite any lingering doubt as to the sincerity of your words he may have had, Sanemi seemed to naturally gravitate towards you, his hands never straying far from your form as you walked.

Truthfully, it made you giddy. You’d never experienced the thrill of another man’s touch while in the village, though Kotoha certainly hadn’t spared you any details. Vivid descriptions furtively whispered behind hands, however, were nothing compared to reality. Even Kotoha’s most blush-inducing tales paled in comparison to the electric flash you felt each time Sanemi’s warm hand gripped yours to steer you back from a particularly darkened corner of the woods, or the flutter in your stomach when he lifted you easily up and over unsteady ground, his hands always lingering for a spare second on your waist or the small of your back as you settled.

It became harder to imagine leaving him once you reached the end of the Wood. With each passing hour, your conviction that you would remain alongside the mysterious Huntsman grew all the stronger.

The pair of you were resting near a blackberry bush, you perched on a small boulder while Sanemi sharpened his axe, his hand running the small whetting stone against the curve of the blade with precision.

“Have you ever been in love?” The question broke the comfortable silence before you could think better of it.

Sanemi’s sharpening stone paused briefly before continuing along the curve of his axe. “Once,” he said, gruffly. “Though we were so young, I don’t know if you could properly call it that.”

You sat up, your curiosity piqued. “Where are they now?”

The Huntsman hesitated. “She is long-gone. Died here, in the Wood.”

Your heart clenched. “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine that grief.”

Sanemi did not respond, instead refocusing his attention back to his blade. “It was around four years ago, now.”

Four years ago. Around the time Sanemi had begun escorting lost souls through the Netherwood.

“Have you been in the Wood since?” You asked gently, trying to focus on a loose thread handing from your cloak so that he would not feel pressured by your stare.

Sanemi nodded. “I think,” he cleared his throat. “I think I started helping others as a way to honor her. She was kind that way.”

You smiled at that. “She sounds wonderful; and you do right by her memory.”

The Huntsman said nothing more, his silence more contemplative as he finished sharpening his weapon.

By the time the pair of you set back off on your path through the Wood, the morning fog had somewhat subsided, though it’s mist lingered in the denser sections of the forest.

“Is it normal to not have encountered many of the Wood’s creatures?” You bit down on the shudder you felt at the memory of the partially-eaten corpse you’d encountered a few days prior. “I feel as though we only see the aftermath of the beasts, rather than the monsters themselves.”

Sanemi smirked quietly to himself, though you did not know what he found amusing about your question. “I suppose that cloak is keeping them at bay, Lamb.”

You rolled your eyes, knocking your shoulder playfully against his. “Perhaps they’re frightened of the big bad Huntsman,”

“Perhaps. I’m quite scary.”

Your hand found his. “Not at all. In fact, I find you quite —“

Your thought was cut off, however, as Sanemi tore his hand from yours to hold an arm out before you, stilling you. You’d traveled with the Huntsman long enough to know he was telling you to be quiet while he listened, his ears far more discerning amidst the silent noise of the forest than yours.

Only it was not silent; in the distance, you could hear raised voices, yelling, and the distinct howls of several hounds.

Your eyes found Sanemi’s, and you were certain yours were as wide as his, as your heart began to thunder against your chest.

There was a strange melodic chant rising above the cluster of voices some distance through the trees, and you both turned back and strained to listen.

As the jeering voices and barking of dogs drew nearer, it became clearer what was being said — what thing those voices were loudly whooping and mocking amidst the excited titter undercutting their bloodlust.

Your name.

Douma’s men had picked up your trail, and they’d caught up.

“Run.” Sanemi ordered, tearing the leather satchel from his shoulders and looping the strap around yours. “Do you remember which direction north is?”

Eyes wide and limbs trembling, you nodded, your breath hitched in your throat as every instinct within you was overtaken by sheer terror. Sanemi placed his hands on your shoulders, squeezing firmly to get your attention back on him.

“Run north,” he repeated. “Follow the river and do not stop. It is against the wind, so it should be harder to track your scent,” Sanemi’s eyes darted up over your shoulder, narrowing as the unseen force drew nearer. “I will catch up to you. Do not drop that satchel.”

Your mouth opened and closed several times as you gaped at him, fear, so deep and primal, engrained in your every nerve as you realized he intended to send you deeper into the Netherwood. Alone.

“I cannot — Sanemi,” you begged, your hand gripping his forearm in a desperate attempt to stay close to him, your protector.

Gently, Sanemi removed your hand from him. “Y/N, I promise I will find you soon. I need to get them,” he jerkily nodded backwards to the voices and dog howls drawing closer and closer to you in the distance. “Off our trail.

You shook your head, only trembling harder. To separate surely would mean one, if not both of you would die, and you could not bear to leave him to deal with the onslaught of Douma’s men alone.

“I promise,” you’d not realized Sanemi’s hands had cupped your face until you felt the press of his forehead against yours. “I will find you. Now go.” He urged, and with a slight shove, Sanemi sent you stumbling in the direction you assumed was North.

With a great deal of reluctance, your legs began to move as you hurried over fallen branches and twisted roots, every pump of your legs growing stronger as your fear intensified.

You hadn’t known how many men were in pursuit of you, and you’d left Sanemi alone with only an axe to protect himself.

You’d as good as doomed him.

But you kept running in the direction you thought was north, eyes frantically trying to track the watery sunlight filtering through the trees.

The moment you’d chances scanning for the sun meant you did not see the thick, twisting root that had broken across the forest floor, not until your foot became entangled and you were sent sprawling across the dirt.

Moaning slightly, you scrambled up, refusing to acknowledge the faint bruising pain you felt in your ankle as you moved to keep running.

A snap of a tree branch froze you in your tracks. As stupid as you were, you turned towards the source of the sound, dread coiling in your gut. A shadow emerged from behind one of the ancient trees of the Wood, clutching something shiny.

A sword; long, wicked and cruelly sharp, and yet somehow, the blade frightened you far less than its wielder, for his face was familiar.

You’d grown up alongside it, after all.

“Well, well,” the boy — man — cooed at you. “We’ve been looking for you for quite sometime, you know?”

You took a step back, eager to put whatever distance you could between yourself and the smirking village boy who looked at you like you were his next meal.

“K-Kaigaku,” you stuttered in disbelief. “What are you doing? We were — we were friends.”

The boy’s laugh made your blood curdle. “Don’t mock me,” he shifted his sword to rest against his other shoulder as his free hand twirled a small dagger. “I only align myself with the strong, and you are nothing but a weak and pathetic little mouse.”

“But Lord Douma,” Kaigaku mused, his grin offset by the malice alighting his eyes. “Lord Douma is strong; powerful. I am loyal to him, not you.”

“Lord Douma?” You repeated, your voice as sharp as the blade glinting in the faint daylight as the boy before you tilted it back and forth. “Is that what he’s told you to call him? What, pray tell, is he lord of — being an egomaniacal, fatuous, greedy murderer?”

Kaigaku’s smirk unfurled into an ugly sneer as he shifted to point his sword at you. “Watch your mouth, girl.”

“And what of Kotoha?” You demanded, your anger an untamable fire that burned in your veins. “You were sweet on her once — did she deserve her fate?”

There was no sign of that fondness in the cruelty which lined Kaigaku’s face as he spat, “She spread her legs for some man like a whore and bore his bastard. Lord Douma only made sure she met an end befitting of her filth.”

“You vile, wretched creature,” you swore. “Damn you! Damn him!”

That hair-raising smirk reappeared as Kaigaku stepped towards you. “I cannot wait to see what Lord Douma has planned for you. You should’ve seen what he did to your beloved Granny, the hag.”

Your blood turned cold and a stone like lead settled in the pit of your stomach. You’d assumed, of course, that your grandmother had paid with her life in helping you escape, but you could not bear to hear the ways she’d suffered in exchange for your life.

Somewhere, in the depths of the Netherwood, a wolf howled.

“Shall I tell you all about it, Y/N?” Kaigaku taunted. “Shall I tell you how your dear Granny screamed as Lord Douma flayed her alive, piece by piece? How she sobbed for your grandfather? For you?”

Tears burned, as hot as acid in your eyes as you shook. “Stop,”

“It was quite pathetic, really,” Kaigaku sighed. “She went rather quickly. I suppose that’s what happens when you play with old crones — their pathetic little hearts can’t withstand the fun.”

You were at a loss; part of you wanted to lunge for the boy, to sink your nails into his eyes and rip, to tear him limb from limb as you screamed with rage until even the beasts of the Netherwood could not tell whether you were human or kin.

But on the other hand, you were just a woman, who’d spent the last five days in the Netherwood and didn’t have so much as a dagger with which to defend yourself.

And Sanemi told you to run.

You remembered as a boy, Kaigaku had been slow; always the last person to finish a race or outrun the seeker in hide and seek.

You, on the other hand, had always been faster; you could outrun him.

You had to. You would.

There was a roaring in your head as your mind disconnected from your body and you turned to flee.

“Don’t you run from me, bitch!” Kaigaku thundered after you, but you did not slow; you hurtled over root and rubble, adrenaline pumping hot and fast to your legs as you ran.

You’d thought, for one blissful moment, that perhaps you had a chance of evading him, when a silent whirring cut through the silent forest air.

Pain, blinding pain, exploded somewhere from the side of your thigh, bringing you to your knees as you cried out. Rolling over, your stomach dropped at the unmistakable sensation of blood dripping down your leg, hot and fast.

Behind you, you heard the thud of Kaigaku’s knife cluttering to the forest floor.

“Hn, I missed,” the boy scoffed, eyes roaming over you as you bled. “No matter, you can’t run on a wounded leg, can you little girl?”

Ignoring the dizzying lash of pain that flared in your leg, you scrambled backwards in a crawl, desperate to put some — any — distance between you and your captor.

“Lord Douma only said to bring you back alive,” Kaigaku hummed, drawing his sword once more. “He did not say to bring you back unscathed.”

Kaigaku put the tip of his blade right at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You glared defiantly up at him, though your show of courage was a mere facade as you beheld the salacious glint reflected in his beady eyes.

“I think I shall take my time with you,” Kaigaku decided, using his blade to tilt your head back and forth. “After all there is no one here who shall care if you scream; in fact, I prefer you do.”

Your eyes widened, what remaining fight you still had wavering.

Alone. You were completely and utterly alone.

Sanemi had not come; either he was still fighting the other men sent by your cursed fiancé, or he’d been slain, and now the others were making their way to you, to take you back to Douma and let him do as he pleased.

You were going to die; but you would not die by his hands. Your eyes lowered to the blade still pressed under your chin, its tip grazing against the delicate skin of your throat, teasingly.

Kaigaku’s blade was sharp, even if it’s wielder not; it would not take much effort to slit your own throat on its edge, and it would take even less to bleed out upon the Netherwood’s earthen floor.

Before you could move, however, Kaigaku’s sword lowered, its tip teasingly tracing along the front seams of your dress.

“Perhaps we could make this interesting,” Kaigaku smirked, tracing up the valley between your breasts. “He said only to ensure you were untainted for him; he did not say we couldn’t have a taste.”

Your stomach churned with a toxic mixture of both rage and dread as the sword cut through the first stitch of your bodice. You tried to gather your feet beneath you, enough so that you could launch yourself forward and impale yourself on his blade, when a low growl sounded from behind your assailant.

Kaigaku, too enthralled by his slow torture of you, did not see the mass of white fur and bloodstained teeth leap from the shadows of the Wood; not until it was too late.

You looked on in horror as a large beast lunged for the boy from your village, tackling him to the side, his sword arm severed at his shoulder from a single swipe of the monster’s mighty claw. Kaigaku only had time to scream once before the nightmare’s massive maw clamped around his neck and tore, spraying his blood and bits of gore across the forest floor.

Your breath caught and died in your throat, helpless from where you were still splayed pathetically across the dirt as you watched the animal paint the Netherwood with remnants of Kaigaku.

The monster turned on its haunches towards you, its maw dripping with blood and bits of sinew and flesh, its lip curled back in a snarl. You whimpered as the creature’s silver-lilac eyes settled on you, every inch trembling in abject terror.

Though overcome by your fear, your brain was able to put together the sight before you that was sure to be your last. The beast slowly advancing towards you was a wolf, though it was much larger than any wolf you’d ever seen, and its brawn rivaled that of an ox’s.

The wolf boasted a thick coating of silvery-white fur that seemed to glow, as though it bore the essence of a full moon, though its brilliance was dampened somewhat by the smears of crimson saturating it. Under the dim light of the forest, you could not tell whether the blood was that of the wolf or another.

One colossal paw stepped hesitantly toward you again, and you felt yourself nearly go faint. Weakly, you tried to scramble back further into the wood, but your left leg had gone slightly numb from its wound, and the blood loss was starting to make you feel dizzy.

It seemed the Netherwood had answered your silent plea to not be sent back to be killed by Douma; instead, you would serve as the next meal for one of its monstrous residents.

The wolf drew short of you and watched you closely for a moment. With a great shudder, the wolf began to tremble and shake, and your horror melted into wide-eyed disbelief as you watched the wolf shrink and contort until all that was left was a man, blood-stained, naked, and panting on his hands and knees, fingers dug deeply into the dirt below. The man convulsed as began heaving up bile stained with blood and gore.

The sight of scarred forearms and snowy-white hair broke you out into a cold sweat.

“S-Sanemi?” You croaked, equal parts relieved and terrified, even if another part of you desperately hoped that you were simply hallucinating the image of the nude man wretching up blood before you.

“Aye,” Sanemi grit out between great, shuddering breaths as he spat one final time at the dirt. “It is me.”

He rose, bloodied and naked, from the forest floor and looked to you, his eyes back to their familiar, lavender hue, though they still retained an otherworldly glow.

There was a loud ringing in your ears as you stared at him, though you weren’t sure if it was from your panic or your blood loss. Sanemi took a cautious step towards you and it sent you scurrying back, a whimper of fright building in your throat.

He faltered, something like pain crossing his face. “Perhaps you should be afraid,” he said quietly. “And you can be — but I need you to throw me that satchel.”

It took you a moment to recollect yourself long enough to register what he was asking. With shaky hands, you unlatched the leather bag from your shoulders and weakly tossed it towards the Huntsman.

Sanemi was quiet as he dug through the bag, producing a fresh pair of breeches and a clean tunic. With a deftness that seemed as supernatural as his wolf form, Sanemi dressed, concealing his muscular, scarred form from sight once more.

He said your name once, quietly. “Are you alright?”

You trembled, hand clutching weakly at the front clasp of your cape. “He killed my grandmother,” you whispered. “H-he tortured her.”

Sanemi approached you slowly, and when you did not flinch away from him once more, he knelt down beside you. His hand came up to gently stroke your hair, and the touch startled you out of your trance, blinking back fat tears as you looked up at him.

“We need to go,” he said gently and you closed your eyes, nodding.

You’d known, of course, that your Grandmother had been killed; made peace with it, even. But you had not foreseen that she would be tortured for trying to secure your freedom, and the very thought made something inside your heart wither and die.

“I know,” you murmured quietly. Sanemi straightened, extending a hand to you to help you up when your fingers closed around his wrist, your eyes urgent.

“Did you kill them?”

Sanemi grimaced. “Yes, Lamb. I killed them all.”

You nodded. “Good.” You released his wrist and slid your hand into his. “Good.”

Your shock had dulled the sharp, burning throb in your leg while you’d processed the fact that Sanemi was not a mere huntsman, but a wolf of the Wood. But now that the shock had worn off, the pain slammed back into you with full force as you tried to stand, your leg collapsing uselessly under you as you cried out.

Sanemi’s nostrils flared and there was a murderous glint in his eyes as he crouched down beside you, eyes locked onto your left side, fingers clenching around the torn folds of your dress and lifting it up.

“S-Sanemi!” You squeaked, batting his hand away but no to avail. The huntsman — the wolf — managed to pull back the skirts of your dress to reveal the torn flesh of your thigh.

“Was it him?” Sanemi’s voice was low, his head jerking back over his shoulder in the vague direction where he’d left Kaigaku in pieces.

You nodded, eyes wide as you watched him inspect the wound. “A knife. He threw it.”

The huntsman exhaled harshly through his nose. “We’re too vulnerable in the open like this — especially because you’re bleeding.”

Sanemi sat back on his haunches and pulled his small hunting knife from the leather satchel strewn on the ground. Silently, he leaned forward and wound some of the bottom fabric of your dress around the blade and wrenched, tearing a sizeable scrap cloth from the skirt in one clean stroke.

Sanemi then reached under your skirt and tugged the shorter end of your linen shift down. “It’s not ideal but it’s cleaner than your outer skirt,” he said by way of explanation at your raised eyebrows and hitched breath. “It’ll do until I can get you somewhere safer. We’re sitting ducks out here. Your scent is bound to attract something.”

You nodded, gulping. Words were still far too difficult to come by, so you settled for watching your handsome guide as he worked, mouth set in a firm, hard line.

Sanemi tore another strip of linen from your shift and laid it delicately over his knee. His eyes flicked to yours, once, and you felt slightly ashamed at the way your breath hitched, as though waiting for those lilac irises to bleed silver once more.

“May I?” His hands were stilled above the exposed flesh of your shin, and you knew he’d need to lift more to bandage your thigh. You nodded after a moment, though your hesitation did not stem from any fear you held for the scarred man delicately sliding his hands up the length of your wounded leg; rather, the heat that crept up your neck came from the way goose flesh erupted over the skin beneath his roughened yet gentle touch.

Sanemi’s fingers were steady as he gently guided your leg to the side, rotating it in his palm so that the gash was perpendicular to the forest floor.

At the sight of your bloodied, torn flesh, Sanemi growled. “I should’ve made the little bastard suffer far more.” He said darkly, reaching into his satchel to pull a small skien of water to clean off the wound as much as possible.

At the first splash of water against your ragged skin, you flinched, hissing through clenched teeth as the cold fluid chased away the spare bit of blood. For a moment, you could see that the cut left behind the blade was deeper than you’d thought, though not so much so that it required more than a good bandaging and perhaps some stitching.

At least it had not been entirely flayed open.

The hand Sanemi had braced on your knee to keep your leg steady rubbed soothingly at your skin as he repeated the motion once more, letting the water cleanse the wound once more. “Atta girl,” he praised softly. “It’s done. I just need to wrap it.”

It amazed you that such a hardened, rough Huntsman — Wolf — had such a gentle touch. His hands were like feathers as he wound the clean strip of linen around your thigh, the only pressure stemming from the knot he’d fastened to keep it secure around your leg. Sanemi then wrapped the other torn fabric from your outer skirt around the makeshift bandage, knotting it in a similar fashion to the one beneath.

“To keep the one below from becoming dirty,” he offered plainly at your raised eyebrow. “Can you stand?”

Now that the adrenaline of yojr earlier encounter had worn off, the throb in your leg had become all the more pronounced. Teeth clenched, you gripped the Huntsman’s hands tightly as you rose from your seat on the tree stump, eyebrows furrowed in determination. Sanemi did not remove his hands from you, but kept them out and ready as you tentatively shifted your weight to test your wounded leg.

It was no good; the pain shot through you like an arrow and nearly buckled the knee on your good leg. With a cry of frustration, you stumbled back against Sanemi, the Huntsman’s arm looping easily around your waist to help lower you back down against the stump upon which he’s sat you.

“Damn it all,” you cursed, wincing at the angry throb in your leg. “It cannot bear weight.”

Sanemi pursed his lips as he looked over you, considering. “Allow me,” he said after a moment, squatting down next to you, motioning for you to wrap your arm around his shoulders.

You hesitated; you were not scared of the Huntsman, even after witnessing his terrifying true form, but your apprehension lingered, a primal fear baked deep within your core that told you you should be scared of the predator beside you. That, mixed with your blood loss, made you pause, even though you’re traveled alongside the fearless Huntsman for nearly a week.

And Sanemi noticed.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his arm locked steadily around your waist as he lifted you to your feet, your weight pressed against his chest.

You did not trust your words so you only nodded. Despite the remaining wariness you felt, you longed for his comfort more. You lifted your hand to cup the side of his jaw so you could tilt his face down, bringing his forehead against yours.

Sanemi whispered your name and your eyes lifted up to meet the smoldering heat of his gaze.

A knuckle brushed against the curve of your cheek. “Are you frightened of me now, little Lamb?”

Your fingers gripped the collar of his tunic, a desperation wracking through you at the thought he might pull away and remove the steadying warmth of his arms from around your frame.

“No. It is not you that frightens me; it is him.”

The arm around your waist tightened. “He will not get to you; I swear it. I will not allow him to lay a finger on you.”

Your breath shuddered and your eyes squeezed tight. You felt the discomforting press of panic building in your lungs, threatening to choke the air from your throat until a warm finger curled under your chin, followed only by a rugged whisper of your name.

You opened your eyes and there he was; the only person left alive who you could count on; who had proven, time and again, that your welfare mattered to him. Who treated you like you meant something.

You craved that feeling — craved him.

“Kiss me, Sanemi.” You murmured, your lips separated by a breath. “Please.”

Sanemi did not hesitate as he gently brought his lips against yours, the hand under your chin moving to cup the back of your head, holding you steady against him like he was the only real, solid thing in the world.

Your hands, no longer shaking, unclenched from where they’d been locked around the collar of his tunic and slid behind his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

Sanemi sighed against your lips, allowing himself to get lost in the way they moved against his, just as you did. Against the solid rock of his body and under the spell of his soft mouth, it was easy to allow yourself to forget the danger that threatened to creep in from the shadows.

Lost in your kiss, you made the mistake of trying to shift your weight from your good leg to the bad, causing both knees to buckle. At your small whimper of pain, Sanemi broke away.

“You’re too injured to walk,” He murmured against your lips. “So I shall carry you.”

He broke away with a final peck, stepping back and reaching behind him to haul his tunic over his head. “Unless you would like to see all of me, little Lamb,” Sanemi’s smirk was devilish. “Then I suggest you close your eyes for a moment.”

The heat his words sparked in your veins dulled the throb of your wounded leg. “And if I desire to see you?”

Sanemi only shrugged. “Then I suppose I shall have to put on a show.”

The huntsman held your eyes as his hands went to the hastily tied laces of his breeches, tugging the strings open with ease.

You fidgeted against the broken stump he’d perched you on, just as Sanemi shrugged down the soft suede of his breeches, revealing that damnable v-line that made your head spin. A few more inches lower, and there was his manhood, hanging thick and heavy between his muscular and scar-speckled thighs.

He was a sight to behold.

“Is this your first time seeing a man, Lamb?” Sanemi’s voice broke you out of the reverent trance you’d been in whilst admiring every rocky plane of his body.

Your mouth had turned dryer than a summer drought, and so you only nodded your head, unable to tear your eyes from the immaculate form that made up the huntsman of the Netherwood.

To your dismay, Sanemi stepped back from where you sat, again and again until he was several lengths back. You opened your mouth in protest, but he only shook his head.

“Don’t want you to be too close, my sweet.” He called from a distance.

You frowned. “Too close for what —“

Your question was cut off by a small scream as Sanemi leapt forward, that silver fur exploding forth from him as a large wolf landed only feet from where he’d once stood.

Now it was clear why he’d put such distance between you; had Sanemi been any closer when he shifted, one of those mighty claws embedded in his law — nearly as long as your hand — would have surely ripped you clean in half.

Your heart hammered in your chest as Sanemi’s wolf form drew closer. Now, without the weight of terror and the pressing conviction that you were about to die, you allowed yourself to fully appreciate the wolf before you.

His scars were still visible, though less so in contrast to his human form, his thick fur providing a fair degree of cover. In this form, you could see that were you to stand, your head would barely reach his shoulder.

Sanemi grunted as he crouched out, the puff of air from his considerable snout warming over your legs. He looked up at you expectantly, an amused twinkle in his wolffish eyes.

You gaped at him. “You want me to ride you?”

Another amused chuff.

“And how, great and mighty wolf, do you suggest I climb onto your back with a half-severed leg?” You dramatized. “Shall I flop?”

You couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the Wolf rolled his eyes. Sanemi pressed his large body against your good side, nudging you with his great shoulder to signal for you to grab his fur.

You took a handful of the silvery coat, surprised at its softness. “Do not bite me just because you think I pull too hard,” you warned, half serious, and Sanemi huffed in annoyance.

Using the wolf as leverage, you heaved yourself up, Sanemi pressing steadily into your side as you found your footing against him. Slowly, and with less grace than you were willing to admit, you managed to climb atop Sanemi’s back, awkwardly swinging your injured leg over the opposite side.

Once settled, Sanemi rose beneath you, rising to his full height. Sat atop him, you were willing to bet he was taller than most horses back in the village.

The great wolf sniffed at the air once before lowering himself into a crouch, and springing forth into the Wood.

————

Riding atop Sanemi had been the most exhilarating experience of your life.

Though, you also could not recall the last time such a ride had left you more frightened, given that you’d spent a great deal of it crouched low against his neck, fearing that if you rose your head even a fraction of an inch, some low-hanging tree would embed itself in your face.

You supposed you would have kept riding longer, had your stomach not given a great gurgle after an hour or so atop the wolf. With a growl that you thought sounded suspiciously like a laugh, Sanemi paused in a small clearing near a rocky, moss-covered cliff, disappearing behind the lip of the rock once he’d situated you upon a felled log.

A few moments later, human Sanemi emerged, re-dressed, but his face was severe.

“They will keep coming,” Sanemi’s frustration was clear as he shrugged the fresh tunic over his head, the delectable ridges of his abdomen and the alluring dip of his hips concealed from your sight once more. “So long as they can track your scent, they will keep pursuing you.”

You did not need to ask to whom he referred; the very same fear had gnawed at you even despite the exhilaration of riding Sanemi’s wolf form.

Your appreciation of the huntsman’s physique stalled as fear bubbled again in your gut. “What can I do?” Your whisper was shaky and it made Sanemi pause, his hand twitching towards you. “I cannot change my scent in the middle of the damn Wood—“

“You can,” Sanemi said quickly, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears turned pink. “Or— rather, I can help.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Because you are a wolf? Should I call you that now, instead of ‘Huntsman,’ or ‘Sanemi?’”

“You can call me whatever you desire, so long as you allow me to protect you.” Sanemi retorted evenly.

You tried to keep your voice steady even as you blushed. “And how would you do that, Wolf?”

There was a dark glint in Sanemi’s eyes at your new nickname for him. “A bite from a wolf can change your scent.”

You balked at him. “A bite?”

“Aye,” the Huntsman said casually, as though he was merely discussing the weather. “It would leave a small mark, but that mark would alter your scent enough to make you harder to track.”

You thought for a moment, the blush on your cheeks deepening. “Where would you bite me?”

It was Sanemi’s turn to turn pink. “Likely your neck,” he fidgeted with a stick he used to poke the dying campfire.

You gulped. “Would you have to transform?”

Sanemi’s small smile was handsome, even if it looked a little feral. “No, Lamb. I can stay in this form.”

You watched your protector for a moment, weighing your options. “Come here, Sanemi.”

His eyes snapped to yours, a bottomless heat turning his lilac gaze molten. Slowly, with the grace of a predator silently stalking its prey, Sanemi made his way over to where you sat, drawing short once the tips of his boots grazed yours.

“Do you swear it? It will keep them from being able to track me?” You asked, voice trembling slightly as you peered up at the Huntsman.

He nodded, slowly. A hand reached out to caress your cheek, and your breath lodged in your throat as you found yourself leaning into his warmth.

You managed to exhale around the lump that had formed in your throat. “Then I will allow it.”

Your heart skipped like a rabbit’s against your sternum as Sanemi leaned in close, the warmth of his breath chasing away the chill of the Wood’s air.

“So delicate,” Sanemi murmured, his nose skimming along the slope between your neck and shoulder. “So soft.”

“W-wolf?” Your voice was high, your hands trembling as they jumped to clutch at Sanemi’s forearms, nails digging into his skin in anticipation. “Will it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh against your skin, the gentle tickle of his warm air sending goosebumps along your exposed skin. “No, little Lamb,” his lips danced along your shoulder, back towards the sensitive spot connecting with your neck. “You will feel a prick and then you will feel warm.”

You nodded, the ends of Sanemi’s cornsilk hair tickling your throat. “I’m ready. Bite me — please.”

Sanemi’s groan was followed by a cold, sharp sting that sunk into the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck that was quickly chased away by a soothing warmth. The huntsman’s mouth latched to your neck as he buried his teeth in you, his tongue stroking soothingly around where he now bit.

It felt like someone had poured warmed honey into your veins. It spread, thick and sweet from your neck throughout your body, making you feel like you’d sunk into a hot bath on a cold day. That warmth coiled in your belly and ignited something fluttery and pleasurable between your legs as you tilted your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to the wolf caging you in against the tree.

Your submission evoked a low growl from his chest, deep and rumbling as Sanemi pressed harder into you, his hands bunching your dress at your sides as he continued to suck at your neck. The feeling of his body molded tightly against yours and the way his mouth worked at that delicate spot made you moan out, the sound finally jolting something within the huntsman as he gave you one final kick, before tearing himself away.

“Dear gods, woman,” he heaved, breath coarse. “Are you trying to drive me wild?”

You flushed as you panted, staring at him with wide eyes. Whatever you’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that; you’d not foreseen that the act of Sanemi biting you could feel so intimate, could make you long for him to run his hands under your dress, to touch you in your most sacred places until you begged for him.

He was dangerous; it was thrilling.

“Kiss me again,” you breathed, and Sanemi obeyed, his mouth moving fervently against yours as his tongue caressed your lower lip. Sensing the silent request, you opened for him, and Sanemi’s tongue swept into your mouth, licking at yours as his teeth nipped along your lower lip.

You thought he might devour you; you wanted to let him.

But Sanemi suddenly pulled away from you as though he’d been burned, eyes wide and breath hard.

You blinked in surprise. “Sanemi, what —,”

“We need to go,” he said firmly, his cheeks flushed red. At his sides, his hands curled tightly into fists.

—-

The rest of your journey was oddly strained. Despite having grown closer with enigmatic Huntsman over the last several days of your travels, you suddenly felt as though you’d been catapulted back to square one.

Though he still allowed you ride upon his back in wolf form, gone were the amused chuffs and snorts that he used to signal he was listening to your mindless chatter. Instead, the wolf below you remained tense, a cord pulled tight that was liable to snap at the drop of a hat.

As much as you wished it made you angry so that you could snipe at him, Sanemi’s sudden introversion stoked an uncomfortable self-consciousness within you, and you found yourself desperately grappling for an explanation.

Had you tasted badly, when he’d bit you? Did he suddenly no longer find himself drawn to you, now that your scent was different?

Or, even worse, had he realized that perhaps he did not want you to stay with him in the Wood after all, and was now attempting to put distance between you so that you would be more willing to leave him once you reached the edge of the forest?

The thought made your stomach clench painfully.

Sanemi’s distance did not abate even by the time he slowed to a stop for the night. He’d brought the two of you to a clearing in the Wood that bordered alongside a winding river, crested by a waterfall. Sanemi finally lowered himself to the pebbled ground of the riverbank, muscles twitching as though to hasten you along in sliding off him to balance yourself against a mid-sized boulder, before he stalked back towards the trees, his leather satchel in his mouth.

He avoided even your gaze as he stalked into the shallows of the river, spearing two fish with a sharpened stick he’d fashioned. Sanemi hadn’t so much as thrown a word your way as he’d started a small fire, apparently relying on dusk to conceal the small smoke billowing up.

Despite the coolness of the evening air, you noted Sanemi was sweating as he’d flung out the stick bearing your flame-cooked fish dinner towards you.

In accepting the spear, your fingers accidentally brushed against his and Sanemi recoiled — hard.

“What is wrong with you?” You snapped. “Why will you not touch me? Why do you flinch whenever I am near?”

“I do not,” Sanemi answered hotly through clenched teeth, though the muscle that ticked in his jaw betrayed his frustration. “Am I suddenly required to touch you?”

You folded your arms across your chest, eyes narrowed. “You certainly had no objection to it earlier — especially not when you threw me up against a tree.”

“Threw you —“ Sanemi choked off, his returning glare both indignant and enraged. “As I recall it was you who kissed me.”

“And as I recall, it was you who started doing that — that thing with your tongue,” you accused lamely, though any bite in your words was tempered by the blush creeping up your face.

Sanemi scoffed. “You cannot even speak of it without blushing like a little girl, and yet I am the one acting strange?” He leaned back on the piece of driftwood he’d claimed as his seat, arms folded across his chest, head turned pointedly away from you.

As you mulled over a number of insults to call the temperamental Huntsman sitting across front you, the last remnants of the sun faded from the night sky, and overhanging clouds briefly parted to reveal the moon — nearly full, its silvery glow illuminating the riverbank.

The moon’s rays reached where you and the Huntsman had set up camp when suddenly your hand jumped to your shoulder as you cried out.

Sanemi startled forward with a worried growl of your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You grit your teeth, fingers digging harshly into your shoulder as you winced. “Something is — is burning, but I do not know what.”

You were certain the only injury your sustained had been the wound to your thigh by Kaigaku’s knife. But you’d spent enough time in and around flame to know what a burn felt like, and it felt as though something had been branded into you, its throb almost crippling.

You cried out again and Sanemi quickly crossed the dirt and took you into his arms, though you felt him flinch as he did so. “Where?”

You gestured wildly to your shoulder, too distracted by the way his presence made the burn now pulse, sending lashes of heat throughout your body, though there was a maddening edge of pleasure blooming from every part of you that was pressed against him.

Sanemi’s fingers grasped the collar of your dress and wrenched it to the side, swearing softly as he beheld whatever it was he saw.

“What is it?” You managed to grind out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms to keep him anchored to you, as though he were capable of keeping the flames licking at your skin at bay. “Kaigaku did not touch me there — at least, I don’t think —,”

“It was not that boy who did this,” Sanemi said severely, his finger gingerly caressing the spot where your neck met your shoulder. You moaned as his touch extinguished some of the burning fire which had ignited your skin, too lost in the temporary relief to note the way Sanemi’s hands tightened around you. “It was I.”

That stilled you. “What do you mean?” You turned your head, peering up at the Wolf with wide eyes. “From when you changed my scent?”

Sanemi, for once, looked discomforted. “I think —,” he swallowed once, avoiding your gaze as he stepped back. You almost cried out at the loss of his body against yours, as the burn returned once more.

“I think I marked you; but I-“ Sanemi stuttered, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he stared at the ground, his weight shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “But it shouldn’t be affecting you — not like this.”

“You marked me?” Your hand fluttered to the fleshy juncture between your shoulder and neck. You gasped as your fingers brushed against a curious raise in your skin that hadn’t been there before, the strange curvature burning a few degrees warmer than the area around it.

The huntsman’s eyes remained resolutely fixed on the ground of the forest. “I told you I would cover your scent.”

You stroked the the mark, fingers tracing the odd curve, like that of a crescent moon. “What does the mark mean?”

Sanemi hesitated.

“Wolf?”

“It is a mating mark.” Sanemi admitted after a long moment, hand jumping to his hair as he ran his fingers anxiously through his silvery-white locks.

A stunned breath blew past your lips, your eyes wide. “M-mating mark?” You repeated, hand freezing where the telling crescent was emblazoned upon your skin.

Sanemi looked equal parts apologetic and scared. “I swear, I did not know it would affect you — wolves have to accept the mating mark to feel it, so I did not think —.” He ran a frazzled hand through his hair, his anguish apparent. “I thought I would be the only one to feel its call. I swear it.”

In the back of your mind, it registered that the mark perhaps was the reason for Sanemi’s sudden change towards you, but the incessant burning you felt would not allow you to question him on it.

“What does this mean?” You cried out again as the mark surged, the pain reaching all the way down between your legs, making you gasp. “Are we — are we m-mated?”

Sanemi’s eyes flashed. “No,” his voice was firm, urgent. “You still have to accept the mark for us to be mated — that’s why I thought it was safe. It was supposed to change your scent enough for us to avoid those men.”

“I swear to you I do not plan on acting on it; I meant only to help protect you. I fully intend on escorting you to the nearest village, as promised, and then I will leave. That mark does not have to mean anything to you.”

You believed him. The slight panic in his eyes as you winced at the mark’s repetitive flare once more could not be faked. Furthermore, you knew Sanemi would have no reason to bind you to him; not when you’d already made it clear that you wanted to stay.

You still did.

Sanemi’s earlier words echoed in your mind. That mark does not have to mean anything to you.

“But it will mean something to you, yes?” You demanded, drawing yourself up tall even as you sat perched upon the driftwood. “The mark?”

Sanemi hesitated again. “Wolves only mark once.”

He did not offer any further explanation, nor did he need to; you understood well enough.

The Huntsman had marked you, knowing full well he’d never be able to claim another as his mate. He’d done that, knowing that if another came along that won his heart, he could not be with them completely — not in the way his nature would desire.

And he’d done it nonetheless; all for the sake of giving her a chance to escape Douma’s clutches and to be free.

He’d put you first.

You hadn’t doubted the sincerity of your offer to him earlier, but now, there was no way he’d get rid of you. You would not allow it.

“And what would you do if I said I accepted it — accepted the mating bond?” You asked, voice as soft as a feather.

Sanemi snorted, pulling away from you to busy himself with stoking the small campfire. “I would say that you are an innocent, little lamb who does not understand what it means to be claimed by a wolf.”

“I understand well enough,” you replied, indignant. “I know what it means for people to give into their carnal desires.”

“You know nothing, you’ve never even seen a man before today.” The huntsman shot back, tossing another piece of kindling into the small fire. “You have never laid with another, much less a wolf.”

“It cannot be all that different,” you pouted. “You appear before me man enough.”

Sanemi closed the gap between your bodies then, coming to sit beside you on the rock, fingers curling under your chin to tilt your head up.

His eyes glinted with a sudden predatory heat. “It is quite different, little lamb.” He murmured. “I may now stand before you a man, but I am very much still a wolf. I would not take you like an ordinary human.”

There it was again — that heat, so foreign and yet so enticing, flickered to life once more in the depths of your belly, and the urge to rub your thighs together suddenly became overwhelming. With bated breath, you watched as Sanemi’s nostrils flared softly, his pupils dilating as the grip under your chin tightened ever so slightly.

“Then how would you take me, wolf?” You whispered, eyes not wavering from his. “How would I accept the mating bond?”

Sanemi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, opening only after a shaky exhale of his breath. “You would have to take my knot.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, the warmth from your mark spreading across your skin along with the sudden urge to feel them move against your own. “Your knot?”

“My knot,” Sanemi repeated, “and that is precisely why I cannot mate you, little lamb.”

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, a movement Sanemi’s eyes followed, his tongue flicking out to wet his own lips.

You pressed your chest flush against his front, hands seeking out his in the dark. “And what if I wanted it?”

Sabemi groaned, fingers latching onto your waist, though whether he sought to push you away or keep you anchored in place, you could not say. “Christ, woman. One would almost think you enjoyed torturing this poor wolf.”

You leaned into him, head tilting as you sought the knowledge of his soft lips against yours. “Not torturing,” you whispered, a hair’s breath separating your mouth from his. “Willingly offering myself to him.”

Your lips brushed against his and Sanemi moaned, his hands reaching to snare in your hair as he moved his mouth desperately against yours, teeth nipping and sucking on your lower lip, like he was hungry to consume you. But before he could, your pulled your head back, breaking the kiss.

“Do it, wolf,” you whispered. “Take me. Claim me as your mate.”

Sanemi grabbed you by your jaw, cheeks squishing beneath his firm grip. “Do you know what that would mean?” His voice was rough, his eyes burning with his desire. “If I did, we would be bonded. Permanently. For life.”

He said it as if you had not guessed it to be true; as if you weren’t prepared.

You gazed up at him through your eyelashes, eyes round and full of the innocence he claimed he could not taint. “Would you have it be another?”

Sanemi took the bait, a feral growl tearing from his chest as he crushed your body against his.

“No,” he snarled, and his mouth descended upon yours once more, his hot tongue sweeping into your mouth to swallow your breathy gasp as you threaded your fingers through his soft, moon-kissed hair.

You moaned into his mouth, hands greedily roaming the rocky planes of his chest, nails scratching lightly along his skin.

“You will be the death of me,” the Huntsman breathed against your lips. “You truly want to accept the bond?”

You moaned, nodding vigorously as Sanemi trailed his lips across your jaw and down your neck, his hands beginning to roam up your sides, tugging you down with him against the boulder so that you straddled his sides.

“Very well,” he murmured. “But I will not claim you here,” Sanemi said gruffly against the delicate skin of your throat, lips pressed against where your pulse fluttered. “I cannot.”

You whined and ground your hips down against his thighs, savoring the way the steely firmness of them pressed against something between your legs that made you feel electric.

“I must take you to my den,” the huntsman clarified, pulling back slightly in spite of your small whine. “When wolves like me claim a mate, we…do not like to be disturbed.”

Sanemi’s fingered the front laces of the stay secured around your bust, slowly undoing the careful lacing as he spoke, though his eyes did not leave yours. “And because it will be a full moon when I mate you, I will go into heat. It will last a very long time.”

“How long?” You fought to keep your head from falling back as you watched Sanemi work, the warmth of his hands seeping through the cotton and linen layers of your dress, making your breasts pebble with every loosened tie of your corset.

Sanemi hummed as he leaned forward, tracing his lips over the exposed skin just below your collarbone as his fingers worked the last of your stays. “At least a day; perhaps two. Other wolves have claimed it lasts shorter when one has a mate, as opposed to having to weather it alone.”

The top swells of your breasts were exposed as Sanemi finally freed you from your outer corset, allowing it to fall to the ground beside you.

The huntsman skimmed his nose over the top of your shift where the tops of your soft mounds peaked over, letting his tongue peek out to follow the trail. The feeling of the hot wetness of his mouth made you fidget in his lap, a whine building in your throat, desperate to have him touch more.

“A-and will you — ah,” you moaned as Sanemi tugged the bodice of your dress and shift down your shoulders, exposing your peaked breasts to the night air. “Will y-you mate m-me the whole t-time — oh god, Sanemi,”

“I could get used to you saying my name like that,” The huntsman chuckled, bending to take one of your breasts fully in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over your stiffened nipple. The contact made the mark on your shoulder burn with a sensual heat that you felt shoot straight down between your legs, and you ground against his thigh, mewling for more.

Sanemi looked up at you as he swirled his tongue over the fleshy skin of your mound, his pupils blown wide. “Perhaps,” he muttered in response to your question, in between light sucks. “It depends on how well you take my knot, you sweet thing.”

You moaned again as Sanemi moved his mouth across the valley between your breasts, taking the other mound between his lips and teeth, his hand rising to keep the other warm. He suckled at you for a moment until you were a whimpering, trembling mess atop him, before he pulled off with a lewd pop!

“But no matter,” You shivered as Sanemi’s teeth grazed your ear. “I promise I will make you feel so good, little Lamb.”

“Why must we wait,” you asked impatiently. “I am ready to be your mate now — I promise I can take your knot right here.”

Sanemi snarled against your skin, but it was not in warning. Rather, your words seemed to stir something deep within him, as the bulge between his legs hardened even more, and the building friction between it and demanding ache in your core intensified.

Sanemi shifted your hips in his lap so the apex of your thighs was no longer pressed flush against his hardness.

“You, my flower, smell far too tempting for me to risk having you in such a vulnerable way in the middle of the damn Wood, without any cover.”

Sanemi, lips traipsed along your jaw as he hummed. “There are many creatures lurking in the shadows that would see my mating you as an opportunity to take a bite for themselves.”

You tugged on his hair, trying to get him to meet your eyes. “I thought my scent was alluring only to you?”

“You don’t just appeal to me, little Lamb,” Sanemi said pointedly. “You have a rare scent that attracts all sorts of creatures here in the Wood.”

“But it is different now?” You pondered, fidgeting in the Huntsman’s lap until the ridge of his thigh pressed against that spot between your legs that made you want to sing.

You hummed and used your grip in his hair as leverage to tilt his head to the side, your lips caressing down the side of Sanemi’s neck, savoring the faint, salty taste of him on your tongue as his fingers dug into your hips.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Your scent has changed, thanks to your mark.”

You pulled away from your assault on his neck to pout at him, lower lip jutting out in a way that made Sanemi’s eyes darken. “So I do not smell as good anymore? To you, that is?”

With a low growl, Sanemi stood, hands gripping under your thighs as he lifted you before he laid you out against the river stone. “Quite the opposite, Lamb,” he quipped, voice low and heady. “To me, there is no finer perfume. Your scent calls to me; it nearly sends me into a frenzy.”

You found yourself incapable of coherent thought — much less speech — as Sanemi’s hands slid up your legs, bunching the skirts of your dress with every inch of skin he passed over until you felt the night air delicately brushing the heat between your legs.

Your legs spread and supported between his grip and the smooth of the rock, Sanemi leaned forward and kissed you, his tongue sliding past your lips to lick teasingly at the roof of your mouth before he broke away, imprinting his kiss down your exposed torso.

You watched him, enthralled by the way your body seemed to come alive under his touch. Even in the dark of the Wood, you could make out the lilac swirls of Sanemi’s eyes as he watched you, noting every gasp and sigh he pulled from you as his hands and mouth explored the planes of your body.

“What curious eyes you have, Wolf.” Your breath was short, choppy as Sanemi’s lips descended past your breasts, caressing the soft of your belly.

“The better to see your pretty face, my sweet,” Sanemi murmured, pressing a sweet kiss right below your belly button, the fire within your gut leaping like oil in a hot pan.

“W-what — oh,” you moaned as you felt his lips press against your hip, the broad expanse of his hands smoothing down over your thighs, pushing the last of your skirts up, and allowing the searing heat of his hands to meet your untouched skin. “What large hands you have.”

“The better to feel you — to caress every inch of you,” Sanemi’s voice was husky as his fingers trailed up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, spreading them wider so he could kneel. One hand gripped the back of your knee and gently tugged your injured leg over his shoulder, so your foot rest against the middle of his back.

His hot breath danced teasingly along your inner thigh as Sanemi’s mouth drew closer an closer to where you ached for him, the night air cool as it licked at your tender, heated flesh.

The feel of his mouth drawing nearer to to the most intimate part of your body made you feel as though you’d been set alight. “Such soft lips you have, Wolf.”

Sanemi chuckled, the sound so dark and rich it sent a shiver up your spine. “The better to taste you with, little Lamb.”

Your breath hitched as you felt something warm and hot flatten against your folds and drag up, Sanemi groaning into you as he repeated the movement, again and again.

His tongue, you realized as a strangled cry fell from your lips, your head falling back against the creek stone. He was exploring you with his tongue.

“Sweet,” Sanemi groaned in between wet, sticky laps against your folds. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

Every nerve in your body felt as though it had been set alight, the mark between your shoulder and neck burning deliciously.

Sanemi’s tongue flattened against your core, his nose pressing sharply against the pearl between your legs as he rocked his face from side to side, smearing your juices all over his maw.

“O-oh gods,” you cried out, hips bucking against his ministrations.

Sanemi’s hot tongue circled your entrance once before dipping inside, his teeth grazing your most sensitive spot as he buried the wet appendage inside your core.

His name fell in a breathy scream from your lips as you bowed up off the creek rock, hands shooting to anchor themselves in his hair as Sanemi began moving his tongue in and out of your fluttering core, his nose bumping and pressing against that delicate pearl at the apex of your thighs as he moved.

“My gods,” Sanemi grunted into your folds. “You are heaven on earth.”

You bucked against him once more, though you could not tell whether you sought more of his tongue or whether your body was trying to squirm away, too overcome by the pleasurable sensations Sanemi bestowed upon you as he worked his mouth against you. It did not matter either way, however, for every time you twitched away from him, the Huntsman’s hot, silky mouth only followed you, your cunt this predator’s dinner.

And apparently, he enjoyed playing with his food.

The frequency of your moans increased as the sounds of Sanemi feasting between your legs grew louder and ever more lewd, his own sounds of pleasure muffled by the repeated wet smacks of his mouth against your dripping folds as he sucked you between his lips and teeth and continued fucking you with his tongue.

“S-Sanemi! Oh — oh gods,” you cried as something coiled tightly behind your navel, making your thighs clench around the Wolf’s head as he worked.

Sanemi only responded with another groan, his hand leaving the supple flesh of your inner thigh to stroke against your folds, making you buck all the more against the stone as his roughened fingers brushed delicately against the spot that made you see stars.

His tongue pulled out of you in favor of flicking the bead at the apex of your legs, his fingers moving to your entrance and deftly pushing in, the wetness leaking from your core ensuring that they slid in without much resistance.

You cried out then, utterly overwhelmed by the way Sanemi’s finger began to work inside you, curling and pumping and stroking along your innermost walls until your entire body vibrated below him.

The hand supporting your thigh over his shoulder tightened as Sanemi resumed his oral assault on that small nub above your entrance, sucking and licking at it until the only sound leaving your throat were feverish cries of his name, your hips involuntarily jerking against him. With each passing moment that Sanemi spent feasting between your legs, something began to mount behind your navel, like a coil being steadily wound tighter and tighter.

You thought it should concern you, this foreign feeling, but as that feeling intensified, so too did your desire to see what would happen when it — you — came undone.

You left one hand gripping harshly at the Wolf’s hair, in some pathetic attempt to keep his face locked against your core, and lifted the other to pinch and roll your breast. You jolted at the stimulation, feeling yourself grow even wetter despite the fervor with which Sanemi lapped and suckled at you.

This appeared to please him, as Sanemi’s free hand moved from your thought to grip at your hip, pressing you even closer to his face until you wondered whether he could breathe. If he could not, the Huntsman did not seem to mind; his groans and growls against your cunt only intensified.

Sanemi slid a second finger into you, and then a third, and the resulting stretch made you see stars, your toes curling in your boots.

That thing in your stomach seized even tighter and your entire body tensed, as though you were on a precipice merely awaiting a slight force to tip you over and sending you hurtling to the depths below.

Whatever was happening to you, the Wolf seemed to anticipate it; for the moment that tight coil within your belly unwound, Sanemi’s fingers pulled hurriedly out of your opening only to be replaced by his tongue, his teeth pressed against your pearl. He lapped up every drop of release that spilled forth, humming and growling as you rode his tongue through the waves of crippling pleasure coursing through you.

As you came down from your high with a breathy sigh of his name, Sanemi shuddered beneath you, a strangled groan lilting out from his mouth between lazy slurps at your cunt. Though your vision was hazy, you could see the faint whites of his eyes peeking through his lids as they rolled back into his head, his fingers tightening their grip on your thighs until it was painful, before releasing once more.

The mark on your neck burned but it was no longer in agony; instead, it felt warm, like a part of your body left too long in the summer sun. but the heat was not entirely unwelcome, especially as Sanemi untangled himself from you, allowing the chill of the late autumn wind to sweep in and lick at your exposed skin.

“That should hold us both over until tomorrow,” Sanemi said after a moment with a throaty chuckle. “Though I will be hard pressed to keep my hands off you, little Lamb.”

Sanemi’s hands eased your skirts back down over your legs. Once your nether region was covered, he helped you sit up, allowing you to cling to him for warmth as he refastened your stays and helped you lace your corset back up the front.

Gingerly, Sanemi brushed your hair back from the shoulder bearing his claim on you. You followed his line of sight, twisting slightly and saw what he did: the crescent-shaped mark, which had burned a violent lavender only minutes prior, had faded back to a pale silver, its ache apparently soothed for the time being.

Sanemi leaned forward and brushed his lips against your mark, his tongue flicking out to caress it as you felt that warmth flood your veins once more. With a moan, you tilted your head, exposing more of your neck again to him, begging him to repeat the action again and again, but Sanemi only drew back.

“Apologies, Lamb,” his eyes were dark once more, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Seeing that mark pulls at something within me.”

You allowed your hair to fall back over the crescent bite mark and in an instant, Sanemi’s eyes lightened and a sheepish grin spread across his face. “Wolves are territorial. Seeing your mark makes me want to claim you, even without regard to the danger surrounding us.”

You frowned for a moment. “Are you only drawn to me because you’ve marked me?”

Sanemi’s gaze softened. “I am drawn to you, you vexatious woman, because I find you brave, kind, and at times, even a little charming.”

His hand lifted to caress your cheek, tilting your head down to meet his for a gentle kiss. “The mark is only a physical manifestation of what I already feel towards you. It is simply a way to display our bond to the world.”

Sanemi’s face turned grave and the way he said your name was serious. “You do not have to accept the bond if you’ve changed your mind.”

You shook your head hurriedly. “I want the bond — I want you,” the sincerity of your words resonated with Sanemi, as he pulled your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses against your fingers. “This is all new to me; I just wanted to know you were sure.”

Sanemi’s soft laugh made your heart thrum, and a blush spread across your cheeks. “I am certain, Lamb, that I would not want anyone else to cause me stress apart from you.”

With a quick peck against your lips, Sanemi rose, stretching his arms high above his head. The moonlight, coupled with the residual flames of the small campfire allowed you to rake your eyes over his lithe form, appreciating every scar and swell of muscle dotting his mouthwatering physique.

But your eyes snagged on a dark stain that had spread across the front of Sanemi’s breeches. “What —?”

Sanemi did not look embarrassed, but he did turn away from you nonetheless. “I told you, Lamb,” he said causually as he dug through the satchel, pulling out a spare pair of pants. “The mark affects me far more than it affects you; at least, for now.”

“That is because of me?” Your eyes trailed his form in wonder, and the sight of the stain made your thighs clench together though you knew not why. “Is that — is that your pleasure?”

Sanemi’s lopsided grin widened, a faint snicker on his lips as he regarded you once more, spread out atop his own traveling cloak. “Yes, Lamb. It is my pleasure.”

You looked up at him, head slightly cocked in question. “But I did nothing to you — not like you did to me.”

Sanemi removed his soiled breeches and re-dressed before returning to your side. “You did not need to; as I said, the mark affects me more than you right now. My body knows I have marked you as my mate, and it is eager to make you mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in the words and sat up as he leaned against the small boulder, reaching up over his shoulders to tug his tunic up over his head.

“So it was only the mark?” You asked slowly, eyes dropping down to where you knew his manhood lay under his clothing. “The mark brought you pleasure?”

Warm fingers gripped gently under your chin, forcing you to look back up and meet his piercing stare.

“No, sweetling,” Sanemi said, a low growl tinting his words. “It was not merely the mark. I took pleasure from giving you pleasure.” His thumb stroked the underside of your jaw. “A great deal of it, it seems.”

You shifted until you were on your knees before him, and even the dark of the night could not conceal the way Sanemi’s eyes darkened at the sight.

“Shall I give it back to you, my Wolf?” You whispered, leaning forward to graze your lips against the crotch of his breeches. “I should like to taste you as well.”

To your surprise, neither growl nor groan rumbled from the depths of Sanemi’s chest as you poked your tongue out between your lips and gently dragged it up the seam of his pants, just as he’d done to you. Instead, what fell from Sanemi’s lips was a low, breathy whine, the wolf’s head tipping back slightly as his eyes squeezed shut.

Below the barrier of his clothing, something between his legs began to stir. Curious, you brought your hand against it, palming him slightly through the material.

“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, and the hand around your jaw tightened, forcing you to rise to your feet.

Sanemi cracked an eye open to glare at you, but he melted at your answering pout, his thumb running over the bottom lip you’d jutted out.

“I promise you, Lamb,” he said gruffly. “I will give you plenty of my pleasure once the full moon rises; so much so, you will not know what to do with it.”

Your curiosity disrupted your self-pity. “From your knot?”

“Aye,” Sanemi confirmed, his voice like gravel. “Speaking of which,” Sanemi then tapped your rear, eliciting a small yelp from you as you separated from him.

“If you’re truly committed to taking my knot, you will need your rest, you tempestuous woman,” Sanemi scolded, and before you could protest, he bent low, wrapping his formidable hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up, forcing you to lock your legs around his waist with a small gasp.

Gently, Sanemi laid you out atop his traveling cloak, bracing himself on one steely arm next to your head as he lowered himself down, allowing one quick press of his lips against yours before he pulled away, stretching out on his side.

“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and an even longer night.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that made you rub your thighs together, even as you scowled at him.

“I don’t suppose you will give me another taste of what to expect,” you sighed, resigned as Sanemi moved his head so that he could lazily dance his lips down the side of your neck.

“I’m afraid not,” his answering smirk was smug as you began to squirm beneath the hand idly fondling your breast. “But I shall make the wait worth your while.”

Your breath lodged in your throat as Sanemi leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear. “When we get to my den,” he promised, tone mischievous, yet you knew he meant every word that followed. “I am going to fucking devour you, little Lamb.”

Devour he will. Part II is fucking filthy. Stay tuned if you want to see her take his knot (again and again).

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #monster fucker #werewolf fucker #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut

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cinnaminsvga · 2 months

Text

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 2 months

Text

When the Levee Breaks

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

tags / warnings: friends to lovers fluff then smut, mutual pining, smoking weed (be responsible irl), high sex, explicit descriptions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader

NSFW notes: A LARGE PORTION OF THIS FIC IS NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS; DO NOT READ IT IF IT ISN'T APPROPRIATE FOR YOU! HOWEVER, because such a long portion (like 2/3) has no sexual material (except for the implication at the very beginning), i have clearly marked where it becomes NSFW in case any age-appropriate readers want to read only up to that point (i know some people just want fluff not smut even if they're of age, and that's so chill); i will say there is drug use before then, so still adult material, but fluffy around that; please please be responsible for your content consumption

random notes: set in the late 70's / early 80's, following canon of when the marauders would've met but the rest of the world building (e.g. au) left ambiguous title inspired by a song on one of the albums mentioned idk why this turned out similar to The Prettiest Star with Sirius Black, but i guess my fantasy is just to listen to music intensely with someone then fuck lovingly lol

word count: 6.4k

hope you enjoy! thank you if you read it! 🫶

You watch as his long fingers, practiced and adept, roll the spliff. You liked this part. You could stare at his hands under the guise of watching the rolling. Remus didn’t have to know how far from pot your mind wandered when you did. He didn’t have to know it made you wonder every time what else he could do with this fingers. Imagine how they would feel on you. In you.

At the thought, you squirm where you’re seated on his settee next to him. He chuckles in a low tone.

“Antsy?”

“No.”

He can tell you’re lying. You can tell he can tell. But you don’t care. As long as he can’t tell why you’re lying, it doesn’t matter, and you can keep wriggling.

“Whatever you say, jitterbug.”

Your wringing hands catch his attention, and his eyes fix on them even as his hands continue their work.

“Next time, you’re rolling it,” he says through a smile. “There’d be nothing left to smoke by the time you finished shaking it everywhere,” he laughs, too amused with himself, giggling as if he were already high.

“Remus?” you start, and he shakes his head and chuckles, loving how you get when he teases you.

“What?” he smiles, eyebrows shooting up at you, both a welcome and a challenge for you to say whatever you’re about to.

“Can you remind me who provided this wonderful gift on this wonderful afternoon?” You shake the baggy you brought to his flat not 15 minutes ago.

He laughs, now nodding, and concedes, “You’re right, sunshine. I should be so grateful.”

Remus brings the spliff to his mouth to lick the edge of the paper, and your retort gets caught in your throat as you fixate on his tongue.

A bit too late, a bit too quiet for your usual banter, you say, “You should be, Moons. I can still take it home and smoke by myself.”

“Oh now I’ve rolled it for you, yeah? Didn’t realize you were just here for my services. Should’ve known you were just pretending to love me till you got what you wanted.” He holds up his finished work — a beauty really — in front of you as he finishes his joke. You hum affirmatively, taking it from him and looking it over.

You inspect it exaggeratedly and with a theatrical sense of casual satisfaction tell him, “Hm, not bad. I was starting to regret the long con, but I think this was worth it.”

He’s giggling as he gets up, bumping his body against yours before he does, going toward his record collection. He walks over lazily, unhurriedly, his bare feet quiet on the floor, his hand coming up to mess with his hair. His loose, comfy clothes do a lot to hide the muscles you know are lean but strong underneath.

“Come help me choose,” he says over his shoulder as he falls to one knee to scan a lower shelf. Almost a whole wall of his small apartment is covered in shelves, boxes, stacks of records. It looks a mess, but it’s actually meticulously organized by release date.

You follow him, come up just behind him. You crouch, too, not all the way down like him. You lean on him, resting your head atop his, bringing your arms around his shoulders and neck.

He moans casually, seeming happy, and grabs your arms where they fall across his chest.

“Oh, Rem. You should know…”

“Hm?” he asks, looking up at you. You look down at him, seeing his warm smile upside down.

“This is the real reason I’ve pretended to be your friend all these years,” you fake seriousness as you nod toward the records. Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile stretches further across his lovely face. It pulls on a long scar that runs down his cheek.

“And may I ask how you knew when we were eleven that one day I would own such an epic collection?”

“Easy. You wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt one of the first days we knew each other.”

He’s taken aback by your giving an actual answer.

“Did I really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling down at him. The warmth of reminiscing about those childhood years softening you.

“I think I remember that shirt,” he smiles nostalgically. “How do you remember that?” He twists in your embrace, coming to sit on the floor and pulling you with him. You’re sitting close to each other, and he’s watching you, rapt.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I remember being so nervous and lonely at the beginning. Wanting to make friends. And you seemed nice, so I noticed you.” You shrug again, look down for a moment, not wanting to express embarrassment at a more honest recollection: you had a crush on him immediately, even back then, even before you were really sure what it was you were feeling — that came with the years that followed. “The day you wore that shirt, it was like something familiar I could latch onto. Someone who liked something I liked.” Remus is smiling adoringly at you. Listening as intently as he is, looking as giddy, he looks like a child at the greatest story time ever from his seat on the floor.

“I even tried to talk to you about it,” you confess, cringing teasingly at yourself.

“Yeah?” He sits up straighter like a puppy hearing someone at the door.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“I don’t remember that happening.”

“That’s because it didn’t,” you laugh. “I said tried to talk to you. I got too nervous and ran to hide before I could get the words out.”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief, his smile still plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you yet.” Remus looks especially contemplative for a moment then hums, biting his lower lip. “It’s crazy. Trying to think of my life before you is like remembering a blank canvas.”

Your cheeks warm and so does your heart.

You’re smiling a beaming smile at him but say, “There wasn’t much to notice. I was pretty quiet. And besides, your attention probably couldn’t handle a single thing more given you were getting to know Sirius and James.” He laughs lightly at the good memories but shakes his head at you a little more pronouncedly.

“I’m sure there was a lot to notice. I was just an idiot. And quiet, too. By comparison to that lot anyway. They spoke enough for the three of us. I probably would’ve wimped out if I’d tried to talk to a pretty girl like you back then.” The edges of his entrancing brown eyes crinkled from his smile. “I mean… to be honest… I’d get nervous for a while, talking to you at first.”

“You didn’t,” you tease but secretly really want to hear more.

“I did, yeah. Of course I did,” he laughs at himself. “I had a big crush on you. James and Sirius wouldn’t let me live it down for ages.”

You’re shocked at this news. And maybe your face shows it. What it doesn’t show is how desperately your mind is racing, questioning: “Wait, could things have been otherwise? Did he actually like me as more than a friend at some point? Did I ruin it somehow?”

Remus tenses slightly, his smile no longer reaching his eyes, which are attentive at your reaction.

“That was a long time ago,” he jokes to fill the silence that is beginning to stretch too long, his tone awkward.

“What happened?” you whisper, unable to help it.

He takes a second to answer, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s searching your face, and you’re not sure how much he can read there.

He shrugs. His face gives an “I don’t know” scowl. He’s trying to escape answering, but you don’t let him.

“Remus,” you laugh and shove him playfully.

“I don’t know,” he giggles. “I don’t know. Then I got to know you I guess. And we became friends.”

You give a scoffy laugh. You know he probably didn’t mean it that way, but your stomach sinks at the idea that getting to know you would remedy him of his crush. You’re staring at the floor when his voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” He’s trying to keep the playful atmosphere, but you hear true concern in his tone. “Did I say something I shouldn’t’ve?”

You want to say “yes,” but you wouldn’t be able to tell him which part. So, you don’t say anything.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, after all these years,” he says more softly.

“No, Rem. Of course I don’t mind.” You shake your head as if dismissing the idea, attempting a laugh that still comes out strained. “I was just surprised is all.”

He’s watching you, nodding subtlety, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Let’s choose something, yeah?” you nod next to you toward the wall, desperate to redirect attention.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Remus turns toward the records, skimming across his stacks. A thought catches him, and he moves purposefully toward a different shelf.

“What are you thinking?” you notice, your interest piqued.

“1971,” he says as if it’s an answer. It is to you.

1971: the year you met.

He pulls out a well-worn record, and the strain on your smile finally dissipates to easy delight. You come stand next to him, and he hands it to you.

“Do you remember how much we listened to that then?” he asks.

“How could I forget,” you smile, your fingers tracing the cover of Led Zeppelin IV.

It came out November 1971, but neither of you could get it till at least a month later, during Christmas break from school. When you finally did, the two of you listened to it nonstop. You absolutely loved the album, but you knew you listened to it that much because it was an easy excuse to hang out with Remus. You’d been listening to music together, often just the two of you, ever since.

“Fuck, I remember we’d listen to it in my room,” Remus reminisces. “And even Sirius, the biggest Zeppelin fan of us all, couldn’t take it anymore,” he laughs. “He’d turn it off when he found us listening to it, scolding us for ‘abusing a sacred thing.’”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Oh, look at this,” Remus startles you, excited. He pulls another record off the same shelf.

“This is too perfect,” he giggles. “I didn’t remember this came out then,” he muses, looking it over. “Probably didn’t get my hands on it till much later, I guess. But it’s like it was made for us. For you.” He hands you Just As I Am by Bill Withers, but you still don’t get what he’s saying. He sees your confused look and chuckles. “Second track,” he hints. Your eyes land on “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

“Sunshine”: Remus’s nickname for you for years. You had Sirius to thank for it actually. He’d said you and Remus were like yin and yang. And since you all already called him “Moony,” you had to be “Sunny.” The other three of you cringed at the sound of that, so he tried “sunshine” instead, conceding it was close enough, and it stuck. Over the years, Sirius and James used it less and less, Remus more and more.

“It’s your song,” Remus urges, knocking his shoulder against yours. “There literally can’t be sunshine when you’re gone because you are sunshine.” He sounds too excited, and it’s adorable.

“You sound like Sirius saying he’s serious,” you tease. He just laughs and takes the record back.

“Whatever, grumpy. It’s an epic song, and you know it, and now it’s yours, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy.”

“I love it,” escapes you, teasing tone gone. His eyes snap to yours, and he looks at you warmly.

“Alright, sunshine,” he whispers. A beat. “Wanna listen to it?” he asks, voice almost normal again. You nod gladly then go back to the sofa as he sets it up.

Remus soon comes back and joins you. He grabs the spliff from between stacks of snacks you’d prepared for the afternoon then looks over at you.

“Ready, sunshine?”

“Mhhm.”

“You do the honours.” He hands it to you and grabs the lighter. Rather than handing that to you too, he lights it for you as it dangles from your parted lips.

You take a long drag, feeling it enter you and welcoming it. You cough lightly as you exhale slowly. You are no novice but are still always a cougher. Remus still always giggles when you do, but it’s never mocking. He has a glass of water ready for you, knowing you well, always looking after you. You trade him the water for the spliff, which he proceeds to hit with equal enthusiasm and less wheezing.

You pass it back and forth for a little while. It’s strong stuff and just three hits in, you feel it engulfing you. The settee feels softer; the music sounds better.

“Ain’t No Sunshine” is playing, and in your dazed state, you’re sure this is going to be the peak of the album even if it doesn’t coincide with the peak of your high. You close your eyes, and you can feel the music on your skin.

Remus chuckles next to you, and your face turns to him.

“You look so stoned right now,” he explains, giddy.

“That’s because I am,” you laugh. Once you start laughing it’s hard to stop; once Remus joins, it’s almost impossible.

You chat easily, observations and jokes from both of you greatly benefitting from the induced assistance. Remus has a revelation about your listening to HI-fi while high. Your mind is blown multiple times at how deep the lyrics are.

“They’re all talkin’ at him, but he doesn’t hear a word they’re sayin’, Moons! Not a word! I should do that,” you tell him as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world. He cracks up. “He’s so right, you know? Gotta keep the sun shining through the pouring rain, you know?”

“Uh-huh, I know, sunshine, I know,” he just laughs at you.

“You have such a nice smile, Moony,” you observe, dazed just as much from the feelings perambulating through your system than the pot doing the same.

“Yeah?” he asks, exaggerating it till he’s all teeth and squinty eyes.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It looked funny upside down over there,” you remember. “Watch!”

You flip over on the sofa till your feet are up where your neck should rest and your head is dangling off the edge where your knees would normally be. You smile up at him. Remus doubles over laughing with you, bringing his face much closer to yours as he leans into it.

“You’re right. Looks funny,” he tells you much more softly than you expected after his cackling. He watches you intently then brings a hand to your upside down face. He traces your features lightly, and it’s warm and tingly. His long finger travels down your nose, across your eyebrows.

“C’mere,” you whisper to him.

“Where?” he whispers back, his voice a gruff chuckle again.

“Down here!” you whisper-yell.

You pull his shoulder down and start kicking his legs up as he contorts until you get him in the same position as you. You end up side by side, upside-down on the sofa.

Each of you giggles at the other as you steal side glances. Your faces, pulled the wrong way by gravity, softened more than normal by the smoking, look even goofier through your incessant giggles and pointless efforts at holding those back.

You listen, and laugh, to at least a whole song like this. You kick each other’s feet throughout. As one of your kicks brings you closer to Remus, he rolls over to tickle you. You laugh so loud you can’t even hear the record over it.

“Stop, Rem! Stop!” you plead. “I’m already too dizzy.”

He keeps it up a moment but soon takes pity on you and helps move your body the right way around, his strong hands manipulating you easily.

“Alright, dizzy. Enough upside-down,” he says as he fixes your now crazy hair.

You just nod and shift closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shuffles to a comfortable height for you, laying his own head on yours.

A primary reason you enjoy getting high with Remus: you both get snuggly. You’re touchy normally, even more than most best friends you’ve seen, but not overly so. When you’re high, it’s overly so. But it somehow doesn’t feel weird. In fact, it feels wonderful.

So, it feels wonderful, not weird, when you absentmindedly reach over for his hand. He gives it to you easily, and you begin caressing it.

“Your skin is so soft, Rem.” You pull his hand closer to you, bringing it close to your face, looking it at like you’ve never seen a hand before. Remus takes the opportunity and quickly grabs at your nose playfully. You giggle at this as he responds to your initial comment.

“In between all the scars maybe.” He sounds matter of fact. There’s a lot less pain in his voice now when he talks about them than when he did in your younger years. You look forward to the day when you hear no pain there at all.

“No, the scars too,” you correct him gently, and you bring your thumb to a scar that runs from the top of his hand up to his forearm. You trace it with reverence, and he shivers at your touch. You know for a fact you’re the only person in the world he allows to touch them. You’re so grateful for his trust, and in this moment, your emotions heightened, your inhibitions lowered, the vibrations of the music moving through you, you feel the need to tell him so.

“Thank you for letting me touch you, Moony.”

Remus has been watching where your hands are connected until now, but at your words, he looks into your eyes. He just looks at you for a long moment. You can’t tell how long, time elongated and indeterminable in your current state, but you’re completely comfortable to sit in it through its entirety, looking straight back at him.

Eventually, the softest grin blossoms on his face. You mirror it.

“Thank you for not being afraid to,” he whispers. You genuinely don’t understand.

“Why would I be?”

“You know what I mean,” he tries to explain. He looks down in shyness but back at you before continuing, “Maybe ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s ‘disgusted’ or something…”

His voice is fading to a low whisper by the end, like the louder the words are the truer they’ll be.

Without hesitating, you tell him the truth: “Remus, you’re the least disgusting person in the world. You’re beautiful.” He grimaces like he can’t believe you, so you go on. “You are.”

You turn your body even more toward him, bringing your connected hands to your almost shared lap and bringing your other hand to caress his cheek.

“Silly Moony. You’re so sickeningly beautiful,” you chuckle. Your hand runs up through his hair. “This hair is ridiculous,” you inform him, tousling it. He leans into your touch like a content puppy. “These eyes.” You trace circles around each of them, first skimming his eyebrows then looping around. “They’re the easiest thing in the world to melt into, no pot needed.” You feel them crinkle as they smile into your compliments. “This nose.” You trace it slowly. “These lips,” you say more softly. You feel his gasp when you touch them then feel nothing, his breath held as you trace them. “And your scars,” you say with some finality. You trace a prominent one across his face. He closes his eyes while you do, opens them again when you reach its end. “You beauty isn’t one to be ruined by scars, Remus Lupin. Your beauty is the kind that incorporates the scar and makes that beautiful too.”

Remus squeezes your interlaced hands. Your faces are so close to each other that you could see his eyes moisten as you tell him all this. He closes them before full tears form and moves his face that tiny bit closer till his forehead rests on yours. You nuzzle his nose, and he nuzzles yours back.

“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, breaking the silence — noticing the silence. You didn’t notice when the album ended. Remus just hums in response.

The silence is loaded but peaceful. You don’t want to pressure him into having to say something back after you let yourself get so intense with him. It wasn’t about what he said back; it was about his understanding how you saw him, how you hoped he would see himself.

So, with his eyes still closed, you give the scar that runs across his nose a light kiss, do the same to another larger one across his jaw. Then you bring your head back to his shoulder, snuggling into him to mark the end of the moment, no further pressure necessary.

Remus shifts his body closer, as close to you as possible. He brings his arm around your shoulders without letting go of your hand. He’s holding you close, and your arm crosses your chest to keep your hands intertwined. He kisses the top of your head — new, sweet — then rests his own there again — familiar, warm. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

You sit together in the quiet a long while. You close your eyes, breathe Remus in, let his body, his presence envelop you then just bask in it. Everything feels pleasantly heavy — the air, his body where it touches yours.

You settle into him, and without your noticing you’re doing it, your hand on his stills.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you need to ask, unsure what he means. You look up, and he looks down, and your faces are a breadth away from each other.

“I liked how you were touching me,” he whispers. “I always like how you touch me,” he adds like a secret.

He brings his hand that’s not holding yours up to your face. First, the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheekbone then he rests his hand there. His fingers hold your jaw; his thumb caresses your cheek. Like you tend to do, you lean into his touch.

His gentle, soothing touch flutters your eyes closed. Your inability to see his face makes it less scary to respond, “I always like how you touch me too.”

“Yeah?” he sighs, his hand holding you a bit more tightly, his thumb coming down to graze your bottom lip. You nod slowly, his hand moving with your head.

“Do you ever think about other ways we could touch each other?” he whispers. Your eyes fly open at this and land on his: lidded, dilated, gazing into your own.

“Do you?”

“I asked you first,” he giggles. “And I’ve already told you a secret today. It’s your turn.”

“What secret?” Your voices are still soft, whispering even though there’s no need for quiet other than your intimacy demanding it.

“About my crush.”

“I had a crush on you too,” you tell him. “So now we’re even.”

“That’s not fair, sunshine,” he smiles. You smile back.

Then, after a moment, like he can’t help it, “You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“What happened?” he echoes.

“Nothing,” you confess.

His eyebrows furrow, unsure how to interpret this. His eyes hold hope and trepidation at once.

“I got to know you… And we became friends…” you continue. His expression falls, and you’re pretty sure you recognize this look as disappointment. But you go on, “And it made me love you all the more.”

You’re ready to read his expression closely this time, but you don’t get the chance before he’s kissing you, before you’re kissing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips push on yours; his arms bring you closer. His tongue teases your lips, and though they part in response, his tongue traces them rather than push in. You whimper at the feeling of it, and he moans at your reaction. He breathes you in, covers your whole mouth with his, devouring the sound, devouring you.

Now his tongue enters your mouth, exploring, playing with yours. You’re not sure whether his movements are slow or whether they just feel slow because you’re still high. You are sure you have no desire to speed any of it up.

You bring your hands to either side of his face, holding him gently but pulling him to you. He follows easily, and when your chests are almost flush, you trace your hands down to his shirt and pull him on top of you as you lean back, lying down on the sofa.

You keep kissing a deliciously long while then Remus goes beyond your lips, kissing along your jaw leisurely. He mouths at your skin, licking, nipping his way unhurriedly down to your neck. Here he languidly runs his tongue along the length of your neck, kissing your pulse point, nipping behind your ear.

Everywhere he touches is buzzing, and you shiver at the sensation. When his breath blows cold air on your now wet skin, you shiver even harder, your body shuddering against his above you. He chuckles into the crook of your neck and continues.

After another while of his working his way down, he has to pull the neck of your shirt down to reach further. You bare your neck to him, loving his exploratory path.

When his mouth leaves your skin for the first time in several minutes, your impulse is to immediately pull him back to you.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispers sedately, gruffly, tugging at your top.

You pull it off and don’t waste time unclasping and sliding your bra off as well. Remus looks at you, dopey and delighted, but without further ado, pushes your chest so that you lie back again. His hand stays on you and begins lazily kneading your breast as he brings his mouth back to you.

He kisses the base of your neck and continues his previous ministrations across your collarbones. He seems to be on a mission to trace the entire surface area of your skin with his wandering mouth, and you have every intention of letting him and enjoying every long second of it.

As he makes his languorous way down your sternum, you arch your back, pushing up into him, and bring your hands to his messy hair, holding him close. You scratch and tug, needing somewhere to release some energy, every part of you he’s touched left humming warm and electric. He groans into your chest, and you’re certain you feel the vibrations move through your skin, across your chest cavity, and into your heart, where they ricochet within it, making it beat faster.

“Remus,” you whine adoringly. He hums into your skin again in response and speeds up his southward trajectory just the slightest bit.

His face comes between your breasts, and he runs his teeth down the valley, then licks his tongue up the same path. You shake a little, and his hand squeezes your breast tighter. The other one he mouths across until his tongue traces a slow, wet circle around your nipple. This shoots a hot, jolting current straight from where his mouth is connected to you down to between your legs.

He’s gentle for a while, moving back and forth between your tits, often agonizingly slowly, his hands kneading at your chest all the while. Without your expecting it, though, he bites one of your hard, sensitive nipples and tugs lightly. You squeal and push your chest into his mouth. He keeps going, switching as he fancies between rough and tender.

At a bite of the side of your breast, you rut up into him, and the movement has you feeling how wet you are. You’ve never been this wet before before direct stimulation.

Remus holds your hips down to the sofa but moves from your chest to your stomach. His roaming mouth proceeds at its perfect, maddening pace. It meanders to your ribs, down your sides, not following a straight path down.

Once he eventually reaches the threshold of your pants, he looks up at you.

Remus looks higher than you’ve ever seen him before. He looks elated, in awe.

“I want to spend hours and hours on your body like this,” he tells you, nuzzling his face into your lower stomach, kissing it as he detaches from you.

“Remus,” you whimper, running your hand into his hair and inadvertently thrusting your hips up. He chuckles, still sounding high, but his voice is as low as you’ve ever heard it.

He takes your trousers and underwear off in one efficient but slow tug. He pulls his shirt off much faster, and you touch all his skin you can reach before he’s repositioning himself.

Your thighs feel cold now uncovered, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of fresh air on your soaking cunt. As you adjust your body, you feel a thick wetness drip from your entrance down to where your arse meets the sofa. You feel the coldness of that wetness even more as Remus pushes your legs further apart to position himself between them.

You’re completely sure you’re wetter than you’ve ever been before, but you’re not sure if you could possibly be as wet as you feel, thinking the high could be heightening your sensation of it. You’re worried it’s too much, worried you’ll put Remus off.

“I can clean up a little if —“ you start, but you’re cut off by Remus diving in, running his flat tongue slowly, firmly up from the base of your puddle up to your pubic bone. A strangled, prolonged gasp functions as the end of your sentence.

When Remus licks you again, your thighs shake on either side of his head. You feel him laugh into your cunt, and this time you imagine the vibrations shooting all the way up your body, following the chaotic roadmap his mouth left lingering across it.

Remus pulls back from you and rests his chin on your pubic bone, looking up at you.

He informs you simply, “You taste delicious, darling.” He looks drunk on it.

“Everything tastes better when you’re high,” you tease.

“Then I’m really going to enjoy this,” he smiles. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll get me high just by letting me do this other times.”

“Other times?”

“Well, yeah…” he giggles. His eyes bore into yours even though he’s the length of your torso away. “I though this was a first, not an only…”

“Good.” You sound giddy. “Just checking.”

“Silly,” he shakes his head at you. You thrust your hips up and laugh at the expression he makes when you bump his face, like he’s dazed. He squeezes your thigh harshly where he’s holding you.

“Behave, sunshine. It’s feeling dangerous down here.”

“I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I am.” A bite at your hip. “And I’m seriously getting the munchies, so just…” You don’t understand the end of his sentence, the words muffled against your skin as he starts eating you out.

It’s heavenly. High as you are, in love as you are, you think you’re on cloud nine. This gets you wondering where such an odd expression even comes from. It seems so random.

“Moony?”

“Hmm?” is grunted into your cunt.

“Why do you think it’s called being on cloud nine?”

He pulls back. The whole lower half of his face shines in your slick.

“Why are you thinking about that right now? Am I that bad at this?”

“Bad? It’s amazing.” You ruffle his hair in your groping hands. “Which is why I’m on cloud nine, which is why I’m thinking about that right now. Your hair is as soft as clouds, Moons.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am not,” you giggle.

“Are,” he teases.

“Can you keep going now? It felt so good. Your mouth is ridiculous.” You thrust your hips up at him again.

“Ridiculous and bossy,” he complains, but he’s smiling hard, and before you can even think of a retort, he does as you bid.

His mouth takes its time between your legs. He spends eternities teasing you: mouthing at the tops of your thighs, licking up your bikini line, nipping at your clit without giving it the attention he knows you want from how loud you whine every time he gives it the slightest graze. He loves all over your vulva, not leaving any part untouched, unworshipped. His tongue fucks into your entrance languidly; it swirls there. He licks your labia, sucks on it, gives the same attention to your clit when you moan loud enough. He travels back and forth, seemingly enjoying all of it too much to stick to any one attention too long. The next time he lands on your clit, he prolongs it.

Your legs shake; your back arches; your whines grow loud before turning strangled, and Remus takes his cue to reserve the relaxed approach for later. He picks up his pace, gripping your thighs tightly and shakes his whole face into you, alternating between licking and sucking rhythmically at your clit. You cum hard, and it feels like it goes on for minutes.

With your eyes closed, you truly feel like you’re floating, your only anchor to the world Remus Lupin where you feel his body attached to yours.

You’re laughing in pleasure, and the laughs turn to pants as you slowly, slowly come down. You love coming down to an already high baseline, and you giggle at the sensation of relaxing into a still heightened state.

It suddenly strikes you it feels like it’s been years since you talked to Remus, heard his mellifluous voice, and you startle your eyes open searching for him.

You see him immediately. He’s gazing at you with equal parts ardor and adoration, but when he sees your expression, his shifts to concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, my love?” He rushes to hover just above you. His face is close to yours again, though it’s scanning all over your body. His hand holds your face gently, his other arm holding him up. “Did something feel bad? Does something hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine, Moons, I’m fine,” you rush to reassure. “I just missed you,” you explain.

“Missed me?” His eyes shoot to yours. “I’m right here, love; what do you mean you missed me?” He can’t help a subtle giggle, and his adoring expression takes back its rightful place on his beautiful face.

“I just thought I hadn’t seen you in too long.” Your hands caress his face, thread through his hair. “Or heard your voice…”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m right here. What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” you smile.

“I love you.”

You’ve heard them before, but never like this, and they’re the best words in the world, in the universe.

“Remus,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes intensely of you, and you laugh into the kiss. “I’m sorry I got you so… so slicky.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Means it was good, right?”

“Beyond. ‘Good’ is like… like one colour out of a whole rainbow for how that just felt.”

He’s beaming down at you and kisses you again, lingering there.

When he finally separates from you, his caressing thumb comes to wipe some slick at the corner of your lip. You grab his hand and kiss each of his fingers lightly. Then you lick down his long index finger, your tongue finding and following a scar up his hand to his wrist.

You look into his eyes, and he’s staring at you, transfixed.

“I was thinking about your fingers when you were rolling the spliff.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a desperate sigh.

“Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“How beautiful your hands are. How they’d feel touching me… How your fingers would feel inside me…”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wanna find out?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“Get them nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.” They’re already lingering at your lips, but he slowly pushes them in. You welcome them enthusiastically and lazily suck on them, swirl your tongue around them.

“Fuck.” His voice is low. “Fuck, I want to feel everything there is to feel with you.”

“Mmm,” you nod, your mouth still full.

Remus takes his fingers out, kisses you, and lets his mouth stay on yours as his fingers trace down your chin, your chest, your stomach steadily, leaving a wet path. When they reach between your legs, you squirm in anticipation.

He rubs a couple of tight, slow circles on your clit. You’re so sensitive, and it feels amazing. You mewl into his mouth where it still hovers just above yours.

“Ready, my sunshine?”

“Mmhhmm.”

Remus pushes two fingers into you ever so slowly. You release a low, slow whine the whole time he takes to press in. He gives you gentle kisses, eating it up. When his fingers are in to the hilt, you wonder how you didn’t feel devastatingly empty every moment of your life before this one. When he adds a third, you’re sure you will every moment after.

You clench purposefully around him, and he moans into your mouth. Closing your eyes again, it’s the easiest thing to let yourself be consumed by the sensations, by Remus.

When he curls his fingers inside you, you clench again, this time automatically. You grip his hair and clutch his back, your arms pulling his body close to yours.

The spot he starts massaging feels like it’s a blazing fire, but everywhere else you’re connected, your chests, your mouths, is scattered scalding embers.

You’re savouring every second, every sensation, already feeling another high building but relishing in the time it’ll take to get there.

You run your hands down Remus’s back, feeling the bumps of his scars, the grooves of his defined muscles. For the first time all afternoon, you feel a desire to hurry…

You start moving your hips to meet his rhythm, eager, even more than for your own climax, for your turn to take your time on him.

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shenachigans · 9 months

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LETTER | Signora/Rosalyne

PAIRING: Signora/Rosalyne x Gn!Fatuus!Reader

CW: angst no comfort, character d3aths (two people are implied to pass away), toxic relationship, reader and Signora are only flings, mentions of su!cide, mentions of smut but not explicitly, Scaramouch makes an appearance.

SUMMARY: You were nothing but a fleeting moment in the Fair Lady’s life, but a single letter caused a permanent scar in her heart, far worse than what Rostam left her.

A/N: Ask me why I rewrote a fanfic from 2021 in 2023. It’s because I needed to get out of this damn thing called writer’s block <3 This original fanfic was inspired by a convo I had with Kuro about Signora’s death… :( It’s gender neutral but it was written with a female reader in mind. Her Majesty refers to the Tsaritsa and Rostam is Signora’s late lover btw.

WORDS: 2,413

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

Signora… Rosalyne, rather, is a woman who harbors negative emotions. Rostam’s death brought her so much grief, turning her into the misunderstood Crimson Witch. Love rendered Rosalyne miserable, and the burning fire in her heart was too powerful to extinguish.

It was because of the Tsaritsa that made her who she is today, a cold Harbinger named Signora, the Fair Lady. She devoted herself to the Cyro Archon for vengeance so that she may let her lover rest once and for all. Everything she does is to honor him, and she will continue to do so until she meets him again.

The power of liquid fire gave Signora a longer lifespan. It was useful for revenge, but it was dreadful when she longed for her lover. They have been apart for so many centuries. But amid her life, someone caught her attention.

You were but a simple Fatuus messenger who served the Sixth Harbinger Balladeer. It was rare for Harbingers to cross paths with one another, much less their servants, but Signora saw you — far more than she could remember.

She observed you from afar out of pure interest. Perhaps she was bored. Perhaps she found you suspicious, for you were too naive and pure to work for an organization like this. But you were skilled in your field. Your talent juxtaposed your looks, she admits. And so she asked the Tsaritsa to place you in her division, deeming you would be more fit under her wing.

The Fair Lady wanted to keep you.

The reason: unknown.

The ambiguity of why Signora took you in soon disappeared. She found herself seeing a part of Rostam in your nature. It was more apparent when she learned of your feelings toward her. Just like Rostam, she would say, of course, not in your presence. She became infatuated with you over time. It wasn’t the same infatuation as your previous lovers, but you welcomed her with open arms.

How could you deny the woman, who was clearly out of your league?

When Inazuma closed its borders, your relationship as lovers became official, albeit a secret from the others, though everyone can sense a rather unusual intimate atmosphere between you two.

You two weren’t like others, not because you were in a relationship with your superior, but because she was indifferent and sought your affection, not you. It may be because of her past — that you didn’t know of — but you pushed the heavy feelings aside as you were grateful to have the privilege to call Signora yours.

You did everything you could to make her feel loved, and Signora felt like her old self, the young maiden from Mondstadt, Rosalyne: the young woman who was in love with a knight named Rostam. But your time together was fleeting.

The demise of your relationship started when she was assigned to collect the Gnoses per the Tsaritsa’s command. You two became equally busy. Signora became more distant and tense, too focused on the mission as if she had been waiting for this moment. She has, but you didn’t know why.

Other Fatuus turned their backs on you upon learning your relationship with the Harbinger. It was understandable, but you didn’t receive special treatment. You worked harder than everyone else, and Signora was harsher toward you, pinning every mistake your peers committed.

Thoughts filled your head, wondering if your relationship with Signora was normal for lovers. All she does is take, take, and take, but not once has she given you the same affection. You tried to understand her, but you were hurting yourself. Even so, you still loved her, because love comes with pain, does it not? Surely, this is only a bumpy road in your relationship.

You were wrong. You knew your relationship was over when Signora requested Her Majesty to place you back in Balladeer’s unit. She didn’t say anything, but her actions told you of her intentions. It hurt how cold she was to you that day as if you weren’t the person she shared her bed with, entangled in each other’s bodies. She acted like your time together meant nothing to her.

As you readjusted to being under Balladeer’s command, not once have you seen Signora. You knew she didn’t want to see you anymore, but your heart did not waver, rather, your heart ached from not seeing her. You were holding onto false hope — hoping she was only distant to remain professional, but you knew she was too busy, or did not bother, to officialize your parting.

Everything you did was for her, just as everything Signora did was for Rostam. You realized you knew nothing of her past, save for having a lover. You did not know him, what their story was, and how they parted. But you saw longing and love in Signora’s eyes.

There were times when Signora looked at you with an unrecognizable gaze. Only now did you learn what it was. The ache in your heart was unbearable, knowing you were just someone to fill the hole in her heart, the hole Rostam left. She didn’t love you like you loved her. It hurt so much. But you were meant to be utilized, for you were a tool. A tool has various purposes. Signora merely took advantage of your love to fulfill her needs.

It was hard to accept, but you tried to, for this was reality. After all, the Fair Lady gave you, a mere Fatuus, an opportunity to become part of her private life. A Harbinger cannot be romantically involved with an underling. Although you can no longer call her yours, it was a privilege you had, and you will forever cherish your time together, because everything you do is for her, regardless of what she saw you as. You were only flings, but your feelings for her will remain eternal.

You just hope she will remember you, even when you no longer live…

“What uselessness. Your lover, rather, ex-lover, tried to attack the blonde due to some personal grudge. My plans would’ve gone smoothly if not for their interruption,” Scaramouche grumbled, crossing his arms with a petty scoff. “It wasn’t even a big injury; they bled to death. Her Majesty would’ve had them disposed of were they to survive anyway.”

Signora was too engrossed in your state to process his words as horrified eyes gazed at your lifeless body before her. Cuts and bruises decorated your skin, and the shine in your eyes was now dull. She had realized you were dead. But somehow, you looked more at peace, as though she could see you smiling at her with glimmering eyes. She felt her heart sink from the thought.

“I could’ve left them where they were, so you owe me, Signora. Alas, you better not linger for too long, you have yet to meet the Shogun,” are the words the puppet told her before swinging the sliding the shoji doors and disappearing to who-knows-where.

It was a déjà vu, a familiar feeling, yet it was different. Signora’s feelings didn’t make sense. You were nothing but a fleeting moment in her life, but the impact you had on her was great. You passed away fighting someone, like Rostam when he fought in the war and lost his life. Only this time, there was a corpse presented before her.

Signora didn’t know how long she towered over your body and bore into your soulless eyes, but it must’ve been a while for salty tears pooled on the bloody tatami mat. And so she fell on her knees as her sobs grew louder. Trembling fingers carefully mounted your head on her chest, cradling you like a newborn child. The growing pool of blood tainted everything around you, including Signora’s precious dress.

Your body was losing warmth each second, and she was desperately holding onto everything that was left. Signora received everything you had. She wishes you keep your warmth. You can’t throw it away like some fool, but she knew it was too late. Your fingertips were as cold as her delusion’s powers.

The last time she cried, tears of amber rolled down her cheeks, turning her into the Crimson Witch as liquid fire consumed her. But here she was, weeping salty tears like a human being. Does a part of her humanity still linger within her? Was this your doing? It was a bittersweet feeling, she admits. But she remembers you’re no longer with her. Your bright soul is gone because of her.

“You fool! I… I couldn’t even say goodbye…”

The woman you gave your heart to let her walls down as she grieved, her heart tightening from the pain.

But didn’t she use you? Why would she grieve for a pawn she used? She couldn’t possibly have the right to mourn for you when your death is the consequence of her actions, her indifference.

Signora hugs you close as she rocks on her knees like a mother hushing her crying child. But she was crying, and you were hushed, still and cold, stinging her skin. Only your blood remained warm, but it was soon drying up, becoming as cold as you, further bringing pain to her heart.

Is this Celestia’s punishment for going against the heavenly principles? Must her life be full of woe?

Signora’s sobs resonated around the room, grief apparent in her cries, hugging you tighter and tighter, refusing to let you go until her fingers brushed against a tattered letter from your coat’s pocket. Tears soaked her attire to clear her vision and grab the letter.

Her stomach churned as she saw to whom it was for. It was for her.

Dear Signora,

I never got to know your real name, My Lady. I didn’t want to pry by asking, but your name must be beautiful. It’s a shame, really. I would’ve loved for your name to fall from my lips. It would’ve been intimate of us, don’t you think? Alas, we weren’t meant to be. I understand you have your reasons for being distant and for using me. It was painful — for the woman I love does not reciprocate my feelings — but I hold no grudge, nor regret giving my life to you. I’m honored to have been able to give you my love. I will forever cherish the fleeting moments we shared.

I’m writing you this letter to officialize the goodbye we never had. The moment I was brought back to my unit, I knew we were over, but I hoped you would come back for me. It was a foolish thought, I know, but it’s funny now that I think about it. I really am in love. And I keep hoping for something impossible because my feelings are strong for you, My Lady. Please don’t feel burdened. I say this because, as much as you try to hide it, and it may be presumptuous of me, but you care. You may not love me, but I can feel your caringness toward me. I’m grateful. I truly am.

Now, if ever you read this letter, it means I’m no longer alive. I made sure of it. It would be a miracle if you even found this letter. Please don’t misunderstand the situation. I wavered a duel with the traveler for a reason. Even if I came back unscathed, which would be another miracle, my life would be terminated by Her Majesty for my disobedience. I don’t dare to take my own life. Frankly, I wish to say I’m tired, My Lady. I simply do not find joy in being alive anymore and wish to rest. I’ve been planning for this moment for a long time, even before I met you, so please don’t blame yourself for my death. I admire how you still have that will within you. The reason must be to avenge someone you loved, no? I apologize for doing some background work on your history, albeit not finding much, but I wanted to know more about you.

I hope you succeed, My Lady. I wish for you to lay off your burdens and find peace. I want to thank you for making my life bloom with color before I left. Therefore, I have no regrets in life. Although without your permission, allow me to say I love you. I may have never said these words in front of you, and have been contemplating whether or not to say them, but I was too late to decide. Thus, I end my letter with my declaration of love and parting.

I love you so much, My Fair Lady.

— Your former Fatuus underling.

The letter fell from her grasp as she drowned in grief, the ink drowning in her tears, rendering the paragraphs illegible. Was she so distant that you dared not sign your letter intimately? You even addressed her formally, as if it was a report. Why did you stay with someone like her? She knew why, but she refused to acknowledge it. You loved her so much that you put yourself and your pain aside to please her and let yourself get used.

Signora cups your face, gently pressing her warm lips against your forehead, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, until your cold lips meet with hers. How your lips cuddled against hers, oh so perfectly. Only now did she realize how warm your kisses were, how you would smile and blush, even if it was a quick peck. Those kisses were your kisses, they weren’t Rostam’s.

She was responsible for your death, Signora assures. You may have been planning it for a long time, but her ignorance caused the last blow. Had she not exploited you, you might've still been breathing, and happy with someone who deserves you, someone who would devote their life to you, someone who would love you as you loved her. You were the flower she poisoned and left to wither due to her actions…

Signora truly did not deserve someone like you.

“My name is Rosalyne. Please say it, my name. Please speak, please…”

A blood-chilling cry of grief filled the room when you remained silent, unable to utter the name you yearned to say. You were gone, truly gone. She killed you.

Rosalyne didn’t choose you because you were an image of Rostam. She chose you because you made her feel human. But she was blinded, not realizing the truth behind her emotions.

“Rosalyne!”

It wasn’t you; it was Rostam.

A/N: For those confused with the ending, Signora follows canon events, which means she's...

#la signora #signora angst #fatui signora #genshin signora #signora x reader #genshin impact signora #la signora angst #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact drabbles #fem reader #genshin impact smut #gender neutral reader

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scoutswritingcorner · 1 month

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The Fallen Lovers

Alastor x GN! Reader

TW: Established relationship! Murder and talks of cannibalism. ANGST BUT THEN FLUFF, I PROMISE. Paranoia and anxiety, crying

A/N:The long awaited prequel of my latest work ‘The Monster That Lurked’! I left what you look like very ambiguous but did describe them as having claws. You do use a cane in this. Rosie is the best wingwoman.

Word Count: 5k

When you had arrived in hell, you were very surprised to see that it wasn’t the fire and brimstone that people had talked about. Well..there was fire but the lack of brimstone confused you greatly. Instead there were buildings lining the walls as random looking demons walked past you like this was the normal thing to do. You guess it was for them, slowly standing up you watched a few demons further down the block kill a weaker looking demon before running off with money and valuables in their pockets.

You turned the other way and started to walk down the street, a limp in your walk, it still hurts to put a lot of pressure down onto your leg. You stopped near a shop and looked into the large window, it was selling different kinds of products and was that…fingers? Your heart dropped and your stomach twisted painfully, where were you at? Hell obviously..that was a stupid question on your own part. Blinking, you watched a very tall woman with a very beautiful maroon dress and a large sun hat as she worked. It couldn’t hurt to ask her right? She seemed quite friendly despite being in hell, you had to try. Walking over to the doors the best you could with the constant limp bothering you, you shyly walked in ignoring the dreading feeling that you had just walked into a lion's den.

As soon as you got close but still kept your distance if you needed to run, you rubbed your palm onto your shirt. “Excuse me ma’am?” You called out to the much taller lady, she immediately turned around smiling. Your undead heart jumped seeing her black eyes and smile that was full of sharp teeth. “Yes? Oh! A new face, I’ve never seen you around here before, Darling!” She called out, putting the box of more fingers down on the counter. “I-I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am..truly sorry I just..arrived here and I’m quite confused.” You reply trying to calm your nerves as she stared at you, the fact you were dead and in hell of all places is just something you couldn’t wrap your mind around. All you could remember is just wanting to surprise your husband after his rough day.

“Oh of course! Come in, come in. Let’s get you relaxed and I’ll answer any questions you have.” The woman had said, guiding you towards a table near the back, you sat down and looked around the store seeing the different types of clothes, medicines and treats that lined the shelves. It was comforting on some level, it reminded you about a shop not too far from your own home that a friend of yours worked at. Well..get rid of the ever lingering smell of blood and flesh then it would’ve been perfect. Leaning back in the chair as the tall lady had walked back in holding a tray with a teapot and some cups on it. Sitting the tray down, she quickly took her place across from you and served you some tea. You were thankful as it had calmed your nerves greatly.

“So dear, how can I help you?” Her voice was soft, almost motherly to an extent as you slowly drank the tea. “I know I’m in hell and I know why or at least I know why..Hell seems different than what the priests have described it..it’s not so fire and brimstone-y with an eternal lake of fire.” You explained placing the cup down before frowning, staring at your own hands. Your nails had morphed into sharp claws as it looked like your hands up to your elbow were dipped into black tar. “It’s hard to wrap my head around and..I don’t want to say I’m scared because I’m truly not…I’m sorry, I ran off on a tangent.” You mumbled out sitting up to stare at the lady before you, a soft smile on her lips.

“No no it’s okay, get it off your chest. This…Is a lot especially to someone who has recently just got down here. Well, as you know Hell is not just one place. 7 rings of hell to represent the 7 deadly sins,” She hummed, waving her hand much like Alastor did when he was about to go off on a tangent and you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. “We are on the Pride Ring, where sinners much like yourself stay. I can’t say much about the other rings but sinners can’t go to the other rings, only hellborn demons and imps can.” You slowly nodded and looked down, listening to her talk. You soon found out her name was Rosie, she was the Overlord of Cannibal Town and you were now even more confused cause what the fuck is an overlord?

The questions in your head swirled as you held the tea cup as the conversation lulled for a little bit, “How do I..in a lack of better words, live? I don’t know where to start and I’d rather not be out on the streets if I’m just going to get killed again.” You replied as Rosie hummed before her grin widened. Gosh, she really did remind you of Alastor at the best of times..you missed him so much. “Why don’t you work with me so I can help you get settled into this new way of living your afterlife?” She hummed and you perked up nodding too stunned to actually question her intentions if she had any. You didn’t speak much after that, only nodding your head if she had asked you a question.

You felt incomplete knowing you were gonna wake up without hearing Alastor’s broadcast and going to bed without the latest gossip from around town. You’d manage right? It’s not like there aren’t other radio stations out there for you to listen in on. A soft hand on yours snaps you out of your own thoughts as Rosie smiles at you, “Is everything okay? You have that far away look on you.” You blinked at the question, you could trust her couldn’t you? She’s been helpful so far..she doesn’t seem like the one who would betray you so easily. “I..I just miss my husband is all..” you whispered out watching as she smiled softly nodding, “I’m sorry, Dear..” She whispered, causing you to smile.

The conversation picked up once more as you both sat there for hours, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

~~~

It’s been about 2 years now or you’d hope so, time is weird when you are dead. You were currently locked up in your apartment with the windows and curtains drawn, your dresser blocking the door just in case as you heard screams echo from outside. You sat in the darkness of your own bathroom, a bottle of whiskey sitting on the edge of the tub that you were currently laying in, thank Satan you didn’t take a bath this morning. Rosie had warned you about the yearly extermination that takes place to get rid of the overpopulation problem, the first year it had happened you almost got killed (again) and it left you with a pretty nasty scar on your leg that still throbbed in pain every now and then, it sucked now that you still had that damn limp but add the extra burning pain and some days you could barely even stand. Thankfully, Rosie was super understanding about the whole thing.

You yawned and played with the cup in your hands as you patiently awaited for the extermination to be over. You closed your eyes keeping the cup close to your chest as you leaned your head back, you wished you had grabbed a book and a candle, you didn’t want to drink yourself stupid as you waited out this extermination. Your mind drifted back to Alastor, in your final moments the smell of his cologne stuck in your mind and how his bloody and shaking hands held your head to his chest. Tears that weren’t your own hit your cheek as your vision slowly blacked out, you missed him oh so dearly. You don’t think he would love you now, the more demonic looking you..how scars decorated your body to remind you of your gruesome death and even more fatal almost second death. Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought of your beloved Beau and how he would react.

Now you weren’t a fool when it came to Alastor, you knew exactly why he had constantly disappeared for days on end. Why would he point out the latest death to you in the papers? Was he constantly trying to keep you away from him or was he just telling you outright that he was the rampant serial killer around New Orleans?

A loud horn echoed through the now silent Hellscape, the exterminators retreating back to Heaven. You let out a sigh downing the rest of the whiskey that was in your cup before slowly moving to get out of the tub so you wouldn’t put too much strain on your leg. Your back popped uncomfortably as you stretched, grabbing the whiskey bottle as you slowly walked out of your bathroom as fireworks sounded out, it was officially over and now you had a whole year to wait to do it again. You turned on the lights in your bathroom watching as the golden light spilled out into the darkness as if someone had left a piece of heaven behind. The light illuminated the darkness and showed how you left your room as you rushed to push the heavy dresser in front of your door, how your bed sheets were in disarray and your clothes laid on the ground from how you tried to make the dresser less heavy. It didn’t work and you basically had to strain yourself to get it over there in the first place. You looked at the bottle in your hand, unscrewing the cap off to take a swig to give you the strength (and stupidity) to move that damned dresser back over to where it usually sat.

It had been an hour at best into you slowly cleaning up your apartment when the old radio on the counter had started to turn on by itself. That wasn’t a problem usually, this is hell and weird things do tend to happen but what caught your eye is that the dials started to move by themselves as if it was trying to tune itself to a certain radio station. Now it never did that before and it scared you a little bit, in a matter of seconds green electricity erupted from the speaker as screams- horrid screams echoed throughout the apartment making you drop the bottle of whiskey on the ground to cover your own ears. Your head felt dizzy and you practically busted your own ass as you tried to take a step back as the screams suddenly disappeared and left the room silent except for a few gruesome sounds of bones cracking. You uncovered your ears as you blinked allowing your vision to fix itself as you let out a deep breath.

“Salutations Dear Listener’s!” His voice rang out causing you to freeze as you glanced down at the now shattered bottle on the ground. Was this some sick fucking joke? Whoever was using your husband’s voice to play on the radio? Who would do such a fucking thing? You couldn’t move from your spot on the floor as your breathing came shorter with every word from the radio, you felt your throat close uncomfortably as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Who was using his voice? If he was down here as well, he shouldn’t be. Not yet.

You sat like that for hours even after you stopped crying, too scared to move in case the radio turned itself on again. You had only just begun getting used to your afterlife.

It had been a few weeks now from the extermination and you were helping Rosie with folding some of the clothes in the shop, as she dealt with the customers. The first few days working with her was quite a scary sight as she had to hold back some of the cannibals from devouring you, that was a mental breakdown you weren’t expecting to happen. Now, no one really tried to eat you and happily greeted you as you walked by, you try to stay away from Susan.

You tried to leave Rosie alone when she was working, she was such a busy woman and Overlord, which you finally found out what that meant and to say you were unsurprised was an understatement. Focusing back on folding the clothes in front of you, you tried to listen into anything really as it got boring some days and you just wished to listen to some juicy gossip. You could always ask Rosie..she would gladly sit down and unload some of it onto your shoulders. She was always open for some “girl talk” with you no matter what, hell you could be a literal cat and she’d talk your ear off if you’d let her. So it surprised you when she had called you over to help her, you didn’t disdain being around the other cannibals but they did scare you a little bit..especially that butcher..but you swallowed any nerves you had as you walked over to her.

“Yes, Rosie?” You asked as you watched her help the seemingly last customer of the day. You waved the lady off as Rosie guided you to her favorite spot to gossip after work, “Wait here for a moment,” She hummed quickly, leaving to close up shop and possibly going to get some tea. You looked back at the table in front of you as your fingers tapped away to some tune you couldn’t quite remember, did you hear it from the radio after hearing your husband’s voice broadcast all over hell or was it just some tune some poor fool was destined to play, maybe it was that tune you heard from that mysterious red jacketed man that always disappeared when you got closer to him? Why did that jacket seem so familiar to you? Why did his presence enrapture you so much? Blinking your eyes as Rosie sat in front of you happily pouring you both some tea, “I’m guessing you’ve heard about a new overlord rising up recently,” She hummed out placing the kettle back in the middle of the table. You nodded, “Yes ma’am, I’ve heard whispers about it.”

She smiled and took a sip of her drink, the conversation lulling into a comfortable silence once more. You watched her for a moment, she had a glint in her eyes, “You had a husband before..what can you tell me about him?” She asked looking back at you, placing her cup down. The thought of just gushing about Alastor to someone made your undead heart flutter and something akin to butterflies in your stomach. You never dared talk about him when you were alive, in fear of accidentally starting a whole snowball effect. You didn’t want him to get caught so easily. Your face heated up as a small smile graced your lips, “Are you sure you want to hear me talk about that?” You asked hands nervously cupping the warm cup as she nodded her smile much more soft. “What drew you towards him or what was he like in life?”

You looked down and cleared your throat, “Well..His presence was always one of a man filled with confidence and his smile was so gorgeous. But he was a very..how do I say this..private man and organized man. He’d like everything where it needed to be and I’ve only heard parts of conversations where someone pried too deeply and he got upset. So I never really asked a lot of questions, and didn't feel like I needed to at the time.” You explained waving your hand as if his little quirks rubbed off on you. “Funnily enough, that’s how we met..I was walking by with a drink and some poor fool had hit the drink out of my hand onto his new suit.” You explained with a slight chuckle, “I didn’t bat an eye when his anger had redirected towards me..but I paid for a new suit with the money I had saved up and seemingly all was forgiven. I somehow wormed my way into his presence after.” You looked up at Rosie and sighed, “His eyes were the most expressive parts of him, if you knew what you were looking for. He had such pretty dark brown eyes and paired with that smile it’d make anyone look twice. But he was such a gentleman and he had a lot of secrets to keep but he allowed me in and allowed me to keep those secrets safe.” You looked down once more fiddling with the cup, tears brimming your eyes but never falling as you quickly blinked them away. “I miss him, miss waking up at the early hours to hear his voice on the radio and our late night adventures across town going from speakeasy’s to the local jazz show..we would always end up at the park. A middle ground for our hectic lives and we would just talk..there was no judgment or anything of that nature. Just us..” As you finished a warm hand covering your own fidgeting one, Rosie’s soft smile had reached over. “He seems like a dream,” She hummed out, causing you to smile and nodded.

But dreams never last.

~~~

Rosie softly hummed as she walked arm in arm with you, you had started to walk her towards her meetings ever since you had landed her a couple years ago. At first it was mostly so you could see what Pentagram City had looked like. The soft taps of her heels hitting the pavement and the occasional tap of the cane she had gotten you so long ago had soothed her nerves a little bit. The first time you had accompanied her your leg had given out on you due to the stress of constantly putting pressure on it, scared her. Her favorite little Sinner had just collapsed on the sidewalk with a loud thump but you didn’t fret, which scared her more as surely that had hurt. You waved off her concern but happily took her arm as she helped you back up.

Now here you both were walking towards the Overlord Meetings, you wouldn’t be welcomed in as you weren’t an Overlord yourself but you happily walked all the way with her there and then came back to walk her towards Cannibal Town. You usually didn’t speak much even when working, you were as silent as a mouse at times. “Is the cane helping?” She asked, watching as you smile and nodded, “Yes ma’am, I can pay you back if needed.” That made her almost stop in her tracks but she simply waved your words off. “No, no, no need my dear!” She hummed as you continued to walk. Your smile had dropped and you had that faraway look in your eyes when she glanced back at you once more, what made you go into your head so much? Was it a bad home life when you were alive? She was curious but knew better than to pry, she’s seen you rip someone apart with just your words, how venom laced your tongue as you showed your fangs waiting for the chance to attack. Someone or something made you feel voiceless.

After you had left, she waltzed into the meeting greeted by Carmilla and Zestial amongst other Overlords there. She sat next to Alastor who politely nodded and helped her sit down. “You know Alastor, I have this Darling little helper at my shop, you should come by sometime and see how they live up to your expectations.” She whispered watching as his ears swiveled around to listen to her but he hummed, his smile growing a little bit more. “I suppose I should, is there something special about this helper?” He asked glancing at her, “Maybe so~” She hummed her attention going back towards Carmilla. The conversation stopped right there as Alastor sent her a quick glance, what was she up to? He hoped she wasn’t trying to set him up again, he was a busy man and didn’t have time for such things..unless she found his little mouse, his darling spouse that he killed for after their death.

Nonsense, they shouldn’t even be down here in this cesspool of filthy degenerates. You couldn’t be down here, he didn’t want to believe it. Even if you had murdered your ex husband, he happily took the blame and fell for the kill, he wouldn’t let your reputation be tarnished as something as dirty as murder. But he must admit, the color of red looked great on you. He only wished to see it more, he only wished to see you more. After you died he had lost himself, he didn’t know another person would affect his ways much like you did. Your smile, your laugh, the way you looked over at him as someone did something insanely stupid. His Mama absolutely outright adored you.

After the meeting had ended, Alastor walked Rosie outside listening to her speak before quickly saying her goodbyes. He looked over to see a familiar figure..one that haunted his dreams when he was alive. But of course you looked different, his smile dropped to a frown as you didn’t even notice him. But the way you happily guide Rosie back to Cannibal Town, using a cane to help you walk. He could see the way you put weight on the foot that got snagged by the trap years ago, had caused you to flinch and put more weight onto the cane. He frowned, he wished he could take that pain away from you.

~~~

It had been too long since he had seen you, much too long that he almost forgot the sound of your laughter and the way you smiled. Yet he didn’t forget your face, the same stone cold look you had when you were far into your head or just simply elsewhere, physically next to him but mentally gone. The years he’s known you, the amount of times he has prodded at you to just know what was going on in that mind, he never did find out. He stopped trying after a while especially when you got married to your first husband, he didn’t want that buffoon to find all your weak spots he had found. He didn’t want to share his knowledge of how if he pressed just right he’d get you to crack open that shell and get your blood boiling, he’d occasionally do it when you were alive. Set that thought into motion and allow you to show people how truly venomous you were.

But now, seeing you through the glass of Rosie’s Emporium with that same look on your face made his heart race, that hope he had lost so long ago ran back to the forefront of his mind. He’d get to see that smile again, get to hear you laugh once more. Everytime in the last few months he’d miss you by arriving too late or you were simply not working that day. It had infuriated him to no end, it was like you were trying to ignore him. He’d been looking for you since he had got down here and he was starting to think that you must’ve gotten into Heaven, you deserved it even if you took a life.

But from what Rosie had told him he had been a fool to think you’d forget about him. You talked about him all the time, even going so far as to listen to his radio broadcasts around. Hell..she even told him about the time when he had first done his broadcast, how you were so terrified. He felt horrible for sending his little mouse into a frenzy like that, he’d have to make it up to you instead. So without a second thought, he had waltzed into the shop happily greeted by Rosie and motioned to sit down at the table, as he watched you from the corner of his eye, his crimson gaze upon your form as you fixed up a display from across the room, seemingly in your own world. He didn’t know how to approach you after all these years, he was..if he dared say it, he was scared to see how you would react to him. But all of his thoughts were interrupted when a loud crash was heard making his ears stand up and swivel towards you, you who was standing stock still as a wall staring him down in fear? Or was it disbelief? Your legs trembled as you stood, it was him. Alastor was here, oh fuck..you looked stupid just standing there, say something to him. You opened your mouth but nothing came out before you made yourself look down, quickly cleaning up despite the strain in your leg making pain shoot up. Shaking hands cleaning up the mess as you bit down on your tongue, ignoring the tears that had collected in your eyes. He couldn��t be here, it was way too early for him..he had a career ahead of him. He was THE famous radio host, but he was also a killer and a good one at that, maybe the cops found out or maybe your ex husbands family found out and ratted him out. You shouldn’t have gotten twisted in the game, it was his eventual downfall. It was your downfall but he wasn’t the ruthless killer in your eyes, he was just Alastor the radio host and good friend you’ve known for years. You hated how your jaw clenched and throat closed up uncomfortably, you didn’t like allowing him to see you so vulnerable.

When you finished cleaning up the broken glass and ignored how your throat hurt, you realized that you couldn’t stand back up. Your muscles had locked up from the pain and now you were simply sitting on the ground. That is until gloved hands had slowly helped you stand up, your injured leg curling up like a fawn trying to stand for the first time, a familiar cologne clogging your senses. You missed him so much but you caused this to happen, one arm wrapped around your waist as the other held your arm with a softness unbeknownst to most, the broken glass disappearing in a matter of black and green smoke. “Let’s go sit, Darling.” His voice broke through the ringing in your ears and interrupted the thoughts racing in your head. Slowly moving towards the seats, he helped you sit down allowing your muscles to slowly start to ease up. Alastor watched you, he saw how your jaw clenched and how you seemingly struggled to get a breath in, he wished he knew how to help you properly. He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles, “What’s on your mind?” he asked softly.

The simple question races through your head before snapping you back into reality, you took a deep breath and shook your head trying to stop the tears. Your voice was nothing but useless to you right now but all you wanted was him- his arms around you as he hummed his tunes. The way it was before you were killed, but nothing could go back to the way it was. Things change and if you don't change with it, you’d be left in the dust awaiting a slow and agonizing death. Laughter intertwined with each sob as you looked up at your husband, “I’m pathetic, surely. I couldn’t even fight off my own murderer.” You hissed out but you weren’t directing it towards him, no..you could never direct the venomous and toxic anger you held in for so long towards him. “I’m the reason you're down here.” Your gaze returned towards the table wiping your own tears away from your eyes.

Alastor reached over grabbing your hands, watching your gaze shift from the table to him in a flash. “You are not pathetic, Dear. You are a wolf amongst sheep, waiting for the moment to strike. You are stronger than most of these buffoons down here, I should know. I’ve seen you make a grown man cry.” He slowly pulled you closer to his body allowing you to lay your head on his chest, “I’d kill for you over and over, you never were the reason I am down here. Toss that thought out of your head, it would be the other way around.” He whispered out rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “I missed you, Alastor..” You whispered out your voice breaking, his smile softened. “And I missed you, Dear. Even death couldn’t keep us apart.” He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Alastor never believed in fairytales or ‘love at first sight’..but yet again, he was proven wrong.

~~~

Extra:

You huffed, allowing your husband to carefully pull you down the street, “Dearest, are you sure you want me there to help at the Hotel?” Alastor looked over and slowed down his pace, “Of course! I can’t have my darling spouse sitting at home all by their lonesome!” His chest puffed out as you rolled your eyes playfully, “It’s not like I’m bored, Al!” You hummed and leaned your head against his shoulder, his smile softening as the arm that was holding yours moved to wrap around your waist as he chuckled allowing the conversation to fall into the comfortable silence he was so used to by now. After decades of being together and the seven years he went missing made this hotel seem like a good idea after all.

After a couple of moments you had stopped at the door, allowing your husband to pick up his pace to open the doors. You walked in and were immediately greeted by a run down looking Hotel, you grimaced a little before Alastor had appeared beside you. “Holy shit, Smiles! Who did you lure over here?” A voice called out to look over to see a tall spider smirking at him, a soft growl escaped your husband’s smile allowing everyone to look over except Husk, who had met you a while back. “I didn’t lure them over here,” he snarled out before he carefully pulled you closer as his arm wrapped around your waist once more. “This is my spouse.” He finished allowing you to wave at everyone, ignoring the laugh that came from The King of Hell which sent your husband into a frenzy, it hadn’t been a minute yet and you were pulling him away from possibly murdering or being murdered by the King.

Calmly turning him towards you, you carefully smoothed out his suit and smiled up at him, his radio dials switched back to normal as he softly gazed at you. “No killing the King for my honor, Dearest. You’ve been talking to me all day about this Hotel, show me around?” You asked as he kissed your knuckles, “Of course, Darling.” He hummed gently, taking your arm and walking off down the hallway to show you around.

You’d get used to this. After all you had Alastor by your side and nothing could stop you both now.

Taglist:@fairyv-ice, @kurosstuff

84 notes · View notes

niki-phoria · 7 months

Text

pairing: chishiya x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 821

warnings: blood, death, canon-typical violence, death

includes: possibly ooc chishiya, kinda hurt no comfort ?? very angsty lol, ambiguous ending

summary: after a grueling battle with the king of spades, you search for chishiya in your final moments

and if you go, i wanna go with you / and if you die, i wanna die with you

carnage.

the only thing you can see is carnage. blood seeps into the asphalt around you. you’re not sure if it’s yours.

the fabric of your t-shirt is stuck to your skin. each shaky breath you take is shallow as you force the air into your lungs. your hands tremble as you lift them up towards the sky. deep red streaks are embedded into your flesh. your vision is blurry. you feel disoriented. everything hurts.

“chishiya,” you whisper. his name leaves your lips like a prayer. squinting at the sky, you almost confuse the sun for his warmth. the light is far more comforting than the hard ground below.

“y/n?” someone asks from beside you. her voice is shaky. she sounds familiar. kuina. “are you okay?”

“chishiya,” you repeat. “i need to find him.” squeezing your eyes shut, you push yourself to sit up. your head aches. you’re not sure how far you’re able to move. the world spins for a second before everything pauses for a second.

you take the opportunity to glance around. the alleyway has a fresh coating of red splattered across the walls. stray bullet holes leave tiny windows into the nearby buildings. your skin is coated in a heavy layer of filth and grime.

every muscle in your body tenses as you push yourself even farther. in a blur, you’re finally standing. you lean against the wall for support, shuffling your feet against the ground as you slowly begin to move.

there’s even more wreckage outside of the alleyway. debris litters the earth below. blood and gore decorate your surroundings. bile rises in your throat at the sight, but you continue pushing yourself to move regardless. i can afford to be selfish just this once, you reason. if i’m going to die, i might as well die with my lover.

retracing your steps is easier than you had expected. you stumble past aguni, paying no mind to the blank look in his eyes as he stares up at the sun. there are a million things he could be looking for. you don’t care about any of them. not anymore.

you grunt when you lose your balance once again, tripping over your own feet. you tumble into a nearby car; your body slams into the side of the vehicle. a part of you worries about setting off the alarm but it is quickly squandered by the realization that the owner is likely dead. at least there’s no one left to be annoyed by the repetitive noise.

“y/n?” he breaks the silence with a breathless whisper. he looks more shocked than you do. tears sting in your eyes.

you leave a trail of blood in your wake as you slide against the side of the cool metal. you maneuver yourself around to the other edge of the car before abruptly stopping. time freezes.

you blink once. then again. a third time. you rack your brain in an attempt to make sense of the sight of the man before you. chishiya.

“‘shiya.” you let yourself collapse onto the ground beside him. your knees buckle under the weight of relief - or maybe the strain from moving. you’re not sure anymore.

chishiya is quick to grab onto you, letting you lean your aching body against his. your blood seeps into the white fabric of his jacket. his fingers grip your arms before moving upwards to support your face.

chishiya’s hand slips away from your face to instead press against your side. you hiss at the pressure, coiling into yourself. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. you already know that he is. that he’d take away your pain if he could. that he wishes he could do more.

you look at him through blurry vision. tears roll down your cheeks in waves. his touch is gentle as he wipes them away.

“y/n,” he repeats. you can feel his gaze all over you - scanning your body for the worst injury. the one he should treat first. bad habits die hard, you suppose.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck. chishiya has let up on the pressure. instead, his arms rest gingerly around your waist, keeping you wrapped comfortably in his hold. you’re grateful.

“i love you.” your words slur together. you’re sure they’re nearly inaudible as you mumble them against his skin.

“i love you too,” chishiya whispers. each syllable is clear as it leaves his lips but you know him well enough to recognize the small waver that stings at the end of each word. you know him well enough to know his grip around your body is tight for a reason. you know him well enough to know that the tears staining your cheeks are not only your own.

you can hear fireworks in the distance. closing your eyes, you allow darkness to surround you. you imagine the beautiful hues of colour decorating the sky as the world finally fades away.

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coltermorning · 8 months

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You lose your parents while traveling to see your extended family. Through grief and regret, you have to find a way to put the pieces of yourself back together. A stranger comes along and helps you to live again.

Author’s Notes: This piece is written straight from the heart. That entails two things: it is going to be long, and it is going to be dark. With all the death and grief reader is managing, I want to be upfront that this may be a hard one for those going through the same thing to read. Just know it does turn happy eventually, and Arthur helps reader get to that place. As always, don’t read it if it starts to make you uncomfortable.

As an aside, reader does have a relative age—somewhere in her twenties—but I left everything else ambiguous. I had to do that to make the story work. Beyond that I hope you enjoy this one, as it truly is a reflection of the inner workings of my mind. May the healing power of Arthur Morgan save us all :,)

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

One: The Weight of New Burden

Word count: 5565

The night was dark, and your parents were dead. You sat before them, knelt as if in prayer. There was no praying now.

Flashes of earlier memory bit at you like the chilling air, but you didn’t allow them in. You didn’t allow their pain or their reality. There was a bridge, a cliff, the turn of your stomach as you fell. Then this. Then nothing.

Some animal made its sharp call in the night, but you couldn’t turn to listen. Your eyes were stuck staring. You couldn’t think of what kind of beast made that noise, no matter how many times your father had told you. Your father, nothing but a shell on the ground. Broken in the defeat of death, still warm from blood that had run so thick through his veins mere moments ago. Your blood.

You turned to your mother. She was a hard woman, made harder by the life the three of you had lived so far away and so deep in snow. Her hardness was no match for the rocky ground. For the weight of a wagon bearing all of your belongings crashing down on her. Part of her leg was still trapped beneath it, stuck out at a morbid angle.

You turned back to your father, laid their much more peacefully. He could be sleeping if you didn’t look too closely. He could be climbing into his shared bed in the early evening hours, claiming the morning was more worth his while. You could be climbing in beside him, too old to be doing it but clinging to him anyway, glad for his warmth in the house that somehow always let the cold in.

You moved and laid beside him now. Sleeping. All you wanted was to be sleeping beside him. To drift away with both of them, never to be without them again.

You tangled your gloved fingers in his already too stiff ones. You blamed it on the thick fabric and closed your eyes, imagining the rock sticking into your back to be one of the books in the bed your mother was always reading. Imagining the cold to be seeping in under the walls instead of all around you. Imagining you would all wake up in the morning before the sun rose, happy to live another day together.

The shock of things released like a breath, and you allowed yourself a few silent tears before drifting into darkness, letting the night overtake you too.

“Christ.”

The echoing word woke you, but you didn’t open your eyes. Everything was wrong. You remembered the trip to Nebraska you were supposed to be taking, the unfamiliarity of where you were. You remembered the pain curling up your side and why you were sleeping on the ground instead of inside the wagon, all covered in blankets and curled between the wall and your mother.

You opened your eyes. It was morning. Far above you hung the bridge that forced a sob from your chest. On the bridge sat a man atop his horse, looking down at you. You shut your eyes again. Maybe he would think you dead too. Maybe he would kill you and this nightmare would finally end.

You could hardly find the will to listen to your surroundings, but you forced yourself to. It was easier than the thoughts that plagued you. You eventually picked up the tracking of a horse’s hooves against stone, riding not above you but from behind. Likely the man who had seen you all the way down here, no more than a smudge of the earth.

“Easy,” you heard, then the clinging sound of the horse’s bit as it obeyed its rider. Boots hit the earth so close by your eyes flinched, but you kept them closed.

The man approached, rocks crushing against each other beneath his boots, spurs clicking with every step. He spoke, low this time. “Jesus.”

He stopped a moment, likely taking in the view of the wreckage you didn’t want to think about. Then he approached again, heading for the wagon a few feet away. He could take it all, you didn’t care. All the provisions and the blankets, all your belongings and what little money your father brought along. The man could take the whole damn wagon and you wouldn’t so much as open an eye. Your parents were all you needed anyway. To die beside them.

The sound of pilfering hands echoed against the rocky walls of the cliff face. The man’s horse snorted behind you. It made you think of your horses. The horses you loved so much, pulling you through two states. You didn’t have to look last night to know they were dead. The older mare your father favored, the young stallion you had raised yourself. They were both gone. All of them, gone. All but you.

A dragging noise met your ears, something scraping against the ground. Then splitting wood, a grunt made in effort of breaking something. You couldn’t help your curiosity and opened your eyes to watch. You studied the man’s back as he broke the wagon apart to get inside of it. It had landed upside down, its back end crashed so flatly against the earth that there was no way to get to its hidden treasures below. Unless you broke it apart, more so than it already had been. Just as he was.

You watched and watched, let the man take a few select provisions without protest. He even lifted your father’s satchel, the one your mother had insisted he keep in the back of the wagon to avoid wanting eyes. And still, you laid there quietly, letting him do it. Where you were going, you wouldn’t need anything of the sort anyway.

You could hardly stand it, but when the man turned and faced your parents, you shut your eyes and stayed still. You let him pick over your mother’s body like a vulture, let him take everything he wanted. Your father was next, and he lifted him slightly so that his fingers were ripped from yours. You laid there limp. Ignored the dull thud of the body beside you when it met the ground again. Ignored the hands that met you, patted you down. Lifted you to search beneath your coat. Only, something must have been different about you. As soon as he moved you, the man froze. Then, slowly, he sat you up.

“You alive?”

How had he known? He shook you, and you let your limbs flail around like a doll. You did pray this time, that he would realize he had made a mistake, that he would think you already gone.

His gloved hand met your face and tapped against your cheek. “Hey,” he said. “You alive in there?” You weren’t. Hadn’t been for a while now.

You heard the sound of fabric against skin, then felt his bare fingers touching your neck. Looking for a pulse. It would give you away. You held your breath, but it would give you away. That damned little lifeline, ruining this good thing you had.

“Shit,” he muttered as his hand fell away. He knew. “You’re either gonna have to wake up, or I’m taking you with me.”

That should have done it, should have made you look at him at least. But he could be talking to a corpse for all he knew. You remained limp in his arms, refusing to do as he said. That is, until he tried to lift you.

You groaned in pain, the wound against your side pulling. He stopped.

“There you are. Wake up for me.”

You wouldn’t let him take you. Wouldn’t let him leave your parents behind.

He patted against your face again. “Come on. I know it hurts.” You knew what he was likely thinking, that falling from that height and surviving was damn near impossible. So you had to be hurt. You just hoped he didn’t notice whatever pain was burning against your rib cage. You didn’t want to be mended.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Knowing he would try to take you if you didn’t, you let them open a fraction, seeing a blurred face and a bright white sky overtake your vision.

“There,” he said. “Stay with me.” You couldn’t keep them open. Couldn’t watch this. You just wanted to lay down again.

He took your arm and raised it to get a better hold on you. You knew what came next and pulled back. The movement swallowed your body in pain, making you groan again.

“Let me get you up, then you can rest, okay?”

He pulled on you again to lift you, and you finally managed a word. “No.” It was low and pitiful, and you immediately regretted it. You wanted your last words to be spoken to your parents, not this stranger.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “We got to get you up or you’ll die out here.” You shook your head almost imperceptibly, but he caught it. “Yeah we do. Let’s get you up.” He pulled you again, and you didn’t have the strength to fight him. All you could do was reach out, reach for your father’s hand. Grasp for his help one last time. You met those gloved, stiff fingers before the man could pull you up far enough and immediately knew how he had determined you were alive. Unlike you, your father was as stiff as a board. Cold and dead. Gone. That didn’t stop you from grabbing his hand, holding on tight with what little strength you had left.

The stranger tugged on you and met resistance, stopping and turning.

“I know,” he said lowly. “I know you don’t want to leave him.” You didn’t let go, letting tears fill your eyes at those words.

Caught by your gripping fingers, the man gave up trying to lift you and laid you back down. “Tell you what. I got some folk coming through here soon I was out scouting ahead for. How ‘bout we wait for their wagons so we can take the…take your family too?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want to leave here and didn’t want them to either. You wanted to die here beside them.

When the man waited long enough to know you wouldn’t answer, he took it as compliance enough. “Okay then. You just rest. They’ll be here soon.”

A sob racked your frame. They would be—your parents. They had to be. They would come reach out their hands and lead you to eternity themselves. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything else.

You slowly rolled onto your good side and into your father, burrowing into his warm coat sleeve. It smelled like him. Woodsmoke and snow and horses. You wanted to be between him and your mother, but she was too far. Broken and bent wrong, too far gone for your delusional mind to believe you were laid in bed beside her. So you cradled your father, sobs shaking through you, warm tears spilling across your nose and hitting the ground.

After long enough that you hoped the man had gone away, you cracked your eyes open again. He was still there, watching the bridge above. Waiting. You wanted to tell him to leave. But like earlier, you couldn’t get the words out and didn’t want to. Each word not said to your parents felt wrong.

He turned and saw you looking at him. “Any minute,” he said. Like you were hoping for rescue. You shook your head and turned back to your father, the pain in your side beginning to throb.

You soon heard voices, a few shouted words. You caught one of them echoing down from above: bridge. Be careful, they were likely saying. Narrow bridge ahead. Too narrow for your own father to navigate, to keep a wheel from catching over the side.

The man beside you shouted, his voice so loud you startled. “Hey! Down here!”

“Arthur?” another man shouted back. “You okay down there?”

“I need some help,” he answered. “Send a wagon.”

You reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. He turned to you. You shook your head at him, trying to make him understand. You wouldn’t leave this place. Wouldn’t take your parents away.

“I can’t take all three of you,” he said. You shook your head with more urgency, but he only turned away, looking back up. “I ain’t leaving you here.”

You wanted to tell him, please do. But you couldn’t get the words out.

You tugged on his heavy coat, curling closer to your father when he looked at you again.

“No,” he said, enough of a demand in his voice for you to know he had made up his mind. “You’re coming with us. We’ll bury them proper.”

You felt a tear escape at that. Burying them…here was as proper as anywhere. More so. You didn’t want to take another step of this journey without them. You tugged on his sleeve again.

“Quit it,” he said, shaking your hand off. “I’m not leaving you.”

You gave up, turning back to your father, closing your eyes once more. You tried to let the life leak out of you. But even you knew you were too far from death, too rooted in living to get there. You imagined it instead, imagined what eternity with them would look like.

After a while, the creaking of wagon wheels met your ears. This was no place for a wagon. Not for one standing or one crashed aground.

“You okay, son?” came that same voice from before.

“Fine,” the man beside you answered, standing. “Girl here’s alive.”

Girl. Not woman, despite your age. You always got onto your mother for calling you that. But now it felt proper. Now it felt like daughter, like you belonged to the two laying beside you.

“Alive?” said a voice you hadn’t yet heard.

The man walked toward the others. “She’ll be all right, but her folks…” He walked farther away, dropping his voice. But you could still hear every damning word. “Folks are dead. She won’t leave them.”

“Won’t leave them?” one of them replied.

You wouldn’t look at them. Couldn’t. Their wagon and their passengers so whole, yours so broken.

“I told her we could take them, bury them proper. Ground’s too hard here.”

You knew just how hard the ground was. First hand. How it hadn’t killed you, you couldn’t figure.

One of the newcomers spoke. “We’d have to bring another wagon down, lighten the load a little.”

The load. Like your parents had become nothing but weight. You couldn’t stand it. You lifted your head, eyeing them. The wagon was closer than you thought, your vision still slightly blurry. Maybe you’d hit your head.

“Hello there,” said the one on the right, an older man. “No need to be afraid, we’re here to help you.”

No they weren’t. They were here to take you away.

You gathered your strength and moved, ignoring the pain in your side. It was so much harder to do now than it had been last night. Like the shock of the fall had worn off. You sat up on your knees, looking at the three men. Then, to prove a point, you made them watch as you crawled over your father and laid down right on top of him, never taking your eyes off of them. Speaking would be easier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“What’s that about?” the man on the left asked.

The one who had come down alone earlier, younger than the other two now that you could see them all, spoke. “She keeps doing that. Doesn’t want to leave.”

“She’ll die,” the other said. You nodded at him. Let him see, let them all see how desperately you wanted that.

“You have any other family?” the older man asked.

You thought of your father’s siblings in Nebraska, of their growing families. Of the reason you had been taking this trip in the first place. You couldn’t face them now, not without your parents.

You shook your head. Maybe it would get them to leave you alone. The older man turned to the others, and they all stared at each other in silent conversation. Finally, the younger man sighed, turning toward the wagon. “You two go back up then. I’ll get this done and let her do what she wants.” He pried a shovel off the wagon, turning and making for you.

“Ground’s too hard here,” the older man assured him.

“I’ll figure it out,” he answered. “Y’all go on, I’ll catch up.”

A small part of you was grateful to him. For helping you and doing as you asked, no matter how senseless.

When the others took the wagon away, leaving only you and the younger man, you looked up at him. He was staring at you, studying you like a wild animal. Maybe you weren’t so different from one.

His face softened some. “Where you want ‘em?”

Your chest caught. You hadn’t thought of it. You hadn’t thought this would be done so quickly, without any sort of ceremony, without all the recognition they deserved. Just you. Just a stranger that had robbed them less than an hour ago.

You would find the strength to do it for them. You wouldn’t leave them laying here like this. As much as you wanted to join them, it was becoming glaringly obvious you wouldn’t die alongside them. It was your duty to do this right, to be there for them when no one else would be.

Ignoring your pain, you backed off of your father and raised up onto your knees, looking to the trees leading up to the cliffside. The nearest was a lumbering pine, its roots reaching through the rocky shale effortlessly. Like it had been here longer than you’d been alive.

You pointed to the tree’s base, drawing the man’s attention. He dropped his head then sighed, picking up the shovel. Heading for it. You watched all the while. Watched him pick a spot and lift his shovel, bringing it down on ground so tough he hardly made a dent. He cursed. He lifted it higher and tried again. The ground didn’t budge any more the second time. He took to running his boot over the ground, checking for places the rock gave way to softer dirt. When he was satisfied, he lifted the shovel. This time, the ground gave.

He raised the shovel and moved to a spot a few feet away, trying again. The ground gave there too. He raised his head, looking over at you. “This’ll do. It’s gonna take me some time, breaking up all these roots.”

“Don’t kill the tree.”

You were as surprised to hear your voice as he was. You just couldn’t stand the tree dying too.

“She speaks,” he said, going back to his shoveling.

You watched him then, watched him a long time. So long that he began to sweat with the work, stopping to shed his huge fur-lined coat. He kept going. He got to the second grave. You debated who should go in which. As much as it pained you to think it, your mother needed to go on the left, your father on the right. Because that was how they had slept around you for over two decades.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a gust of wind shifted the air, making the wetness on your face turn cold. It was too much. You couldn’t do this.

Would the stranger bury you alive if you asked him to?

As soon as you had the thought, he turned to you. “Come look, see if I got this how you want it.”

You stood silently. Your side burned, but it wasn’t unbearable. Remarkably, almost unbelievably, you didn’t think you were hurt anywhere else. You just ached. Though that may not have been from pain.

You eyed your father at your feet then moved, walking toward the trees. Like a child learning to walk, a woman learning to navigate the world, all on her own.

You stepped up to the graves and looked down at them with the man. Roughly cut holes in the ground. A few of the roots from the tree had been preserved, sticking out of the sides. It made you want to smile, but smiling made you want to cry. Instead, you turned and went back for your father. If you didn’t do this now, you never would.

You thought of the pair of them living under this tree forever, the roots twining around them both until they were one. Part of the land and nothing more than memory. It was better than you could have done for them out here, all alone.

You reached your father and smoothed his coat out. Avoiding the pallid look of his skin, you noted his hat was gone. You searched the nearby ground for it.

“What is it?” the man asked, coming up behind you.

You motioned to your head and continued looking, rounding the wagon’s back end. You soon heard a board shift and looked over—he was pulling the hat out from under the wagon.

“This it?”

You nodded, going over to take it from him. He spoke before you could.

“We need to get your momma out from under there.”

Something about him using that word, calling her what you always called her…it crushed you. He didn’t even have to be told these were your parents. Because it was obvious. You had her hair. You had his nose. Your shoulders began to shake, and you were crying again, turning away so the man couldn’t see.

You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll do it. You’re in no state to lift the wagon anyway. Just hold her for me, would you?”

You could hold her. Had wanted to, had been too afraid to touch her in such a fragile state. You nodded and let him lead the way.

Your mother was face down, the only part of her trapped under the wagon her leg. If you ignored that, she looked peaceful too. You were afraid to turn her over, just as you were afraid to move your father. You had a feeling whatever damage had been done was worse on their undersides.

The man set your father’s hat down and stepped up to the wagon side, preparing to lift it. You stepped up to your mother. You crouched and touched her back, the same cold lifelessness meeting your gloved hand as it had when you touched your father. You swallowed your sorrow and steeled yourself. You owed this to her.

With a grunt, the man lifted the wagon and attempted to push her leg out from under it. You couldn’t watch, knowing how wrong it would look, but you could help. You could hold her one last time. You wrapped your arms around your mother as you had so lovingly before and pulled.

“There,” the man said, letting the wagon back down with a crash of more broken wood. You couldn’t stand the sound—you were sobbing again.

“You take whatever time you need. I’ll carry ‘em over when you’re ready.”

You wordlessly thanked him for it. You had been dreading that, wanting to remember them as whole and nothing more. So this would be the last time you looked upon them. You would recall them sleeping, resting. Waiting for you.

You heard the man walk away as you let your mother go. Looking between her and her husband she loved so dearly. The only man to ever soften her.

His hat was resting beside him now, another small kindness from the stranger. You waited until he was far enough away not to overhear you before saying a word. Then you spoke, swearing it would be the last time you ever did so.

“I know why you wanted to take this trip.” You whispered it through a sob and were surprised to hear the words. Their reasons didn’t matter now. But it had mattered enough to you before to act coldly toward them. Now all you wanted was to tell them you understood. They had just been trying to show you love any way they knew how. You wanted to take back all that resentment, show them the love you felt in return. So you said it aloud. No matter that it would fall on unhearing ears.

“And I understand it now, and I forgive you for it…” You broke down, words impossible. How to sum up how deeply you cared for them in so little time? Your father always said it was actions that mattered, not words. Maybe that was all you could stomach anyway.

You bent down and kissed your mother on the side of her face, what little bit of it was showing. You moved and kissed your father on the forehead. You put his hat back on his head. They were too far apart for you to grab both of their hands. So you laid between them, facing the sky.

“Another morning,” you whispered, the cold air stinging your face. The words your father always woke with, repeating like a prayer. And your mother’s constant reply. “May it be as kind as you are.”

Your eyes welled with sadness, so you shut them. Back in the drafty room you had grown up in. Between your sleeping parents.

“I love you both.” You half heartedly wished death had been close by all along, waiting for you to say this to take you. But the pain in your side was too real. And the darkness behind your eyes wasn’t full enough. And your parents were on the wrong sides of the bed.

You laid there and cried for a long time. You weren’t sure how long, only that it didn’t feel right to get up and leave them now. To keep on living. It was unfair.

You heard the same animal from the night before make its loud call, the only thing to stir you. It was an elk. Strong and proud and always afraid. The three of you combined. But if you were the fearful one, when would you ever be allowed to rest?

You sat up, turning toward the sound. It was too far for the animal to be in view. But in that direction was the man from before, the one you had completely forgotten about. He was turned away, watching the sky. Waiting. You thought of his offer to go away from this place and felt that fear clutch you tightly. But what else would you do? Stubbornly stay here, neglect the very thing your parents had wanted for you? It was your refusal to take this trip all over again. You wished with such harsh regret that you had stood firm, made them stay home with you. Then they wouldn’t be lying broken on the ground, and you wouldn’t have to force yourself to do something you could never find the will to do in the first place. But your parents had wanted you to start your own life, one out of the snow and the hardship. Maybe this was the world’s cruel way of forcing you.

You sighed, shaking off your crippling sorrow and rising to your feet. You gave one last look at your parents. As much as you hated it, you would do it for them. Of course you would.

Within the hour, the man had brought them both to their final resting places and married the dirt with the ground it belonged to. He had asked if you wanted to do the honors, to speak over them, anything. You couldn’t even find the will to shake your head at him. You just watched from a distance, knowing you didn’t want to see them like this anyway.

When the deed was done and the man stepped away, wiping his brow with the effort, you turned and walked back to the wagon without a word. It was over. And you were still alive.

The man spoke. “Look, I know it ain’t my place but…you don’t need to be staying out here. There’s bears and wolves and all manner of animal that’ll eat you for the hell of it.”

He didn’t understand it and likely never would—what wanting to die looked like. But as much as you hated it, he was right. You wouldn’t meet your death here because of the same stubbornness your parents had tried so hard to correct.

You refused to respond and got to the wagon, prying through its broken boards and trying your best to ignore the sound. You wanted the keepsake you had been too weak to consider taking until now. You hadn’t truly thought you would find the strength to leave them, to need something like this. But the stranger of a man had come along like your parents’ very own dying wish, and you wouldn’t wrong them again.

You crawled on your belly underneath the wagon, the inside of it nearly unrecognizable—a tangle of ripped canvas and splintered wood. You dug through what the man had left behind after his search for anything valuable, knowing this wasn’t something he would have taken. You lifted a blanket and heard a familiar ruffle of pages as something small fell to the ground. Underneath the blanket lay the leather-clad book your father couldn’t bring himself to get rid of—a ledger. Though it hadn’t started out that way. You recalled growing up and learning your letters from your mother, sitting beside your father as she forced him to do the same. You picked up the ledger and looked through the first few pages, his terrible attempts at words. You knew without having to look further their spelling got better over time, though his handwriting never did. Then how his words turned to numbers, to how much hay and meat and skins he had sold or traded, how much the three of you needed to survive. It was obvious on the pages you had pored over time and again that words were not his specialty. The concern and care he showed his family was, written in determined number after number.

You closed the ledger and clutched it tightly to your chest. It was your father’s essence, your mother’s determination to teach him. You would hold onto it like your life depended on it.

You heard a knock on the wagon side and startled. The man was staring in at you. Maybe he was beginning to understand you better—he didn’t say a word. Didn’t try to convince you to come out. That alone had you feeling a little less uneasy. You were taught not to trust strangers, but this man had done more than most people you knew well would. The least you could do was show some semblance of thankfulness and let him take you somewhere safe enough to please him before you parted ways.

He moved out of the way as you shimmied out from under the wagon, outright ignoring your pain. It was a fickle thing to you now. It came and went, and you couldn’t give much care to it one way or the other. It just was. Just as the state of the wagon was. Just as the newly dug graves were, forever marring the ground now.

You clambered to your feet with ledger in hand and faced the man, unspeaking.

“You coming then?”

You hesitated, knowing how this would shape your life. To live or to die. To do as your parents wanted or to live the way they had—not long enough.

You met the stranger’s eye and nodded at him.

“All right then. Come on,” he said, as simply as if you had just agreed to a warm meal or night’s rest. Not your life. He motioned you to follow and made for his horse. “Name’s Arthur.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your name circled through your head, one of the last things your parents had given you that was still yours to hold. He didn’t need to know it anyway.

He soon mounted his horse and helped you up. You settled onto the back of the beast, making it shift with the new weight. Unnecessary weight. An added burden. That’s all you were now. The only purpose you stood lay hundreds of miles away in either direction. So where to go and what to do if not lay underneath the dirt beside your parents? They would have been able to tell you. But that was the very thinking that had warranted this trip.

You gave one last look at the rough-cut graves now covered with earth, noting the tree, the rock face, the bridge you would not forget. You would be back someday. You would not let them lie here forever, unknown and uncared for.

When the newly named stranger spurred his horse forward, you were filled with every ounce of hurt, pain, regret. Determination. You would not let the two people that mattered most to you die thoughtlessly, in vain. You would meet them again with a story to tell. For them, you would live. Crushed beneath the weight of death, you would live.

_________

Chapter two is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 year

Text

Capitol Punishment IX

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage

Word Count: 3.3K

Part VIII | Masterlist | Part X

A/N Guys I have to have spreadsheets just to keep all the tributes straight

The next morning didn’t even feel like morning, you were too nervous about the games to sleep. So was Haymitch as you both whispered assurances in each others ears. Neither of you were stupid. While you were confident in Plutarch’s plan there was still a very real possibility that one or both of you would be killed by another tribute or the game makers. But you both suppressed those feelings, each reveling in their spouse’s touch.

But as the sun officially rose over the Capitol, you were torn from each other. Of course you each promised to find and protect the other.

You were flown to the arena with Katniss and Cinna. No one spoke a word except for a Capitol woman as she injected the tracker into you. It was just as painful as the first time eight years ago.

Once you landed you went to your tube first. “Your suit has no thermal. It’s thin and waterproof, I suspect a tropical climate,” Cinna explained to the both of you before becoming serious. “Y/N, it was an honor to work with such an iconic Victor. I’ll see you on the other side,” he said ambiguously. You knew he knew about the plan given all the designs he had shown you for Katniss in the future.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, stepping into the tube. The glass slid down encasing you while they went to Katniss’ tube.

You tried to calm yourself down, telling yourself that everything would be alright once you found Haymitch.

An automated voice informed you that there were 30 seconds until the timer as your platform was lifted. You were blinded by the simulated sun at you approached the top. The smell of seawater flooding your nose as you realized in horror you were surrounded by water. And you highly doubt they put you at the shallow end, you’d have to swim. Once you were fully settled on your platform and your eyes had adjusted, you scanned the arena. You were surrounded by water with rock runways leading to the center where the cornucopia sat. Behind you was beach with jungle laying just past that. You scanned the other tributes, horrified to realize that you couldn’t see Haymitch. Of course they’d put him where you couldn’t see him. But Annie was also stood on the next platform over. She looked like she was about to have a breakdown on her platform.

“Annie!” you called. She looked over at you, chest still heaving although you were glad to see relief wash over her features as she recognized you. “I can’t swim. Will you help me if I find Finnick for you?”

She nodded. 15 seconds left on the clock as you prepared. 10 seconds… 5 seconds… 3… 2… 1. The timer went off and you could see the other tributes dive into the water, many of whom also didn’t know how to swim.

Annie dove towards you, swimming surprisingly fast for such a small thing. Once she was only a couple feet away you slipped into the water, your head going under almost immediately. The water was so cold as you struggled to reach the surface, flailing your limbs desperately. A small hand grabbed one of your arms, tugging you up. Annie is too small to actually pull you out of the water but her touch managed to ground you enough to give you the sense to breach the surface. You took a large gulp of air as Annie helped support you. Together you doggie paddled your way to the rock runway which you desperately climbed up.

As you pulled yourself up onto the rocks you took a second, coughing and sputtering up the water you accidentally swallowed. As you were trying to regain your breath Annie started shaking your arm. You looked up to see one of the District 2 male tributes running at you with a sword and a determined look. But before you could even react he fell with an axe in his back. Johanna ran up, pulling the axe from his back, hitting him with it again before kicking his body back into the sea. “Run!” she yelled as she approached you. With her was one of her district partners, Blight, as well as Wiress and Beetee who was lugging a coil of wire.

She and Blight helped you up while also escorting Annie into the jungle. “Wait!” you called after a minute of running. “I need Haymitch and I promised Annie I’d help her find Finnick.”

“Trust me, we'll find them,” Johanna promised. “But right now we need to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the others.”

As Haymitch stood on the platform he looked for his wife desperately. Seeing no sign of her he knew he’d have to find her at the cornucopia. As the clock was counting down he looked over, finding Finnick in one of the other wedges. They sent each other a nod of understanding. As the timer hit zero, Haymitch dove into the cold water, determined to get to you before another tribute could.

While Haymitch had never been swimming he understood the mechanics of it. After a couple seconds of mostly just flailing, he found a rhythm and made his way to the rocks. He managed to quickly pull himself up, running to the cornucopia. He reached it just in time as Katniss was about to put an arrow through Finnick. “Wait!” he called. He reached them both, stepping in between the pair. “He’s our ally.”

Before Katniss could protest Finnick spoke. “You find Annie, I’ll find Peeta,” he said, already running off.

“Hay-” Katniss started to shout angrily as her mentor grabbed a sword.

“Trust me, you want him as your ally. Keep your friends close and enemies closer and all that jazz.”

Katniss couldn’t get another word in, too quickly interrupted by Finnick calling that he found Peeta. They both ran towards his voice, finding Finnick handing off his trident to Mags before diving in. Peeta was desperately trying to crawl up back into his platform as one of the male tributes from 1 was trying to drown him. They both went under, a body floating up as Haymitch began to worry that it was Peeta who lost. But when blond hair breached the surface he and Katniss let out relieved breaths. As Finnick was helping Peeta onto the rocks he scanned the arena, unable to find you. Had you drowned? Had another tribute killed you? Or did you just run off into the jungle. Haymitch hoped it was the last one as Katniss started dragging the five of them towards the jungle.

“I can’t leave without Annie,” Finnick insisted. Haymitch felt the same about his wife.

“We’ll find her, she won’t be anyone’s target. Right now we need to get off this island,” Katniss insisted, running off with Peeta. Given that she needed to be protected the most, the two hopelessly in love men followed after her, praying that their lives were safe.

After a couple minutes of running Johanna had finally deemed the group “safe” and you were allowed to stop. “Y/N we have to find Finnick,” Annie almost immediately insisted.

“Not right now,” Johanna interrupted. We have no clue where they are and right now everyone is scattered. We’ll wait until everyone has settled for the night.

Annie looked reluctant but complied, settling down with Wiress.

“We have to find fresh water,” Blight said from beside you. Suddenly the canons started going off. You counted 16 deaths.

Once the canons were done you spoke. “Were there any supplies at the cornucopia?” you hadn’t even been able to get a good look of what was in it. It looked like mostly weapons.

“No, just weapons,” Beetee explained, messing with the wire despite the blood you noticed seeping across his shoulder.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Nuts over there just had to have the wire. Took a knife in the back to get it,” Johanna explained angrily.

“Okay so no supplies. They want this over quickly,” you scoffed. “They’re just trying to execute the victors without actually executing the victors.”

“We need to watch for others also searching for water in the jungle,” Beetee explained.

“We may also have to head back to the cornucopia. I don’t have any weapons,” you observed the others. Blight and Johanna both had axes, Beetee had his wire, Wiress was holding a small knife, rocking back and forth, and you knew that Annie would never pick up a weapon. “We can try to go when-” but you were interrupted by a beeping parachute. Everyone looked up with faces of confusion and surprise at a sponsor so soon in the games.

“God I hope it’s water” Blight wished as the parachute landed, getting tangled in some vines. Fortunately it was still withing reach as you plucked it from the flora.

You opened the box spotting a belt with various knives sheathed inside along with a note,

I look forward to seeing you after the games, Y/N. - Your clients

You had a sick feeling in your stomach, different from your usual nausea, knowing that this came from multiple people. But nevertheless you slung the belt onto your hips.

“Seriously? Already?” Johanna asked with disgust.

“It doesn’t come without it’s price,” you muttered. “Might as well get some use out of it rather than someone else.”

A look of respect crossed over her face. You surveyed the others, finding Wiress and Annie sharing what looked like chestnuts. “Woah wait, do you know for certain what those are?” you asked.

“Yeah, they grow in Victors Village in 4,” Annie explained.

You let out a sigh of relief, moving to sit by them. Annie held one out for you which you took. You were starving. You hadn’t been able to eat that morning and even if you were able to eat you’re sure you would’ve thrown it up anyway. Fortunately the fetus, maybe also starving, didn’t cause you to throw up the chestnuts and you were finally able to keep something down.

As you are you tried to talk with Wiress but she never responded and when she did it was nonsensical. Unsure of what was going on you instead turned your attention to the others.

You carried on for a little while after that but soon enough night fell and along with that were the fallen tributes in the sky. You were relieved you didn’t see Haymitch or anyone else you cared about but your heart broke for all of them. They all fought so hard however many years ago to survive in the hopes of living the rest of their lives in peace. Only for that life to be ripped away and for them to die cruel, terrifying deaths back in the arena. If only they could’ve lived just another day or two, maybe Plutarch could’ve gotten them out.

Meanwhile Haymitch and the others were all watching the fallen tributes in the sky, everyone relieved to not see yours or Annie’s faces.

As night settled over both groups, you and Johanna both decided to take watch. You too a seat next to her, leaning up against the tree she was also leaned on. “Do you miss him?” she suddenly asked.

“Yeah, I do. But he wasn’t in the sky so we can find him and Finnick tomorrow.” You looked at Annie who was curled into a little ball a couple feet from you.

“I can’t believe they put her back in here,” Johanna scoffed. “Any of us but her especially.”

“I’m convinced the word ‘cruel’ doesn’t exist in the Capitol. They’re so desensitized they don’t even know what it means. And Snow knows, he just doesn’t care. All he cares about is making sure people know that you can’t ‘overcome the power of the Capitol,’” you mocked his words.

Johanna hummed in agreement. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to *you,” you returned, referring to the fact that Snow killed everyone she loved for her refusal to become like you.

Your heart to heart was then interrupted by what sounded like the ringing of a very heavy bell with a menacing sound. 12 chimes. It woke the others up just in time for them to watch a large tree be struck by lightning a few times. “What the hell?” you murmured.

“Tik tok,” Wiress then suddenly muttered. “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, the mouse went down, hickory dickory dock.”

“Wiress? Are you okay?” Annie asked. But Wiress just continued on with the nursery rhyme.

“I think she may be in shock. Dehydration isn’t helping either,” Beetee explained.

“You think you could bat your eyelashes and get us some water?” Johanna asked you sarcastically.

“Beetee makes all their gadgets for them, make him do it,” you protested.

“Do you think the thundercloud that made the lightning will also rain?” Annie asked from her position still sat on the ground.

“It’s not raining now, doubt it will. The game makers a probably only made the lightning strike,” Johanna dismissed.

“Tiktoktiktoktiktok,” Wiress’ repetitions got louder, catching everyone’s attention. She was looking up at the sky so all of your gazes followed, spotting a heavy looking cloud crawling over your spot. Almost immediately after you all noticed it, rain started pouring from the sky.

You and the others initially eagerly reveled in the cooling drops on your skin but you all came to the quick and horrifying conclusion that it was blood. Blood was pouring from the sky so thick and so fast it was becoming blinding. While you were still able to open you eyes all you could see was red. You had managed to stumble underneath a tree which gave you temporary relief but soon enough the leaves were saturated and pouring blood on you as well. You were still able to see enough when Blight stumbled away from the rest of you, trying to find cover when he was suddenly electrocuted, flying back five feet.

You couldn’t tell who else witnessed it but the second you opened your mouth to shout for him, it filled with blood. You’ve had your fair share of injuries that resulted in bleeding in the mouth and you were no stranger to the horrible taste of blood but now you were gagging on it. It was so bad you felt tears well in your eyes as you continued to choke on the thick, hot, blood for god knows how long.

It eventually lightened up enough for the group to collect themselves. “We have to get to the beach,” you said, blood still finding its way into your mouth. The rain was still very much there except now you could all see. So you all headed out of the jungle, passing Blight’s blood soaked and charred body.

As you got closer to the beach, you heard a scream come from what sounded like across the arena. “Anyone recognize that voice?” you asked. The others shook their heads.

“Good, someone we don’t have to care about,” Johanna dismissed bitterly, continuing on. By now you were withing sight of the beach, just in time to see a giant wave crest over it’s wedge in the sea. It stopped once it reached the cornucopia, the wave forming a 90° angle once it reached the cornucopia. Annie, spotting the wave, clutched your arm, stumbling back a little. There was pure terror in her eyes. You remembered that’s how she won her games, she witnessed the drownings of the last handful of kids in her arena. She had somehow miraculously survived.

“Hey, it’s okay. It stopped, it’s gone” you tried to soothe. “Besides, you’re District 4. You and Finnick can handle a few waves, yeah? You’re okay, it’s not coming back,” you promised.

Annie nodded hesitantly as she allowed you to continue to lead her to the beach. You all stumbled out onto the sand, having to coax Wiress out into the open.

“Annie?!” a shout called, causing you all to turn.

You recognized that voice. And so did Annie. “Finnick!” she called back, running towards him.

Haymitch was half frozen in place staring at his wife covered in blood. He wanted to cry he was so relieved to see you but so worried seeing your blood covered state. You spotted him first, running towards him. He met you, opening his arms to catch you in a tight hug. “I was so scared one of those canons was you,” Haymitch whispered against your hair.

“Me too,” you muttered back.

“Are you... both okay?” he whispered hesitantly, trying not to clue anyone else in, both Capitol and tributes.

“Yeah, I think so,” you nodded.

“Good. Now what happened?” he asked, pulling back a little to observe all the blood.

“It’s not mine,” you clarified. By now all the others had joined you. “It was raining blood in the jungle.”

“Hot, thick blood. It was choking us. We were stumbling around gagging on it, blind,” Johanna practically screamed angrily. “That’s when Blight hit the forcefield.” She took a deep breath. “He wasn’t much but he was from home.”

Wiress then came over, muttering “Tik tok.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Katniss asked.

“She’s in shock. Dehydration isn’t helping. Do you have any water?” Beetee asked.

“We can get some,” Katniss answered. She then looked at you. “Glad you’re still alive.”

“Same to you,” you replied to the emotionally stunted girl. “Hey Peeta,” you smiled, welcoming his incoming hug.

By now Wiress and Johanna were struggling as the woman from District 3 was frantically trying to communicate with her. “Hey, get off her!” Katniss yelled, defensive of Wiress already. She pushed Johanna into the water, forcing Finnick and Haymitch to separate them.

“Stop it!” Haymitch yelled. “You’re allies now.”

“I got them out for you!” Johanna shrieked as Finnick pulled her away.

“For me? What does that mean?” Katniss asked, confused.

“She knew that’s what it’d take to get you as an ally,” you tried to explain. “C’mon, Wiress and I need help cleaning up,” you changed the subject. “You all should clean up too,” you suggested, gesturing to the people you hugged who now had blood smeared across their clothing. You, Katniss, Peeta, Wiress, and Haymitch all waded into the ocean, trying to rid yourselves of the blood.

Haymitch tried to help you scrub the blood out of your hair but it never seemed to fully come out so you gave in, tying it back with blood still faintly trailing your neck and chest. “C’mon,” Haymitch suggested gently, bringing you back to the beach. You sat down on the sand with Finnick, Annie, and Beetee.

“Hey, Y/N,” Finnick caught your attention. “Thanks for looking out for Annie.” She smiled at you from her position by his side.

“I’d still be stranded on that platform if it weren’t for her,” you explained.

“I think this stuff is too friendly for the Capitol,” Haymitch remarked sarcastically.

You laughed, stroking his hair from his eyes. “How’s sobriety? Real, cold-turkey sobriety?” you clarified

“Awful,” he muttered.

Your nice peace circle was then suddenly interrupted by Katniss running up to you all. “Guys it’s a clock!”

Part VIII | Masterlist | Part X

#haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader

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alans-maladaptive-daydreams · 1 year

Text

The monster living in my mind. Yandere!MC x Obey Me brothers.

I've always seen fics of the brothers being yandere, which makes sense, they are demons but I think I also want to see a bit more yandere!mc so I wrote this. I didn't put a specific brother because the use of pacts and magic is a bit involved so it affects all seven equally, feel free to imagine it with whoever you want.

note: I might edit it again later to change the gender of the witch, since I don't feel completely comfortable with the female gender for the lover, I'll see if I can do it another day (cries in college student) I've been doing this for almost 3 months now so I just want to finish it lol.

Warnings: Violence, mutilation of the human body (self-harm and injury to a third party), infidelity, mental illness, insecurity, and insults related to someone's sex life. (I think that's all if there should be anything else I will edit it immediately, suggestions are very welcome). No-native writing, corrections are welcome.

Reader: Gender neutral.

Genre: Yandere and explicit violence.

Masterlist

You had always managed to control those negative feelings that consumed your brain. Those feelings that made you think that the person you loved was betraying you, those same feelings that convinced you that you deserved it because after all you will never be enough.

Although you were a very jealous person, you rarely showed it to your partner. You suffered in silence and sometimes even other people paid the consequences of your moodiness and insecurities.

Your jealousy sometimes terrified you, the thought of ripping the throat out of anyone who had the slightest romantic or sexual interest in your partner was not uncommon in your head. Sometimes your brain played tricks on you, convincing you that you should make them understand that no one would love them more than you. They belonged to you.

You were aware that these thoughts were dangerous, you usually pushed them into the deepest and darkest depths of your being because, in the end, it was all part of your imagination and insecurities.

You had different partners, and none of them gave you a reason to distrust or get violent treatment from you. So even though you brutally disliked certain friends of your exes, you never said a word and preferred to ignore the violent flame inside you.

That was until you met him, a beautiful demon from head to toe who, while you brought out the best in him, he brought out the worst in you.

Many of your insecurities were drowned out as you moved through life together, yet they never completely disappeared.

The violent feelings became almost extinct, but they were still there, waiting to be fulfilled at the right time.

That's why you were visiting your psychologist almost daily, that violent insecurity resurfaced.

It resurfaced like an unstoppable flame, a bomb waiting to explode.

In a constant state of nervousness, your body trembled every time your boyfriend had an attitude that made you distrust him.

It started out as something you chose to ignore, but it never left a good taste in your mouth. All of his devices now had a different password than the one you knew.

When you questioned him, afraid of making him think you were invading his privacy, he simply replied "Security", you didn't dare ask him for the new passwords because you feared it would make you look bad.

Your second sign was his obvious nervousness every time he received a message or a call which, of course, he had to take in private.

It was then that you decided to blindly trust your boyfriend and avoid at any cost those thoughts that were taking away your sanity.

However things became more evident, from cancelled dates, strange looks at RAD, his brothers' nervousness when you asked for his whereabouts, his disappearance for hours at a time with ambiguous explanations. The relationship became weird, to the point that your boyfriend couldn't even look you in the eye every time you met because he didn't even have time for you, in his words; he had too much work to do.

That part of you that you thought you had buried was resurfacing, but much more violent, psychotic and anxious.

It was as if your brain was screaming at you in a loud voice "He's cheating on you, kill that slut so he can see who he's fucking with".

The thought of your beloved boyfriend with someone else disgusted you and made you completely sick.

It was then that something in you changed. You don't know what it was exactly, and you can't explain in what moment you started to think like that. It just happened, it was as if that sick and violent being that had always lived in you had finally found a way out, and you decided to accept it because, after all, that was your reality.

"We're demons, you're stupid for thinking he wouldn't cheat on you. "The demon mocked you as she showed you a video in which her friend, a witch, and your beloved boyfriend were the main characters in a sexual scene so repulsive that your stomach turned inside out creating a pain you never thought you would be able to feel.

With trembling legs and a broken heart, you walked to the bathroom holding back your tears and the vomit that threatened to come out. The demon watched you walk with perhaps the saddest look she had ever seen on you.

As soon as you entered the bathroom, you stuck your head in the sink, completely emptying your stomach.

Your cold fingers ran over the dark circles under your eyes, caused by sleepless nights of overthinking the whole situation. You reached down to your lips, covered in the residue of breakfast, and with a trembling hand, you stilled the sob of pain that shot through you like a bullet.

Tears soon overflowed from your eyes as your heavy breathing forced you to crouch on the floor, making yourself as small as possible, as if that way you could avoid the intense pain you felt. Your fingernails reached your scalp, digging violently into it, causing blood to slowly stain your hands.

"'Son of a bitch" you whispered.

You were going to kill him. Him and his fucking whore.

You were going to eat his brains while his brothers watch your feast.

Or better, you were going to rip every fingernail off his body, every finger, every tooth and make a beautiful necklace.

You'd open his head like a jar and eat his insides for breakfast.

You were going to tear him apart piece by piece. You were going to burn every part of his body that you touched until you saw living flesh.

Although you knew you were only a mere human, you also knew that the pact that bound your souls together was your greatest weapon. You were not the same human that had started the exchange program, you were a powerful sorcerer and you had seen death with your own eyes, you were not afraid. You were going to ruin his fucking life.

"Sometimes demons need a show of dominance to know their place, you must prepare yourself because eventually, that day will come". Your master had told you a long time ago. You never thought that day would come so soon.

You stood up and looked at yourself in the mirror, the wounds on your scalp looked deep enough for blood to drip down your face.

"MC? Fuck, I didn't know you'd get like that, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have shown you that." The demoness approached you with a worried expression. She placed a hand on your back to comfort you.

"No, thanks. I needed to see it."

Your cold tone sent a shiver down the girl's spine, without looking at her you headed for the exit and before you left she said; "Don't blame her, okay? I know you know her and you exchanged a couple of words. She's not a bad person, it was just a mistake."

"I don't give a fuck, he was my fucking boyfriend, she knew that." with that, you walked out of the bathroom and headed straight to the House of Lamentations.

That day you locked yourself in your room and refused to let anyone in. They were all traitors, they always knew about his affair with his mistress and didn't have the balls to tell you.

Every time you remembered how they told you they appreciated you and thanked you for saving their family your stomach would drop. You no longer saw them as your friends, they were just disgusting beings who needed a reminder of who was in charge.

For seven days you didn't sleep, you didn't go to RAD and you didn't eat. For seven days you watched your boyfriend's every move, his whore's every move. Every move was etched in your brain like a tattoo. You didn't need to think about it for a second to recite it out loud.

By the end of the week, everything you had been repressing and controlling for years had come to light. What you had always been was now comfortable in your brain, the insecurity was gone, but the violence was more alive than ever.

At the end of the seventh day, in the middle of the night, what you had always feared became your nature.

You grabbed your bag and left your room, leaving it secured in case any of the brothers tried to break in, a spell that would shatter any limb that even accidentally touched your door.

"MC?" you heard one of his brothers say, but you ignored him. You were too focused on your plan.

Behind the House Of Lamentations was the place where you opened a portal, one straight to her lover's house. You didn't hesitate for a second to walk through it, standing right in the entrance hallway.

Your ears heard what you had always feared.

The familiar moans along with a not-so-familiar voice. The sharp movement of the bed's wood.

The love you had once felt for him disappeared completely.

You walked through the dark house, trusting your hearing until you reached the door.

Before you opened it you contemplated all that you were putting at stake in carrying out your desires. You contemplated whether it was really worth it. However, that little spark of reasoning vanished as soon as it arrived.

You set your bag aside and opened it.

The heavy hammer saw the moonlight for the first time since you had bought it. You held on tight and opened the door.

If at any time your sanity was present during all that suffering, after what you saw that night it not only disappeared, you killed it and buried it deep inside your annihilated and diseased self.

Silently you approached him and the first blow was directly to his head. Knocking him unconscious instantly.

The whore looked at you with frightened eyes and screamed trying to get the heavy body off her.

"Do you like getting into other people's relationships?" you asked, grabbing her hair in a fist and dragging her into the living room.

"You're fucking insane!" she screamed as she kicked and struggled with your violent grip. You lifted her body roughly and slammed her against the hard wall, squatted down and with your hand gripping her hair you forced her to look at you.

"Do you like messing with other people's relationships?" you asked again. She tried to defend herself from you with a pathetic and weak spell. You laughed and grabbed her face violently. "That's your attempt to save yourself? You should put a little more enthusiasm into it, like when you spread your legs like the whore you are."

She perhaps saw that she really couldn't against you, after all she knew who you were and she knew that no one could control the seven princes of hell as easily as you, so she felt that her only solution was to kneel at your feet and beg for forgiveness, praying for sanity to return to your mind, for your humanity to win over that monster that had awoken.

"I'm sorry," she cried, her voice heavy with fear. "I won't get into your relationship again" she grabbed your legs begging for your forgiveness over and over again.

"I hope it was worth it," you muttered as you grabbed her hair again to drag her into the dining room.

"What are you going to do?" she asked between sobs still clutching your arm, in an attempt to loosen your hard grip.

"You'll see." you smiled as you picked her up and slammed her down on the table in the middle of the room, causing her bones to crack slightly. "Or you may not survive to find out." You placed a hand on her chest as she tried to get up quickly and with a simple spell you completely paralyzed her body.

Her eyes widened gigantically and as she tried to scream for help you pulled the rest of your things out of your bag.

"It's no use, try screaming all you want, no one will hear you."

"What the fuck are you doing MC?" The voice of the main character appeared behind you. You turned to see him, blood was pouring from his head and he was in his demonic form in all his glory.

He was the love of your life, but if he couldn't play fair you would have to get rid of him, and you knew it would hurt you more than him.

"Don't worry, you'll be the only audience to this wonderful show I call 'Whore Anatomy, for cheating boyfriends'. Sit down and shut your mouth." He rushed over to you, intending to stop you. "Sit down, and shut your mouth." you repeated in a loud, clear voice. The pact worked its magic and your boyfriend was sitting there staring at you with undecipherable eyes.

"You know I love you, don't you? That's why I'm doing this because I love you and you must not disappoint those who would give their lives for you," you said as you took different things out of your bag.

You looked at all your instruments and thought carefully about what to start with, the excitement made your skin crawl. You didn't expect it to be so exciting.

"So, that's why I'm going to show you that this bitch isn't worth what I'm worth and hasn't done what I've done for you. It will be…educational." your eyes sparkled at the sight of the sharp scalpel. You took it and showed it to your boyfriend. "Pick a portion of the head. Ears, nose, eyes…" your kind smile faded as you saw his expression of fear, your hand slammed violently against his cheek and you repeated. "Choose a portion of the head. Ears, nose or eyes."

"Eyes…" he whispered to your surprise.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to go straight to it." You laughed and approached the witch, who was silently praying. "Stop praying, hoes don't go to heaven." With your fingers you opened her eyelids and showed her the scalpel. "Eyes are a hollow, fibrous globe, we use them to see beautiful things and to see unpleasant things. Whores, like your friend here, use it to track down men in relationships and crawl like a snake to get some cock" you muttered as your scalpel pierced the socket of the girl, who was crying and trying to scream, or so you thought after all her mouth was sealed.

As your sharp scalpel pierced the socket, her quiet cries became more erratic. " Quiet." you murmured, trying not to lose your concentration. Your index finger buried itself in her lacrimal duct pressing hard in an attempt to pry the eye out as cleanly as possible. Blood stained your fingers and the witch's constant attempts at movement were beginning to annoy you. "Stop or I'll cut your fucking eyelids off."

When she calmed down, you took the opportunity to completely bury your finger in the lacrimal, practically ripping the eye out of its socket and cut the nerve that attached it to her body.

You looked at the orb with pride and showed it to your boyfriend. "I pulled it off pretty well, don't you think?"

Your boyfriend looked at you with a strange look on his face, one you couldn't quite figure out. However, the game had only just begun, and the excitement was altering every part of your body.

Morning came, and your boyfriend woke up to the sun shining directly on his face. He looked around when the reality of everything that had happened the night before hit him violently.

"Good morning." You smiled brightly. "Go get changed and make me breakfast, the ingredients are in the freezer." you pointed to the kitchen as you lazily flipped through the channels.

Your boyfriend looked around, everything seemed normal, as if nothing had happened. He was a demon thousands of years old, he'd seen and done some fucked up shit but what he'd seen you do surpassed anything he'd ever lived through.

He've never seen a human look so… happy while mutilating a living person piece by piece.

He had never seen your smile and gaze as bright as it was last night.

He walked over to the fridge and opened the freezer, finding his mistress's frozen head, along with different pieces of her body separated into containers.

"So? Any idea what you're going to make?" you asked as you sat down on the island with a quiet smile.

It was then that he realized who was in front of him.

The monster watched him curiously as they rocked back and forth gently, perhaps trying to soothe the voices that were tormenting their deteriorated mind.

He realized that he had never truly met the depths of your being, that your loving, human form was nothing more than a barrier to prevent the one thing you yourself feared from coming to light.

But now… you seemed comfortable with this new nature of yours.

Too comfortable for his liking.

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cleopatraphouse · 1 year

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what your favorite Parahumans ship says about you

(Obviously based on / inspired by @doubleca5t’s video series)

Taylor/Emma: You had a really hard time coming out as a lesbian.

Taylor/Sophia [ShadowSkitter]: Your favorite fanfic trope is enemies to lovers.

Taylor/Madison: You like redemption arcs, but you’re kinda lazy about it.

Taylor/Lisa [Smugbug]: “Be gay, do crimes” is not just a meme to you, it is your personal motto, it is your way of life.

Taylor/Rachel [Wolfspider]: You are queer and neurodivergent.

Taylor/Brian [Skrue]: Considering how uncommon this ship is you might honestly be Wildbow.

Taylor/Alec [Jitterbug]: Your addiction to edgy boys who have trouble talking about their feelings is terminal. You have seven days left to live.

Alec/Brian: You’re doing your best in a series with barely any viable M/M ships in the main cast.

Alec/Brian/Lisa/Rachel/Taylor [Polysiders]: You’re super into the found family trope. You’re also super horny.

Aisha/Taylor [Forgetabug]: “Hoe don’t do it” is your favorite meme and ideal relationship dynamic.

Aisha/Brian [Laborncest]: You have an incest kink. And low standards.

Aisha/Alec: Doing crimes is more important to you than being gay.

Amy/Victoria [Guts & Glory]: You have an amazing ability to ignore the parts of canon you don’t like. And you have an incest kink.

Amy/Taylor [Pillbug]: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of being lonely together.

Taylor/Victoria [Punch Buggy]: Your appreciation for strong female protagonists is only outweighed by your appreciation for exploring trauma.

Amy/Taylor/Victoria: You think most friendship drama could be solved with a threesome. And you have an incest kink.

Amy/Lisa: You just wanted good things for Amy. And really, you’re allowed to want that.

Lisa/Victoria: You’re just here for the hatesex.

Dean/Victoria: You had a pretty easy time of it in high school.

Uber/Leet: One of the hottest things you can imagine is a dude saying “no homo” just as he gets balls deep in his boyfriend’s ass.

Lily/Sabah [Needlepoint]: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of protecting someone.

Taylor/Dennis [Clockroach]: You like Worm, but you don’t get why it has to be so dark and morally ambiguous all the time.

Danny/Jack Slash [Jack Daniels]: You are desperate, DESPERATE for father figures.

Assault/Battery: You think any joke can only be improved by slapstick.

Contessa/Number Man [Countessa]: You also ship Chell and Wheatley.

Colin/Dragon: You’re a robofucker, obviously, but more than that you’re a transhumanist.

Ashley/Victoria [Starsong]: Your favorite fanfiction trope is useless lesbians.

Sveta/Victoria: You’re a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of shared trauma.

Erin/Rain: You have at least a passing interest in trad aesthetics, and a strong interest in FLR.

Sveta/Weld: You like your monsters tragic and your relationships tragic-er.

Rain/(any of the Heartbroken girls): You’re into femdom.

Jack Slash/Number Man: You toil in the yaoi mines all day and all night and have done so for at least twenty years.

#parahumans #cleo is fandom posting #what your favorite ship says about you #'why isn't x ship here' because i don't see fics of them #'why isn't there more Ward stuff' because Ward isn't very good #extras:#'Emma and Alec' you read Intrepid (good taste)#'Brian and Purity' you read Silencio extremely uncritically #'Taylor and Nice Guy' you don't mind reading the same fic over and over and #'Crimson and Winter' your ideal date ends with you getting killed by the feds

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sorcerous-caress · 7 months

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Secret confession | Minthara

[ ambiguous gender reader | pure romance & fluff ]

"What was it like, seeing the sun for the first time?"

As the words left your lips, the arms wrapped around you tightened their embrace. Despite the warm breath against the nape of your neck, you kept your eyes focused on the faint embers in the air above the bonfire, fading into nothingness with each crackle of the flame.

"Like a dream." Minthara whispered, her voice laced with the tiredness of a long day making it deeper than usual.

That long day has been stretching on for weeks so far, as luck would have it for your group of tadpoled misfits.

Her body was pressing against your back, her frame slotting perfectly into yours as if it was her rightful place, and yet from the way she held you each night, you had no doubt that she'd claw her place into your side and carve it if she had to.

"What kind of dream?" You wanted more.

"The kind where your entire cage shatters and you're akin to a lost dog in the wild after years of believing in a false reality." She remained composed as she spoke, "Lolth, her devotees aren't interested in the world above, the surface world served as nothing but an endless source of slaves to fall prey to our webs with each careless endeavour into the underdark"

Suddenly, the burning wood and dancing flames didn't seem so interesting to your eyes anymore.

You turned around, her hands grasped at you for a split second before letting go when she saw you weren't pulling yourself away.

You were met with the same hardened expression you grew so fond of since you first saw her face.

Now fully facing her, with a gentle touch, you held her cheek in your palm as you moved your thumb gently across her skin.

Her expression faltered.

"You're free now, from Lolth, the absolute and the cage." You whispered softly.

With a shake of her head, she rejected your comfort.

"One doesn't realise they are in a cage until they break free. I might have gotten rid of one, but there is no proof I didn't just step into another."

You were about to interject when she hushed you with her thumb pressing against your lips, swiping at the soft flesh as her hand copied yours and held your face.

"As a mortal, my existence is limited, therefore my worldview will always be limited. Just like how I used to think the underdark was all there is to the world, I was proven wrong and if I begin to think the surface is all there is to the world, I will be proven wrong again."

Minthara trailed her hand from your face to your shoulder, going around to your back before dipping even lower.

She continued, "we are not omnipotent, we will never be. We are ruled by our own experiences and biases. And I accepted that reality when I was met with the blazing sun."

You inched closer to her, legs tangling together under the shared blanket.

"....I know you miss the underdark, you hang fluorescent lights around the camp, your tent also resembles it a lot."

There's a half smile to her lips as she reminisces about her previous home, the shining city of Menzoberranzan. The glittering stars above did resemble her home in some twisted way of fate.

"Maybe part of me is still in denial that the sun will always be there in the morning." She looked back at you as she spoke those words.

Extending the same olive branch a second time, you hoped to lessen her heavy burden. "After all of this is over, maybe we can revisit it together this time."

"There's no need" she shook her head again, "knowing my house they'd be on the hunt for me the second I take a step below the surface" She scoffed, "as they should, if they didn't I'd start thinking they grew soft and weak after my departure."

You buried your head in her neck in defeat. Your lover's stubbornness was a double-edged sword. "Are you sure you'd be content with that? Never seeing the underdark again?"

Caging you in with her arms, she kissed just below your ear in a rare moment of affection. "With you? I'd be content with the depth of seven hells."

#♡minthara #♡fluff #minthara x reader #Minthara #bg3 x reader #MIN MIN HAND IN MARRIAGE RIGHT NOWWWWW #SHE IS SO ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡#min min my beloveddddd

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cinnaminsvga · 2 months

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Harana Preview | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, fluff, angst → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, so much yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: what da hell who is she... HEY SO its been a while since ive written anything longer than 2k words and i really wanted to get back into writing, if only for practice... plus this is part of my heart full of hugot series that i teased literally eons ago and i want to finish it before the year ends... pray for my sanity ( ; ω ; )

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you continue, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and purse your lips uncomfortably.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

#my wips #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #i gotta stop making jimin a gremlin in these LMAOOO #at the very least he isnt insane in his installment of this series #idk who i should write for next... maybe hoseok? its been a while since ive written for him (or written anything at all lol)#i need to stop making hoseok evil... new year new me #OK ANYWAY i'll post the entire thing soon-ish... yippeeeee

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ilyuu · 8 months

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right where you left me.

synopsis : it takes years to build up feelings and memories that means the world to you and him, and it all takes one evening for it to break down and leave nothing but time standing still and a relationship that could've been. (or you recall the night you broke up with kazuha, thinking it all over again.)

tags : angst/no comfort, modern!au, childhood friends to lovers to strangers, mentions of getting high, light swearing, ambiguous ending.

wc : 2500+! (2635.)

a/n : and yes this is all based off of taylor swift’s right where you left me from perse!! along with that, please do excuse any grammar and formatting mistakes

for the saudade event by the all amazing and angsty creative @soleillunne! the first half is written by the wielder of cat pics, @https-furina, and the second half from yours truly. ready your tissues because in spite of the beautiful and vivid wording from verse, it hurts (in a good way, of course)! nonetheless, i hope you'd enjoy this as much as i did! <3

also, perse, thank you; i had so much fun writing this! the possibilities were endless for me, and reading your part when trying to get a feel for this story made me roll up in a corner and cry (not actually though, so don't worry about me, hehe),,

There's idle chatter and the faint clinking of cutlery and wine glasses, almost drowned out by the harsh winds and rain that batters the restaurant's dimmed windows.

The lights are soft and subdued yet hold a warmth that hugs every living being inside the building - some sheltering from the rainstorm, others rekindling with their lovers or families. That should be you, rekindling with a lover that was never yours in the first place.

To your left, you hear the gossip of two friends; a couple in their friend group recently broke up, "good riddance," one girl chirps, "she deserves better than him." The conversation promptly shifts to that of one regarding marriage and weddings. What would you have looked like on that fateful day with white veil and a glittering ring on your finger, the thought makes you grimace.

"What a sad sight," an elderly woman whispers to her husband from where they're settling at a table not too far away, she's gazing at you with a sorrowful look, "poor girl."

The words shift a small crack of a smile onto your face - is that truly how you looked to the unknowing bystanders around you? Did they think you'd been stood up on a first date?

If only.

The more you stare at the empty, red crushed velvet chair in front of you, the more the realisation starts to hit even harder than before that he isn't going to magically turn up, dressed ever so handsomely in smart casual attire with his silver hair in its usual messy ponytail.

You hadn't seen his face since that night, how pained he seemed as he watched you smash the empty wine glass adorning your table, his eyes trained on the way it shatters into a million pieces on the white cloth. It was almost a perfect metaphor for your heart at that exact moment.

"You know we're here because we need to talk, right?" His voice is familiar, nostalgic almost as he places his blazer over the back of his chair. He hasn't changed since you were children, sneaking after school to the nearest McDonalds until your curfew, "y/n.."

"Do we have to talk?" You respond quickly with a sharp tongue, your hands shaking as you find anything to do with them, this even includes unfolding and folding the napkin in front of you repeatedly. Conversations are whispered all around you, some followed by short laughter.

Kazuha almost winces at the tone of your voice but he knows it's deserved. You had been friends since you could remember, joined at the hip no matter what happened. Your mothers always commented that you were inseparable, never found without the other close behind - so how did it come to this?

It came to this because you had became attached, craving his presence at all times even as you went to university. You wanted him and nobody else could even remotely compete with the man that Kaedehara Kazuha had grown into somehow from that clumsy toddler you'd wrapped around your chubby fingers all those years ago.

For a while, the rebellious teen thought the exact same about you. He would ponder over the hours the two of you spent together in his dorm room, sharing a joint as you forget the stress of the exam season you'd just barely managed to survive.

He would reflect on the nights he'd carry you on his back, taking you back to your dorm after an exceptionally rough night clubbing with your friend group, who always roped you into unbelievable scenarios.

He had expressed his concerns over your friend group more than once but you had shrugged him off, flashing him that playful smile he couldn't get enough of. "It's fine, Kaz," you reassure him as you apply a layer of mascara to your eyelashes, "we only live once, right?" When you'd responded with that, Kazuha initially thought 'yeah, we do.'

Nights under star scattered skies sharing joints would only last so long, after all Kazuha was at university to study business management, the heir to his father's publishing company. With this future responsibility came the family reputation and the eventual arranged marriage to another rich family - that was a criteria that you had never fit in and pre-emptively, you never would.

"You know it's not my decision, y/n," His voice is almost breaking when he takes the seat in front of you, clammy hands clasped together in front of him on the clothed table. You scowl a little, it had never been his choice, had it? "we should seen this coming."

"We?" You repeat, narrowing your eyes at him, "you - you should have seen this coming."

Kazuha lets out an exasperated sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as he listens to the bustle of the restaurant around the pair of you. He starts to consider that a restaurant was not the best location to be having a lover's quarrel.

When he reopens his eyes, they fall to you across the table. Your eyes are glittering like the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling in the centre of the room and he can almost make out the tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes.

"I never wanted to hurt you, you know that, right?" For some reason, those words hurt your heart more than he most likely intended.

They feel like knives, sharpened daggers that plunge deep into your most fatal organ and tear it apart in ways that Kazuha would never be able to grasp. In that moment, you nearly wish that you could inflict this kind of pain on him so he could feel how your heart ached at that exact time or how the tears stung at your eyes, blurring your vision to the point where you could barely make his figure out.

Even with a singular tear running its uneven path down your cheek, you find the chance to smile, turning your gaze away from him as you let out a soft, pained laugh.

"If that's true, you should have known it would have hurt less for you to have turned me down instead of giving me a chance like you did." Your words bite at Kazuha more than you would ever know.

He hides the way his nails press into his skin, digging into it so hard they leave red, crescent moon marks and almost draw blood. Kazuha chews down on his tongue, the metallic taste of his blood flooding his mouth when he conveniently suddenly finds it hard to swallow, leaving him to succumb to the consequences of his own actions.

His mouth is dry when he opens his mouth to speak but words don't come out, just a simple exhale as he processes the back and forth argument that will continue for the rest of the night, "I've met her already."

"And? Is she nice?" You reply shortly, holding your tongue. There are thoughts running through your mind, hundreds in tens of seconds that you can't even grasp yourself. His family was wasting no time in selling this marriage to the media, gaining that social coverage they crave as socialites.

Kazuha lets out a small hum as if the energy had suddenly shifted back to normal between you.

"She's alright," Kazuha starts and you part your lips to speak, quick witted and sharp but Kazuha holds a hand up, silencing you before he continues, "but she isn't you."

"No, you don't get to get to pull that shit now, Kazuha," you laugh, it's bittersweet and causes Kazuha to visibly wince, "you damn well don't get to say shit like that anymore."

Kazuha's ruby eyes fall to how you are gripping an empty wine glass on the table, one that was supposed to be filled with a dark red liquid by now, its fruity taste becoming bitter on your tongues.

You have every right to be angry with him and Kazuha is drowned in remorse when he catches your knuckles turning white before the stem of the wine glass cracks in your palm, dropping the bowl of the glass onto the white cloth decorating the table as it shatters into sharp, broken shards.

The visual of glass breaking causes you to blink quickly, suddenly back to reality as you realise you're gripping at your phone in your hand with almost the same strength you'd put into the wine glass that night. Your muscles relax, leaning forward on the table as you rest your head in your hands.

It’s time to go.

So? There’s nothing much you can do now, and as much as it leaves such a bittersweet taste on your tongue that you can’t bother to swallow at all, it’s as much as the truth. Not as if some miracle can fly across the sky and everything will end in a happily ever after like in a fairytale. To rely on that, really, is desperation (is it really?) as its finest. Or maybe that’s your feelings talking. Maybe that’s just the lifetime worth of memories you held with him, sweeter and lighter than this entire evening has been, that’s making you want to hold onto that thin, fragile string of hope that means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You feel your chest ache, a familiar feeling lately that you’d rather disappear, fade, or just… vanish. Really. Just anything to make this go away; it’s more of a reminder than anything that makes it twinge whenever you run through that night in your head too many times to count, each small detail almost nothing, a blur, when all you see is the way Kazuha looked at you. Pained? Helpless? A combination of something you couldn’t pin on in the midst of your own heated thoughts?

You wipe the corner of your eyes with each hand, your warm palms something of a comfort. Not the time.

A moonless night bears witness to the two of you lying atop of the roof of your apartment complex, years felt like days, from your school days, with how clear the memory of Kazuha looking over to you with such adoration swirling in his eyes along with the faint stars.

Your shoulders start to tremble.

The embrace of a familiar warmth wrapping around your waist, the blanket slipping onto the floor from the edge of the couch nothing compared to the comfort seeping into your skin.

Muted colors play across the two of you from the movie - it’s nothing but a backdrop anymore as you find yourself a bit more focused on his hand, your fingers wrapped in his, the pad of your thumb lightly caressing the back of his. You feel his breath, a huff, waft over your neck from that.

You try to let go of a sigh. It only comes out as a broken whimper.

His lips shifting against yours, soft, so sweet, as quiet sounds are shared between two of you. His shallow sighs of your name dripping with every nights’ worth of what ifs, every waking days’ worth of thoughts that crossed and blurred a line between friends and something more.

A chance, a hope, a dream - all of it was woven into the few words Kazuha murmured against your lips, over and over, bounding it with you in his hope that it’d make it real.

You know it all meant something to Kazuha.

Every mote of sand of time that fell within the two of you meant something to him, cherished it close and closer to his heart than anything else. You know that much. It was obvious - so obvious, too obvious - in every word he said that carried gravity and care to you, in every act he’s ever done for you for the sake of making you smile. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He loved you. Kazuha loves you in every sense of the word. It was only that very love that led to this, as much as the two of you shared in it. This is the best for the two of you.

You know that, and he, of all people, especially knows that. It meant something to him, and so he just had to go ahead and say yes, let you into a world that was only for the two of you, and led you on until the edge of the world and into the reality you’re in now.

Do you blame him for that? For all of this? You’re not sure anymore.

Sure, of course, on that night, he knew where… this, the relationship, was going, how it was going to end. Kazuha could’ve prevented this if he hadn’t held your hand on that one day, stared into your eyes long enough for you to see that he felt the same - he instead gave you, this, a chance.

Things might’ve been better if he didn’t.

You click your tongue. Nope. Don’t think about him, or just don’t think in general - your thoughts are bound to come back to him regardless, no matter what you do. There’s no use thinking about this, no use in even giving it a second of your evening like this.

You stood up. The chatter stirs around you, aware or not, fades to the backdrop. It’s not exactly ideal to stay here, especially since you feel as though you’ll start crying at any given moment. You pick up your umbrella leaning against the leg of the chair, still dripping a bit.

In your thoughts, in your dreams, in your what ifs, yes, but this is neither of those things - this is the truth. This is your reality (how many times will you say that to yourself until you finally realize it?), and the reality is, amid soft, crackling candlelight, a gentle coat of companionship, cottony velvet rolling across the cushions, decor ivy slithering on the walls, just that - a rather pretty veil over your eyes to try and cloud the emptiness that sits with you across the table.

He’ll be alright. Of course he’ll be alright. He’s Kazuha.

You hadn’t realized you were already outside. The light jingle of the bell atop of you fades, leaving a lonely echo. The thrum of the rain felt underneath your feet, clearer than it had been inside.

There’s a heaviness in the air you can’t quite place either, or maybe that’s just all you and the feelings you can’t seem to leave behind (not that it’s easy to do so in the first place.)

For some reason, whenever it rains, you’d feel as though you can finally breathe (he’d know that). You try to smile. It’s weak, shy of breaking down, and to the point that even you don’t believe in it, but it’s a smile nonetheless; it makes you feel a bit better.

You bid goodbye to Kazuha, the thought of him.

You bid goodbye to the man you love.

You bid goodbye to the memories you know you’ll visit later whenever anything and everything reminds you of him.

Will he be happy? Will he be alright? You know you’ll find yourself thinking about this some time later, but you try to find comfort, even as thin as it is, in the idea that he’ll think of the same things you’ll be - that’ll he find that pseudo happiness in a past that’ll already be too far to reach into.

You open your umbrella, the panels springing open. The canopy you’re under trickles with rainfall, pelting said umbrella in an almost melodic symphony if you try hard enough to hear it. You take quiet pleasure in that as you walk out and into the tears.

You’ll be alright. He’ll be alright. You both will be alright.

(He doesn’t like the rain that much.)

The rain itself drowns that one out.

#saudade ; milestone #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x you #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfic #genshin angst #genshin fanfic

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eoieopda · 1 year

Note

hello, jade! 👋 congratulations on 2k followers 👏 👏 you deserve it sm!!! I'm so proud of you! 🫶 if it's okay, I would like to request something for your 2k drabblepalooza event, please. it would be a JungKook x reader e2l drabble with the trope "cuddling for warmth", please. :) (it's been hard for me to find some great fluffy fics with jk and I love everything you write, so I know it'll be good if you decide to write it ♡) thank you in advance, take care! 💕

tysm, sweet bean! as i am wont to do, i went a bit left field. hope that’s okay 😵‍💫 tbh, this one was actually really difficult for me to attempt in drabble format because those things feel so opposite to me and would normally justify a lot more backstory, i think?? but i loved the challenge!! i went more with a “life decided we are enemies” kind of thing.

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 811 | 18+ genre: hurt/comfort, angst au: enemies to lovers(ish), organized crime summary: you didn’t plan this far ahead. you should have. cw: implied gunshot wound & blood (after the fact, not described in detail) / implied criminal enterprise / reference to threats (a hit) / a plot twist? in this economy? / ambiguous ending

Jungkook hisses as he tightens the belt around his bicep. Not far below it, invisible with the deep black of his jacket, is proof that he isn’t invincible after all. In fact, he bleeds much more freely than anyone else you’d ever met — or, more specifically, anyone else you’d ever shot.

Clipped, rather. The bullet barely grazed him.

He sits two meters away, half-slumped and wholly displeased. Between you, there’s a spent shell casing — your last — that had previously been sitting pretty in a magazine, itself nestled in a pistol once strapped snugly against your right thigh. The gun was confiscated and that thigh strap is useless now, just like the black denim underneath it; the turtleneck sweater above it; and the radiator behind you that likely hasn’t worked at any point in your lifetime.

Cold concrete nips at your ass despite your jeans and you shiver. As it saps what’s left of your body heat, makes the back of your thighs tingle until they’re numb, you do your best to squeeze yourself tighter. You can’t reduce your surface area to zero, but if you shrink as much as is physically possible, you can try your best to keep warm.

For the same reason, you can’t lean your exhausted body against the stone wall behind you, but you can crumple forward and rest against the bent knees you clutch to your chest. You can’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, either, but you can use the fallout from your ponytail as cover and pretend that you aren’t.

Suffice to say, this was not how your night was supposed to go.

“Worst fucking shot I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook mutters through gritted teeth for what you imagine to be the hundredth time. His scoff is visible when it hits the air; his rage doesn’t dissipate the way his breath does. “Kim was right there and you hit me instead? Unbelievable.”

You don’t respond.

If you unclench your jaw to do so, the chattering of your teeth might reduce them to dust in your mouth.

Without your cell phone, you can’t tell how much time passes while you sit in silence. You can’t confirm your suspicion that the temperature outside has, in fact, dipped far below zero. Similarly, you can’t tell if anyone stuck around after locking you in this basement to see how long it would take for the cold to take you out — or to finish the job themselves if you beat the odds.

Jungkook huffs as he shifts in place. Now, with his back resting uncomfortably against the wall, he glares headlong at you. Unfortunately for him, looks can’t kill.

If they could, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Against your better judgment — again — you give in to the primal part of your brain that begs for self-preservation. Your muscles are stiff after so much time spent in knots, and they ache as you push yourself off the ground. Your joints protest too, clicking uncomfortably as they resettle. Wordlessly, you ignore the confusion knitting Jungkook’s brows together and cross over to him.

When you reach him, you drop into the space at his side — his good side — and lean against the arm that isn’t trying hard to clot. He doesn’t flinch or attempt to move away, either because he doesn’t have the energy or because he wants to live, too. So, you rest your head against his shoulder and your eyes drift shut as your combined warmth starts to soothe. Eventually, his cheek claims the top of your head. You have to glance up at him to confirm that this is a choice and not a sign.

Still breathing.

For now.

“Boss know how bad your aim is?”

He doesn’t because it isn’t.

You’re an expert marksman — the best of the best — and you don’t miss. Because he knows that, he now knows that your failure to take down the target wasn’t an accident; it was an illusion. Worse, it was a blatant refusal to carry out a direct order. One he gave to you because he’d wholeheartedly believed that you, more than anyone else, could be trusted.

Not like Jungkook, who isn’t the surreptitious infiltrator he thinks he is; and who still doesn’t grasp the rules or the stakes of the game he’s playing.

Who doesn’t know that the purpose of this errand wasn’t to kill a member of the Kim family; or that he was never meant to leave this warehouse with you.

Who will likely die regardless of your subtle attempt to dodge that outcome; and who — like you — didn’t plan more than two steps ahead.

Whose hatred for you and all you stood for was predetermined by circumstance; and who doesn’t know that you know.

It’s not a question when you reply.

“Boss knows you’re a badge, agent.”

#jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #2k drabblepalooza #jjk #jeong jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts #bts drabble #bts imagine #bts scenarios #btshoneyhive #micdropnet #btsafterdarknet #re: the one with jungkook and the sharpshooter

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thebottomfromhell · 2 months

Text

Headcanons

Reincarnation after courtship. Demon male reader, part two [here]

Reincarnation after courtship. Demon male reader, part one [here]

Reincarnation after courtship. Human male reader, part one [Original Ask]

Reincarnation after courtship. Human male reader, part two [here]

Warnings: Predatory-animalistic reader, Yandere behavior from reader (not a real Yandere, but still), Cannibalism, canonical demon's inability to grow and move on, Referenced sexual content, Mentioned non-character human death, Friends-with-benefits relationship, Ambiguous endings, and Toxic relationships.

Reader:

You didn't manage to do everything he wanted to you to do, one of your biggest failures is finding Tamayo and not being able to kill her. You almost did, managed to rip her apart with your hands and fangs, but with that doggy brat of hers she managed to scape you and almost got you to say his name. You never found her again, you had the flavor of her flesh and blood always in your mouth, you searched for a while, but then gave up. You were not killed for failing, so it's probably not a big deal, still you have her blood on you, so you will know if she is near. You could keep searching, hunting her to death for her betrayal, but you want to spend you time in something else. In someone else.

You like to think of yourself as a good man, or at least a good lover, courting took effort, but having that very special demon, an Uppermoon no less, warming up to you and letting you be in their life is worth it. It was fine, a good life, all because he was alive. And then he wasn't. You were not on their final battle, but you felt the second both him and your beloved were gone.

G O N E

And it drives you mad, they are all still gone, only Tamayo's puppy left. You spend your days searching for him because how come both you and him get to LIVE when your Upper Moon did NOT? Now is the Twenty-first century, it's been around one hundred years but that dog hides as good as always, it doesn't help that civilizations are everytime more demanding (What do you mean papers? Camara what? How come plastic stamps now have magic money?) and you still must hide from the sun and eat humans. You never found Tamayo's dog....

But you found your lover.

Gyutaro (ft. Daki):

You think it's cute how he still takes care of his sister, Daki is as pretty as ever! You find Gyutaro working in one of his several jobs, skipping education that nowadays seems too important and expensive for it to be fair, trying to pay housing, food and get for the younger one to be able to study, even if she clearly is not the smart one between the two (maybe that's why she needs the money). You follow him to his home, and start leaving there things you steal in those districts where the Yakuza like to think they are the worst there is in the country. There people will notice more the missing wallet than the corpse itself.

Again, Gyutaro is smart, so he becomes paranoid when money in no small amountd start appearing besides him when he wakes up. It was only matter of time he would manage to fool you into showing yourself. He did it one night when Daki was out with some friends and stayed over, you would have followed her to make sure she was alright, but when Gyutaro said he would also invite a friend from work.... he doesn't have friends, so you stayed to see what was going on. "Hey, shitty bank! I know you are there, ne!" You are the friend. At first you tried to stay hidden from over the window, but then he threw too much money over it, money he could not afford to lose. So you got it for him and handed it personally, since he already saw you jump for it. "What are you?"

He is scared when you stand before him, defensive as if he could do anything if you wanted to hurt him "I'm yours, Gyutaro." You answers with honesty but also not wanting to explain anything as he backs off and goes to grab a knife in the kitchen, pointing at you with it. You don't care much for that as you step forward. "You don't have to worry about me. I promise I won't hurt you nor Daki." You say as you get in front of him. Still, he stabs you in the stomach, a blow that would be deadly to a human intruder, but is nothing for you. You only throw the money so it doesn't get stained with blood.

Gyutaro takes some steps back again as you take the knife of, blood on the blade but injury healing with the known sensation, body already used to it. You leave it at the side as your beloved corners himself against the wall, challenging you with his eyes, clearly scared but unwilling to back down. He looks so cute like this, he was always been too cute for his own good, oblivious to his own charming qualities and worried about a younger sister, unwilling to accep anyone might want him. That always had made you want to hold him, cover him from a world that made him feel unwanted, unlovable.

Because he shouldn't belong to that world, he should belong to you, who are willing to give him the treatment he deserves. His heartbeats and breaths become faster as you cup his face and play with his hair. He turns to look away, tensing his shoulders, he never liked too much attention to his face at the same time he would yearn for a gentle touch, to someone to have compassion on him and his little sister. "Let me take care of you." You whisper against his ear, refusing the tentation of tasting the skin exposed. He stops for some seconds, the ear becoming a cute red as he turns to face you, looking down.

"Ume...ne, my little sister's name is Ume." He says softly, almost as if relaxing in your hands, so you hold him, smiling. You keep bringing money, and Gyutaro let's you in only when Daki-Ume-whatever (Daki suits her better, she is such a princess and monster at the same time, it's her. Still, Gyutaro gets upset if you call her anything but "Ume", so you try) is asleep or out, only when she is asleep or out. You don't mind that, that way you don't have to fight her for Gyutaro's attention.

And you love giving him attention too, having him in your arms, hugs, kisses and bites over his skin everytime he cares enough to go around shirtless, whispering all the compliments you know he likes. That he so cute, so sexy, so atrong, so brave, and now he even tastes wonderful, he would be your best meal if you ever ate him. "But don't worry, I said I would take care of you, didn't I?" He always holds back tears, face, shoulders and ears get red as he shys away. You know he need this, for someone to take care of him for the first time, just like he had to step in and take care of his sister. "I know how to be a good husband." You can sense it, you make him feel desirable and loved. He melts against your touch and he is embarrased from it, just like in your last life.

You don't offer him your blood, knowing that he will never ask, because that would mean putting you over his little sister, and you always knew she was first. You are ok with that, it would not be the one you fell for if he disdn't put her first, specially since that also means putting her over himself. Still, you are willing to see him grow old and help him in whatever you need.

"Ne... Ume wants to leave for college... ne, what should I do? I don't want her to go away, but... with the money you got not letting her get in the college she wants... I don't want her to be stuck with me, ne..." he says want night he wanted to go out, so you took him to see the stars a bit far from the city. He sits in your lap, letting you keep him in your arms. "She would be better off without me, ne... wouldn't she? Ne... I'm so ugly and disgusting only a fucking demon can actually like me..." Normaly you would listen, you know better than to not validate his feelings, than to tell him things like "it's not true" or "it's not like that". There is a reason why he is talking like this now, while digging his hands in your shoulder, grinding his teeth.

You kiss him, holding your mouth against his, using your tongue to explore that long missing place. He seems to calm down, to relax against it, and once you drae back you tell him what he needs to hear. "Your sister will always need and love you, and as long as I am here I will be taking care of you both. Trust me on that." He let's you meet her before she parts, while she will be staying on dorms, the place is just a few hours away in train (it would take you minutes to run). "Hey, you freak. You better take care of my onii-chan, you hear me? I am leaving him in your hands so don't fuck up!" Just to have her tone changing when talking to him. "Onii-chan, I promise to write you every morning and night." That is Daki.

She grows up into a lady, they both grow up a lot, every day older. "Unfair! Why does he get to be young and handsome forever! Unfair! Unfair!" But she always behaves like a child when she is around you two. Guess some things won't ever change. You always take care of Gyutaro the best way you can, he looks less tired, more relaxed, he actually started to study himself once Daki hot out of college. Things seems good for them.

So it's good for you, until next life.

Sekido:

The smell of anger lures you in.

He is outside a club, basically ready to throw hands with the mem at the entrance as they don't let him in. "I'm telling you I just need to take one person out! OUT! You can't tell me you can't let more people in due space at this hour and not let me take my brother out of there!" He might convince them, specially with how noisy he is being, people are leaving the line and some passing by just bagin to stare annoyed. You can tell this angers him more, but that doesn't matter to you. What matters is that you found him, he is right there.

You end up sneaking in and forcing Karaku out, averything while not showing your face, but Sekido sees the other clone being thrown on the streets and rushes to see him, still frowning. "Karaku? Karaku! Fuck, he is too drunk! What the fu-" he shuts himself up when he sees you, as you make eye contact, leave into a darker corner. You know your eyes glowing the dark, and you also know Sekido will not follow you, but bring Karaku home, his home. And hopefully, you will be able to follow him up.

The plan was to follow him on the shadows, being slealthy, sneaky, to not let him know he was being followed... but you felt pity when he had to carry a barely concious Karaku. That reminder of their new mortality, of their new lack of power... is odd, you don't know what to think of it. He was once not even a demon, but a Demon Blood Art, the representarion of a piece of the power of a demon, a kizuki no less. You genuinely thought you would never see him again, because as he is not an individual by his own, he shouldn't have a soul to reincarnate. Did Hantengu's soul got fragmented? Is that how he is here? Would that even work?

Still, you saw him having trouble carrying his equal, the lightest one of them no less, so you step forward and speak. "Need any help?" Of course, you already knew Sekido wouldn't be amused by the offer, but instad of leashing out he only frowns at your way, putting his side in front to cover Karaku. "Who are you? Why are you following me?" He grinds his teeth, clearly untrusting of whatever you have to do or say. "I am someone who wants to help you." It's the best to be careful with what you say with him. "Well, I don't want your help. Get lost!" Then he tries to keep moving the other clone.

You see him moving away, slowly, painfully so. So you did the most reasonable thing in your head, help anyway. You took both of them in your arms and started walking. "WHAT THE-" Ok, maybe not walking, sprinting a bit, but definetely not running. "Tell me where to go." Of course, Sekido starts to kick and hit your, but... it barely does anything. Really, part of you feels you should at least pretend it hurts only to placate him, but you are not putting them down, not now you have Sekido in your arms once again. "LET ME DOWN, YOU ASSHOLE! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

In the end you keep going until he gets tired of trashing around, after gaining his breath back he spend some time in silence. "What are you?" You can sense he hoes to grab Karaku, who is also in your hold, you decide to stop since he apparently doesn't want to tell you where you can leave them both. "Yours. Tell me what you want, and I will do anything but leave. I have waited so long to see you again, I am staying near." He seems to get angre again, but interrupts himseld before starting.

"Leave me at the train station, I have my car stationed near the station closer to our home. Just... don't follow me. Not home." He seems a bit scared, smells scared, but he is a human now, you can understand he might be scared of a natural predator. Honestly, turning him should be an option, but it's not, since you have no idea what it could make in his body. "Alright." It really is, because you have him, and you know Sekido is not going to leave and not face you again, that is not how he is. He needs to have the last word.

You go to the train station you left him the next night, and he was waiting for you, now he seems furious. "I HAVE BEEN HERE 5 HOURS, WHAT THE FUCK?!" He looks like he wants to hit you, you would understand, Sekido always hated it when you made him wait. The nostalgia makes you chuckle, then smile, showing your fangs. "Sorry. I would have been here sooner if I could, but I can't stand under the sun." Anger fades into weariness. "What are you and what do you want with me?" He takes a step back before raising his voice. "I swear, if you lay a finger on my brothers I will-" You interrupt him by surprising him with your speed, now you are a breath from each other. "I am not interested in the others. I want you, husband." You say it, taking advantage od his shock to hug him, resting your chin in his shoulder as you whisper everything into his ear.

"... will you actually do whatever I say?" You nod, and you know he can see the intensity in your eyes, that one made of mixed feelings. Love, hunger, lust, nostalgia, melancholy, and many other feelings and sensations now lincked to him. "Then... do as I say when I say it. I don't care what you have to do, but I want the best for me and my brothers. By any means necesary." And you will. You will watch over him, and over Zohakuten. He begins to send you to look after Karaku and Urogi at night, begins to let you steal things for him, let's you take care of him sometimes. He doesn't let you in the house he shares with his family, but having him close is more than enough.

"After I die... would you eat my body? I don't want to be cremated or burried... I would like to stay...." he asks you one night while you where kissing and licking his wrists. "I will." You don't even have to think it. You raise to his level "Anything for you." And kiss him. He is yours, forever yours.

Karaku:

The smell of pleasure lures you in.

The club is full of people, usually you would take the chance to get someone drunk enough to be dinner without realizing it, that is why you came. But you are no longer hungry, you are filled with lust and love when the (at best tipsy, at worst drunk) guy that throws himself over your arms is no other than Karaku. "Hey, hot-stuff~ would you mind spending a while with me? I just sae you checking out some people, and I wanted to try my luck~." He found you, and you took him for the night, not wanting anyone else to lay a finger on him. You manage to smell Sekido in your way out, but you just evaded him and prevented the now human to find out. You sneak into a known place, this house has been abandoned for a while, so you have been using it from time to time during daylight. It's just a bit fixed, mostly because you took that as a hobby, to fix places like Karaku would want them. Also, at times you get a homeless person inside, after they found out the place was fixed and the door open. Nice dinner.

But the important thing is the lovely, young, energetic and horny guy in your arms. You made sure to treat him nice, as you had a nice place for him to lie back and take your gentle bites and licks. You made sure to switch between the softness and the feral need to have him, he always enjoyed both types of attention. Sometimes a bite made him bleed, and the savir of his blood excited several parts of you, but this is yohr lover, your husband, not some cheap meal. You loved him as such that night, no matter how his taste woke up your instincts to feed.

You drank a bit of his blood, but besides that? You kept your teeth out of his skin, licked the wounds clean and made sure he was able to sleep. He got tired quickly, but he probably lasted more than most humans, just less than he would as a demon, with unlimited endourance and stamina. But he sleeps soundly, hugging the pillow, slightly smiling in his dreams as he nuzzles himself against the matress. You just stay awake, watching him as you take some stolen money to get him something to eat... some sweet and a tea of a conventional store... yeah, it should probably do, you are giving it to Karaku. Not exactly a very picky eater, as long as he can gain pleasure for it...

But besides that, you watches sleep, you even got to pet softly his head without waking him up, for a while you did fear the he would. It's so real it almost feels like it isn't, you feared it wouldn't be for a long time due Karaku's nature as a Blood Demon Art. He should not have pwned a soul to begin with, and you have no idea how he managed to reincarnate with the rest of the clones, but he did. And you are glad, so glad part of you considers keeping him there forever. Karaku would not suffer living in bed, in the past he enjoyed the times you took over a house after eating the residents, rolling in bed and messing around between sessions, letting you spoil him rotten. The would be some playful complains of being bored without your company, since he gad nothing to do, but Karaku always adores a lot of attention.

"Good morning." You speak only after he stretched his arms, sitting on the beddings, eyes still tired, even if he has slept a lot. He slowly yawns and stretches, waking up at his own pace as he groans, rubbing his eyes and neck, whining and flinching every time he touches a bitemark. After a few seconds that he also grabs his head, he takes a deep breath before talking. "Sorry, I think I drank too much last night, I don't even remember your name.... mine if we introduce each other again?" You both do, as you hand him his breakfast, he smiles as he grabs the bun and cold tea. "Thanks." Curtains protect you from the sun, so you keep yourself relaxed.

Then he check his mini-picture box, then suddenly stands up alarmed as he looks for his clothes on the floor. "Oh, shit! Sekido's been calling me, he's gonna be so mad! Sorry handsome, I must go home!" You can't follow him as Karaku leaves in a hurry, but thankfuly, he comes back a few weeks later, on a weekend night. He has some bandages on the neck and smells like medical lotions, he looks a bit ashamed. "Hey, sorry I left like that, I didn't even give you my number and couldn't find you in social media, but I really liked that night together, even if you fucked me up." He laughts about it before murmuring "I looked as if you were trying to eat me."

You only look at him while you hide from the sun in a corner, as Karaku gets close. "You were. Weren't you." The tone changes completely as he frowns. "... You know what I am?" You ask after a pause, the expresion in his face softens up, but he is still weary. "I searched for you, but when I did the research based on location, I only found news of missing people. Some memories of that night started clipping together, telling me that it wasn't that I drank too much. You just aren't human." He talks a lot, and you listen, you always enjoyed listening to him.

"Then why come directly to me at night? Aren't you afraid I might do something to you?" You stand up and walk around Karaku, being slow to not stratle him or scare him, but make specific movements that show a bit of your nature. He doesn't relent, even as he finds himself cornered, hands in his pockets. "Would you believe me if I said the sex was good?" As a first motive yes, but with his new information... Karaku is not stupid, no matter what Sekido says, your husband can take care of himself and is aware of his doings. "And the second reason?" You lean into the wall against Karaku's back, using your arm to corner him, showing your eyes and fangs.

"Because I know you like me too. So, I come to you, and you don't get into my life near my family and friends. Deal?" He stretches his hands, and for a second you feel like those tales where spirits make deal with mortals, usually tricking them. But you have no reason to trick or lie to Karaku. "Let me take care of you, come here weekly, you won't regret it." And you close the deal.

That interaction made clear that the other clones would come first, which is something weird but acceptable, specially since Karaku continues to visit. And you continue to treat both your husband and yourself. He might stop coming one day, once he grows to old to keep up with you, but until then, he is all yours. And you will take your husband.

Urogi:

The smell of joy lures you in.

You found him sleeping on a tree beside a bird nest, with a book of birds and a notebook that he was salivating under his face. You can see it clearly from below, and you are well aware... the branch he is on will not tolerate your weight, it's a miracles he has tolerated him. Or so you thought until you jumper and grabbed him. He is so light. He used to weight a lot more in the past, now he feels like a feather of his wings... then again, he doesn't have wings anymore. 2 limbs less... of course he weights less. It's... you don't like it. It feels as if Urogi was mutilated, eternaly so, as if someone cut his wings and the never grew back. You don't like it.

Yo treat him softly as he hugs you in his sleep, getting himself all over you and drooling still. You pet the back of his head, smelling him, inhaling the scent of wildness and several hormones that make joy, that is still in him, thankfully. But you do miss the talons and fands, usually urogi would rip off the skin on your back while sleeping like this, head burried in your thighs, but no. Nothing. You can't imagine an Urogi that doesn't play wild and hurts things on the process, and Urogi that is naturally gentle and soft instead of having to be extra careful to be gentle and soft. Still, you would not trade having him with you for anything.

Once there is only an hour left for the sun to rise, you decide to cup his face and lick his cheeks, he always enjoyed that sort of animalistic care, and the fact that he is giggling let's you know that hasn't changed. He wakes up slowly, and it takes him a few seconds to flinch and draw back, realizing his situation as he blushes. Cute. Back then Urogi knew little about shame, but it seems that now is easier to get him embarrassed. That is new.

"Hey... hey... sorry, what happened?" He is clearly clueless, but it usually never bothered him to be like that. "You fell asleep." You tell him simply, and he looks around not knowing ehat to say or how to say it. This level of awareness in Urogi is weird. "Don't think too much about it, it's alright. I don't mind. You don't have to "behave" around me." Sakido always said Urogi had to behave better, yes, but you genuinely never minded. You were always happy with your husband being himself, and slowly he relax, believing what you are saying. He has always been distracted and you can see he is tired in his eyes, just waking up, so that amd the darkness probably don't let him realize that you are not human. "Let me take you home." Does this count as abusing that?

But he dows let you take him home, and since then you go there every night, evading the rest of the clones only to see him, jumping through the window and talk with him. Urogi is lively, as he talks about his restrictions that are imposed as an individual of a society and damn, it does sounds boring. You can't imagine having to adapt to the like of a crowd, and yet humans willingly subject themselves to that. Until now Sekido and Zohakuten (yes, the boy is also here) have almost discovered you, but... you are enjoying being Urogi's secret, being a part of him that doesn't belong to anyone else.

"What are you exactly? I know you won't hurt me, but you never are around in daylight, you have fangs and claws, and I don't think I ever daw you eat or drink anything." He asks one night. "Aren't you afraid of the answer?" You ask softly, being the first time he confronted you, and the fact that he is doing it so relaxed, it seems weird. This time not in Urogi standards, but in human ones. "Not really. I think you are a nice guy. I mean, you could have hurted anyone here with those traits of yours, and yet, you are always careful and gentle." ... You have no idea if he should know about your diet now. You also have no idea if you should be glad he is as trusting as back then or to worry about it. As a demon, Urogi could afford to be trusting, if anything happened he would heal. Right now? He could get hurt, and badly.

"From now on, I will take care of you and protect you." You don't feel the need to tell anything else to him, Urogi has always been a demon more of actions than words, more as an animal than a person. You always loved him like that. You think he understand what you mean, as you keep nuzzling him, licking him and cuddling with him, and the taste and scent he has is just wonderful. But... with the lack of wings you don't dare to hurt him, because part of you feels something is wrong still. You can't get used to see him like this and probably never will.

Still, you continue to visit and take care of him as you promise. You have no idea what he told the others and honestly, you don't care, he is yours and you are his. And he starts to grow, he buys his own house one day, after some years of work, the others still visit him but besides those days, you stay with him in his new house all the time. Half of the place is nitty and well taken care of, half of it is a mess for you both. Dirt, plants and other onjects making it feel more wild, more Urogi's taste. You really wish you could give him back his demons form, specially his wings everytime he looks at birds. He deserves to fly, to be free, but.... how are you supposed to risk him?

The guilt of his new state doesn't wash out ever, you are always too gentle with him, to the point you doubt he will ever find out about your true nature. The one that wants to bite, to scratch the same way it wants to be bitten snd scratched. But you want him, and you will take him anyway you can.

"I love you." He tells you frequently, and you always answer to that. "I love you too, my Baby Bird." You repreat as you watch him grow old. Maybe one day you might build enough courage to tell him you could turn him... maybe. For now, the constant smell of joy is enough to cheer you up.

Aizetsu:

The smell of sorrow lures you in.

Aizetsu looks so cute sleeping, you had to use the other clones to find him, since he doesn't go out at night. Not ever, since he usually takes care of Zohakuten (that's weird, Zohakuten of all demons needing a babysitter. Then again, he is not the most powerful clone of Upper Four anymore, but a child.) while Sekido tries to keep Urogi and Karaku out of trouble. It's not that different from back then, Aizetsu hated going outside and separating to fight, you are well aware having you made him more eager to have his own being, only to be with you. He has always been a sweet little thing.

He looks so vulnerable, and now that you watch him sleep, a traitorous part of you whispers temptations of touching and grabbing his skin, just to feel the contact, but beyond that, to sink your teeth on him. You want to put your mouth all over Aizetsu, to lick him, to nibble him, to kiss him and to bite him, everything you always did as you hug him and hold him. He is so beautiful, it almost feel like a sin to not take advantage as your instincts urge you. But you don't you only watch him, wondering if you should wake him up or continue to watch him like this.

Zohakuten has almost catched you a few times, it doesn't really surprise you, you know who he used to be. You still find it weird. How are they all of them alive? They are a Demon Blood Art, they should not have owned a soul to reincarnate with, and yet, here they are. Could it be Hantengu's soul fragmented? Is that even possible? It's not like you could ask, nowadays the world relies less in the spiritualism and more on the technoly and production. Not that it bothers you, it means the slayers are gone for good, as they should be. Still, sometimes you wonder what would happen if you gave Aizetsu a bit of your blood as he sleeps, to make him back as he used to be... but with this new condition, it might not work, but there is no day you don't think about it.

One night, as you get inside Aizetsu's room... you notice he is awake, but pretending to be asleep. His heartbeats and breaths tell you as much. For a time, you wonder if you should leave, but... you don't, you stay and even become more daring, as you pat his head softly. You can feel him tense up, then easing up, still wanting to pretend to be asleep. You don't keep it for too long, you even leave earlier than usual, but... you want to have Aizetsu getting used to you, and the idea you are not going to hurt him, but you are not leaving either.

"Who are you?" He asks one night, almost whispering, as he acts as if he was still pretending to be asleep, covered by the mattress in the beddings. "My name is Y/N." Is all you say, you can tell he is upset, has no idea what to do or what to say. "... What do you want from me?" He says after some seconds of silence in that same tone, and you also wait to answer. You want to say a lot, but also nothing at all. Because most of what happened, the fact that you both lost everything, hurts. You know he will pity you, that is his nature, and you don't want him to. You want him to love you, or at least accept you.

"I am someone who always wants to see you and cherish you." Is all you say, and both of you keep quiet. Pther nights you had to leave for Aizetsu to be able to sleep, not being able to relax enough with your presence. This time? He falls asleep with you there, and you can't fight the temptation of kissing his ear. It might not even be that he trusts you, but him being exhausted. Still, it makes you happy, for him to be able to let his guard down for you. You love this man, your husband, and you will find several ways to tell him that.

You keep it up, he asks questions, still hiding under the bed. Sometimes he answers yours, but he needs to form courage to actually face what you are. That, or he still needed to settle with the idea, since you are sure he doesn't believe in spirits. "What are you? And answer me for real. Don't tell me anything cheesy or creepy. What the hell are you?" He asks, and you don't really know how to say everything you need to explain it. After a few seconds of silence, he gets impatiend and finally sits on the bed, completely showing his face, a sleepy yet upset face no less. You look at him, his eyes don't glow in the dark, and only the pupil is blue...

"I'm a demon." Like he used to be, that only makes him more upset. "That doesn't exist." Is frustrating how he is denying the obvious, you are not human, and he knows that already. You sit in the bed besides him, making sure to show your fangs as you open your mouth to speak. "I am a demon, and your husband." You say everything, and honestly? By the end of it, Aizetsu is crying. You have no idea if it's because of the frustration of the situation, if it is because he pities you or if it's just a reaction because he is tired and always sad, since he was always sad before. You just hug him, and start to kiss his face and lick his tears up.

You end up pinning him into the bed, cuddling with him until Aizetsu falls asleep. You keep doing this, but from now on is Aizetsu who talks, who says what he is feeling before breaking into tears and let you comfort him until he falls asleep. He seems better, less sad each time, and you don't know how to feel about that. And yet, you always take care of him, and you will until he dies. The say he buys his own home, you get in and never get out.

"I am yours and you are mine." You whisper against his sken as he sleeps over you, you will continue to take care of him until he dies. Then... you will go back to the nothing but loss you had of life before meeting him again. Loss in a world that is changing while you are alone. Like Aizetsu always said, it's... so sad, pathetic... it makes you sad. But you will live.

#demon slayer #kny #top reader #upper moons #kny x reader #karaku #urogi #aizetsu #gyutaro #sekido

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