#dark and lush and alive

[screampied]

#BLOODLINE! s. ryōmen + c. kamo

☆ sum. when they’re both 10s but they’re also vampires. hungry blood-thirsty vampires who’ll stop at nothing to claim you. with how sweet you taste though, maybe humans aren’t so bad after all.

wc. 7.8k

warnings. fem! reader, thrēesomes, vampires! sukuna + choso, pwp, amateur's take on vampires, unprotected, cowgirl dp, manhandling, spīt-roasting, biting, dumbification, size kinks, fighting over you, brēeding kink, mentions of bloōd, implied marathons, fīngering, squīrting, pussydrunk men, cunnīlingus, hair pulling, choking, mistress kink, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist!

this was crazy - no, this was insane.

not everyday do you have a century plus old vampire between your legs — a vampire who you were actually supposed to exterminate for a pricey reward that was held over his head. both heads. but oh, you were so screwed. not even three days in of getting your official vampire hunter license and you already failed.

rule number one stupid girl: never fuck the vampire. rule number two: never fuck the vampires, plural.

but, you had a scent on you. an alluring fresh scent that made the sukuna ryomen fall weak to his knees. the fragrant—whatever it was smelled very lush with a sprinkled spice of vanilla. it irked him badly, and what irked him the most was the simple fact that he was feeling quite . . parched.

he’s starved, and it’s been a while since he’s had a quenched thirst and satisfied appetite. vampires usually had it rough—especially sukuna, because he’d usually spend most of his years hibernating, and he could live without blood . . for a certain amount of years before he comes well, feral.

but that all changed until you came along, and long story short—here you were sprawled out over his throne with your legs wide open.

“woman,” he snarls, buried right between your thighs. sable honed claws gingerly caress against your skin before his long tongue drags itself out of your pudgy folds. “spread your cunt f’r me before i bite it off.”

“what if i’m into that?” you sheepishly hum, feeling a tear of sweat trickle down your quirked brow. but right as you let off your cheeky remark, a big hand swats at your sopping entrance hard, earning a whimper from your mouth. so wet, your squelches ring through his rusted victorian walls.

sukuna snarls at you, crimson ruby eyes boring into your soul practically before with a sobbing creak, his chamber door opens. the hinges were whining as it unbolts and peeked out was whom you assumed to the other vampire, kamo choso.

you did research on them both—especially choso.

even though both of them were classified as dangerous notorious special grades with huge bounties placed on each of their heads dead or alive, choso was worth far more. you always did want to know why though.

he’s even prettier than person. choso was dressed in nothing but dark toned yet elegant dim clothing. both of their styles were strictly victorian-esque. choso’s hair was slightly matted and down, flowing past his tense shoulders. as unkempt dark strands went through his eyes, it created an attractive a shaggy wolf cut look. “oh,” he timidly murmurs, his eyes averting toward sukuna then at you.

a human,

his heart started to race and he could feel the inside of his mouth salivate with a minuscule amount of water. choso openly stares for a lengthy amount of seconds before nibbling on his tongue with his fangs. with the way he scoffs under his breath and how his body language grows stiff — you can tell, he’s jealous.

“am i .. interrupting, sukuna?”

sukuna groans internally, his tongue still attached to your swollen clit. you were close—he knew it from the way your breathing patterns started to grow irregular and you were struggling to stay still. as your feeble fingers resume to spread your soddened folds further apart for him, he slurps you clean, making all sorts of sloppy noises leave from his think pink lips. “mhm,” and he gives his comrade a side eye. “c’mere, choso. greet our new meal—eh, special guest.”

choso’s gaze never leaves yours, and as he tucks his head underneath his cape, he kneels down beside sukuna. “h- hi,” he swallows thickly, trailing his bloodshot irises that dramatically dilated each second he spent staring at your body.

god, were you pretty.

“hi ch— fuck,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s fangs delicately brush near your cunt. it almost tickled but you weren’t laughing, and your thighs were on the verge of snapping shut. choso stands there, watching as his own whetted fangs dig into his pouty bottom lip. “choso, do you wanna try too?”

“can i?” he blurts eagerly, but he gets flustered the second he sees your lips curving into a soft smile. after all, embarrassment was always his best friend.

choso’s kneeled right beside sukuna and he has an almost scowl marinating against his facial features. with a grumpy glower, he’s watching his partner act so greedy. the pink haired vampire’s got a chin that’s just streaming with slick and he can’t help but pout.

it’s probably been decades since he—since they encountered a vampire hunter, and now you were here. not only that, but choso was the entire opposite of sukuna. he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a woman. “i mean . . is it okay, miss?”

sukuna snickers, briefly breaking his lips away before strumming a fat thumb down your drooling slit. “tch. such a wuss,” and his reddened gaze meets yours as a sly smile twists across the crevices of his lips. “excuse him. he’s a bit, heh, inexperienced.”

“that’s not—” it was, and choso lets off a cute frustrated huff but his demeanor softens the moment you claw a hand through his slightly matted wolfcut. dozens of loose tresses twirl between your fingers and he lets off a quiet purr, leaning into your touch. “mhm,” and he looks up at you—then at your pretty swollen cunt that was just pulsing second after second.

so pretty, it almost looks like a flower. easily akin to a vanilla orchid—he found himself about to drool the more he stared. choso was just millimeters away from a single taste and he couldn’t help but moan once he abruptly got a strong whiff of your candied balmy scent.

“it’s okay,” you murmur, trailing your middle finger down his tender scalp. sukuna’s right beside him, rolling his eyes whilst licking his spit-slick lips. as you remain slouched on sukuna’s primeval throne—your legs sprawl out just a bit wider and you bite your lip. “give it a little kiss.”

“y- yes, miss,” choso utters, and your eyes flicker down toward his lips. perfectly shaped—they have somewhat of an almost natural pout as they purse together—rosy pink and quivering in anticipation.

as he moves his face closer between your legs, you let off a gasp once his plump wet lips gradually smooch against your clit. “hng,” he groans, the sap of your own slick stringing against his mouth. choso can’t help but sneak his tongue down your pulsating clit for a better taste and oh, the way his eyes rolled back. “s- so good.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, growing impatient as his sharpened claws dig into the thin wooly fabric of his burgundy-black cloak.

“that’s it—good, yeah,” you softly coo out, tightening your grip against his head just a little.

choso had no clue what he was doing and it was adorable. his tongue was just as long as sukuna’s, mirroring the same forked-like shape. the softly spiky texture makes you squirm and writhe, feeling pleasurable twinges surge all throughout every inch of your body.

“fuuckk,” you gasp, feeling him suck against your clit. it’s overly sensitive, and he moans, feeling you throb right in his mouth. “mhm, suck there. right there, baby.”

baby, he wasn’t used to such words of affection. petnames, what you might call it. choso’s pointed ears cutely twitch and his nose wrinkles the second his sucking steadily intensifies. “mpmh,” and you can feel him taking a few seconds to sniff against your cunt once more.

“he gets off to being praised,” sukuna huskily jabbers, watching choso turn absolutely pussy drunk within seconds. you could tell just from his expressions alone. that sly yet sleazy grin compressing near the corners of his mouth, hooded eyes and drooling profusely from the sides of his mouth—

yeah, he was entirely weak. weak for you.

as his tongue slowly massages its way between the cracked slit of your pussy, he feels your grip in his hair tighten. “does he?” you utter, and you can hear a shuddering breath leave from choso’s mouth.

he swallows thickly again, wondering when the part was gonna come. the part where you’d finish your job, your mission—out of all the vampire hunters he’s stumbled across, he’s never been between one’s legs . . let alone being spared.

but he wasn’t complaining, not at all.

“mhm,” the older vampire sukuna grumbles, teasingly wrapping a hand around choso’s broad neck. choso moans from his touch too, and sukuna brushes a thumb down the valley of his sensitive scalp. “he can’t help it. praise him once and he’ll finish right on the spo—”

“s.. sukuna,” choso glares, still having a mouth full of your cunt.

the squelches you made from each succulent suckle was quite loud, constantly reverberating through the ancient chamber walls. but oh, your taste was simply divine. unlike any cuisine he’s ever tried. choso would rate your pussy five stars if he could.

you’re so wet — sopping a pretty cascading stream that flows down his chiseled chin to where he’s literally just drowning in your cunt. choso was a quick learner though, despite having little to no experience.

a raw breath rips out of your lungs once you feel your thighs grow weak. his tongue extends a bit inside of your cunt, curling it’s way around and in zigzags to make your toes curl in surprising rapture.

“f- fuck, like that,” you whimper out, and suddenly a dark silhouette overshadows you. slowly, your eyes look up to see sukuna standing right over you with a cunning toothy leer.

your eyes rove down his dark cloak that covers his body entirely, although you couldn’t help but want to see more.

like mentioned before—you’ve done your research about them both. as a vampire hunter, it was well, required.

sukuna had to be over a few thousand years old with choso not that far from behind. “silly, silly woman,” he tsks with a taunting head shake.

sukuna cups your chin and you moan once choso’s hooked nose starts to brush up and down against your clit.

you meet the eyes of a blood-thirsty vampire who’s got the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen. “you know,” his voice seductively pitches low, and the rough bass that smooths underneath his tone makes you feel a wave of butterflies swarm near the pit of your stomach. a thumb swipes against your glossed lips before he bends, getting right close to your face level. “usually, this is the part where you kill us, you know that, right?”

“i—know,” and for a second, you nearly let off a mewl once you feel choso’s fangs softly nip against your tender cunt.

you were throbbing heavily, and he’s just slobbering all over your entrance just to lap it right back up back with his tongue like the feral animal he was.

it was cute how conflicted you were — your eyes didn’t know where to look, whom to focus on, nothing. .

even so, as your back remains reclined back against the timber-made throne, your brows furrow. he’s right, moments ago you should have pulled out your stake or firearm, getting rid of them and collecting quite a delicious sum of bounty for both of their heads - dead or alive.

but, as the thought struck you — why, why didn’t you finish them off. what’s stopping you?

you didn’t know, and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

besides, it was technically only the first few days of your new job and something internally was screaming at you that this probably wasn’t your right field of expertise anyway.

and the fact that the ‘target’ you were supposed to eliminate was propped up between your legs was . . something.

hell, maybe it was even a sign.

“oh, i see,” sukuna huffs, sliding a thumb across your pursed lips, wanting your pout crease more. cute. “you want more, that right, stupid girl?” a rough voice purrs out to you, and he can see the pout starting to form over your lips once you give him a slow nod. “yeah, yeah you do,” and he looks down at choso who’s got his pretty flapping lashes closed, sliding a hand inside of his cloak.

he’s groaning against your cunt, stroking himself off and whimpering against your folds that sobbed for more. sukuna cups your chin, pressing your lips together. “i don’t speak nod. use those words, tell me what you want.”

“y.. you both,” and it comes out like a lewd broken whisper. by this point, you were shameless. it’s almost as if you were in a dream—maybe even a fan fiction.

as those fatal words leave from your lips, your eyes roll back once choso’s continuing to slurp against your cunt - savoring each honeyed drop of your juices. he’s still on his knees as his pointed ears twitch from each whine and mewl that pours away from your lips.

sukuna groans under his breath, feeling himself get hard as he takes a few occasional glances.

choso’s face was right up against your pussy, and he made sure to run and trace his tongue in every single spot that would make you sing out pretty ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’'s for him. he’s craved a good meal for the longest and the meal between your thighs was all that he really needed.

“greedy girl,” sukuna grouses, lightly squeezing your chin, making you give him your attention back. ruby red eyes flicker toward your exposed nude neck — such precious skin all out and on display, a vampire’s favorite part of the body.

the thoughts of imagining what you tasted like from just a single bite clogged his entire brain. just a single drink of you - just one would have him probably at your mercy - no, he had to focus.

sukuna shakes his head with an annoyed grunt, pressing his head against yours as you lied back. “both, huh? can you really handle that, princess?”

“yes—”

“look at me when you speak, girl,” and you feel an overwhelming increase of thumps in your heart once he’s only inches away from pressing his lips against yours.

the eye contact was brutal - sensual.

his eyes lock onto yours and it’s as if you’re staring directly at a pool of bloody scarlet jewels. you could honestly get lost in sukuna’s eyes. such irises never leave yours and you gulp, looking him right in the eye before watching choso starting to bite near your thighs. “repeat yourself, go on.”

with a shaky voice, you drag choso’s head closer between your thighs before whining once he glides his forked tongue against your throbbing pearly nub. “i want you both. p.. please, wan’ you both.”

and the last thing you’d expect was for them to be eating you out — at the same damn time.

both vampires were propped up between your legs as you’re spread open with the cutest expression plastered on your face.

god, this was fucked.

as two forked tongues flick and swipe against your clit, nibbling on your tender gummy flesh, you let off the most melodic whine. it rips straight out of your throat, bouncing off the century old walls. the texture of both tongues — you felt the plush spikes that run against their tastebuds, feeling sukuna hold your nub hostage with choso trapping his your pretty clit with his fangs.

“fuck, ‘m so c- close,” you’d whine out, staring at them both as they’re between your legs with hazy blown pupils. both of your hands fish through their hair, gasping heavily once they start to slurp nearly everything out of you at such at maddened pace.

it was one thing with teeth — but they had fangs, and they both made sure you felt the keen edges against your sopping cunt every single time.

“mmph,” choso mewls out, wrapping his mouth around your slick entrance. sukuna’s only a few kilometers apart, and the older vampire grunts once he tries to push him away. with pouty glossed lips, choso gives your clit a kiss before briefly departing. “ ‘kuna,” he huffs cutely, and you watch as his chin has an even shiner coat of your arousal racing down. “you’re bein’ greedy..”

“good,” sukuna jibes, and you whimper loudly once his long tongue trails further down. it stops right once it reaches your winking hole. it was so long, it located places you didn’t even know could be reached. a fluttering feeling settled inside the very pits of your stomach before he spits on your cunt.

it’s a rude ‘pft’ and you watch as a syrupy strand dribbles down onto your heat. choso’s lip quivers as he stares too, going back to touching himself.

he rarely touched himself — but when he did, it always felt heavenly. “cho,” he grouses, smearing a fat thumb against your cunt that’s soaking up the dribbling saliva. “clean her off for me.”

choso’s eyes widen. but he was too feral to reply, and as if his lips had a mind of it’s own, he leans in and let’s his mouth do the rest of the talking.

honey, your taste was almost equivalent to honey. choso whines against your clit as he drinks you clean, the soddened pure taste of you never departing from his tastebuds. he shamelessly laps up sukuna’s saliva that pours down your pudgy wet folds before softly thrusting his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“fuck,” you moan, feeling your legs starting to spasm. sukuna goes back between and they’re both latching their pink pointed tongues against your tender muscle. you even watch as their tongues touch, getting tangled together and all. choso grows flustered and sukuna’s for the same sly smile on his lips, teasingly licking near choso’s bottom lip before going back to your pussy.

squelch, you were so wet . . profusely drooling. with how wet you were, you were putting faucets to unruly shame.

your thighs were covered in various marks and as they both shared the same pussy drunk grin, that’s when you finally snap.

right when the tip of sukuna’s forked tongue rudely thwacks against your sweetened g-spot, you end up gushing out right away. it creeps up on you like a jump scare, hitting you like a truck, an inevitable wave that came crashing down without warning.

“fuck, ngh oh my god!” and as you’re coming undone on their tongues, you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you had.

seconds later as you gradually let go, your tummy’s continuing to heave from each exhilarated pant leaving from your lungs. with hooded eyelids fluttering, you end up spraying a sweet amount of sap onto the bottoms of their chins. sukuna snickers and choso quietly gasps—

“my my,” sukuna hums, licking his tongue underneath his bottom lip, savoring the taste. “so the human’s a squirter also, interesting,” and you couldn’t my stop panting.

your orgasm was loud, and it rang through each of the ancient walls that were so old that they were on the verge of crumbling down after centuries of standing tall. your own voice nearly shatters the victorian mirrors as you leisurely succumb into awaited pleasure, releasing your grip from their heads. you glance down and see sukuna already staring at you, giving your cunt one final kiss. “cute, think i’ll take my time with you, princess.”

choso pouts, panting himself as his tongue licks near the crevice of his lips. “y.. you mean us, ‘kuna.”

sukuna rolls his eyes with a grimacing scowl. “eh, right.”

many moments later — once you’re lightly thrown on sukuna’s king sized bed, you gulp.

now you were fucked.

they were more hungrier than ever, especially choso. the taste of your sweet cunt still lingers and his mouth, on his tongue—and he only imagined how sweeter your sacred blood must be.

“choso, watch me,” sukuna gruffs, and you let him flip your body over. landing into the cushions with a soft ‘oof’ your cheek gets pressed against a velvet pillow. “humans are fragile, so you don’t wanna break ‘em too bad,” and you moan once his hand swats against your bare ass. the recoil makes your entire body tense and you chew on your lip, quietly wishing he’d spank you again.

you weren’t really wearing anything except for maybe a black skirt that was now torn to practical shreds and a blouse that was halfway raised toward the top. as sukuna shuffles a bit, he springs out his thick cock and oh, you could tell he was big just from hearing the stroking sounds from behind you.

he grunts, giving his veiny shaft a few ample pumps before aligning himself against your swollen entrance. “look at herrrr,” he purrs, spreading your cunt apart with two fingers as your ass arched upward.

you were still drenched with your panties clinging toward the gummed crevices of your thighs. right as he toys with your dilating clit, he can hear the sloshing sounds make it’s return before darkly chuckling. “eager, isn’t she choso? her pretty pussy’s tryin’ to talk back. how quaint.”

“sukuna,” choso pouts, pushing him off. “let me, i know how to—” and he pauses, his eyes intently gazing at your pulsing cunt.

he was still so hungry. he just wanted another taste. just one more slurp of your slick and he’ll be satisfied. his thirst would be quenched. choso shakes his head, letting off a shaky sigh. “i know how t- to fuck.”

“he doesn’t,” sukuna mouths to you in a cocky manner, getting in front of you.

the pink haired vampire stands near the edge of the bed, a hand cupping underneath your chin. “it’s okay, you can look,” he smugly says, feeling your eyes burn into his weighty length that’s standing tall.

the shadow that’s underneath it makes it appear even bigger, and oh, it’s not just big - it’s huge.

sukuna’s very thick with insane amounts of girth for days, and your eyes slowly flicker toward his pretty tip that’s swollen. spurts of pre-cum seeping from his frenulum and you can’t help but give his tip a few greeting kisses. he sucks his teeth at the audacity, wide jaw tightening at your tender touch. the more you stare, you notice he’s got a bit of pink hair that curls it way around his fat base, almost forming a bush.

it’s unintentionally attractive, and you even found yourself gawking at his shaggy happy trail too. “touch me more, woman,” he utters, as if he read your mind. his rough tone getting a bit softer. “go ‘head.”

as you wrap a hand around his cock, you can hear choso’s sweet whimpers in the background. “oh, my,” and his sweltering hot tip’s just ghosting against your yearning slick entrance. you let off a hum, teasingly wriggling your ass a bit just to get a reaction out of him and you did. “ugh,” he moans with an needy hiss following, sliding his flushed crownhead against your swallowing cunt. “kuna she’s gonna m- make me cum.”

“thought you said you knew how to fuck?” sukuna titters, ogling as you slowly bring your plump lips up to his shaft.

with a grumble, choso kisses his teeth. “shut up,” and as his dick aligns itself between your swollen folds, he lets off a breathy sigh. “fuuuck,” he could feel you wholly trying to swallow him as he eases his way inside.

right there, choso felt a chill run down his spine. you were warm inside, and it makes him gnaw a fang down his quivering lip once his lengthy inches rummages farther. “hng, ‘s so good, she’s so wet, ‘kuna,” he murmurs in a soft tone, his words that slide past his lips shaking from each breath.

hearing your own moans leave from your lips makes him harder. sukuna grunts, watching as you press another chaste kiss against his mushroomy tip.

lustrous strands of pre-cum stick against your lips and he groans, tight abs that hid within the inside of his cloak tensing right away. “that’s it, ‘s all yours, princess,” and a hand of his paws it’s way onto the top of your head. once his dick starts to slowly disappear in your mouth, he lets off a near growl. whitened fangs poke from the outer parts of his lip before he feels your moan vibrate against his shaft. “mhm, atta girl. get it wet, spit on it.”

“hah, ‘m not gonna last,” choso breathlessly huffs, and with his hands gripping on both sides of your waist, he’s starting up a pace. it’s a slow pace that you could keep up with in terms of rhythm, but fuck was he big too.

choso had just as much of girth as sukuna did, maybe even more.

he’s stretching you out with just a few beginning thrusts and your eyes already widen. “mpmh,” and as your mouth’s full, cheeks all puffed from storing sukuna’s cock inside, you pull it out to allow a bit of drool pout from your lips and onto his tip.

the vampire flashes you a wolffish smile as his fingers softly massage down your scalp, his claws gingerly stroking against your tresses. your back was arched to a sudden with your body slightly raised, facing sukuna whilst your rear was focusing purely on choso.

sukuna studies your body, your pretty face, your fluttering flapping lashes, your tight tight throat that’s making lewd noises every once in and while, but most importantly, he studies you.

it doesn’t take long before his fat cockhead starts to create ‘love’ taps against your uvula. your eyes widen and you let off a tiny gargle at feeling him reach the roof of your mouth within no time, clawing your own hands into his beefy thighs.

“such a tight ‘lil throat for a pretty human,” he grunts, feeling you pop out his cock to lap up the remnants of your saliva.

choso’s still plummeting into you from behind, giving you soft sensual strokes yet they soon turn rigorous and deep once he feels your ass slam into him. once your skin goes back against him, that was merely all it took for him to lose it. it makes his ears twitch even more—and he whimpers, falling on love with your cunt right away.

it’s sloppy. already, you’re starting to stick and glue against his chiseled pelvis each time you rut back into him. choso’s hips were downright filthy, and it only takes him a few minutes before he’s meticulously drilling into you at full speed. his cock’s precise, making sure to hunt and search through every part of your cunt with his aching tip.

“fuck,” he hisses, a sweaty palm of his giving your right ass cheek a squeeze. as he grabs a nice chunk of your ass, he can’t help but spank it.

but he feels bad afterwards so the sting shortly goes away once his palm caresses a few circles against your hot temple.

the recoil of your skin always mesmerized him - he found himself in a trance every time. simply put, you had him enticed.

choso moans again, feeling your warm body rock back into his at such an unsteady pace to where he’s stammering over his words. “s. . so pretty.”

“the inside of her mouth’s even prettier,” sukuna sneers, and with a loud ‘pop’, he removes his dick from out of your throat.

you pout, lolling out your tongue without him having to say anything and he hums in patent amusement. “ain’t that right, princess?” and with a whack, his fat meaty tip slaps against your pink tongue.

you moan, and he slaps his flushed cock against your tongue three more times just to hear you whine for him to finish. “fuckin’ hungry, are ya, ‘lil hunter? you didn’t care about bounties, you just cared about gettin’ your sloppy cunt wet, huh.”

“mmph—sukuna,” you mumble, your words nearly inaudible once he rubs his leaky tip against your lips. his tip’s so fat and swollen as a rosé color shades over it from top to bottom. just a few seconds of him being out of your mouth and you were already drooling for more - literally.

choso’s breathing starts to pick up the longer he’s giving you such rough pivotal thrusts. you could feel him practically humping his weak hips into you, and he’s sniffling because he can’t believe humans felt this good inside.

“aw, are you mad, little human?” sukuna gruffly mocks, tracing a thumb over your arched brow.

the scowl that indents between the corners of your lips was adorable. “heh, how spoiled you must be. fine. open your mouth again,” and he views as you quickly comply, sticking out your tongue with your hands grabbing your neglected breasts that hid beneath your bra. “good girl.”

this merely lasts for a century — not really, but it felt like it.

lightning like veins ran down sukuna’s cock and you felt them prod against your tongue, meanwhile choso’s almost hysterical once he ends up dumping ribbons of cum into you. early at that, and he’s never been more embarrassed.

choso fucks you for a long while, and it’s until his thrusts against you becomes insignificantly sloppy and he’s overflowed your cunt with ropes of searing hot cum. it’s so much that it dribbles down your thighs, spritzing all on your clit and gluing against your skin like paste.

“ngh, f- forgive me,” he’d whine, peering as sukuna’s finishing up himself.

with a feral growl, he’s fisting his cock just a few more times before it’s his turn to finish now. you got filled in both ways, and once the bitterly sweet taste of his seed mists into your mouth, you let off a moan. “good . . good girl,” choso rubs the back of his neck, trying to mimic sukuna’s praises he did on you earlier.

you’re still on all fours and your eyelashes flutter as he’s continuing to spill out such slimy amounts of cum. the taste has a bit of a sugary tang that makes your nose crinkle. “swallow,” the older vampire murmurs, a long black claw of his softly caressing the edge of your lip.

a few droplets dribble from the corners of your lips once you obey, moaning once you feel choso unhurriedly pull out. he’s slow, feeling his chest heave out with a heavy sigh as your cunt let’s out a loud ‘pop’ after he gradually takes it out of you.

his tip was throbbing, and as he stared at his own cum oozing out of your swollen pussy, he can’t help but run a finger down it. you feel yourself clenching around nothing now and you can’t help but pout.

“tch. where’s your manners, woman,” sukuna raises a pink slit brow, grabbing your chin. your lips still remain pouty due to how much he’s squeezing against your plump lips together and you let off a whimper.

crisp air sets against your bare ass and skin as you meet his carmine-red gaze. “you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ for the meal. go on.”

“t . . thank you, ‘kuna,” you softly snivel, feeling yourself pulse the more choso runs his finger down your flabby folds. he’s touchy, his fingers felt hot and shocking like static - and the more he maneuvers tiny circles around your clit, the more you felt your knees starting to grow weaker again.

“hn.” is all he replies with, and just when you thought they were finished — they weren’t.

you said you wanted both of them, not just one but two. and you know what they always say, the more the merrier . . right?

but it’s a bit different when the ‘merrier’ involves two ancient cocks.

to say you got stretched to the very fullest was merely an understatement. they each took turns with you, round after round after fucking round . .

your legs felt practically nonexistent, and every time they’d dump a knot into your sweet cunt, you’d feel like you were about to burst. round after round after round, they’d coax out orgasms out of you like it was nothing—especially sukuna.

choso was the one whining in your ear, whining even louder than you sometimes. he couldn’t help it, especially with how good your pussy wrapped around his dick so freely. it was a feeling he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced—and if he did, it was a long long time ago anyway.

but now, you were preparing to take them both at the same time. the thrill of the thought alone makes your thighs shudder as sukuna’s sinking his thick cock into you. already, he feels you gaping and you can’t help but moan at the elastic stretch unfurling wider and wider. .

the pink haired vampire was propped behind you while choso’s lying flat back against the sofa. it’s a pretty view, and choso’s staring right into your eyes. your pretty eyes—he’s never been one to lust over a mere human, but it was just something about you. with you, it was different.

sukuna on the the other hand—he couldn’t really care less. he’s centuries old and it’s been what, a decades since he’s got laid? it was just who he was - but he wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a while.

for centuries, the two of them lived their tedious lives inside of what appeared to be some kind of abandoned castle—you actually ended up stumbling upon it in the forest by accident while looking for them. the vampires you were supposed to kill, and yet here you were, about to be double stuffed by both of them.

“nice ‘n easy you two. biiiig fuckin’ stretch,” sukuna gruffs, wrapping a big hand around his hardened cock.

it’s flushed and veiny from the rigid sides, florid from the crowned tip with a ruby shade as he’s still getting over his recent orgasm. you’re sopping, your cunt’s crying for more and the sloshes that sang out from your folds only grew louder the more he’s burying himself inside of your gummy pasty walls. “choso, you’re not gonna faint again, are ya?”

“s- shut up,” choso grumbles, a rosy tiny spraying a half part of his face. as choso aligns himself between your entrance also, he let’s off a low sigh at the welcoming squelch your pussy make.

‘pop’ and fuck, could he listen to that all day. just the sloppy noises you made—to him, that was music in itself. “god, ‘m still so sensitive, m- mistress.”

with a sheepish hum, you cup both sides of his face, speaking in a teasing tone. “mistress?”

“i—” choso pauses, a vermillion flush spraying over his entire face. fuck, his words slipped, and he’s felt that wave of embarrassed returning right away.

it was adorable though, and as you continue to bare around both of their cocks, he can’t help but lean into your tender touch. “i mean-”

“no, it’s okay,” you reassure him, moaning once your bare ass gets a swift rude swat from sukuna’s palm. within no time, you’re starting to move your hips again, feeling yourself get stuffed in all orifices.

your sheeny-slicked lips part into a gasping ‘o’ once you feel sukuna then rub a hand against your clit. “fuck,” you whine, and sukuna hisses himself once he feels your clingy grip around his cock tighten. his hips were sharp, and it doesn’t take long before you start to match his deranged rhythm. averting your eyes back toward choso who’s laid back so prettily on the bed underneath you, speak in a soft voice. “ ‘s okay, you can call me that.”

“yeah, cho. call the pretty girl ‘mistress’, heh.” sukuna derides.

with a cute grouse, choso glares at sukuna—but his expression quickly falters once you fall into his chest, slumping into his body. his tight sculptured abs that resembled a greek god peeks through his victorian inky cloak ghost against you and a bit of hair from his happy trail tickles against your tummy.

“shut . . up,” he grumbles at sukuna, but now it’s his turn to cup your face. “m- mistress,” and a thumb of his runs against your cheek.

sukuna groans from behind you both as he’s fucking you from behind—his deep pivotal strokes slowly weakening due to how sensitive he was. it almost stings, but with the way your cunt’s holding him hostage for all its worth, he just couldn’t stop.

“hm,” your eyes meet the dark haired vampire and his bottom lip quivers. just your stare alone was enough to drive him up the first street of insanity.

you’ve done quite your fair share amount of research on these two and what the media reports about them in the papers always shocks you. they typically always describe them as the ‘blood-thirsty duo’ monsters who would mercilessly tear limb from limb off of anyone who dares cross their path.

funnily enough, they said the most heinous things about choso in particular—but now that you were quite literally being filled with them both in each hole, choso was more sweet than anything. the papers described him as a ruthless blood-sucking vampire but he was the sweetest—especially whenever he’s overstimmed and whiny.

and sukuna . . he’s sukuna.

but you were still alive—so that was something, right?

“can . . may i,” and it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking for.

choso wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his big wide eyes continue to flicker toward your own eyes, then back toward your glossed plump lips. he wanted a taste, he needed it.

“y- yeah,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s heavy cock reach an even deeper angle inside of you. you’re taking them both, feeling your entire legs get weaker by the second but that feeling suddenly disintegrates once choso presses his lips onto yours.

it’s a sultry hot kiss. a kiss that he’s been longing to do ever since he walked in on you and sukuna. choso’s forked tongue delves more into your mouth as you’re riding him with sukuna guiding your hips in place.

it’s sloppy, and he’s been pathetically aching for more of a taste from you for the longest. choso wasn’t fond of sharing you with sukuna—he wished it was you and him, but he couldn’t complain. at least he wasn’t going to complain yet.

“mmh,” you moan into his mouth, feeling his scarred hands softly caress near your breasts that poke through your bra. choso whines, nipping at your tongue with his serrated-sharp fangs before he lets off a gasp.

“ngh, oh fuck,” choso whimpers between your lips and deprived kisses. his arms end up enveloping around your waist, holding you close as sukuna’s driving his cock into you as such a crazed speed from behind.

as your lashes stick together briefly — they flutter shut before opening again. glancing up with droopy eyes, you watch as choso’s currently grabbing onto the wooden creaking headboard, a plethora of veins bulging down his swole biceps.

sukuna grunts behind your ear and within seconds later, he’s taking a playful harmless chomp out of your left shoulder blade.

your skin - so sweet, and his pronged tongue swirls its way around the fang marks that starts to form before choso ends up cumming early again.

“fuck, fuck,” choso whines, feeling his chest tighten. your pussy had them both weak, especially with choso more than anything, because he fills you up with another knot that exudes its way deep inside. it shoots out fast, pouring into you before a few remnants trickle down the crevices of your inner thighs.

your deadened legs struggle to stay open and he brings another needy wet kiss to your lips before he starts panting. “i- i need, need more,” and his eyes stare at your neck. “please, just a taste.”

“wait your turn, choso,” sukuna snarls, pulling you back to sink his fangs further into your skin. oh, they were fighting over you. choso lets off a cute huff before ignoring sukuna, glancing at you.

his eyes and pouty quivering lips were telling you ‘please’, and as you continued to slowly jerk your hips against them both, you let off a soft bashful, “g. . go ahead.”

but choso’s still cumming too—his ropes of cum was so sweet and came out so smoothly that it’s like he was pouring molasses of syrupy ribbons into you.

within a blink of an eye, it pumps into you raw, and choso nearly loses it once his fangs pierce down into the right side of your neck. “ah,” he whimpers, hot breath fanning against your skin. softly, his sharp fangs delicately nip into your sweet toothsome skin and it feels like a tiny prick.

you moan as you’re barely moving anymore, but they’re both still very deep inside, keeping each sloppy aperture of yours very, very busy.

“so dramatic,” sukuna rolls his eyes, a feeling of jealousy washing over him. you’re squeezing around him tight and he groans, clawing a few fingers toward your chest and unclasping your bra.

with hungry claret eyes that favors the color of rich red wine, he openly gawks as your breasts spring free and he gingerly pinches one of your perked nipples. “look at these girls, so perfect,” and you moan at his touch.

choso on the other hand looked so pretty. he’s still enjoying his ‘meal’ and the second his fangs cut deep enough into your skin, he tastes that sprinkle of metallic sweetness before he ends up cumming again.

he’s cumming while he’s feeding off of you — drinking your lusciously appetizing blood, and he hasn’t had a fill as good as this in probably centuries.

it’s so good that his mouth was watering, and the vampire loses his momentum before slouching further back with his teeth still attached to your skin like velcro. a pout curls against his lips as he makes you grind back into him, feeling both cocks stretch you open even more. “mh,” he whimpers, honed edges of his fangs creating various marks. you couldn’t wait to look at it later.

sukuna’s still fondling your tits and cupping them with both side hands before he bites near the other side of your neck, showering the exposed part of your skin with a multitude of kisses.

“careful, princess. you’re gonna break him,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and a hand of his trails further down between your legs.

“s- shut up, suku— fuck,” choso whines, and it’s an even larger knot than before.

it’s hot before it pumps inside of you yet again, filling you to the very peak. creamy globs of it race down your thighs as his mouth’s still clinging onto your bare shoulder blade. your taste, it was so rich . . so succulent.

your taste was almost so overbearing that it makes the flustered vampire’s eyes roll all the back until it reaches his skull, and he’s now feeling his dick twitching sporadically inside of you. “mistress, fuck. i- ‘s so much inside of you, f . . forgive me.”

he ends up shooting a huge load inside that stirs the insides of your flittering tummy. you were sure some even reached deep into womb, you wouldn’t be surprised due to just how big they both were.

but even so, and you couldn’t help but ponder . . could vampires get humans pregnant?

you didn’t plan on it, but that reality of being stuffed full of each of them made your stomach churn with a pool of butterflies living inside, swarming all around and fluttering at just the lewd thought of it all. you were filled to the very max - the very brim, and it leaves you panting for more.

you all remain like that until sukuna finally pries you off of choso, crimson eyes gazing at the mess that spills between your thighs. “tsk. how filthy,” and you land on your back, staring up at the two vampires who share the same blood-lust gaze.

“spread ‘em again, princess. least we can do is clean ya up,” and he nudges choso who’s just lied flat against the bed, still in awe—starstruck.

your pussy probably did break him.

“choso. c’mere,” he snaps in his face, and the dark haired vampire blinks thrice, returning back to reality. he groans, sitting up with sheets of sweat racing down each sides of his face. “our girl need’s cleaning.”

“o- oh, right,” he quietly stammers, a bit of your blood from earlier staining his pink lips. a permanent pout remains on his mouth before he licks them clean, and he can’t help but lean in, giving you one more kiss.

your heart swoons, and as you return the embrace. milliseconds pass and you gradually start to feel sukuna spreading your legs, ogling at the mess they created, the mess that’s pumped into you fully.

velvety ribbons of cum racing down each of your thighs, you were still throbbing ferociously and you let off a moan once you swipe your tongue across choso’s lips, relishing in the taste of your own sweet irony blood.

as your tongues vigorously twirl around each, trying to assert dominance between each twisting muscle—you let off a whimper in choso’s mouth once you feel sukuna’s breath aerate against your clit.

without even batting an eye, he starts to lap the cum out between your puffy folds before he gives it one loooong suck. your chest automatically heaves in and out before your arms wrap around choso’s broad shoulders, tangling saliva strands together and creating lustrous sleek cobwebs.

but, as your lips were locked against choso, you feel something between your legs. sukuna gives your pussy one long sniff, then he does it again, and one more time before gifting it a pat. “oh. .”

choso nibbles at your bottom lip with his fangs before sukuna meanly spanks your cunt. a bit of your own slick sprays against his palm and he hums.

“choso,” he huskily says, teasingly pointing the end of his claw near your pulsating clit. it was hovering over your entrance . . and still, you let off a whimper at the sensitive feeling. “i think i know why our pretty girl smelled so good all this time.”

“huh,” the dark haired vampire briefly pulls away, panting heavily just as you. choso glances down at sukuna before feeling his chest cave in and out. “w . . why, sukuna?”

you look down at sukuna, your brows contorting into a curious look yourself.

sukuna gives your sopping cunt one long stare before giving it a kiss. “mwah,” and you moan, watching as wet strands peel away from your pudgy folds and glue back onto his mouth.

he’s sloppy, and he couldn’t care less. the vampire rubs a circle around your entrance before snickering darkly.

“because,” and he spanks your pussy once more time before playfully putting his fangs against your clit as if he was about to bite you. with a dull expression, sukuna leans in to smell between your legs one more time before whispering against your clit.

“—you’re ovulating, princess.”

[hexhomos]

Can you explain again how Jayce’s green shirt with the dark red floral print ties back to Viktor? I know outfit design in Arcane is very intentional but I don’t quite see the connection.

Green is the predominant emblem/flag color of Zaun, and Viktor in Arcane is intimately tied up to flower/vegetal themes - particularly as it relates to mutation and subverting one's nature; baby viktor helps singed make shimmer by collecting the mutated purple bulbs that will be fed to rio to keep her alive, adult viktor experiments on plants before experimenting on himself, his 'steel oasis' in s1 is covered in a carpet of leaves that slowly die out as viktor himself becomes more and more ill, Viktor's commune is green and lush and surrounded by bioengineered flora -- and last but not least importantly, when Jayce is stranded in the apocalypse he walks through some of that flora in his road up the hexgates, just to find that at the very apex Viktor keeps a garden thriving around what remains of Jayce's body.

Husk!Jayce himself is something of a flowerpot, in symbiotic unity with those coral/moss/plant strains growing out of him.

The plants are growing out of his shoulders! Just like Jayce's new shirt!!! The predominant colors in both are shades of green/red too! Jayce in ep8 has fully embraced it as part of his identity and mission as Viktor's emissary. They make me feel ill.

[heartepub]

from the vantage point of death

summary. when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed. pairing. hades!choi seungcheol x f!persephone!reader genre/tags. fantasy/mythology, reverse hades and persephone au, bastardizing mythologies to form my version of it, unhinged mc (but we love her), NO STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, implied weirdo suitors, one crude joke, yearning, mdni (borderline nsfw ending) wc. 13.8k suggested listening. arsonist's lullabye, hozier // nfwmb, hozier // would that i, hozier // 난 (me), 에스쿱스 (s.coups) // me and my husband, mitski // dust to dust, the civil wars // my love will never die, hozier // work song, hozier

notes. sorry for the delay hnnng—it was a mix of bad timing (again) and overshooting the wordcount (again). not fully satisfied but this is probably the best i can manage atm. hades!csc is suprisingly pouty and morally upright. shoutout to hozier, my main sponsor for this videyow.

It is true what they say about whispers thriving in darkness.

Seungcheol hears them constantly, finds them woven into the fabric of the air, waiting to be unraveled. The whispers crawl in from the edge of his realm, carried by the rivers and into his ears. They keep him abreast of what is happening above ground, sometimes even more than the news Jeonghan would bring when he reports news from the Pantheon.

Some days, he tells himself it would not do to listen. The job of the King of the Underworld is endless; the dead do not stop dying. But listening to the whispers from elsewhere is the only way to distract him from the ones that plague his own mind; the curling, insidious darkness that is not the one he has made a home in, but rather one that threatens to consume him. So he finds the whispers, entertains the rumours that find the darkness. Seungcheol beckons them forward, pushing his own demons to the back of his mind. 

One of them is particularly persistent, sneaking past even the drapes of his chambers, the one place all the other whispers should not reach. It curls around him, flirts with the curve of his earlobe. The message is the same, every time it comes:

The Goddess of Spring is sick.

The first time he had heard it, he called Jeonghan immediately; as the God of Death, he was more in touch with its threads than even he. Despite the gold thread that marks one as immortal, the luster is slowly and surely fading. Both of them confirmed this, even as Jeonghan had mused that it did not make much sense. Seungcheol agreed.

There are precious few things that make immortals fall; for minor deities, it is almost always the lack of devotion, the slow death that comes with the fickle memory of mortals. Yet a goddess of spring would not have the same problem, even if she were not one of those graced to have a seat at the Pantheon. There are still temples undoubtedly to this Goddess’ name, incense and wine poured to honor the first sowing of seeds before the planting season.

The whisper soon reached his other trusted companions. It was Jisoo, the ferryman, who reported what he heard by the riverbank: by some mistake, the Goddess ingested mortal food, and the disease was now infecting her immortal blood.

The urge of duty beckons him, a voice in his ear reasoning that if a Goddess were indeed about to cross over to his realm, the least he could do was be the one to escort her there. He could ask her how this happened, if she were ready to speak to him, perhaps even bring her case to the High Palace to ask how the balance of the world were to be maintained.

Decided, he grabs his travelling robes.

For the first time in millennia, Seungcheol walks above ground. 

As expected, the Goddess of Spring’s domain is a lush garden, nothing but Life as far as the eye can see. He enters much more easily than expected; the wards have weakened concerningly so, even as the lingering magic in the air hint at their former strength. 

As he ventures in, the leaves sway to some invisible wind, a smidgen more alive-seeming than they would be in the mortal realm. Still, there is yellowing on some trees. Dead petals litter the floor, and he feels the crunch of leaves under his shoe as he moves forward—further pieces of evidence that point to the weakening of the Goddess’ magic.

“Goddess, are you here?” He calls.

In the distance, he hears a hacking cough. 

Seungcheol breaks into a jog, alarmed. He plucks at the threads of death that he senses, filtering them out until a single golden string remains, though its luster seems to dull with every minute that passes. He follows it forward.

“Goddess?”

“Here,” he finally hears a weak voice croak, and he turns, finding you sprawled on the floor, a few feet shy of what is evidently your bed. 

Seungcheol does not hesitate to lift you in his arms, walking up the steps you were collapsed on. Your breath escapes your mouth in reedy pants, eyes hazy as you gaze at him without recognition. His heart aches.

“Oh Goddess, how did this happen to you?” Seungcheol lowers you onto your bed, fluffing and adjusting the pillows the best he could. He finds a jug of water and a cup resting on a nearby table. Filling the cup, he helps you tilt it up your lips. “Here. Drink.” You take small sips, holding not the cup, but his hands as he feeds the water to you. He feels your fingers trembling. Once a small noise of protest leaves you at the water still falling past your lips, Seungcheol quickly sets the cup aside, swiping the droplets on your chin with his sleeve and easing you into a lying position. 

You close your eyes, breathing finally steady. Sorrow tugs at his heartstrings as he dabs at the sweat off your brow with a cloth he had conjured.

It has been many centuries since the last time an immortal crossed the River. He wonders if the Underworld would be to your taste, absent of Life as it is. Only the lands of the blessed are lush with any kind of greenery, as it is near enough to Life, housing souls getting ready for reincarnation.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not notice the string of death that guided him to you suddenly wink into brilliant gold and disappear.

The Goddess’ eyes snap open, and Seungcheol startles. All too quickly, he feels strong hands grasp at his forearms and push. He stumbles back, almost tripping over his robes, but before he is able to resist, he lands in the middle of what he realizes is a ritual circle. The runes around his feet burst into brilliant gold light, washing the world in their glow. Vines rapidly begin to sprout, curling, tangling, and twisting above and around him. From beyond the light, he hears a faint voice chanting. 

It is magic, but one entirely foreign to his eyes. 

Finally, the glow fades. That same force he sensed earlier seems to be binding him in place, making his limbs ten times heavier than normal. Seungcheol fights to stand, grasping at the structure in front of him to help himself up. A great tangle of vines surrounds him; despite their flimsy appearance, they refuse to break or wilt with any amount of magic he forces into them.

In fact, they only seem to grow stronger.

Confusion gives way to realization, and then dawning fury. He zeroes in on the woman on the other side of the cage. The haze in your eyes has disappeared, replaced with a sharp gaze and a triumphant smirk. Around you, the air crackles with power.

“Caught you.”

“Goddess,” Seungcheol begins, raising his hands, palms up. “I mean you no ill.”

Everything had happened so quickly that he could not get a good look at you. Now, he not only feels, but he sees. Your magic lingers in the air, a sharp crackle of citrus undercut by the heavy, warning weight of wood. When he first saw you, you had been seconds away from becoming another shade to bring to the Underworld. Now, power thrums from you everywhere, even on the thin skin under your eyelashes. Your robes almost seem to glow.

You approach his cage with a fluid, almost feline grace. He feels your eyes cataloguing him, taking in his garb and the stiff, straight-backed posture he carries himself with, even outside the throne room. “I had certainly many assumptions of whom my trap would attract, but even this is unexpected. Let us hear it then: what brings the Unseen One into my domain?”

“I had received word of your illness, goddess, and thought it a duty and courtesy to escort you to my realm.”

“Escort me into your realm? Duty? I’ve heard of dowries and courtesy, but never duty,” you muse. Your eyes remain ever-scrutinizing; he resists the urge to squirm. Has he been so out of touch with the Pantheon norms that he no longer knows how theoi treat each other? Heat rushes to his ears at your intent gaze. “It must be true that there is no love in the Underworld. Your attempts at wooing are unconventional, but ineffective.”

“Excuse me?”

“Certainly new,” you continue, almost to yourself. “Out of all the suitors sent my way, or the ones that would take advantage of the rumours I had spread, your approach is the most unique.”

“Have your plants overtaken your mind?” His mouth twists in derision. “I have told you; I am here only out of my duty.”

“Not a suitor then? Hm.”

“As there seems to have been a misunderstanding,” he sighs, already tired, “If My Lady would be so kind to release me, we can leave this all behind us.”

You stare at him, head tilted. After a moment, a small smile pulls at your features. “I think not.”

Disbelief floods him, and he cannot hold back the scowl that pulls over his features. Seungcheol’s eyes flash dangerously. “That was not a request, Goddess.” He expects you to give in; no being of the Pantheon can bear to be around Death for so long, much less a minor goddess.

Then you do something entirely unexpected; you throw your head back and laugh.

“My, you are interesting! I do not think you are in a position to make your demands in my domain.”

For fuck’s sake—he inhales through his teeth, biting back the anger that has been steadily rising with the length of his stay in this vined cage. He tries phasing into shadow—you could not keep him here if he could simply slip back to his realm—but more vines wrap around him, absorbing his magic, rendering it null. Your grin just stretches wider. 

“On what grounds do you keep me?” He hisses.

“First, as I said, you are interesting.” You shrug. “Second, perhaps your presence will ward off all the other suitors the Pantheon has been attempting to send my way. Third, my domain seems to react to you in interesting ways.” You look pointedly at his hand, the locus where his magic seems to be siphoning into your realm.

“My powers are those for the dead,” he informs you. “They will do nothing for Life, certainly nothing for the Goddess of Spring.”

“Well, we shall not know until we conduct some more investigation, no?” 

He tries a different tactic. “Goddess, you must let me return. The Underworld cannot be parted with its King.”

You wave a hand, dismissive. “Oh please. No one misses Death. Perhaps those poor souls will even be glad for their judgement to be postponed.” The thought seems to please you, as you release a satisfied little huff.  “It is settled. You are mine for the time being, Lord of the Dead.”

No matter how many times Seungcheol has tried phasing into shadow again, the realm simply absorbs his magic. It seems that being held by a being that controlled Life, any magic relating to his return could not work. You had informed him, somewhat gleefully, that the wards of your realm have been refashioned to mimic a smokescreen—drawing from some of the magic that the realm had absorbed from him. It does not block visitors; rather, you boasted, it was a mix of concealment and compulsion charms to urge them to respect your privacy as you suffer through your malaise.

His magic, aside from this strange new affinity to life, is most prominently for keeping the barrier between his realm and the rest of the world intact. If you had borrowed from that…he is well and truly stuck.

It could be worse. He could have been captured with the intent of harming the Underworld, or weakening the barrier between the living and the dead. It could have been someone who demanded he give up his hound.

But he cannot call himself an oppressed prisoner. The heaviness of his limbs had quickly been resolved after a modification of the runes outside his prison, though his magical reserves continue to drain into your realm. You also insisted on ensuring all his needs are met, including bedding, pillows, water—both for bathing and drinking—and food, which you have taken to cooking in front of him, to prove there is no poison.

He accepts the bedding and pillows, as well as the water; he pours the drinking water into the same basin he uses for his baths. But nothing passes his mouth. Seungcheol is not sure why you are putting in the effort; your kind need little food and rest, after all. He does not know how much time has passed, only that he is utterly miserable. He considered yelling, crying out for help, but no one would hear him. 

Meanwhile, he feels your realm sucking away at his reserves. Vast as they are, even a drop of water against a rock eventually wears it down. He could only imagine what Jeonghan must be thinking now, at his prolonged and unplanned absence. Seungcheol grits his teeth, resisting the urge to lay down at the ever-creeping fatigue that grows as his magic wanes. He found out the hard way that the more of his body was in contact with your realm, the faster he would waste away. It is a battle to just stay awake.

“Your Grace!” He hears, and it feels vaguely far away. You are running to him, robes fluttering around you as you move, light-footed, across your realm. Seungcheol bites back a grimace, self-conscious of the way his draining magic must make him look paler and sicklier than usual. “Please hold onto a vine.”

At his refusal, you roll your eyes. “Let me try something, Your Grace. I think I know how to replenish your magic; I swear on your River that I mean no ill.”

Seungcheol’s distrustful stare does not cease, but he does relax his shoulders and hold out his right hand, palm facing up. Taking a deep breath, you wave a hand.

A thorn grows from where his hand is gripping the vine. Though ichor drips from his wrist down to his elbow, golden and oozing, Seungcheol refuses to flinch. Even as he bleeds, his palm is already beginning to heal, the tissue stitching itself around his wound and ejecting the thorn from his skin. Your focus is not on him though. As you watch, his blood is absorbed into the vine. 

Almost immediately, moss begins to grow under his hand. Flowers bloom at his feet from where the ichor drips onto the earth. Excited, you move a few steps closer, touching the new life now growing on your vines.

“This is…” he removes his hand from the vine, eyes flitting from between his now-healed hand and the vine he had held earlier, which now had not only moss, but flowers blooming from where his blood had touched the plant. He opens his mouth, but no words come.

“It worked,” you murmur, almost wondrously. “Ha! It cannot be true that your magic is only for the Dead.”

Seungcheol is stunned.

Certainly not an emotion he has ever felt very often, much less to this degree. You don’t seem to be done. Stepping forward, you clasp his hand in between yours. He startles, feeling the Life-magic from you rush into him. Slowly, he feels his reserves begin to return. When you let go, his magic has not fully returned to its full capacity, yet there is enough that he feels sufficiently energized.

“Spring,” you declare, looking at the astonished god, “is simply Life that follows after Death, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”

“A clever trick,” he says eventually. “You have had your fun, then. Now release me.”

You just smile. “Actually, this little experiment has just proven an interesting point. You are not my prisoner, Your Grace. Though it would be a shame to let you go, I will not keep you here against your will. The Lord of the Dead must be busy, after all.”

The change in your script has him dizzy. “I am not your prisoner?”

“It would seem so. That is what my investigation says.” You shrug. “I made a mistake with my earlier oath to the River, and now I have to mean you no ill in everything. So I can no longer lie to you. Not that I have, ever, anyway.”

Seungcheol tugs at the vines, ignoring how they now curiously seem to sway into his touch. But even as they do, no matter what he tries, they do not break. “So release me, then.”

“Now, where is the fun in that? I have given you a clue on how to release yourself, did I not? Spring is Life that follows after Death. And I have replenished some of your reserves, since you do not wish to bother with my cooking.”

At his confused silence, you huff a little laugh. “Oh, Your Grace, what am I to do with you?”

Seungcheol tucks his irritation behind his teeth, exhaling long and slow. “You could release me.”

“I told you, Your Grace is no prisoner of mine. You can very easily break this cage if you wished to. That is no longer my problem.” You shrug. “I swear it on your River and my magic. But do send messages to the Underworld, should you feel your absence take even longer. My wards will accommodate the correspondence.”

Days pass. He does indeed end up sending messages to the Underworld. To Jeonghan, to be exact.

While concerned, the God of Death’s immediate reaction is one of amusement, even admiration. It does nothing to quell Seungcheol’s irritation, especially when Jeonghan points out that you were right, the River binds you to tell only the truth, and mean no ill. He is just unlucky that no ill is not the same as goodwill.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watches as you tend to your gardens, conversing merrily with the spirits as you move around your domain. The spirits are curious of him too, yet he bats them away with impatient huffs and vaguely imperious commands to leave him alone. They do, but he feels faintly guilty for the way they seem to wilt as they drift away.

He still cannot claim to be an oppressed prisoner. You reminded him that he is not—and arguably has never been—the latter, and correctly guessed that releasing him from the cage after swearing that he can get out himself would hurt his pride. He is also not the former, as your constant providing of bedding, water, and food has continued. Seungcheol’s practice of accepting everything but the food has also continued. True enough to your claim, the lack of sustenance in your realm seems to be correlated to his dwindling reserves, though it seems his blood had satisfied your domain enough to be much slower in draining him.

Still, nothing passes his mouth. After every meal, you wordlessly claim the untouched bowls of your cooking—whether stew, bread, meat, vegetables, or rice. Even the casket you had received from the God of Wine and deigned to share with him is refused, even as you remind him repeatedly that you cannot harm him.

At each refusal, your lips would purse tighter and tighter.

Finally, one night, you have had enough. Standing at the other side of his cage, you do not move to get his untouched dinner.

Instead, new vines wrap around his wrists and legs, pulling him forward to the edge of the cage. Seungcheol’s choked exclamation of surprise cuts itself short as you grab his robes from the other side. He has to slam his hands, bound as they are, against his cage to brace himself. Your face is a mask of barely-controlled fury.

“I remember telling you, Your Grace,” you snarl, “you are not my prisoner.” The air around him crackles with magic. The smell of grapefruit fills his nose—but incredibly bitter, as though the taste of its pith became a scent. Your face is twisted in anger, and dare he say hurt. “I swear a vow of no malice. I show you the potential of your power, and promise freedom is within your grasp. I offer you kindness. I allow you to send your correspondence in good faith, not knowing if you have actually been plotting your revenge against me. I give you food from my garden, and cook it in front of you!

“And you repay me with distrust,” you spit. “You refuse the fruits of Spring and her goddess’ labor. My Lord must know that only realms of the major theoi have enough latent magic to bind those who partake of its bounty. But if your strategy to free yourself is to anger me to oblivion, I will simply allow my realm to suck the magic out of you. The Lord of the Dead, my personal fertilizer. See if you like that.” Your voice cracks.

Any response boiling behind his throat dissipates at the sight of tears rimming your lashes. Weakly, he tries to rebut. “You cannot. You swore no ill will.”

“And yet you do not eat.” Suddenly, it seems the strings have been cut from your body, and you release his robes with nothing more than a half-hearted shove. Turning away, you pick up his untouched food. Despite your anger moments ago, you remain gentle with the bowl of cold stew.

Seungcheol watches, the weight in his chest growing, as you set it in front of your table and grab a spoon. With a wave of your hand, the stew is warm again, steam rising in gentle spirals from the bowl. The guilt he had felt spurning the innocently curious spirits is nothing compared to seeing the Goddess who had brought him to his knees fighting back her tears, spooning his dinner into her mouth.

“I did not know you could warm it again.” He speaks quietly, unable to raise his voice above a murmur.

“Why,” you reply dully. “Would you eat it if I did?”

Seungcheol does not reply, despite the apologies crawling up his throat. As you leave for your evening ablutions, he calls for you softly.

“Do not bother apologizing,” you reply, without stopping or turning back. “Just eat the food tomorrow.”

And so he does.

After another handful of days, a visitor arrives. 

“Erm, Lord Seungcheol?” He looks up, trying to place the voice. Your head pokes up from a hedge, vaguely panicked. A figure alights by the gazebo, where he had first found you. He recognizes the messenger god by the dark red hair and winged sandals on his feet. 

He is about to call out, but your hand closes into a fist quickly. The air clamp his lips shut, and silences the muffled shout that escapes his mouth. The god looks around, realizing Seungcheol is not there. Realizing this, the god slumps, calling a different name instead with a mix of exasperation and concern. Seungcheol tilts his head, wondering whose it is, until he sees your head snap to the god’s direction. 

With a jolt, he realizes he only knew your title—Goddess of Spring—but not your name. The messenger god begins to rant.

“I only just managed to sneak past the Lord Father’s nose—said you were not to be disturbed while the Lord of the Dead tended to your illness, but I had to see you, if only to confirm which rumours are true—what on earth happened to your wards, by the way, I had to ask a sprite for help in removing the soot—”

The god parts the curtain by your bed, and promptly swears. “Shit!”

Seungcheol watches, mildly bemused, as the god flutters from one nook to the next, looking more and more distressed as you are nowhere in sight. Any amusement he feels vanishes the moment the young god finds him, tending to a patch of plants a few feet away from your bed. Seungkwan trips as he stumbles backward in shock.

“L-Lord Seungcheol,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. “I—Your Grace—”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol inclines his head with all the dignity he can muster.

“Seungkwan,” you finally call. He whips around, a noise of both agitation and relief escaping him when he catches sight of you.

“You! What in hell’s name are you doing out of bed?! Er,” he glances sheepishly at Seungcheol before turning back to you with a wide-eyed glare, expression clearly demanding you to explain.

“Surprise!” You chuckle feebly. “Whatever happened to ‘I am glad you are well’?”

“Last everyone has heard, the Lord of the Dead was preparing for your passage to the Underworld—” Seungkwan begins, before his expression morphs, the pieces coming together in his head in real time. He looks as though he is one revelation away from pulling his hair out. “Tell me Lord Seungcheol is not your prisoner and this is all in my head.”

“Lord Seungcheol is not my prisoner and this is all in your head,” you parrot obediently. 

“Is this why you were so sick? You were saving your magic for—for ransoming the God of the Underworld?”

“That is not why I—”

“You know everyone will realize he is missing, do you not? There are already whispers that the Underworld is without its King.” He waves his hands, emphasizing his words. Your voice remains genial.

“This is all harmless fun,” you wave a hand. 

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. “Is it? The Underworld—”

“I have allowed correspondence between him and his comrades—”

“Some already think your illness is too convenient,” he warns. “You will not be able to hold this charade for long.”

You snort. “The fact that gossip of both my faked illness and impending death coexist speaks to the stupidity of the divine rumour mill.”

Exasperated with your blasé responses, Seungkwan turns to Seungcheol. Biting his lip, his fingers fidget at his staff. You just watch, eyebrow raised at the sudden change in demeanor. “My Lord, do you, erm, need help—that is, if you are held against your will—”

“I shall be free soon enough,” he says shortly. “The Underworld will not be long without me.”

“You will hurt his pride, ‘Kwan,” you interject, smothering a laugh. “He needs to free himself for his ego’s sake.” 

Seungcheol levels a glare at you, thoroughly unamused. You just raise an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise. Seungkwan’s gaze flits between the two of you, cycling through numerous expressions of skepticism and concern.

Eventually, the god just sighs, running a hand again through his hair. The tension in Seungkwan’s shoulders returns; his sandals flutter restlessly, picking up on the unease of their master. “The Pantheon only knows that you have been wasting away from eating mortal food, and that there is something strange about the Underworld because of His Grace’s absence. The others may start putting the pieces together.”

Your gaze shifts from rage into something more calculating. “Let them, then. See if they can outsmart a goddess that outsmarted the Unseen One.”

Seungcheol does it again and again, slicing his hand and watching the growth from where his ichor drips on the earth. Since first time he tried it without you to interfere in any way, the same result were yielded. Yet there is no more understanding with this attempt than any other before it.

Frustrated, he looks at you. “My blood does not cause life, and nor does my magic. Millennia have proven this. Your garden must be an anomaly.”

From the other side of his cage, you huff, not looking up from your pruning. “You are not listening to me, Your Grace; I said Life follows after Death, not that Death causes Life. Perhaps, yes, your blood dripping onto mortal soil would yield different results. But this is my garden, the Heart of Spring. Life is constantly following after Death. An endless loop.”

“The ichor,” he tries. “The things Godly blood can do, even now, have never been fully known.”

“Your Grace, you say your magic is one of Death, yet not a single blade of grass has wilted in your footsteps,” you point out. “It is not just your blood that can bring Life, but your magic itself. I am the Spring that follows after Death. You carry the power of Death itself.”

“No, Death is Jeonghan,” Seungcheol murmurs absently.

Evidently, you had not been expecting that, as you pull up short and twist to face him, face contorted in surprise. “Jeonghan? Oh my. Do I have the wrong god?”

“No! No.” Seungcheol pauses, surprised at his own vehemence. Clearing his throat, he continues in a more subdued tone. “I am Lord of the Dead. Jeonghan is the God of Death, the Reaper.”

“Oh,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Spring does not come immediately after the reaping. My point stands. Spring is the Life that follows from Death. My realm has already been responding to you, gaining life from your power.”

Seungcheol has felt, since getting into this cage, the power draining from under his feet, as though the earth were a great straw drinking from his reserves. He had assumed it to be because of the runic circle at his feet. “Is this not you draining my power to keep me prisoner and feed your wards? It started since you trapped me in this cage.”

“That is not the whole truth. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you roll your eyes at his expression. “I swore to mean you no malice, not to speak the truth. Not at that point yet, anyway. It is true that your power is feeding mine, but that is not just my doing. My domain has latent magic, though the runes augment it. It has been responding to yours, making more Life out of Death. Pushing your magic outward will only make it worse. And why do you think my magic flowed so easily into your reserves?” You give him a gaze that is both meaningful and exasperated.

A thought strikes him then, one so obvious now that Seungcheol wonders why it had not occurred to him earlier. He lays his hand back onto the vines in front of him. Instead of pushing, however, he pulls, bringing magic inward and back to himself. 

The realm responds in kind.

His prison’s vines begin to weaken under his touch, the tangled cords thinning until the braids barely hold together. Above him, the great ceiling of his cage falls as a wilted mess. Instinctively, Seungcheol lifts his hand, and the wilted stems disintegrate, falling around him like ash. The air smells distinctly earth-like.

He stands before you, dead leaves in his hair, more invigorated than he has been in a long, long time.

“Well, it took you long enough,” you rest your hands on your hips, utterly pleased with yourself. “Aren’t I a splendid teacher? I imagine if you do the same thing with your feet, you will no longer be so drained in my domain.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol murmurs to himself. “Death claims Life, not the other way around. It has been so long since I left the Underworld that I have forgotten.” 

Something in your expression softens. “Then remember with me. If it cannot be remembered, we shall find out more. You felt it, did you not? Our magics are drawn to each other.”

Seungcheol cannot deny that. Even now, with you a little more than an arm’s length away, he aches to have you closer, to feel again that rush of Life, as though he were perpetually being reborn.

“So, what will it be, Lord of the Dead? Will you find out with me?”

Seungcheol resists the yearning that claws at his chest, tamps down the yes that instinctively rises up his throat.

“What do you get out of this?”

“Hm?”

“It seems terribly altruistic for you,” he drawls. “My captor caging me purely for her amusement, and now that I have passed, I am offered to learn of magic I did not know I could wield.” He narrows his eyes at you. “What do you get out of this?”

You tilt your head at him, confused. “Do you think you are the only one benefiting from this arrangement? My realm has never been stronger. Our magics’ compatibility is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And your suitors?”

“Your presence would certainly deter the rabble, but I imagine the rumours of your capture alone will set me up for a good few millennia of quiet.”

“What of my duties? No matter how capable my brothers are, the Underworld falters without its king.”

“Return to the Underworld if you must, Your Grace, but contract with me the period of your stay. I will swear on the River that it shall be upheld.”

You snap your fingers, and a gentle breeze flutters over him, rustling his hair and clothes off the dead leaves and bits of stem. And though he is free, longing clings to his ribs, the offer not just of power, but companionship, of a kind that is different from the one he shares with his brothers belowground. It was only when Seungkwan had arrived that he remembered the usual demeanor leveled at him—the immediate fear and distrust, the whispers that had pushed him toward seclusion in the first place. Outside of his brothers in the Underworld, you had been the only other one to not treat him this way.

For so long, the thought of Life had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Seungcheol had never held it in his hands, never felt the rush of a beating heart nor a sapling’s head breaking from the soil. Yet he experienced all of that, numerous times, in this garden, without feeling like a harbinger of despair. 

“Well? What say you, Your Grace?”

Much planning is needed. His comrades were more receptive to the idea than he expected; he could not help but feel a little betrayed at their willingness to shoo him off and insist on a so-called vacation, even if the pretense remained to be that he was tending to a goddess at her sickbed.

To Seungcheol’s chagrin, you insisted on tagging along to the Underworld, brushing aside his protests that nothing alive can enter his domain. 

“Death claims Life; I am telling you now, the Underworld will take a much bigger toll on a minor goddess compared to the Lord of the Dead in your garden.”

“How unfair. We are partners, are we not? For all you know I could use some Death magic myself. We will not know until I am there.” You bat your eyes playfully. “The Lord of the Dead must have enough power to save a minor goddess, no? Especially in his own domain.”

He pinches his nose, a headache beginning to form. Surely there are much better ways of ensuring he upholds your arrangement.

“Fine. Fine, but if your magic is dwindling, you tell me immediately.”

You bounce on your toes, excited. Excited! Seungcheol does not bother to think about the teasing that he is sure to receive. Once his brothers see him descend with a girl on his arm, much less one very much alive, he is never hearing the end of it.

True enough, the first to see them is Jisoo, on the edge of the riverbank. The twinkle in his eye bodes nothing good. “Oh? This is no dead goddess. Have you abducted her? I must remind you that I only ferry the dead. Unless you plan on finally taking a Queen.”

You merely smile. “Hello, ferryman.”

Jisoo smiles, eyes crinkled into crescents, charm dialed up much more than necessary. Seungcheol tamps down the grumble that crawls up his throat.

“Hello, Goddess. Blink twice if you need help.”

Seungcheol cannot help his scoff. “Oh, please. I am not holding her hostage. If anything, it was the other way around.”

“It is true.” You nod solemnly. “I would like passage, as the Lord of the Dead’s abductor. We are here to sort his affairs before he begins his contract in my domain.”

Jisoo blinks, taken aback. “My lady,” he begins, “As I mentioned earlier, I only ferry the dead. You are very much alive.”

“Even if I were the guest of your Lord?” He nods. “Hm. I suppose I could dip in the river, then?”

“Do not even joke about that,” Seungcheol snaps. “You will die. Anyone who bathes in the River, immortal or mortal, will die.”

“That is entirely the point.”

“The Pantheon will have my magic. Your mother will have my head. Poor Chan will be worse off, since it is his river you have chosen to bathe in.”

“Chan? Is that the name of your river deity?” Your eyes are alight with interest. “How fascinating.”

Seungcheol rubs a palm against his forehead; the headache has taken over in earnest.

“Knowing the name of the river spirit will not help your case, my lady.” Jisoo gently pulls the conversation back. “I cannot let you cross.” You ponder the dilemma, crossing your arms and lifting a hand to your mouth in thought. 

“I have claimed to be on the brink of death before,” you muse, “Spring is…no, that will not work. Well then.” You turn to Jisoo, tilting your head. “Do you accept bribery, ferryman?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Certainly, if it came from a goddess as pretty as you.” 

Seungcheol chokes, looking at his friend with wide eyes. “Absolutely not—” In the blink of an eye, Jisoo’s smile shifts from charming to cheeky, and you respond with a bright grin of your own.

His protests are ignored. The familiar wildness of your magic tinges the air, and in your hands, three daisies emerge, their white and yellow colors a stark contrast to the blackish-brown mud of the riverbank. “For you, ferryman. Three is a magical number, after all.”

Jisoo’s expression is surprisingly soft as he accepts the flowers. “Oh. I have never received flowers before.”

“Never?” you frown. “That simply will not do.” With a deep inhale, your eyes scrunch shut. The scent of your magic grows stronger—the mix of florals and citrus already in the air is joined by the bite of wood, and something else, distinctly earth-like. Soil. A collection of flowers bloom where your hands are cupped: pink and purple roses, daisies, azaleas, and a whole slew of plants Seungcheol has seen before but cannot name. You tie the bouquet with a long piece of leaf, presenting it to him with a flourish.

“The daisies were my bribe, but this is a gift. What do you think, ferryman?”

Jisoo’s smile is the widest Seungcheol has seen in a while. “Come aboard, my lady.”

For the first time in a while, you are wrong; the Underworld is too much. You feel the magic rapidly draining from you, even as Seungcheol asks you to stay outside his bedchambers while he gathers his things. You bite your lips to force color back onto them.

As you wait, the presence of another makes itself known. Two others, you realize, turning to see a man—a god—and a dog-creature in his arms. The god tilts his head. 

“You must be the goddess Seungcheol was supposed to collect, then.” You hedge a guess.

“Jeonghan?”

The god’s eyebrows raise. “Indeed, lady.” 

The God of Death is intimidatingly beautiful. His magic pulses around him, eerily similar to the Lord of the Dead. Yet where you find solace in Seungcheol’s, even a sense of excitement, this man’s magic makes you vaguely uneasy, even as it has some synergy with your own.

Where Seungcheol reigns over the Dead already put to rest, Jeonghan’s domain is the reaping itself, the act of claiming. So close to Seungcheol’s, yet very far from yours.

He observes you, gaze knife-sharp. “If our Lord is to stay with you, I ask that you adjust your wards to let me in as well. He may need to communicate regularly with the Underworld.”

“Everyone is alright with this?” you ask, surprised. “I was prepared to fight for his temporary transfer.” The ferryman was one thing, especially since he could simply not grant you passage out, but his closest lieutenant agreeing so easily is unexpected.

“Our Seungcheollie needs a vacation,” Jeonghan waves a hand, deceptively dismissive, but his eyes burrow holes into your confidence. “And I trust his judgement, even if I have my own concerns.”

The dog in his arms barks, and Jeonghan’s tone shifts to a soothing coo. “Kkuma-ya, shh.” 

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, ignoring Jeonghan’s disapproving stare. Kkuma sniffs at your hand, pauses, and begins to lick with great aplomb. Jeonghan’s eyes widen slightly.

“I think she recognizes His Grace’s magic,” you murmur, a little embarrassed. Yet with every pass of Kkuma’s tongue on your fingers, you feel some magic return to you.

“Perhaps, but she only does that if she really likes you.”

“Or she senses my magic weakening. May I?” You hold out your hands, and Kkuma is quick to paw at Jeonghan’s arms, impatient. You accept Kkuma, giggling as she licks your cheek, still transferring magic to you.

Jeonghan’s gaze remains sharp, but considerably less cold. “You are not dead. But you are dying.”

“Indeed, it seems I miscalculated my entrance into his domain.”

“The living cannot stay,” he agrees. “I will tell Seungcheol to hurry.” Jeonghan excuses himself with a short bow.

“Your Goddess is growing weaker.”

Seungcheol starts, whipping around to see Jeonghan striding into his chambers. “What?”

“We spoke briefly outside. The Underworld is rejecting her presence.”

Seungcheol purses his lips, quickly packing the last of his essentials before lifting his bag over his shoulder. “She would have been less tired had she not made that huge bouquet for Jisoo.”

“He is quite endeared, by the way. Planted them by the riverside almost immediately, at the edge of the Isles. Chan likes them too.”

“And you?”

“Hm?” Jeonghan’s tone is too innocent. Seungcheol groans.

“Do not tell me you scared her.”

The God of Death shrugs, a little pout on his face as he reproaches him. “How little you think of me. I like her, actually. Finally a woman with a spine, though it is funny to know that you were her prisoner. How did you solve her puzzle?”

Seungcheol explains the direction of flow as the deciding factor, how claiming life was the answer and not pushing magic outward. “Though of course, you probably already know that, being around Life magic as often as you are,” he concludes.

Jeonghan listens, interested. “I have been told that our magic is similar. Perhaps—”

“I asked that too,” he interjects quickly. “She said something about Spring not coming right after the reaping.”

“Oh? Clever girl.” Jeonghan’s eyes gleam.

Seungcheol points his finger at him, warning.

“Do not.”

“Goodness, how long have you known her? So protective already. I like her more and more.”

Absently, he runs a hand along the fine cloth of his pillowcase, already missing the luxury of his bedsheets. “I will not be away for long.”

“Of course.” Jeonghan inclines his head. As he leaves, his friend calls out from behind him, “Do try to have fun, though!”

It is decidedly not fun.

“Again.”

Seungcheol kneels down, brushing the tips of his fingers against the sapling. “Agh!” The little plant explodes with a wet pop, scattering little pieces of green on top of the dirt.

“Too much.”

Seungcheol looks up, meeting your eyes from where you stand, right across him. You tilt your head, holding his gaze before gesturing to the next sapling. He uses a single finger this time, focusing on letting out a steady stream of his power. The little plant blooms, briefly, until it too explodes.

“Too much, still.” Amusement colors your voice. “Trickle your magic in. Do not let it flow so strongly.”

“I am trickling it.” Frustrated, he curls his power inward, watching the little sapling wilt and then rot into the ground. Around him, the spirits titter, some small voices letting out soft squeaks of dismay. You tut.

“Your control over your magic is lacking, Your Grace. When was the last time you had to use your power like this?”

“I cannot look back on the day.” He grinds the answer through his teeth. You merely hum in response, remaining where you are, arms crossed and leaning against a nearby tree bark. Your patience too, is much longer than his.

“It could be either your control or the size of your reserves. It could also be both. Though I suppose kings do not have to work to hone their magic if they can overpower others through sheer force.” He grits his teeth, glaring holes into your impassive stare. “Again.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Hm?” You look back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are fixed on the knife on your hand. Right now, there is rice bubbling by the fire, and you are readying an array of vegetables and meat to be mixed in with the freshly-cooked rice. It had always been just you cooking while he applied himself to continuous attempts at controlling his power.

“It seems remiss to leave you to hostess’ work,” he clarifies. At your blank stare, he feels the foreign sensation of heat rushing to his cheeks, and the urge to raise his shoulders and hunch them inward.

Eventually, you offer him the bowl of sliced cucumbers in your hand. Your eyes are clear of any judgement; the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat. “Here. Drizzle some oil, then a spoonful of the garlic and a pinch of salt.”

Eager for an easier task than honing his paltry control over his magic, Seungcheol accepts the bowl. You continue like this, him following your instructions until two steaming bowls of rice with overlaid meat and vegetables are laid before you. The cucumbers are in a separate dish, seasoned by him and with your guidance. You reach for one, popping into your mouth with a thoughtful hum.

He mirrors your movement, but makes a face almost immediately. He put too much salt. Nonplussed, you eat your third cucumber, shrugging even as he picks at his work. He gives you a skeptical frown, which you only respond to with a smile.

“You will learn.” No shred of doubt can be found in your voice.

Seungcheol does not respond. Instead, he digs into his rice, allowing warmth to fill him.

“Perhaps,” you begin, “we have been looking at this wrong.” You cup his hands between yours.

His magic sparks at your touch, and the power under your skin responds in kind. Seungcheol’s knuckles brush against your wrist, and he startles a little at the strength of your pulse. Almost immediately, a bud grows, fed not by soil, but your joint magic. In seconds, a fully-bloomed daffodil rests on his hand. He stares at the yellow petals, mouth parted in wonder.

“Concentrate on your magic, Your Grace. How does it feel?” You prompt him gently. Reluctant, he shakes off the awe, pursing his lips as he feels the flow of the magic. Seungcheol marvels at the feeling of it, how alive it feels to have your magics intertwine. It feels—

“Like dancing,” he murmurs, gazing down at your joined hands. Another daffodil has already begun to bloom.

“I see.” you murmur, gazing down at your hands, a soft smile on your features. Your fingers trace the ridges of his palm almost affectionately. Despite himself, Seungcheol revels in the touch; he is sure that even without your magic meeting and intertwining, his skin would tingle at the novelty of any kind of contact with Life. The flowers remain on his hands, but he feels the loss of warmth on his skin as you release him and step back. Your bare foot twists in the soil, and a sapling pops up from the ground. 

“Remember the feeling, Your Grace. Not pushing nor pulling, but dancing.” You gesture to the little stem popping from the ground. “Now try.”

He kneels down, resting his pinky on the little shoot. He exhales slowly, narrowing his world to the point where his finger touches Life. It grows a few inches, shedding its first, small leaves and allowing new, larger ones to grow. His success doesn’t last long, however, and the plant promptly pops into small pieces of greenery scattered around the dark soil. He twists his up head to you, eyes wide, lips pouted in dismay. You are already clapping delightedly. 

“Yes!” You clasp his hands again, excited. Despite himself, he revels in the touch; “That is much better than all the other attempts thus far! That is the answer, then. Life and Death dance together.” Magic buzzes under his skin, already reaching out to yours on instinct. You must feel it too, as the smell of flowers and citrus spikes in the air. At your feet, a small patch of bouvardia bursts into bright bloom.

Grinning, you just grasp his hands tighter.

Seungcheol yanks a few carrots out, wiping the soil away with a spare rag before laying them beside the other vegetables. They join the peppers and lettuce already filling the basket.

“You are different from what they say.” He looks up, meeting your eyes. You nestle a head of newly-harvested cabbage. “Gloomy, perhaps. But there is nothing cruel about you.”

“How magnanimous of you to say,” he responds dryly. You gesture to his part of the harvest. 

“I imagine this all must be very new.”

“It has been many millennia since I have been with Life this long,” he acknowledges. They are only distant memories, blurred and softened by the passage of time.

“What is the Underworld like?”

“Have you not seen my domain, goddess?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh, but that was just your River and the Palace; it must be much more vast than that.”

“Nothing grows in my realm, except the lands of the blessed, which houses those shades to be reincarnated.” 

Your nose wrinkles as you try to imagine it. “No sunlight makes for a dreary place indeed. Truly nothing grows?”

“Well…” An idea occurs to him, and he places his hand on the soil, concentrating. Sure enough, the earth pushes up a fist-sized emerald onto his waiting palm. He presents it to you. Your eyes sparkle as you accept the gift, turning it this way and that, observing how the uncut jewel gleams as it reflects the sun. You turn back to him, inquisitive.

“Do these grow on your trees? Or do you just will them from the ground?”

“Oh! No, I merely—” Seungcheol clears his throat. He feels heat burn his ears red. “We have these, as well. It is not just an expanse of grey despair.”

You look at him curiously, likely catching the way he squirms under your gaze. Eventually, you just level him with a grin.

“I’d forgotten that the Lord of the Dead is also the God of Wealth. I would like to see this…jeweled garden of yours next time.” The emerald reflects a small, bright spot of green light on your cheek, like a little divine dimple. Somehow, he thinks he would not mind if you visit again.

Meals have quickly grown to be his favorite time. You are softer here, the less forgiving mask of researcher and instructor having been traded in favor of the genial goddess.

Today, he finally mastered his first dish—not merely balancing the seasoning ingredients like you had asked him with the cucumbers, but a full-blown, steaming bowl of stew. He did not expect to be filled with so much satisfaction at the smile that bloomed on your face at the first bite.

“This is perfect, Your Grace.”

He just nods, suddenly bashful, picking up his own spoon. As he eats, you watch him, particularly bright-eyed. There is something almost like wonder in your gaze—and he doesn’t know what to do with it. No one has ever looked at the Lord of the Dead with wonder, of all things.

Seungcheol is not quite sure what your duties are, only that you have not left your domain since your trip to the Underworld. Even while he was your captive, he had only seen you here. It is only when you flit around, uncharacteristically restless, that he even realizes you have obligations outside your realm.

“I received a message from Seungkwan yesterday,” you confess, catching his questioning look. “The mortals’ fields are suffering from my absence. Harvest is my mother’s domain, while Spring is mine; at this rate there will be little bounty.”

“You have been neglecting your duties.” His tone is more disapproval than a question.

“It would be strange for a sick goddess to be out and about, would it not?” Pointedly, you raise an eyebrow. “If I attend to them now, the gossip mill will grind anew. Not that the Pantheon is not already suspicious.”

Seungcheol glares at his feet. He hates those voices more than anything else. They were the reason he chose to sequester himself in his realm in the first place—the domain of the dead had always been regarded with fearful reverence, and Seungcheol had never bothered to contest those narratives. Even if it did mean the occasional offering from mortals who seem to think that more death will come if they do not worship, or worse, that he can have killed specific people if they bribe him with enough sheep.

“Will you be alright alone?”

He scoffs, shooing you away with a hand. “I am no blushing bride.” You look at him askance; something in your eyes tells him you are not persuaded by his act. Still, you sling your rucksack over your shoulder. 

Your disbelieving gaze shifts into something more teasing, though it seems slightly strained, as though you yourself are reluctant to leave your realm. Foolishly, he hopes that it is you being reluctant to leave him.

“Do not miss me too much, Your Grace.”

Idly, you weave gerberas and little chrysanthemums into a crown, inserting some daffodil blooms as you go. Once you are satisfied, you gesture at Seungcheol, and he hunches down, allowing you to nestle the crown on his head. It has become your routine between your return from your duties and the start of supper preparations, and always under the cherry tree that is your pride and joy—the first and largest thing you had grown with your combined powers.

“Your turn.” Against his will, Seungcheol feels heat creep up his ears and cheeks.

“It is poorly done, goddess—” You tut, cutting him off.

“I will be the judge of that.” Expectantly, you lower your head.

His own creation is much clumsier, the ranunculus drooping from where he left the weave loose in fear of the soft stems breaking. You had suggested he pair it with roses, so that the structure could be reinforced, but the romantic implication had flustered him too much.

He arranges it carefully, maneuvering the blooms to something a bit more dignified. When there is nothing more he can do to salvage it, he steps back, breath catching a little when you look up at him from where you are seated under the tree. Hastily, he looks away, praying that the flowers hide the red creeping up his ears.

Perhaps you don’t, as you waste no time, standing up and tugging his sleeve until you reach the edge of the pond. Looking down, you admire his work, turning your head this way and that, a delighted smile on your face.

Your reflection’s gaze shifts to him.

“The gerberas match your robes, Your Grace.”

“Seungcheol,” he corrects. “Please.” 

“Seungcheol,” you echo, even as your eyes briefly widen at his request. At the pointed raise of his eyebrow, you repeat yourself, amusement coloring your voice. “The gerberas match your robes, Seungcheol.”

He smiles, inclining his head. “So they do.”

The petals tickle his scalp, but he does not mind.

You tell him of your flowers—what each one means, and how to care for them, pointing out how sprites gravitate toward certain flowers depending on their tastes and even moods. He tells you of the rivers—it is not just the Styx, no matter how people like to just call it the River—and the fields, how each shade is assigned their place after they are tried before him and his Council. He tells you stories of Jeonghan and Jisoo, including how they came to be his comrades and closest friends in the Underworld. You are a better listener than he had expected.

It is a gentle existence.

Seungcheol should have known that it would not last forever.

A visitor arrives while you are away.

The thunder startles nearly all the sprites in the grove. For the first time in months, the patch of asters he had been trickling his power into explodes with a leafy pop, scattering bits of stem and purple petals into the air. Seungcheol scowls, recognizing the figure before him. King of the Pantheon he may be, but at the end of the day, his little brother remains to be a coward. And rude, to boot, swaggering in while the mistress of the realm is absent.

“Baby brother,” he acknowledges.

“It is true then,” he muses. “You are contracted to remain in her realm. She must be truly ill if even I cannot feel her presence.” 

Seungcheol does not bother to correct the assumption. He only says, “she is well enough to begin attending to part of her duties, but not to the extent of her full power.”

“Did she trick you into staying here?”

“She did not,” he replies shortly. 

“How…quaint. And clever, since the girl cannot be punished if it happens that you are here by your will.”

“My domain has remained functional in my absence, and I have attended to the concerns that have been brought to me by my comrades.”

“Indeed,” the thunder god muses. He begins to walk; Seungcheol notes the flowers trampled under his brother’s heavy footsteps, already planning how he will coax them back to life. “But what you did not anticipate was the frailty of the kingdom itself.”

“What?”

“Oh yes,” his brother seems pleased to have caught him off-guard. “It will take a while to set in, but your prolonged absence will crumble your kingdom, especially one so elaborate as yours. Your expansion projects will not hold for long, brother. The magic grows thin.”

Seungcheol grits his teeth, eyes flashing with warning. “We three have sworn an oath not to meddle in the realm affairs of another. I suggest you honor your part before the River forces that choice upon you. I will be conferring with my men on whether your observations are indeed true.”

The god before him just shrugs. “Do what you must. But do not think you can renew your contract here just because you could not heal her enough to bed her. Or even, heavens forbid, because you fell in love.”

Before he can reply, the god has left.

“Do you miss the Underworld?”

It has been just over three months since he had left. The Underworld is not just his domain; it is his home, the one he had ruled over for most of his existence. He chooses his words carefully. “I am needed there, just as the balance between the realms of Life and Death is needed for this world.”

“If you could,” your voice is quiet, “would you leave it?” There is the faintest tremble as the words leave you. You do not look up from the lake, eyes fixed on the still rippling surface. Your reflections remain distorted, even as he sets a gentle hand on your cheek, coaxing you to face him. He has gotten better at the flower crowns; the pink cherry blossoms resting above your brow, woven together with baby’s breath, is one of his favorite sights yet. 

“My place is there, dear Goddess, just as yours is here,” he reminds you softly. 

Even as your face is held to face him, your eyes dart away. The silence lasts entirely too long.

He bites back the urge to tell you of his conversation with his brother, and the one he had with Jeonghan right after—it is true that the Underworld, in a few months, will be in a precarious position. He cannot stay longer than what he had agreed to; he was just lucky that he did not have to breach your terms. The sunset paints the white flowers orange and your face golden. Perhaps it is for the best that there is no sun in the Underworld—the warmth will only make him remember you. 

Eventually, you sag, leaning into his touch with a sigh.

“Very well.” 

Not agreement, but acquiescence. He wonders which would have hurt more.

With every day that passes, your contract’s end creeps ever closer. You say as much, laying beside him under the cherry tree, watching the blossoms sway gently in the wind. The moon peeks from behind the flowers, pale and lovely.

“I would not mind if you visited every once in a while,” you admit. “It would be an honor to have some of the Lord of the Dead’s time, in between his busy functions as King.” 

“Consider it done,” he finally says. After a beat, his lips quirk upward into a faint smile. “And if you send my way any poor suitor that dared touch you, they will suffer Punishment tenfold,” he promises. You laugh, the sound soft against the night.

“I can handle my honor myself. Life can be much crueler than Death, Seungcheol. I have no qualms making fertilizer of lesser men.” Your grin turns into something wicked. “It is the only use I would have of their seed, after all.”

It takes a moment for the joke to land, but when it does, Seungcheol chokes on a startled laugh. You know you are toeing the line of what is acceptable banter with one of the Three Kings, but here, he is just your Seungcheol. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. While no sunlight in the Underworld is a shame, you think that it is equally a loss that no moon shines its glow over his domain; where the sun turns him golden and godly, night renders him achingly beautiful.

In the moonlight, he is almost just a man. 

“Well then,” he says, “if they are coming to my domain either way, you may find solace in the fact that there will be no love lost once they face judgement.”

You laugh again, though it sounds already wistful. 

“When you leave, I shall keep that in mind.”

You try steal a glance, only to find that he is already looking at you. 

“We could marry,” he offers suddenly, breaking the silence. “You need not worry about suitors any longer.”

You blink at him for a moment, wondering how to respond to that. Even he does not seem to have expected the words that left his mouth. He does not seem drunk, either. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, the air charged with something that is beyond any magic.

Eventually, you exhale with an almost obnoxiously loud laugh. “You would make a fine God of Spring, you know.”

Seungcheol just blinks, amused and lost in equal measures. “God of Spring? Not Queen of the Underworld?”

“I am no queen,” you brush the notion away, perhaps a little too quickly. “Me? On a throne? I would be more annoyance than ruler.” Seungcheol’s brow furrows. Instead of replying, responding to your bait, he regards you thoughtfully. You try not to fidget under the weight of his gaze. 

Surely this is alright; a non-serious offer must merit a non-serious response. Surely even he must know that the offer is absurd, even as your heart had jumped traitorously at his words. 

“For what it is worth,” he murmurs, entirely too sincere for a god whose domain is Death, “you would be a wonderful Queen.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look away abruptly, fighting back a sniffle. He is being entirely unfair. Blue camellias have already begun to bloom around you, encircling the entire tree. Hope is the realm of mortals, not of the gods. Or perhaps hope is the realm of love, and you had just been too foolish to dig yourself too deep into the soil. Now there are roots.

“You must marry for love, Your Grace, not for misplaced selflessness. Besides, we each have our own roles, do we not?”

Seungcheol gazes at the flowers, and then at you, a knowing look in his eyes even as your words betray the part of your heart that your realm had laid bare.

“Very well, dear Goddess,” he eventually murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully at his voice, so quietly defeated.

Not agreement, but acquiescence. You wonder which would have hurt more.

He leaves past the bloom of the cherry tree, just in time for the first batch of its fruits. The sprites flutter around him, distressed even as he attempts to make his goodbye. As you approach, they finally release him from their tittering.

“My realm will always be open to you, Your Grace.” He accepts your proffered basket of cherries with a quiet thank you, even as his body and magic scream in protest at the notion of leaving. Seungcheol feels torn in two—a part of him ready to return to the familiarity of his domain, and the other insisting that there is too much of home here for him to turn his back to it. 

There is a spot of dirt right by your cheek that he cannot seem to tear his gaze from. He thumbs it away, catching the hitch in your breath as his fingers ghost past your lips. 

It really cannot be helped. 

Seungcheol leans in, close, so close, feeling the magic thrum down to his bones. Still, he pauses, eyes flicking up from where they had been focused on your lips to ask this silent question. Instead of answering, you close the distance for him.

He had meant for it to be sweet; a goodbye kiss, just one sip at the forbidden fruit before he was to part ways. He had hoped that he could have the kind of love that worked better at a distance.

He was a fool for thinking that could ever happen with you. 

You arch against him with a gasping moan, nipping at his lip with a vicious tenderness that prompts an answering groan. His hands grasp your hips, greedy, demanding, crushing you even harder against him. He had forgotten the wild goddess, the one who had first captured him by way of magic before even setting sights on his heart.

“Say my name,” he gasps.

“Seungcheol—Cheol—” He swallows your whimper into his mouth. 

Later, he will wonder how much of it was him, and how much was the magic that had burst to life when he kissed you. Later still, he will be reminded that there is no relevant distinction between the two in that moment. The smell of grapefruit lingers, faint, but notes of bergamot and blackcurrant, undercut by wood and patchouli, dominate the air. His next words are only half-thought, but he feels the weight of them even as they are almost pulled out of him.

“Follow me if you dare, goddess,” he whispers it against your lips, breath ragged.

“That is—” You break away with a gasp, your next words muffled by the second kiss he steals from your lips, “mm—entirely unfair. How am I to let you go now? There will be no other God of Spring but you.”

“It is the same for me,” he confesses. You close your eyes, burrowing yourself against his chest. Your hands grip at his robes. For a long moment, you do not speak. 

“How cruel of you to kiss me right as you are about to leave me behind.” He feels your shuddering inhale against his chest, the subtle hitch in your breath that could only come from a sob. It takes a few seconds before you release him, taking a step back. 

This has made him weak; it is what he would have said, months ago, before he understood what the humans in front of him must have felt when they begged on their knees in the name of love. Already blooming at your feet are patches of forget-me-nots and heliotropes, cruel reminders of what he is leaving behind.

“My tending to your malaise has ended, goddess. I have fulfilled my terms under the contract.”

You straighten, schooling your features into a stoic expression, even as tears linger at your eyelashes, and your lips are still swollen. Your voice is steady, almost steel-backed, as you end your River-sworn oath.

“I release you, Lord Seungcheol, from your contract, and attest that all terms have been fulfilled. I and my realm thank you for your help, Your Grace.”

As his body phases into shadow, right past the edge of your realm, you call his name, then five words that make his heart leap in hope despite himself. “And I accept your challenge.”

Jeonghan, uncharacteristically, refrains from teasing him about you, even when he had returned that day with red-rimmed eyes and a still slightly swollen lip.

Since your first encounter, there was a niggling thought at the back of his mind; that you are oriented toward some pursuit. You understood Life magic, applied yourself to it, sought more, and did not let even his position in the Underworld deter you from testing your hypotheses. In contrast, his knowledge of Death’s magic indeed rivals yours, but he has not once tried to expand it past what he already knew from millennia ruling his domain.

But if there is anyone who can solve that riddle, it would be you.

He tells himself this even as he immerses himself back into the monotony of being King, judging souls and plotting expansion projects as the need for more space grows. Hope is the realm of mortals, or, indeed, for places the sun touches. Yet he cannot help but hold onto it, amid his familiar darkness, calling on the warmth to keep the old voices at bay.

Moons later.

Seungcheol wakes by way of being hoisted up from his bed and slammed into the ground. He blinks his eyes open, groaning. If Seungkwan had enough strength to harm him, he would likely be in real trouble. As it is, the messenger god looms before him, looking more terrifying than he has ever been in all the time he has known him. Behind him are Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Chan, who all watch with varying degrees of horror and concern.

“Where is she?”

“Seungkwan, she is not—” Jisoo is there, pulling back at his robes, but Seungkwan holds fast, ignoring the ferryman. The caduceus floats dangerously near; Seungcheol is not interested in finding out what he could do with it.

Amid all this mess, he still does not know what anyone is talking about. “What in the Fields is all this?”

Seungkwan’s lips pull back in a snarl. “Stop playing dumb, Your Grace,” he spits out the last word. 

“It is not Seungcheol’s fault,” Jeonghan interrupts firmly. His face is uncharacteristically grim. “He did not know of this.”

Cold, biting ice freezes his veins. Dread begins to gnaw at him. There are precious few reasons why Seungkwan would be here, and even fewer things that would make him so angry. But it must be impossible—he parted ways with a challenge, but surely—

“She is dead?” He wrenches Seungkwan off him, breath coming out in harsh pants. “Impossible. I would have felt it.”

“Well she most definitely is not in her realm. No one has been able to reach her. There is only one other place she could be.”

Behind Seungkwan, Chan is shaking like a leaf. Seungcheol’s eyes move to him, and he shrinks under his gaze. He turns his head to look at Jeonghan and Jisoo. Jeonghan looks unsure, but defiant, while Jisoo averts his gaze, guilty.

“Where is she?” Fury and sorrow war over his heart.

“The throne room.” It is Jisoo who speaks. “She insisted that her first audience be with you.” Seungkwan turns his fury on him, already shouting something, but it is all mush in his ears. Seungcheol leaves them all, stumbling out of his bedchambers and breaking into a sprint.

“Took you long enough.” 

It’s a voice he never thought he’d hear, never so soon. Shock lances through him like a bolt of lightning.

You are seated on his throne. Draped across it, more like, knees slung on one armrest and your back leaning against the other. The bowl of cherries he had been keeping beside his throne rests on your stomach. In place of your normal garments, you’re wearing a deep red robe, which shimmers like fine satin under the torchlight.

His magic sings in a way he never thought possible again. It is as though his dreams had decided to form his own version of temptation as punishment.

“What,” he croaks. “—are you doing?” 

“Sitting, of course.” 

“You are not supposed to be here.”

“No? You issued a challenge. I merely responded. You should know better than to underestimate me.” You tsk. “Jeonghan helped. Unlike your synergy with my domain, I needed to be reaped first. Death before spring, as it were. Then Chan and Joshua stepped in for the rebirth.”

You hold your hand up high, letting the sleeve of your robe drop, revealing your arm. Seungcheol inhales sharply.

Spidery cracks run across your skin, pulsing gold with godly blood, but lined with mud. Looking more closely, he notices more about your appearance. The color of your irises is more faded than usual, almost translucent. A lock of hair from behind your ear is now brilliant white.

“You survived the River?” Seungcheol should have known that you would surprise him.

“Well, dear Chan planted Joshua’s flowers on his riverbank. Did you know?” Yes, he did; he visited them every day, tended to them as much as he could with the new wielding of his magic that he learned from you. “There was enough of myself for the River to recognize me. Enough in the soil to help me push the fragments of my spirit together.” 

Picking a cherry from the bowl, you hold it to the torchlight for inspection. A beat passes. You promptly pop the cherry into your mouth. 

Seungcheol lunges forward. “Stop—!” 

Your eyes narrow at the bowl of fruit as you chew thoughtfully. “Are these the cherries from my orchard? I could have sworn they were a much better batch than this.” You pop the seed out onto your fingers. Red stains your lips as you lick the juices that spill from your mouth, thumb catching the drop that spills to your chin before your tongue flicks out to get that as well.

He almost falls to his knees then and there. 

Seungcheol watches, in panicked and confused desire, as you swing your legs from the armrest and stand, holding the bowl of cherries. There is a bulge on your cheek where the meat of the fruit remains. 

“It is such a shame,” you begin, your robes swishing down the steps as you descend, “that the Goddess of Spring’s illness, even with the Lord of the Dead’s tending, never did abate.”

The fabric moves like water over your body, flowing and dipping into curves he has been aching to touch for months. Stopping in front of him, you tug Seungcheol in by his robes, slotting your lips against his. He gasps, and you push the meat of the cherry into his open mouth, urging him to accept it. As the fruit lands on his tongue, you pull away, smirking when he chases your lips unconsciously. You run your tongue along the seam of your mouth, savoring his taste as you speak again.

“In his wisdom and compassion, he proclaims that the only way to preserve as much of her life as possible would be to stay with her for six months, as death is where Spring begins.” You pop another cherry in your mouth, maneuvering the fruit until another seed pops from your lips.

Seungcheol begins to see where this is going, his smile growing until his cheeks ache with the force of it. Oh, you glorious, glorious goddess.

“So the goddess blesses her fruit, mimicking the latent magic of his realm—” His mouth is already open as you lean your weight into him, accepting the fruit with a teasing nip at your bottom lip. Seungcheol revels in the way you whimper against him, in the knowledge that in matters of desire, you are evenly matched. He grasps your hips, pulling you toward him while walking you backwards. Your mouths part with a soft smack.

Hoarsely, you continue, “—And he eats six cherries to bind himself to her and her realm for half a year, as the God of Spring.”

You startle as your knees hit the edge of his throne, but he makes sure to ease you down gently. The remaining four kisses are a blur of lips, teeth, and tongue, and he swallows each pitted cherry right alongside your gasps and moans.

As the sixth passes his throat, he picks up the bowl before looking at you with a wicked smirk.

“But the Lord of the Dead, who also was her lover, could not bear to be away from her. So,” he waves a hand at the fruit, releasing your spell and allowing the latent magic of his realm to bind it to him, “he asks her, in turn, to rule with him in the Underworld for the remaining six months, as Death cannot exist without Life.”

Out of all reactions you could give, Seungcheol does not expect you to be quiet. There is something terribly vulnerable about your gaze, made all the more devastating by the slightly translucent quality of your irises. “Really?” you ask, voice small. As though you had not expected him to do this.

Seungcheol melts. “I am wholly yours, darling,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. He grasps your waist with both his hands, thumb tracing reverent circles on your stomach. “If you want to, stay with me too. Be my Queen. Or just be with me, as my love.”

You kiss him deeply, twisting your fingers in his hair, the cherries in his hands forgotten. “My King,” you murmur against his lips. “My God of Spring. My Seungcheol. You are all the same to me, I love you as you are.” He surges against you, crowding you against his royal seat, too busy reveling in the fact that you are here, in all your cunning and wild beauty.

It takes much longer than before, each cherry-bearing kiss dragging out much more than strictly necessary, but eventually twelve pits are scattered around you, even as your hands remain in his hair and his fingers dig bruises into your ribs.

When you finally pull away, the cracks on your skin are fully gone. Your eyes have returned to normal. The only thing that remains different is the lock of hair by your ear, so white it almost glows in the low light of the throne room. He runs his fingers through it gently, and you lean into his touch with a blissful sigh.

Seungcheol cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “How I have missed you, my darling.”

“None of that,” you murmur,  “Did I take too long?”

Later, you will face Seungkwan, hands clasped, and he will see the white streak in your hair and demand answers—later, you will talk of whether the story you had spun will be what is known, or if you will both come out with the whole truth—later, you will debate on what ritual he must fulfill for your realm to accept him—and later still, he and you will have to face the Pantheon, loath as you both are with their rules—

But that is later. Nothing could come before this—the magic the hums against his lips as he drags them across your skin, realizing he has time, so much of it, to learn, even as he has already loved you before he could keep you. And you have him, claimed him first, found a way for all the fragmented parts of him to fit, even if it meant reshaping your soul in the process.

There is only one response to that: Devotion. Completely. Utterly. You have always been entirely too lovely for him to know what to do with. But now, he has forever to try his damnedest.

Seungcheol leans his forehead against yours, finally content. “It does not matter. We are here now.”

“The way to see how beautiful life is, is from the vantage point of death.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

notes. quote is extremely out of context so if u read dispossessed dont come at me. with enough persuasion you may or may not have a) an nsfw epilogue throne sex, and/or b) a shorter but slightly more morally questionable version let the reason come (nsfw epilogue) is out!

[yandere-sins]

I don't know if you write something like this, but what about reader being Hades lover instead of Persephone like it's supposed to be? I imagine reader is some normal human on our world learning about Greeks Gods but suddenly got isekai'd into the Mythology haha. Imagine the confusion and flabbergasted reader felt by all of this.

Reader try to find a way back to human world but ended up in the forest where all of this started. Trying to avoid Persephone fate of being Hades's lover that eating the underworld food, but of course, Hades wants the reader to eat the food. After all Hades got all the time and reader is starving.

I would love the tension, back and forth of Hades temptation and reader insistent. Thanks!

Okay but what if I take your idea, and I give it a tiny plot twist? Make it just a little bit more horrifying? Okay, okay hear me out, look...

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Being a human had never been so frustrating.

It was one thing to manage the daily challenges of adulthood, of living on your own and taking care of yourself. Things got tough, and they got fun again; sunrises made you smile, and losing a beloved restaurant to a global issue made your heart somber. For the longest time, you believed having a shitty day at work and then having to go home in the rain because you forgot your umbrella was the worst your life would ever get.

But you were wrong. Very wrong.

Because where there was no life, that's where things became messed up.

"One bite," he pleaded. With the pomegranate juices running down his spindly fingers, the red was almost disturbingly blood-like against the faded color of his skin. "Please. I know you are so hungry."

Pouting your lips, you shook your head, turning and marching onwards through the dark forest of lush yet colorless greenery. It was just a park, Hades had explained, but every time you thought you'd break through the thicket, it expanded further, endlessly like a maze of trees and bushes.

You two had kept up this dance of rejection and chase for a while now, days to be exact. And you were unsure if he knew, but you were hanging on to the last threads of sanity. You felt your knees buckle with resistance every time you rejected yet another offer of fresh food and sweet nectar, your stomach screaming in aghast horror as you kept denying freshly picked fruits and beautifully arranged plates that could sate your hunger. And your head had become so dizzy from the stress and anxiety that you began feeling as if your life was being drained right out of you to feed this place instead.  

The Underworld. Resting place of souls.

Occasionally, you had heard about occult stuff like fairy rings or portals to another world. You never thought that accidentally falling into a river would end with you being transported right into the realm of the afterlife! You had cursed at your feet for being so clumsy and easily losing their balance, but at this point, you had no strength left other than to be thankful they still carried you around. You weren't dead yet, but you didn't think you were very much alive either.

"I need to find a way out..." you mumbled to yourself, your mouth feeling dry and your head buzzing with incoherent thoughts. Only determination had gotten you up after passing out so many times. Only knowing you came here somehow, so you must have been able to get back somehow, kept you going. Things were tough, but you were tougher, right?

"There is none," the god of the Underworld mumbled, a tinge of regret breaking through his voice. "You've been here too long. There is no way back from here."

You breathed out, coming to a halt, as did his ghostly appearance behind you. It was colder in his proximity, yet he stayed close as if to comfort you. His body was cloaked in black swivels, yet his face was almost too handsome to look at directly. His hands were visibly gnarly like those of skeletons, yet you knew his touch was soft and his palms big and reliable, able to catch you before you hit your head on the floor from fainting. His hair fell in waves of ebony beauty, and his crown was so intricately woven into it that it made him look humble and whimsical rather than fearsome and ruthless like the stories made him out to be.

There was nothing about him to hate or make you truly distrustful of him. Yet, you still wished he would leave you, just like in the beginning, when he could only stay for a limited time to watch you struggle before returning to his duties. But his time by your side had gradually increased, and perhaps that was the feeling of dread you've been experiencing for a while now.

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" you asked, too exhausted to sound snarky.

"I cannot leave you like this. It's not your time yet."

"Then let me go! Lead me out of here!"

In a spurt of a moment, you regained enough strength to spin around, yelling at him angrily. You regretted raising your voice as you looked into the flash of hurt crossing his features before the beautiful grimace turned serious again.

"I can't," he said firmly, holding out the pomegranate again. Its fragrance enticed your nose, saliva collecting in your mouth as it promised to be an especially juicy one. "There is nowhere I could lead you but back to the palace. But you wouldn't make the journey unless you eat and drink. You're just human, after all."

It must have been easy for a god to point out your biggest flaw of them all: you were just human.

"Can I go home if I go back to the palace?" you asked, eyeing the pomegranate with disdain even though your teeth demanded to sink into its flesh, chew apart the seeds, and satiate your hunger.

"No," Hades shook his head. "But you could find peace there. Stop the endless roaming of the gardens for an exit that doesn't exist at this point in time."

"You're lying," you concluded finally. "You want me to eat the pomegranate so you can claim my soul for the Underworld. You're telling me there is no exit, but there is, you just don't want me to find it."

Your accusations left a mark on Hades, the brilliance of his eyes dulling as he heaved a deep sigh, letting his head hang before shaking it slowly. "I'm not lying. I'd never lie to you. I have enough souls waiting for me to give them a place here. I don't need to kidnap humans that Thanatos doesn't have on his list. It was an accident. A fatal one at that, but your stubbornness made it irreversible."

"So it's my fault, eh?" you tried to argue, but there was no bite left in your voice. Raising your hand, you dug your finger into the soft flesh of the pomegranate, felt the fruit yielding to your touch without resistance. Hades closed in, eager for you to finally accept his offering.

"You know what they say about Persephone and the pomegranate. How you trapped her, how you forced her to stay here. Tales of you don't make you look so good."

Without looking up, you could only imagine the anger or frustration that must have played on Hades' expression, but he surprised you when he picked up your hand, raised it to his lips, and slipped your pomegranate-stained finger into his mouth. You watched in horrifying fascination as the god licked off the stain on your skin with relish, the brilliance returning to his eyes as you met his gaze, confident, unwavering.

"People have long made up stories about us, but my wife has never been unhappy with me. And my pomegranates are truly delicious, I only wish for you to taste it. I wouldn't lie to you about these things. I promise I will never lie to you. It's not my nature to begin with, and I'm trying to make things better for you, not harder."

You felt the tears well up in your eyes at the sincere words of such an otherworldly creature—one you only believed to be a story that people believed in religiously. You never thought the gods could be real, much less kind and compassionate. But when you popped the first pomegranate seed into your mouth, your whole body collapsing and Hades catching you with one arm, lifting you up to his height with ease, you realized he had been truthful.

The fruit tasted tart but was absolutely delectable. It had a different kind of sweetness than the ones you had eaten on earth, and tears streamed down your face as you scooped a handful of it, greedily stuffing it into your mouth with no regard for its juices. Hades didn't seem to mind either, holding you seated on one arm, with the fruit halves in his other, the pomegranate bigger than what you were used to, yet still small in his hands even when cut open.

You cried and ate, your body rejuvenating yet also releasing all the tension and fear you had clung to. Your vision was blurry with tears, your nose stuffed, and your head so pleased with the taste of pomegranate on your tongue that it didn't think of anything else. You didn't even register that Hades turned around, strutting back towards the dark, looming palace behind the forest that was the gardens stretching out before it. He was in no hurry, yet it took him barely the blink of an eye to return to where you had first woken up.

By the time he reached the palace doors, you were fast asleep with a belly full of pomegranate, and your thoughts turned into pleasant dreams. The shadows of his body were licking at you, caressing you gently and touching you much more comfortingly than his cold hands could. Even so, he never let go of you, content with you on his arm, resting against his shoulder as if he had taken any worries from you, just like he wished to.

"I see you have received my gift."

"My Queen? You are back early."

"I have not returned yet from my duties; I merely wanted to visit my husband and bring him a gift."

Stepping down a few steps to meet Hades on his way to the palace, Persephone smiled at him warmly, cupping his cheek, which he couldn't help but melt into. She ran her thumb across his cheekbone lovingly a few times before her hand slipped from him to your head, brushing back your hair gently and revealing your face to her.

"The gods above are stirring with excitement for their special humans. Apollo has just collected an extraordinary one for himself. I know you care so little for these trends, but knowing you wait down here for me, alone and so lost in your work, you don't see the seasons pass until I return—it breaks my heart. I thought it would cheer you up to have something so precious to pass the time. You can do as you please with them, treat them as you like. They are yours to own."

"You shouldn't have. They are human, Persephone. Being in the Underworld will cause them nothing but suffering."

"Well," she huffed, agitated by her husband's chiding. They have an eternity to get used to it, just like I did. They will be fine. You can teach them to like it and show them how beautiful this realm can be if they behave themselves. Besides, the pomegranate tree bloomed the moment they came here; it must have been a sign."

Passing by her husband on the way out, she winked at him, and he knew fully well that it had not been a coincidence. Neither that you fell into the Underworld years too early, nor that the tree sprouted fruits the second you arrived. Looking down at you, he watched you furrow your brows as Persephone's warm touch vanished, and you nuzzled your head further into his shadows, trying to find just a bit of the same comfort with him that she could give you.

You truly were lovely. So small, so impossibly perfect. Precious, she called you, but of course you were since his wife knew him well. The moment Hades laid eyes on you, he knew he couldn't bear letting you go and wait until you'd inevitably return to his side as the course of life took its sweet time to reunite you two. And thanks to Persephone, he never even had to lie to you to make you eat the pomegranate on your own and so wholly, he would never have to part ways with you again.

"It is a wonderful gift, thank you," Hades admitted. Persephone smiled, laughing heartily as she made her way back to the surface, passing through the park that stretched out in front of her with ease as it let her pass towards the exit. It was her garden, after all. But even as the two separated temporarily, Hades could hear her say, "I can't wait to get to know them when I return, too."

And he couldn't wait to introduce the now two most beloved parts of his existence, either.

[lazyjellyfish300]

𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒅𝒂𝒚 2~𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆

🌺 scarred!nanami kento x fem wife!reader

🌺 synopsis: while in kuantan for your husband's birthday, you two escape and share a passionate rendezvous behind a waterfall, and realize you're ready to create a family while you're there. 💕

🌺words: 3.7k

🌺cw: MINORS DNI, long hair implied on reader, smut(p in v), missionary, lotus, creampie, breeding, family planning, talk of birth control, oral f receiving, fingering, little rough at the end, light angst, cheesy fluff

🌺a/n: day 2 of my Nanami week, my NSFW entry for the prompt creampie. 🙂‍↕️💕 thank you so much again for having me. @/nanamiweek . More Kento goodness on the way as the celebration goes on all week. 😏😏💕💕 sparkle dividers: @/anitalenia . seashells: @/saradika-graphics

The glow of paradise stares back at your reflection in the full length mirror as you get ready.

Kuantan is peaceful this afternoon. Distant cries of seagulls can barely be heard over the rush of pale blue waves kissed by seafoam as it caresses nature's shoreline with scarce a soul in sight.

The villa is quiet, save for the gentle whirring from the ceiling fan that accompanies the mild breeze that flutters the cream curtains blaring with sunlight, the wafting of driftwood coconut, warmed sand, jasmine and sex from the bed that had been messy just hours before.

Kento watches you, lust at bay but desire ever present as you dress your naked body in your bikini, mesmerized as the soft straps of blue cloth carefully cover all the areas he strategically marked with his mouth over the course of your stay.

The muted blue against your complexion seriously contends with the sea outside, he thinks.

You clip your hair up, and a scarred finger with a white gold ring adorning the hand attached catches a loose strand, letting it fall as the tips of his fingers barely brush your cheek.

"You're a vision, my love." He utters the title like it's holy, yet it barely encapsulates the justice it owes you as his hands come to replace your own at the straps of your bikini.

His greed barely keeps him from unraveling the progress of your handiwork, and the bed that was just made, but his hands remain reverent as they secure the strings in a knot, soaking up as much softness that your barely concealed skin offers as they linger at your back.

"Ready?" He murmurs. His chestnut eye, roaming over you until he lingers on the colorful scarf draped across your hip as it wraps you like a gift.

"Ready, sweetheart."

----

The spot he had in mind is completely empty, much to both your delight. You smile each at each other as you sneak away like teenagers in love.

You might as well be young in this place that bottled you in a capsule where time has no bearing, full of nothing but each other, the infinite rays of glimmering sun, and the boundless waves of the eternal sea.

The rainforest is lush and alive with the heart of birdsong and chattering wildlife hidden away in palm leaves. The humidity blesses your skin and allows your hair to fall like a halo, more wisps framing your face like an angel.

The smell of petrichor here is unique from the kind back home and mixes with the orchids that sprinkle the ground in colorful bursts of white and pink, a stray hibiscus he picks up and weaves into your hair.

"Why thank you, sweetheart."

"Of course. They suit you."

He tugs you deeper into the trees, one where the dark canopy of leaves shields prying eyes from view, almost completely tucked out of sight in an unmarked path.

The overgrown vines suggest that this path hasn't been navigated for some time, the rocks lining it covered in a healthy coat of green moss, flowers budding as nature ran rampant between any spare cracks.

Finally you see it, a small falls within distance, two streams of dribbling water running in a cascade between two large rocks.

In front of you is a crystal clear pool, a few koi fish you can pick out in their hues of tangerine and white, the surface scattered in lily pads with blossoms that would promise to open when the crescent moon rose higher in the sky to replace the sun from behind the fluffy clouds.

"This is absolutely stunning." You marvel and look at Kento. "How've we never been here before?"

"Wanted to save it for a special occasion." Kento replies modestly.

His birthday was two days ago, but today does seem to hold a weight more special than the others, although you can't exactly place what it is.

Still, you smiled and shedded your flip flops, leaving them near the rocks.

Kento enters the water first, shirt and eyepatch discarded by his sandals on the rocks next to yours, the ripples flowing away from his body, the scarred muscles easing of all tension with every step he takes, a beautiful sight blessing you as he leans his head back for a moment, releasing a sigh.

He turns around, offering you a smile first, and then his hand.

"It's the perfect temperature."

His thumb swipes across your knuckles and his lips open slightly with a shuddered breath as the green sarong slinks away from your body like a leaf being peeled back from a budding flower, leaving your lower half bare except the small pair of swim bottoms which he indulgently recalled left much to be admired in the back with your beautiful ass.

He guides you in front of him, stealing a look at it and you're reminded of his presence on all accounts as he keeps his hands in their frequented spot on the small of your back, your bare skin a privilege to feel he never takes for granted.

The water is warm, just like he promised, but he feels even warmer. The front of his chest tickles the delicate planes of your back where goosebumps start to appear, the faint trickle of water dissolving into a chill up your spine, but in the very best way as Kento's fingers dance up and down your arms.

You close your eyes, listening to the symphony of cicadas, the calling of birds in the veils of leaves overhead, the impatient rustle of palms in the wind, and cacophony of rushing water.

You're the only two people breathing in this moment.

He's the only one you want to feel for the rest of your life, he's a vow you will never grow tired of making, a soul inside a body you'll never lose fire for making love to.

You exhale as you feel the warmth of the wetness of his palms all over your breasts.

"Oh, Kento..."

The tranquility of the water is enough to distract you from the dull soreness of the blooming hickeys he left on your nipples as he rubs and strokes your pussy through your bikini.

"You're so beautiful." He whispers as he nips your ear, tongue flicking past the small diamond stud as he massages your right tit with his free hand.

"I love what the water does to your skin."

He gently swirls his thumb around your nipple through the soaked fabric, loving how pointy it gets underneath his touch.

"Makes you so soft and responsive when I touch you."

He grips your pussy in his palm as your eyes roll back.

"Ken, will someone-"

"Nobody will see." He whispers. "We're quite safe here."

His hand moves from your pussy, skimming the soft skin of your belly to play with your left breast, joining the right in a slow, sensual massage.

"Relax. And let yourself focus on the pleasure." His breathing slows as he lets your head rest against his chest, softly twisting and rubbing your breasts while the water trickles down the rocks.

"Mmpphh, Kento. So good..."

"Mm...And you were so good to me this morning, I had to repay the favor."

He holds back a groan as his fingers on your nipples knead in such a way that makes you arch your back.

"You sounded so angelic. Just like you are right now." He murmurs.

Your hand wanders back, feeling up the large bulge between his legs and he shudders as he impossibly hardens under the soaking fabric, feeling it hotly pulse and move underneath your hand.

He spins you around and captures you in a kiss that starts out rushed, but quickly slows. You ground one another in this natural spring, the dance of the water, the breeze between the trees, the beauty of the mangroves.

His mouth is so soft and pliant. You lick greedily into it while his hands resume their chasteful spot for now on your back.

You pause, and pull away, holding the moment in a playful tease over his head with that gorgeous smile on your face, leading him to the small waterfall.

"Wanna keep exploring."

He smiles, left a little breathless with his cheeks blooming a heavenly pink as he nods at you in return.

"Lead the way."

You bob in the water until your feet can't touch, dog paddling and giggling as the waterfall douses both of your hair as you pass underneath.

Behind the waterfall is a small alcove, with more budding bushes of tropical flowers. It's quiet except for the rushing water, shielded by the rocks, the curtain of the waterfall affording you more privacy in the secluded space.

You turn to him and his lips are immediately on you again, an ember of craving noticeably more desperate than before. Your body is slippery against his as he gently reclines you back, catching your head without departing your lips as he kisses you ardently in the small waterfall cave.

Your bodies are so slippery, but softened by the water, the tensions heightened from being locked inside the seclusion of nature that skyrocketed your hunger for one another into something deeply primal and passionate.

He moans into your mouth and you moan back, half a prayer and half a plea of his name, which he answers swiftly with a wandering hand to your soaking bottoms.

You follow him, sitting up as you allow the bikini strings at your back to unravel in tandem, freeing your breasts completely, beaded in droplets like kisses from the water, nipples bumpy and hard as they greet the cool air of the cave.

You look up at him with water-sprinkled eyelashes. His hair is dripping and hanging in that endearing mop of blond bangs by his eye, lean muscles tensioning and relaxing with his mosaic of scars he wore without shame under the soothing reassurance of your love, thin lips parted, cheeks brought out with a pink fluster only you could ignite.

He's absolutely divine like this, although he treats you like you were the celestial one.

His hand roams down your belly, pausing as he gently pulled away your swim bottoms. The fact that you were completely naked in this cave makes you feel so open. You become a pornographic vision to bless his memory with unceasing repetition later on as your wet hair falls back.

He keeps his gaze on you, his face leaning down, jaw coaxing the plush meat of your thigh before his lips kiss it, the left, followed by the right.

"Ken..."

"Let me take my time." He inhales close to your sex, the coat of wetness mixed with the earth warms him all over and his knuckles turn white as he grips your hips.

"God, you're so..." He mumbles, words failing him as soon he takes in all of you underneath him.

Sometimes you wonder why he was the one that was so whipped with worship, when every moment for you was spent in the complete opposite.

You've done this so many times but he treats every one like it's the first. He licks slow, the smooth ridges of your folds bending over his warm tongue and he laps until he settles on that gentle rhythm that makes you cant your hips.

"Kento..."

The sounds he can derive out of your pretty lips every time he slides between your legs drives him insane. He can't describe your taste that always has him throbbing for seconds. It's warm and earthy, and it runs like buttery silk.

"You always taste so perfect." He coos, raising your soaking offering even closer to his face.

He loves giving, but he loves watching you receive even more.

"I adore seeing you like this..." He murmurs. "Is it too possessive of me to say that it feels like you're mine when you moan that way?"

"N-no..." You manage to shudder out. "I'm yours, Kento."

"God, say it again? Please?" He whispers, his voice tinged with hope.

Your heart breaks a little knowing the implications behind it, that whisper of doubt etched in his physical and emotional imperfections that he long believed made him unworthy.

"I am yours. I love you so much, Kento Nanami." You whisper with the absolution of lust, chiseled with the resolution of unshakeable truth that's immortalized in the quiet bubble surrounding you.

It's one that you couldn't change, even if you wanted to that surpassed every wordly connection that could be forged in this lifetime. Rather, it was one that resembled something ancient, out of reach, older than stars and it was only in intimate dealings like this that cemented just how clear it was;

"You're scored on my soul." You murmur, whining as he breaks away but not pausing your pleasure as he rubs your clit with his fingers, pressing his forehead against your own.

"I'll spend every lifetime reminding you if I need to. I don't mind, and it's an honor to." Your vow is whispered that tapers into a moan as he curls his fingers against that magical spot.

"You're so beautiful to me, fuck, ohhh my God, you're everything to me...." You continue with difficulty under the strain of your orgasm that was bearing down on you like a shadow.

Every word sinks into bone, into flesh. It's sacred simply because you said it and it's something he'll carry with him long after he departs this earth and use it to find and recognize you in the next.

"And you're mine..." He whispers back. "More than I can give words to. Every moment I spent on regret over the life I gave up before you entered it, I'll pay back loving you."

"Oh, Kento...think I'm going to cum..."

"Are you, sweet thing?" He purrs. "Let me help you even more."

He returns to drinking you like a fountain, his lips slurping up your pearly essence, working and laving his tongue in torturous strokes, dipping into the flowing oasis of honey from your pussy like an ink pen to write a love letter with his tongue, the salt and heat from your natural musk causing all rational thoughts to vacate even before their conception.

"Give me your cock, Kento." You moan. "Fuck, please. Don't wanna cum unless you're inside me."

Kento sighs as his balls wind in a vice. "You told me you didn't take your birth control earlier, love."

"I know but fuck, oh my God... I changed my mind."

Something between a growl and a groan rumbles in his throat. Your words alone weren't helping, and if you're implying what he thinks you are...

"Are you saying that to tease me, or do you really mean it?"

"I mean it, Kento. I don't want to try to prevent anything anymore..."

"You..."

"I'm ready, darling." You pant. "I'm ready if you are. Fuck fuck...I, mmmm....I'm not necessarily expecting it to work but I want to see how things go..."

Kento cups your face in his hands. He looks at you. Tears were all but rare for him, and you're amazed as you look back at him to discover wetness building around the rims that was separate from the waterfall.

"Ken?"

"You don't understand what that does to me. I'm excited, happy, emotional...a lot of things at once." He utters.

You understand. You understand what a road it has been for him. A lifetime ago, the things he had endured were so severe he shouldn't have walked away from them, but now...

Now he's free to a lifetime of you. An existence of affirming that fate wasn't done with him despite what little belief he had in it. That rain could be a beautiful thing. An unexpected thing, that delivered him to you.

"We'll try." He whispers. "We'll try. Nothing changes in spite of what might happen. But you tell me at any time if you feel differently?"

"I'm ready." You breathe and the words hit him like deliverance, and he enters heaven as he slowly enters you.

Your bottoms are now completely discarded, both of you completely naked behind the sanctuary of the falls. You hold onto his shoulders and he cradles you before he's sheathed inside with care. There's slight resistance due to his size, and he brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing you and taking another nipple in his mouth to soothe the stretch.

The feeling is warm where you're connected and so utterly full. The chill of the cave prompts him to slowly roll his hips inside you to keep you both moving. The slick builds with every thrust, both of your mouths fall open, wider and wider.

You've had some incredible moments during intimacy with Kento, but none quite like this.

None in a beautiful place tucked inside a corner of nature that should have stayed an apparation behind your eyelids, the deeper meaning extended way beyond lovemaking and translated with the intention of creating a life.

It's like he's pouring into you as his gaze doesn't depart you the entire time. Like he needs to impart every moment of this possible conception to his memory because it was one he wasn't sure the stars would ever permit him to see, reaffirming that he is indeed here. With you. Inside you. Passionately loving you in his idea of a dream vacation.

His strokes build in intensity the longer he stays inside you. It's smooth, and deliberate. The ease of how he slides out and the fullness of him pushing back in is almost too good. He's holding back his noises and using all his focus to look at you, the water droplets that are still clinging to your breasts, the diamond necklace in the center that sways so satisfyingly with every passionate jut of his hips.

You get him to give in just a little as you clench him just before he tries to withdraw his cock. His eye rolls back and you chuckle, biting your lip as you do it again, clenching him even harder the next time, then pulsing your pussy in a dizzying rhythm against his shaft, again, and again.

"Darling..." Kento exhales as he thrusts back, trying to keep his control.

"At least let me enjoy you for a moment." He groans.

"I'm just helping."

"You're...fuck. You're exacerbating. Not helping." He murmurs, kissing your jaw to speak directly in your ear, punishing you with a harsh thrust after every sentence.

"You know exactly—thrust—where to squeeze around me —thrust— and I don't intend on this fuck, this moment to be over so quickly."—thrust, thrust, thrust"

"Kento! Mnhhhh...."

"Please." He murmurs with a sigh, before slowing down slightly, pausing with himself still completely inside as he fills the silence with a deep, passionate kiss, the slick noise of your lips parting softly as he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, his thumb barely brushing the underside of your cheek.

"If you must take everything from me. Then at least let me have this first. Just for a moment."

"...Okay." You whisper and he hums before he kisses you again without letting you speak another word.

You stay like that for a long time in your passionate exchange of intense tongue kissing, knotted and tangled up on the floor of the cave, his fingers thumbing your nipples, cock occasionally twitching inside you against the deep warmth of your walls that held him tight whenever you moaned prettily into his mouth.

By now, though, you're dying for friction, and it seems like he's in no rush. You're not sure which is making you feel more aroused, feeling his soft mouth and lips moving against yours, the wet roll of his tongue and nips of his teeth, or the fact that he wanted to prolong this more than you did, merely staying with you, the simple act of being inside you that felt much more intimate than it should.

The thought of it only begs for him to fuck and breed you that much harder.

You're not sure how it resumed, whether he had enough of you squeezing around him or whether it was despite the fact his tongue was down your throat you managed to prioritize uttering his name, but now he's pounding into you, hard.

His pretty face shifts from pink to red, almost as deep a color as the scarred half of him, holding your hips tightly as he essentially fucked you in his lap to spare you from the rocky floor of the cave.

You're sweating too. You stabilize yourself on his shoulders, gazing in his eyes, not holding back the mantra of his name that was begging to be released from your mouth and you let him have all of it.

He yanks you into him and you hold him like a lifeline, a warm flood of cum dribbles out of his tip.

You seize and clench around him to keep all of it in, his lips against your pulse, sweat glistening in the afterglow as the waterfall trickled in front of you without pause.

He slowly lays you down, keeping himself inside, kissing you as your back meets the ground, keeping his hand behind your head as a pillow.

He groans, and lets his exhaustion allow his head to flop forward, finding sanctuary in your neck as you stayed connected.

The silence hangs as the song of the rainforest continues. You might have conceived your first child and you're not sure that fact sank in completely.

Whatever transpires from this, you don't regret the moments you shared that led to it.

Kento slowly pulls out and he sinks his ring finger in, all the way to the band, a bead of cum trickles around the diamond as he can only pray his seed will take, giving you a smile and a sweet little kiss as he begins to slowly pump against your g spot to make sure you get your happy ending too before you leave the cave.

The packet of your birth control that stayed on the dresser back at the villa would go to waste.

But, worst case, you still had more than a week of vacation left to get creative.

s/o to kento's mother who was probably eating dates and pineapple and walking on curbs this day 35 years ago. 🫶🏽💕 she did that. 🙂‍↕️💕

[munchhmm]

Hi, I was wondering, can you do a oneshot where reader sacrifices herself and the crew thinks she’s dead but she comes back like a week later and it turns out she didn’t die but she was severely injured and bedridden on the island where it all happened? It could be separated in 3 different parts where the reader is dating one of the monster trio in each part (if that makes sense) and we see their reaction along with the crews reaction to reader actually being alive. Sorry if this was loaded, I really like your writing!

Back To You Part One

i cried writing this it’s so sweet (,,>﹏<,,) thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy sweetness!

Pairings: Zoro x Gn!reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death

Word count: About 1.8k ♡

Explosions from every angle rain down on the crew as they try to flee. The sky is dark with smoke and debris, making breathing a daunting chore.

Luffy protects everyone with his Gum-Gum Fruit powers, flinging pieces of stone and wood away without crushing a single person.

At some point, the enemy catches up, quickly dodging his own attacks as they pelt the ground below. You trail behind in the back, not being able to keep up as well as the others.

Things are looking like they’re going to get ugly. There’s no stopping or fighting back under these conditions. A small trip proves your theory correct as you fall to the ground with a loud thud.

Robin turns to try and help you to your feet, only to be blown away herself by a piece of roofing tile. The enemy grabs you by the neck, slamming your tired and bruised body into the ground—once, twice, three times—until there’s no more movement in your muscles.

Only the dark-haired Poneglyph reader sees what happens, screaming your name with no response. She has no choice but to run and catch up with the rest of the crew, as the enemy hadn’t noticed her and continued chasing the others.

The ground is cold and stiff. Your whole body aches with a pain that could only be described as shattering. It feels like hours have passed since being beaten into the dirt; in reality, it had only been about twenty or so minutes.

A small hand gently tugs on your shoulder, surprisingly strong enough to roll you over onto your back. Quiet murmurs from multiple people can be heard in the background, but the strain from the fight makes it impossible to focus.

After a few moments, your eyes begin to shut on their own, blacking out before you can even register what truly happened. When you do wake up, the surroundings are completely different. No more battlefield of bombs and shrapnel—instead, you are lying on a patch of lush green grass with flowering vines linking around every tree.

“Hello! Glad you’re awake, how ya feelin’?” a frail voice calls from behind, causing you to let out a small shriek.

“Oh! I didn’t mean to scare you! Actually, we wanted to thank you for fighting off that weirdo who keeps taking our flowers!”

When you turn around, there’s a tiny, palm-sized fairy standing with a tray of food relative to his size.

“Well, thank you for cleaning my wounds. I’m very appreciative. Have you happened to see any of my friends, though?”

The question comes out a bit more rushed than intended, causing the smaller fairy to tilt his head in confusion.

“We didn’t see anyone else around. I assumed you beat that guy up all by yourself!”

Now this is really bad. Where are the others? How long have you been away? Have they left you?

Back at a small camp a mile or so away from you, Zoro sits alone, making a small meal out of a fish he caught, only to burn the thing and curse at himself angrily.

It had been five days since you disappeared, no sign other than a piece of your torn top. Zoro keeps the fabric in his hand like it’s the most important item in the world. Everyone has assumed the worst, building a small grave in your honor and attempting to get Zoro to leave with them. He refuses, telling them to come back and get him in a month. During that time, he will do nothing but search for you and train.

His guilt wraps around his brain constantly during these few days— all he can think about is how he could’ve saved you. He should’ve saved you.

Searches along the path the crew ran come up with nothing. That’s when Zoro decides to get a lunch break in before continuing to look around for any signs, never giving up hope that you are still alive.

“Do you know how long I’ve been here for? I need to go look for my friends—they’re the ones who really defeated that guy stealing your flowers.”

You’re desperate at this point, hopefully explaining that Luffy was the one who beat the guy up would convince these fairies to help you look for the crew.

“It’s only been a few days! But if you’re in a hurry, then take this—I insist!”

The small fairy gives you a tiny bottle labeled For Emergencies Only. You tilt your head and look down at the glass jar sitting in your hand.

“When you drink it, you’ll be able to see anything that breathes up to half a mile ahead of you. It won’t be specific to your friends, but just look for anything human-shaped!”

A warm smile graces the fairy’s face as he opens the cork for you, inviting you to drink from it.

“This will help a lot—thank you so much!”

Within a second, the liquid is gone, drunk without a trace left.

Quickly, you thank as many of the fairies as you can, making sure to pay extra thanks to the ones who bandaged and healed you. A quick look around doesn’t show much promise, so you decide that going to the site of the wreckage is a good place to start.

Zoro packs his small setup and begins to walk around aimlessly. Getting lost is his specialty, but this time he tries taking extra caution since he can’t mess up the only chance of finding you.

The edge of the woods closest to the fight is where he found the piece of cloth that came from your shirt. Even after looking over that space a million times, he tries again in case he may have missed something, hoping for any positive sign.

The small divot where your body had laid is still imprinted into the ground. It looks like every other spot around the site, but if anyone had to know that’s where it happened, it would be you.

Looking closely around the surroundings and inspecting the last place Robin had been seen—only feet from where you had been five days ago—comes up with nothing.

When suddenly, you hear a rustling in the leaves.

Assuming it to be a squirrel or other wild animal, you pay no mind at first—until it gets closer and louder.

Finally, you look up and see the outline of what looks to be a person, thanks to the magic of the potion your new fairy friends gave you.

A large sigh of relief leaves your lips—thinking the worst the whole time was finally over.

“Luffy! Zoro! Is that you?!”

A voice calls out, and the green-haired man immediately recognizes it. His heart feels like it’s able to beat again, a wave of happiness taking over his instincts as he runs toward your voice, pushing past tree branches and shrubs like they’re blocking his path to all the riches in the world—and to him, they are.

Finally, Zoro sees you through a small opening. He calls out your name, and now you can see him as well, tears streaming quicker than thought possible.

He embraces you so tightly that the wounds covering the bones in your chest ache horribly—but you don’t care. All that matters is not being forgotten.

“Why the hell did you scare me like that? Everyone thought you were dead!”

His words sound harsh, but his tone is scared, shown by the trembling hands reaching to cup your face.

“I had no choice. I tripped, and Robin got hurt trying to save me. I couldn’t risk getting anyone else involved.”

Your words come out strained and fearful, worried Zoro might actually be upset with you.

“Never mind any of that. Are you alright?”

His voice is calmer now, the grip on your shoulders softening.

“I’m fine, I found a group of fairies that helped me…”

The explanation would have to wait for another time. Even if Zoro has relaxed a bit, you haven’t—still clinging to him like he could disappear at any moment.

He gets the memo, making a weird face at the word “fairies,” but chooses not to press it right now.

“Where are the others?” you ask while looking up at Zoro from his chest.

“They left for a bit. They’ll be back in a few weeks for us.”

He never outright says how the crew felt, but you know by his words. You know that he stayed behind while they left—not because they didn’t care, of course they did—it was because they couldn’t stand the idea of finding you dead.

Neither could Zoro, but he would never forgive himself until he knew for sure.

A few days of relaxing mornings and rigorous training go by when you find the mound of dirt graced with flowers and handwritten notes pinned to a small wooden stake.

Zoro freezes when he sees you looking at your own memorial, forgetting that the crew had set it up with tears and screams a week or so before.

“What do you think this is? It’s beautiful,” you say with a small smile, not wanting to disturb the area.

After Zoro explains what it is and that the others had done it for you, more tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

Zoro stiffens for a moment, then wraps a loose arm around you.

“They really care about me,” the words come out in a whisper, almost too quiet to be heard.

“Yeah, they do. But I care about you more,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Time passes, and the Sunny docks along the shore as promised exactly a month later, planning to welcome Zoro with compassion and empathy.

Instead, they’re met with both of you, joy overflowing the deck as everyone runs to greet each other.

Robin is the first to give you a hug—tighter than her usual ones.

Sanji, of course, makes a half-hearted comment toward Zoro, causing them to butt heads immediately after reuniting.

A celebration takes place that night, telling stories on both sides for hours about what’s been going on during the past few weeks. Drinks and food are passed around while Brook plays a lively tune to match the mood.

You keep a hand on Zoro’s as his other wraps around your hip. He leans to your ear and whispers,

“I told you I had faith in you.”

He’s never been good with words, but after this big of a scare, he’d do anything to see that smile come to your face just like it is now—and forever.

[nerdygirlramblings]

This story, like all things, must come to an end. Thank you for joining me and for the love and support you’ve shown this little idea that would not let me go. (It's a long one.)

Through the afternoon, Jon and the others keep you company, following in your wake as you continue your daily routine. But it is hard to focus with Jon's words ringing in your ears. They are here to claim you. To somehow take you to Fjall Gothar. To be Queen of the gods.

The day passes in a blur. When you have unguarded moments, one of your gods whispers how they will take you from your people, how they will worship you in more than just your dreams.

You do not fully understand their plan and are distracted throughout the feast. The Elders, even those who don't fully believe, speak of the work of the gods and the blessings your people have received. It is clear from the conversations around you other villages have started worshiping the ancient gods and are experiencing similar blessings. You cannot keep your eyes from your gods as you hear a woman talk about the dream one of the farmers in her village had that helped end a strange crop blight. Or how in another, members of a scouting party deemed dead finally made their weary way home several moons later, hurt and hungry but all alive.

Once the meal is over and the hall is cleared and set with beds for the visitors, you return to your home to find Jon, Tav, Gaz and Si already there. They are smiling at you tenderly, a look of pure devotion on each man's face. Si comes to you as you close your door, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace that lasts for long moments. When he steps back it is only to position himself better to kiss you. It is the first time any of them have been so intimate outside of your dreams. You moan a little and melt into the kiss. Tav tugs your arm, pulling you to his side before crashing his lips down on yours. He tastes like sunshine as he slips his tongue into your mouth. When he lifts his head and lets you gulp a lungful of air, Gaz slips in behind you and whirls you around. You don't register it happening before all you smell and taste is him. Lush and filling, like the abundance he can rain down if he chooses, kissing Gaz feels like it's everything you'll ever need. Until a firm set of hands land on your hips and removes you from Gaz's hold. "My queen," Jon whispers, lust and love weaving themselves through his voice before he pulls you flush against him and claims you with a kiss so scorching it burns away the thought of anyone but them.

"There is no moon tonight, my queen. We will leave when the village is sleeping, and we shall leave no trace. Tomorrow, your home will look as it does now, but you will be gone," Jon states.

You rear back. "But what about my people?" you ask, afraid. "How will they know how to worship you without me?"

"Even now, when we are about to reward you with everything you deserve, you think of others," Gaz sighs, placing light kisses across your shoulder and up your neck. "You are truly a queen, love."

"You have shared what you learned," Si says quietly. "Each morning you work, you invite others to join you. Thone, Unnr, Astridr, Vigi, Bui," he lists several of those who have been touched by their blessings, "you've taught them all what to do. And they will teach others."

"Your people will miss you," Tav admits, "but you have given them what they need to continue the work without you."

You look around at your gods, these men whom you saved and who thus saved your people. Yes, you are afraid, but not moreso than the night you made your sacrifice. And now, like your people, you are being rewarded for all you've done. "I am ready," you say with more conviction than you feel.

Jon kisses you one more time before sweeping you out the door.

The trip to Fjall Gothar happens in a blink. One moment you're viewing the night sky from the front of your house, and the next you are above the stars, looking out into the vast darkness. Jon leads you through the palace, Gaz, Tav, and Si trailing quietly behind you. Though you'd seen it in your dreams, hearing your steps echo in the halls is altogether different. When you reach the throne room, you're surprised when Jon steers you onto the large, ornate throne you had seen all those weeks ago. "My queen," he says reverently. "Your heart saved us all, and it is a privilege to have you here, in this place of honor."

It is strange, adapting to life in the palace. As a goddess, an idea which sits uneasily on your shoulders, you no longer have need of food or rest, though both can exist if you wish them. You are often in consultation with the gods about life in not only your village but in more places than you knew existed. Unlike the others, you have no defined sphere of influence, instead leading with the heart that first sought out these ancient gods for help. Your days are filled with the same care and consideration for others you've always had, applied to humanity far and wide. At night, you're entangled with one or more of your lovers.

And lovers they truly are now. Your bed never lacks for company.

No one is surprised when you bear a set of twins - one boy and one girl - who look like Gaz. Next is a daughter whose eyes could rival Jon or Tav, followed by a son whose build is purely Si. And you are not the only one to fill the palace with the sound of children. Las and Wel build themselves a girl child of clay and a boy child of cloud, breathing life into each in turn. Fra and Lex have several children too. As they grow, the children become gods and goddesses, claiming various facets of life to protect.

Generations pass and still you sit in your place of honor, ever focused on protecting others. With your children and their children and their children's children, you urge them to find ways to watch over things in a way that will allow them to continue living and not be forgotten as so many of the original ancient gods had been.

One morning you are gripped by a desire so strong, you cannot ignore it. You dress in clothes you've seen others wear before leaving the palace for the mortal realm. Though Jon, Gaz, Tav, and Si all offered to accompany you, they did not attempt to force their company on you. It warms you after all this time to know they care deeply for you and trust your judgement.

You find yourself on the road to your old village, walking a path you used to know by heart but which has changed in the years since you left. There are more people now, more homes, more spaces to gather. Many people look up and wave as you enter the village, and you are greeted by a pleasant-looking man who introduces himself as Lars. "I am one of the leaders of this village, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to it," he says, nodding his head. "Have you come to see the shrine?"

"Shrine?" you ask, remembering the small altars you'd built on the border between the village and the fields all those years ago.

"Yes," Lars replies. "It is our pride and joy, and many come to see it and pray to the gods."

You remember the pilgrims who were with your gods the night you left the village. You aren't sure how to respond, so you simply nod your head and say, "Yes."

Lars leads you past buildings whose inhabitants and purposes you knew a lifetime ago to what had been the main meeting hall. You remembered seeing your gods there over dinner, the first time they'd come to your village in human form. Little about the outside of the building has changed, but as Lars opens wide the doors and ushers you inside, everything is different.

The altars you'd built were tiny and modest in comparison to what you see before you. Ranging along three walls of the meeting hall are large, ornate altars. The largest ones are along the wall directly across from the door. There are nine in total, but the five in the middle are nearly as tall as you. Lars names your children, their children, and children of the other gods as he points to various altars along the long walls. The pride in his voice at how well the people tend the altars and worship the gods is unmistakable.

Finally, he stops at the far wall, pointing at the five largest altars, and you gasp. Before he says anything, you point to each and say, "There is the altar to the god of death, and that must be to Gaz, here is the one for Tav, and this is clearly Jon's. But what of the altar in the center? I do not recognize it."

It is beautifully carved with images of soft rains and fertile fields, of fish and game and wild berries, of babies and the elderly. It is obviously well taken care of. Lars quickly glances at you before focusing on the altar. There's a hitch in his voice when he finally speaks. "Legend has it our people were dying. Wars and famine gripped us. But then we were saved. One woman somehow brought a miracle to us. The gods began blessing us. Our crops grew strong and plentiful. Fighting stopped and trade with our neighbors began instead. Less than two years later, the woman disappeared." Lars turns to look at you. "We know it is but a legend, but we believe she left us to bring miracles to others, as word soon spread of how our neighbors began to flourish too. She is the reason we are still here, and so we worship her as the queen of the gods, the heart that saved us all."

series masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hidden-treasures21 @lostintransist @sirbonesly @lilynotdilly

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: It starts with a plant

G/N. Fluff. Gun's home is cold and sparse. Masterlists

"Take this," you grin, holding out the small plant towards Gun. "It's for you."

He frowns, wondering why he would ever want that and makes no move to take it.

You thrust the plant closer, "Here."

"I don't want it."

Rolling your eyes, you place it down on his coffee table. "You need to look after it."

"I don't."

"It's a gift from me."

'I don't want it' is on the tip of his tongue again but the look on your face stops him short. Gun decides on saying thanks instead.

"Try not to kill it."

.

.

You had commented that his house is kind of a dump one morning, and Gun had countered that you didn't mind last night.

Not that he was particularly offended by that comment, he did live in the middle of a junkyard after all - let's not pretend there's anything glamorous about that.

His furniture was sparse, decor non-existent though hints of luxury still peeked out here and there.

It was just so... cold, though. A bit like the man himself, you suppose.

.

.

It starts with a plant.

You aren't trying to impose, or make your mark on Gun's home or anything of the sort. But then the salesperson spots you eyeing up this particular long-leafy plant (for your own home actually) and starts explaining how it's virtually indestructible, can put up with a lot of neglect, a lack of sunlight and still thrive-

Well.

It's just that plants liven up a place, don't they? A bit of healthy greenery is always pleasant to look at, and it's good for the air quality as well, something to consider when living amongst mounds of rusting old metal.

What's the harm in giving this to Gun?

.

.

Gun, to his own credit, actually listens to your parting words.

"Try not to kill it."

There's so much blood on his hands, and that has been so easy, that trying to keep something alive should be far harder.

Gun looking after a plant goes much better than anyone would expect. He is nothing if not meticulous with his methods.

Each time you visited him, which used to be a once-in-a-blue-moon middle of the night sloppy visit and eventually turned into weekly sleepovers, you noticed the plant steadily getting greener and more lush until one day-

"I think it needs a bigger pot."

.

.

Next was the blanket.

You buy it thinking about how warm and fluffy it is, how it has the cutest pattern and you get cold sitting with him on his threadbare sofa in that shack.

You did not buy it thinking about how out of place it would look in Gun's home.

Gun keeps his face carefully neutral when you unveil the monstrosity and drape it on the sofa. He refrains from commenting, refrains from looking at it at all and plans to burn it as soon as he can.

Then he sees you snuggling in it, a happy sigh leaving your lips, looking all snug and practically glowing.

He's not actually heartless, okay. At least not when it comes to you.

Maybe he can just stuff it in a dark corner somewhere when you're not around.

.

.

The candles are completely unnecessary though Gun will admit that they smell quite nice.

A couple of rugs also invades his home at some point, as well as a welcome mat for the front door.

"People aren't welcome here."

Giving him a side eye, you tell him it's just a name.

The wall 'art' Gun did put his foot down and refused. You come back with framed pictures of the both of you instead and- Gun sighs and concedes, fine.

.

.

Gun liked his house exactly how it was - blank and minimal.

The new decor and furnishing you got didn't really add to his quality of life but he keeps every item. Each time he looks at something, something that is vastly out of place in his previous bare home, it reminds him of you.

The plant continues to thrive, along with the few more that you gifted him and the blanket never moves from the sofa.

.

.

"Here," Gun says, handing you a toothbrush to keep neatly next to his. Along with your own dedicated closet space, and free rein to replace his furniture and decorate as you see fit.

"Stay." He says. For tonight, tomorrow, forever.

You can't keep the smile off your face. "Really?"

He nods, because this feels right. His house has been feeling less like his, and more like ours and to his surprise, like home more than ever.

[koqabear]

Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.  

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal. 

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child. 

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.  

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside. 

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together. 

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with. 

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there. 

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set. 

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves. 

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you. 

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice. 

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile. 

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning. 

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies. 

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can. 

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you. 

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods. 

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching. 

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own. 

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you. 

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly. 

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies. 

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye. 

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out. 

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully. 

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent. 

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket. 

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him. 

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with. 

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in  a feeble way to distract yourself. 

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought. 

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly. 

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion. 

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches. 

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off. 

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point. 

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger. 

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.” 

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed. 

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms. 

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look. 

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely. 

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much. 

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses. 

“I’m here to protect you.” 

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water. 

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart. 

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile. 

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him. 

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown. 

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all. 

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own. 

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long. 

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.” 

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.” 

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man. 

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps. 

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong. 

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home. 

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror. 

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots. 

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse. 

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement. 

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear. 

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them. 

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls. 

“Get out.” 

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu—  to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself. 

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard. 

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it. 

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds. 

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom. 

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face. 

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?” 

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off. 

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly. 

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body. 

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale. 

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end. 

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you. 

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage. 

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open. 

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him. 

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view. 

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct. 

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill. 

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display. 

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down. 

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?” 

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you. 

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning. 

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely. 

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.” 

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you. 

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more. 

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.” 

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate. 

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?” 

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation. 

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly. 

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?” 

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight. 

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response. 

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils. 

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly. 

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest. 

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches. 

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles. 

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you. 

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit. 

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection. 

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you. 

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt. 

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations. 

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?” 

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you. 

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight. 

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp. 

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts. 

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence. 

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.” 

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.” 

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.” 

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra: 

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks. 

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.” 

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied. 

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.” 

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt. 

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want. 

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own. 

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly. 

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight. 

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words. 

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation. 

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck. 

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you. 

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other. 

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough. 

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into. 

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within. 

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

[sunsets-and-crows]

Let The Dead Watch Us Bloom

Chapter 1 - A Prayer and A Price

Words: 4K

- - -

The flowers are dying. The gods are listening. And the deal you made in the dark is already binding. The price is written in blood and bones. How will you survive in a world so unlike your own?

Thank you to my gem @diamondtiger for the cover photo!

Content warnings ⚠️

Hades/Sylus, Persephone/Reader, probably OOC for both, death, grief, eventual smut.

I'll add to this list as we progress through these chapters but let me know if theres something I missed please!

Rain stitched its way down the glass in slow, shimmering threads, carving rivulets through grime and memory. The streets outside were beaten by the heavy droplets that spilled from a sky seethed, vicious and angry. The world was angry. The weather was angry. You were angry.

Your little store sat in ruin. Plants from all around the world, ones you’d nurtured and cared for since childhood, now slumped in cracked pots of dried-up soil, leaves browned and curling where once they had bloomed with lushness and life. 

Thunder cracked, and a white flash lit up the shop from the inside out, revealing every dying leaf and frayed edge. The eye of the storm was approaching rapidly. 

The wind shrieked through the shutters, its rattle buzzing through your bones.

The sound scraped against your nerves. 

The thought of replacing them. 

Of the inevitable bill that they would leave you with. 

Another one to add to the pile. 

Another crack of thunder. 

The streets lit up with another rageful flash, quicker this time, illuminating desolate streets outside. Rivers of rain thrashed wildly in the gutters of your little plant shop, more percussion created by the storm that was intent on bringing what was left of your livelihood to its knees. 

Only the datura had survived the season. And even that sat alone by the window, in a clay pot spiderwebbed with old cracks. Once, it had been beautiful, ghostly white silky petals folded into horns, a strange, showy thing that bloomed only at night. Now, it was barely a shadow of itself. Green gone sickly. A lone flower still standing, still blooming, white and waxy and reeking of something sweet and dangerous. Of course, the only plant alive would be the one you couldn’t sell. Useless. Poisonous. 

One stubborn blossom curled in on itself, like it was waiting for something that would never come.

You pulled down the blinds inside the shop, shutting out the storm and the neon lights of the world outside. 

A sigh rushed past your lips as you walked through to the back office, past the decaying walls and vines and flowers. 

Everything was dying, or dead. 

You could feel it in your chest, a dull ache echoing the slow decay of every green thing around you. Even the ivy that grew across the facade had started to hang limp, leaves yellowing at the edges, its tendrils too tired to reach for anything. 

The shop smelled like damp earth and abandonment, the air thick with the sweetness of a flower’s last breath. Rot. 

A leak had sprung in the back room through one of the windows, one small rivulet of rain running down the wall and pooling at the tile underneath. 

There was no point in crying, no one was around to hear your cries anyway. 

No one cared. 

A deafening rumble cracked overhead, accompanied by a simultaneous flare of white light and then, you were plunged into darkness. 

The electricity had gone. 

“This cannot be happening,” you sighed, resigned to your fate. “This place is going to kill me!” 

Clambering over stacks of papers, final notices, a debt collector's receipt and plants in various stages of decay, you eventually found what you were looking for. 

A birthday candle. 

You lit it quickly, the yellow light flickering and throwing dancing shadows across the cramped room. Tall, reaching shadows that grasped and swayed, reaching for something beyond their range. 

The light caught on the edges of your grandmother’s old journal, left open on the counter like a relic from times past. The pages, worn from years of thumbing through the cracked and yellowing pages. 

The book had been handed down with the shop. The last piece you had of your grandmother in this world and they were both in tatters. 

It wasn’t entirely your fault.

You were the last. The final thread in the family’s weave. So it was your burden. Your duty, to sit beside your grandmother as the light left her eyes, to sponge her fevered skin, to remind her to breathe when her lungs kept forgetting. You hadn’t just loved her. You’d given your everything for her. You’d ensured that her every moment was joyous and celebrated. 

Flowers by her bedside until the last moment. Sunlight and fresh air to cleanse the stuffiness of the room. And pills. So many pills. Painkillers, muscle relaxers, antiemetics, antipsychotics and more besides. None of them were treatments. They were to keep her comfortable, to keep her out of it enough that she didn’t notice her death creeping up on her. 

But you did. 

And it carved out its name in your heart. Witnessing her final moments was tough, but knowing that her time was running out was worse. 

She seemed to get better, for a short time. You’d come back to the upstairs flat and she wasn’t in her bed, she was cooking. 

“Grandmother! What are you doing out of bed?” You couldn't help the way you’d reacted. She hadn’t been able to stand unassisted for months, and suddenly she was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. 

She smiled at you, eyes warm and full of love, and you were a child again. Small and fragile and reeking of dirt from the gardens, running inside to find this exact scene. 

Your heart broke. 

“Your grandfather will be along soon, dearie. He’s taking me on a trip,” she’d said, happy as anything. “Now, come along and help me with these carrots. I don’t want him to have to wait for his dinner.” 

You’d understood what was happening then. 

Had researched enough about the dying process to realise what would happen. As the exhaustion seeped into her muscles and you tucked her into bed, you knew it would be the last time. 

Your tears fell freely. 

You hugged her tighter than you ever had before, and held her hand as she slipped away from the world. 

After that, everything began to rot.

The shop.

Your spirit.

You couldn’t keep up with anything. The endless stack of bills grew higher and higher. Medical bills. Electical bills. Gas bills. Water bills. 

The Balifs had been once. They’d emptied out the pitiful amount of change from the register and taken a few things to cover what they could, but even they could tell it was useless. Their eyes, regarding you with a stare so pitying, you wanted to throw something at them. 

The debt, the neglect, all of it, it hadn’t been a choice. It was a necessity. A sacrifice that had to be made. Keeping your last family member comfortable as she passed had meant more to you than keeping everything else together. And now? Now the decay had set in too deep. 

You couldn’t fix it, try as you might. 

The building was already crumbling, and now it was a hazard. The customers were gone. The suppliers stopped calling. The debt was drowning you. Sometimes, a whisper in your skull said: sell it. Burn it. Walk away.

But you couldn’t. 

There was too much of your grandmother left in these walls. Of you. 

Every vine, brick, and patch of peeling wallpaper was heavy with memory, love, grief, and time.

How do you sell that?

So that’s why you went there. To the shop. You needed something, something to help you out to try and make ends meet, to breathe life back into the crumbling business around you. It was desperation that urged you to leave your shitty apartment, at well past midnight, and hightail it into the eye of the storm. 

Your grandmother was... magical. Not in the cute, fairy-dust way, in the old, terrifying, whisper-to-the-dead kind of way. It suited her too. She could revive almost any flower or plant, or person, with seemingly a mere look. You’d experienced it first-hand as a child. 

Her fingers leafing through the pages of the journal until she found whatever remedy she had needed, and using it to coax a flower into bloom in a matter of days. 

You hoped you would have the same luck with making the business bloom again. 

The pages were completely stocked full of information, scrawled in her signature handwriting. Loops and curves and joins, dancing across the pages and spilling forth generations worth of knowledge. 

Maybe you’d been looking at it for too long. 

Your eyes hurt from crying and squinting to read in the darkness of the shop, but the writing seemed to change and shift as you read through the journal. The flow of the writing changing, sloping and twisting with each word as you got closer and closer to the back pages and then…

Nothing? 

The last sentence trailed off, abandoned mid-thought, like something had interrupted her.

No. That can't be right. 

Your grandmother was particular about many things, and this journal was one of them. You weren’t even allowed to touch it until it was passed down to you, until she was so tired and sick that she couldn't manage the shop anymore. That’s when you were allowed to read it. Then, and only then. 

She would never leave a page unfinished.

You thumbed over the pages once more. Feeling the ridges and stitching of the leather, the textures of the pressed flowers adhered to each page. And then to that last sentence. Unfinished and unsatisfying. 

It wasn’t right. 

The birthday candle was nearly out.

You rummaged through a drawer and lit another one. The last one. 

The light danced across the pages as you set it onto a piece of Blu-Tack, a makeshift holder for your final piece of salvation. 

You looked at the journal closer, there was a…shadow? Something not quite a mark but not not a mark. 

There!

Underneath the back binding, the cover, was something. 

You pulled it closer, zeroing in on the corners with your fingernail. God, your grandmother would have your head if she knew what you were about to do. 

You slid your fingernail underneath the page, the glue giving way to the pressure in places and holding firmly in others. One of those unsatisfying rips that left tears and shreds of paper everywhere, but when you were finished, the sentence was complete. 

There, hidden underneath the binding, was something unfamiliar. There was writing. The loops were unfamiliar, the rhythm all wrong, but unmistakably hers. A poem.

If it blooms in darkness, it was meant to live there.Build an altar from the breath of dying things.Offer something rooted. Offer something broken.Speak to Her in the hour before the veil closes.

You read it aloud without thinking. A whisper, just to break the silence. 

She’d heard it before. Somewhere. A long time ago, maybe. 

When she was too young to retain anything other than the joy of her childhood. 

But there were instructions here and diagrams, and all of it made your mind whirr in an ancient and destabilising way. 

There was a faint hum in the air, a vibration that trickled through your veins in a way that drowned out the thunder and the rain that was slowly making its way under the front door.

That kind of static that your grandmother radiated when she’d talk to the plants and work her little magic on them to get them to behave. 

It was worth a shot. 

God, anything was worth a shot at this point. 

Even if you felt foolish as anything.

Your hands moved on their own. Old habits and grief coming together with your muscle memory to gether what you could. A broken pot that could still hold anything that wasn’t liquid. A sprig of dry lavender. A pothos that you’d put your all into as a teen, now just wisps and brown and dust. And finally, the datura. With softness and reverence, you pulled it from the soil. The last living thing in the building came away from the pot with ease, its roots barely enough to keep it anchored. You didn’t know how it had stayed alive this long. 

Maybe it was waiting for this moment. 

Maybe you were losing your mind? 

Still, you built the thing, the altar, just as the page had said. Stems arranged with care, and a birthday candle stood in a lump of Blu-Tack to complete the look. 

It was pitiful and desperate and mortifying. But you’d come this far, so why stop now? 

Your heart pounded as you spoke, to Her. 

“Ummmm… hello?” 

The flame jumped, and you did too along with it. 

“Fucking hell!” 

Not, perhaps, the most sacred invocation. You cleared your throat and started again. 

“Okay, I’m… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here, but I guess I need help?” You sat down crossed cross-legged on the floor, staring into the tiny, flickering flame. 

“I… I have nothing left to give. Nothing left to bloom, to grow, I’m just… lost. When my grandmother passed away, I didn’t know how much it would-” 

The bell above the shop chimed. Soft. Singular. A sound like a thread snapping in a dark room.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. 

You’d locked it. You had locked it. 

It was well past midnight. The roads were abandoned, impassable with the storm and debris. The rain and winds hadn’t let up in hours, and now there was lightning. No one should be here. 

No one could be here. 

No one with good intentions, anyway. 

You turned the corner and stepped back into the shop, voice shaking with nerves and fear. “Sorry, we’re-”

But the rest of your words never made it past your lips; they caught, strangled halfway up your throat.

Because someone was there.

Sanding barefoot on the cold terracotta tiles, between your failing monstera and the shelf of discounted succulents, was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. 

Beautiful seemed entirely the wrong word to describe her. No mortal language had one.

And suddenly, it was hard to breathe. 

She didn’t belong in your shop. She didn’t belong on this earth. 

She stood in a stillness that didn’t belong to the living. Moonlit marble pretending to breathe. Hair like oil-slicked obsidian spilling over her shoulders and down her back, impossibly, too fluid, too alive. Thin strands of silver threaded through it, shimmering like starlight, as if the sky itself had spilled into her veins.  Her skin gleamed, moonlight paling in comparison to the way her skin shone in the light of a singular birthday candle. Glowing, alive and perfect. A woman who could end wars and start religions. 

Her gown drifted around her, ancient and weightless. Layers of sheer fabric gathered like fog around her frame, so delicate that it seemed to defy physics. It shifted as she walked around the small space, catching the candlelight in ways it shouldn't, glimmering with something more radiant than diamonds. Silk and ash and spring sunlight. Smoke woven by hands that hadn’t touched mortal flesh in centuries. 

You didn't mean to stare, but your body forgot how to do anything else. Your knees felt weak. Your hands were shaking. Your brain had short-circuited somewhere around the sight of her feet not making a sound on the tile. 

She moved slowly. Deliberately. As if the world bent around her presence. 

She passed you, stepping and brushing her delicate fingers over a wilted rose plant on the countertop. 

A slight sigh escaped her lips, and then it bloomed. 

Violently. 

Stems unfurling in a sudden breath, thorns sharpening to fine red-tipped points, petals bursting open in a flushing cascade of life. The air suddenly alive with the scent of perfect rose blossoms. 

You blinked.

Rubbed your eyes. 

But nothing changed. 

You were wide awake. And whatever this was, it wasn't some hallucination brought on by grief and sleep deprivation. 

She looked at the rose plant for a long moment, fluffing the lush green leaves and arranging the flowers with careful attention, until finally, she turned to you.

“You called for me.” Her voice was soft, dangerous, echoing with something ancient and powerful. A voice with gravity. Something carved out of stone and thunder. It rippled through your bones. 

Your breath hitched in your throat.  “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You wanted life,” she said. “You asked for it,” her gaze flicked past you to the floor. The makeshift altar. “And I have your offering.”

She stepped forward just one step, and somehow the room shrank. 

“You gave something broken. You gave something beautiful. You gave something rooted.” 

Her eyes rose to meet yours, gaze sharp enough to cut with an unspoken verdict.

“I should be furious,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “But I’m not.”

Her eyes, God. You’d never seen green like that before. It wasn’t just the colour, it was the depth. Speckled with gold like sunlight filtered through moss. Endless and timeless. They held seasons in them. Decay and the miracle of things being reborn. 

She didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

“Wait,” you breathed. “Who… are you?”

She tilted her head. A movement so quiet  it felt like the silence itself deepened. 

“I go by many names,” she said. “But for your sake… call me Persephone.”

And just hearing it stole the warmth from the room. 

You wanted to laugh but her eyes told you that this was real, there was no joke, no hidden camera. Nothing. 

Just you and a… Goddess? 

“…I don’t understand,” you whispered.

“You asked for help. Did you not?” 

The goddess’s voice turned colder. Almost amused. Mocking even. “You lit the candle. You made the offering, and now you flinch at being seen?”

She turned away from you, slowly, appraising the space with a faint grimace. As if the presence of so much wilt and mildew offended her on a personal level. 

“And gods, what have you done to this place?” 

Shame rose hot in your chest. You wanted to snap at her, but she was right and a goddess. The shame was a splinter that had been in you for months now, and her words just twisted it deeper. 

“I… I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” you said, voice cracking. ”But we, I have nothing left.” 

You hated how your voice cracked. How small it sounded.

“Evidently,” she said with a sneer, kicking away a fallen leaf from under her feet. 

Persephone circled you slowly, the hem of her gown whispering across the floor like fog curling over graves. Every movement carrying a weight, a history; aeons of grace and fury, grief and rebirth. Her eyes never left yours. 

“You’re trembling,” she said, voice low, lilting, cruel in a way only someone ancient and exhausted could be. “Is it fear? Or awe?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. You couldn’t tell. Both, maybe. Neither? 

The air around her crackled with a pressure you couldn’t explain. Something was about to break, and maybe it was you. 

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. The words came out raw, scraped from your throat like they’d been hiding under your ribs. “How are you real?”

Persephone stopped. Tilted her head, and for a breathless moment, all the air seemed to still around her.

“Real?” she echoed, with something like amusement curling in her throat. “Darling… I am the only alive thing that’s in this place and that includes you. Gods look at the state of you.”

The words hit like ice water, and yet, her expression flickered with something strangely triumphant. Cruel satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips, as though she’d been waiting to strike. Waiting for awe. Waiting to be recognised.

“And yet here I am,” she continued, “with you and your pitiful altar and your dead flowers, begging for something you don’t understand.” 

You bristled. Were all goddesses this mean? 

“I wasn’t- I just-”

“You called,” she said, all softness gone from her tone. You were testing her patience, clearly. “You called, and I answered. Do you know how long it’s been since someone remembered to do that? Since I’ve been able to get ou-” 

She took a deep breath, calming herself and taking a step closer to you. 

“I’m offering you a miracle, little mortal. Help. Power. Life.”Her gaze darkened. “But that comes at a cost. Everything worth having does.”

Your heart thudded wildly. “What kind of cost?”

Persephone tilted her head in mock thought. “A fair one,” she drawled, and her smile made it a lie. “Think of it as a temporary exchange.”

“Exchange? What could I possibly give you in exchange for your help?” You asked.

“I need time,” Persephone said. “Time you clearly aren’t using.”

You frowned. “What?”

She sighed in frustration “I propose a trade. You will take my place for six months. In the Underworld. A season, really. That’s all.” She waved a hand as if it were nothing. “And I will walk in your world for the same.”

You stared at her. Surely she didn’t mean that literally. Six months in the Underworld? It had to be a metaphor. Some ceremonial goddess-ritual. A symbolic debt. Like fasting for Lent or taking part in some harvest festival, not-

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

“I am always serious,” she said. But her eyes glittered. Amused. Giddy, even. “Oh, the things I could do with six months among the living again. The food. The sky. The chaos. And of course, I would fix up this little…” She paused, swiping her finger through some dust on a shelf before flicking it off her fingers in disgust. “Little shop.” 

She was glowing with joy. You felt like prey.

And then, the grin vanished.

“Do we have a bargain?”

You hesitated. Every bone in your body said this was a bad idea. But the other voice, the quiet, desperate one, said: You asked for help. This is help. You can’t back out now.

“I-I don’t understand,” you said. “What does that mean? Take your place? How would that work?”

“We would switch,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I’d take over your body and you would take mine. No one will know that we’ve switched places.” 

“So, what? I’m meant to rule the underworld?” You asked, utterly gobsmacked. 

She sighed and examined her fingernails, the absolute picture of boredom. If you didn’t already know better, you could’ve easily mistaken her for one of the mean girls at your high school. But this wasn’t Amber and Kaitlin the cheerleaders, this was Persephone, Goddess of Spring. 

“Not alone. You'll have my dear husband assisting you, or rather, you’ll assist him. It’s a complicated situation, but during our switch, we’ll each catch glimpses of one another’s memories. So you will understand your role in the underworld, and I will be able to… help you here.” 

It sounded so simple. Like she’d thought of everything, like it would be easy.

“That all sounds far too simple,” you said, thinking out loud. 

Her eyes flashed with unspoken anger.

“You have no idea what it means to be me.”

Silence stretched between you. She stepped closer again, her gaze no longer cruel, but hungry. Aching.

“You think I chose this? To be married to him? To rot in a kingdom of ash and silence while the world blooms above my head?” Her voice cracked, not with weakness but with fury barely leashed. “I was meant to be more than a wife. More than a myth. I want life back.”

She reached out, and in her palm bloomed a glass, delicate as starlight and rimmed in gold. The liquid inside shimmered with colours that shouldn’t exist. It pulsed like something living.

You stared. The weight of it hit then, her pain, not softened by time, but calcified into something dangerous. She wasn’t just offering you a deal.

She was trying to claw her way out of her cage.

“If I agree…” You said slowly. “If I take your place…”

She nodded. “You’ll be under protection. They’ll think you’re me. You’ll be safe, as long as you play your part.”

You swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

The smile she gave you then was beautiful. Terrifying.

“Do you really want toknow what happens to mortals who fuck with gods? Are you truly so ignorant? The wheel is turning. You’ve already been seen by the fates, which means I will know if you put a single step out of line.”

Your mouth was dry. Your hands shook.

She raised the chalice again. “Drink the ambrosia. Or leave this place in rot and ruin.”

You stared at it. At her. Something in your chest twisted, the voice of reason clawing to be heard over the rising hum in your skull. And yet…

The liquid in the glass shimmered. And her eyes, hard and angry as they were, begged you to accept.

You took the glass and brought it to your lips. It tasted like honey and thunder, sunlight and dreams. The taste flooded your tongue, changing, twisting, morphing into every taste you longed for, smokey and sweet, whiskey and cream, yet still refreshing. 

You finished the glass. 

Your head was spinning from the taste. 

Wait. No. Not from the taste. 

You’d gone dizzy. Room fading as black spots filled your vision. 

You clutched at your chest, heart beating so rapidly it felt like it was trying to tear itself through your own chest. 

It hurt, God, it hurt. 

Your knees buckled before you felt them hit the floor. Your vision splintered. Somewhere, you heard Persephone's voice as you fell, light with laughter.

“Try not to ruin everything. Oh, and I probably should’ve mentioned that this might sting a little.”

The last thing you registered was your head clanging against the flooring and her peals of laughter ringing out like a bell. 

Then darkness took you, full and blinding.

This idea consumed me so much that I was compelled to write this. DISCLAIMER: This is heavily inspired by Goddess of Spring, one of the books in the Goddess Summoning series by P.C. Cast.

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback lovelies  ❥

[rafesangelita]

♡ TERRENCE LOVES YOU :: “i lost myself and i lost you too.”— you leave rafe at the height of his addiction after a heated exchange. fast forward two years later, and you have everything rafe couldn’t give you.

warnings: dark!rafe, descriptions of addiction, domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, angst

links: series masterlist | next chapter

wc: 1.4k

“what the fuck did you do with my shit!” you followed rafe into his bedroom, tears streaming down your face as you watched him flip the mattress over. your heart ached at the sight of the man in front of you. “rafe..” you shook your head. the man you once knew was so far gone, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “y/n, i’m not gonna ask you again.” he looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot as he grinded his jaw. terror flooded through you at being in this position once again. “i—” you sucked in a breath when he stalked towards you, his eyes narrowing as he took your arm, pushing you against the wall. “i flushed everything. every last bit of it. it’s gone, rafe.” he blinked at you, his expression blank.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” his grip tightened, the pain shooting up to your shoulder. “you’re hurting me,” your voice was small as the tears started falling again, rafe unfazed by your obvious discomfort. “what do you mean you flushed everything?” he let go, running his hands through his hair as he jogged to the bathroom, looking down at the toilet bowl as if his coke would be there waiting for him. he stared down wildy, your blood running cold when he slowly turned his head in your direction. “you said you were going to stop!” you sobbed, falling to the floor as you recounted walking in on him doing a line before he tried to gaslight you into thinking you didn’t know what you saw.

he walked over, squatting down as he took your chin inbetween his fingers. “look at me,” your eyes softened at his gentle tone, the feeling of pure horror returning when he smiled. “i could kill you right now.” in a flash, his fingers went from your chin to wrapping around your throat, yanking you up with him. you thrashed against him, your hands flying over his own in hopes he’d let go. “you wanna throw out my stuff? fine. i’ll throw you out then.” he dragged you to the front door, pushing you outside before slamming it shut. you lost your footing, your knees and the ball of your hands scraping against the pavement. you yelped, your white dress adorning new dirt stains. physical pain couldn’t compare to the emotional pain you felt right now.

you stared at nothing, having moved yourself from the concrete to the grass. you couldn’t even think of any words to describe what you were feeling at the moment. empty, defeated, sorrow, grief. how is it that you were grieving someone who was still alive? you sat for a long time, just listening to the birds chirp as the sun began setting over the horizon. while the outside was beautiful and lush with green from spring, there was a storm raging inside rafe’s home that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. you thought about things, and reflected over your relationship with rafe for the past four years of your life, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that the bad outweighed the good anymore.

on sore legs, you tried opening the front door, and much to your dismay it was locked. making your way around the house, the back door opened with ease as you slipped in silently. you took a look around, your heart twisting in your chest. all the furniture was flipped over, shards of glass from shattered decor and picture frames covered the floor, even the tv was knocked on its side. you managed to walk around the mess, keeping an ear out for rafe just in case he tried to come at you again. it was eerily quiet but you made your way upstairs nonetheless. you walked past the bathroom, freezing as you noticed rafe lying on the floor.

you peeked in, examining the unconscious man. his knuckles were bloodied, along with a few cuts on his arm that you assumed came from punching stuff like a maniac. soft snores echoed through the air as you felt an overwhelming sense of flight. it was now or never. you needed to leave from here, from him, and never look back. you didn’t care about anything that couldn’t fit in a backpack, quickly packing enough clothes to last you for a few days. you were going to explain everything to your parents as soon as you got the chance, but right now your main focus was getting to the mainland before rafe could wake up. you threw your hair up in a clip as you speed walked down the hallway, not even bothering to look at rafe one last time.

as soon as you made it out the door, you ran like your life depended on it, and in a way you assumed it did. you ran until your lungs burned with each intake of breath. you glanced down at the time on your phone. 8:45 PM, the exact time of the last ferry for the day. you took a deep breath, stepping on as you handed the guy at the front a couple of dollars. you spent the ten minutes it took to get to the mainland silently crying, fighting the urge to go back to rafe.

two years later…

“damn! that was really close!” topper watched the golf ball fly in the air, landing by the hole. “move over, watch how it’s done.” rafe laughed, ultimately not making the goal. they had been at the golf course for about an hour now. “hey man guess who’s coming back to figure eight.” rafe shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. normally no one ever left figure eight, except for..

“y/n. my sister told me a few days ago that her parents gave her their estate as a wedding gift. crazy right?” rafe paused not knowing what to take in first. the fact that you’re coming back, or that the words ‘wedding gift’ just left topper’s mouth. he stayed quiet, pondering over what he just heard. “y/n’s married?” apart of rafe was hurt at the revelation, but he knew he didn’t have the right to feel anything towards you. except guilt for everything he put you through.

“yeah, my sister went to her wedding like a month ago..” topper examined rafe’s reaction, “i’m sorry i shouldn’t be telling you this, i know you two used to be serious.” he took off his cap, wiping the sweat from his forehead. rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “nah, it’s alright. i don’t think she knows i’m still here. i gave my dad hell so i’m pretty sure the last thing she, let alone anybody else, would expect is for tanneyhill to be mine now.” he sighed, his golf club long forgotten in the dirt. “we’re bound to run into each other at some point.” flashbacks of you two ran through his mind, nothing but shame and anguish flooding his senses.

“i gotta go ‘top, i’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” rafe booked it across the golf course, ignoring the concerned shouts from his friend. for the next few days, rafe felt on edge as old urges started to pick at him, his frustration only growing as he fought with the idea to pass by your place. he wasn’t going to disturb your peace or talk to you or anything, he just wanted a glimpse of you. ‘fuck it.’ rafe grabbed his truck keys, knowing he was going to regret this later.

your parents, now your house, was only a few blocks away from tanneyhill. rafe didn’t fully pull onto the street, instead he parked at the corner, your house in clear view. there was a small moving truck outside, a man with black hair carrying a box inside. he didn’t have a work uniform on. rafe’s suspensions were confirmed when the same man walked out, you following behind him with that same pretty smile on your face. as if moving in slow motion, rafe watched as your husband picked you up, his heart twisting at the sight of you two sharing a kiss.

sure enough, your boulder of a ring caught rafe’s eye, the diamond sparkling underneath the afternoon sun. tears welled in his eyes at how happy you were. your hair was longer, cheeks fuller, you were still the epitome of beauty. he beat himself up the entire time you were gone, and he was probably going to forever hate himself for the way he treated you. blinking away the tears, he made his way back home, the house feeling even more emptier than usual.

[florencemtrash]

Leather and Blood - Part V

Jason Todd x f!Reader

Summary: Jason never imagined falling in love, so when he fell, he fell hard. He couldn't deny her anything, not even the leather jacket he'd tried burying in the back of his closet along with the rest of his secrets. But he'll soon realize the crucial mistake he made when he lets the love of his life walk out with Red Hood's signature leather jacket.

Warnings: angst, fluff

This is the last chapter y'all!

Leather and Blood Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

<- Previous chapter

In all her years, Y/n had never gotten around to testing the limits of her power. Certainly there were moments where she’d stare at her arms and legs, a sharp object, and wonder just how much she could survive — moments where she’d come across a patient at work, dead or alive, and think to herself, “what if this happened to me? Would I live to tell the tale?” But then she had to acknowledge how gruesome an endeavor it would be to systematically test the limits of what she was capable of. So, when she finally woke up in a bed of cool, black satin, some monitor beeping close beside her, she was pleasantly surprised to find she could add “gunshot to the head” to the list of things she could handle. 

This bed was obviously not hers. It was too lush and she sank too deeply for it to be her mattress at home. The sheets were too fine, threadcount in the hundreds, and the kind of dark black you only found in the homes of billionaires. And there were fucking curtains drawn back from four posters carved from deep, rich wood. For a moment she felt like a Victorian heiress dying of consumption in a fashionable way until she remembered that she was very much not dying. 

Jason. 

She sat up carefully, pulling at the wires and IV line that kept her attached to a bag of fluids. It was a quiet, dark room — too pristine to feel lived in. There were no trinkets on the dresser across from her, no fingerprint smudges on the mirror above it from which she could see the sleepless bruises tugging at the skin beneath her eyes, her makeup on the wrong side of ruined. The only sign of life was a duffle bag sitting at the edge of the bed, open and containing a handful of clothes she recognized as hers and Jason’s.

Jason.

She swung her legs to the side and her feet had just dropped to the cool, marble floor when she caught sight of Jason. He sat just off to the side of the curtains, leaning back in a recliner and fast asleep with his head angled up, throat exposed. A frown graced his lips, eyebrows tugging forward in a troubled sleep. He was on the right side of raw, beautiful even with the bruises painting his cheeks a pale green. 

Y/n pulled from her power, feeling it warm her fingertips as she ran them along Jason’s cheeks, his jaw, and down his chest. The green bruises faded to flush skin, pale from sleeplessness. Jason’s frown deepened even as the pain in his chest lifted, and that was when he jerked awake, vibrant green eyes circling the air above him before settling on a familiar, comforting face. 

He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” he commanded. “Don’t you dare. Did you heal me again?” He dug his fingers into his skin, into his ribs feeling nothing of the bruises and fractures that had plagued him the last two days. “Dammit.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a mixture of rage and relief coating the inside of his mouth and his heart. His eyes flashed up and he tugged her into his lap, arms circling around her like wings. One hand smoothed over her waist, gripping her hip before settling at the small of her back. The other sank up and into her hair, cradling the sensitive back of her head and neck like a warm weight. “Never do that again. Promise me.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes even as she nuzzled her way into his chest, fingers smoothing over the crinkles in his shirt and tracing the curve of his collarbones beneath it. 

“A thank you would have sufficed.” 

“I’m not going to thank you for dying for me.” 

“Clearly I didn’t die, Jason. I—”

“Don’t do that.” His voice was pained now and Y/n pulled away just enough to catch the flickers of anguish in his gaze. “Don’t pretend like this was nothing.” His fingers twisted in her hair, ghosted over the nape of her neck. Someone had cleaned her as she slept, washed the gore from her hair and her skin before clothing her in her comfiest pair of shorts and t-shirt, and she knew it was Jason. He hadn’t let anyone near her except Alfred, and even then he’d barely trusted the old man to hook her up to the monitors as proof of what her healing abilities had already demonstrated. “She will be alright, Master Todd,” Alfred had reassured him, as if reassurance could erase the nightmare now burned behind Jason’s eyes. 

Jason drank in the sight of her, whole and safe in his arms. “Are you hungry?” 

Y/n nodded, feeling the acute pinch of hunger in her stomach. Jason leaned over to the night stand, picked up the phone — one of the old style telephones with coiled wire and turn wheel — and dialed the kitchen. Normally Jason was loathe to take advantage of any of the excesses of Wayne Manor, but this time he decided it was more important that he stay by Y/n’s side. 

“Master Todd,” a posh voice sounded from the other end, distinctly British. “Has the lady awoken?” 

“She has, and she’s understandably hungry. Could you please bring up food?” 

“Certainly, Master Todd.” 

Y/n felt bewildered ordering room service from a butler — a real life, British butler — but was so thankful for the full breakfast of eggs, sausages, bacon, tomatoes, and french toast that she would have kissed Alfred’s cheeks if Jason hadn’t maintained his loose grip around her waist. 

“Thank you,” she murmured shyly when the cart of food had been rolled in front of her. Alfred had only closed his eyes and bowed — bowed — before slinking out the door. The moment he was gone, Y/n descended on the food like a vulture to death. 

Jason looked at her in relief, stealing only a few bites for himself before wrapping his arms around her waist and settling into the curve of her back. 

“So…” she licked the maple syrup from her lips — the kind they’d imported from Vermont. None of the corn syrup shit that she still dearly loved. “I think we have a lot to talk about.” 

Jason stiffened against her back, breath coming out in one sharp exhale. “You should go first. I have a feeling my story will be longer.” 

Y/n was inclined to agree, because all she had to say was, “I don’t know what there is to say except that I’ve always been like this. Always able to heal myself and others. I think my parents tried to ignore that fact about me — to chalk it up to a strong immune system or luck. It wasn’t until I was about ten and healed my friend’s broken arm that I realized how powerful and dangerous it could be. How it could be taken advantage of once they kept coming back to me over and over again for everything from a paper cut to a cold to broken ribs.” 

Jason nodded in understanding. His hands found their way under her shirt, splaying comfortably over her stomach where they rubbed soothing circles over her hip bones. 

“But I thought you did get sick?” Jason questioned. “I remember days where you’d sleep in late, barely able to get up.” 

“Healing myself is easier than healing others. It… it can take a lot out of me.” Jason thought back to all those nights where he’d crawl into bed convinced something had broken inside of him, only to wake up to the pleasant surprise that it was only a bad bruise. 

“You’ve healed me before. Healed people at work, haven’t you?” 

Y/n nodded and blushed, glancing behind at him. “You never could hide it well, not from me. I always knew your line of work could get you into trouble. I just never realized how much.” 

Now it was Jason’s turn to be bashful, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, about all of—” He gestured to the Manor around them. To the closet where he’d hidden his now ruined Red Hood armor, “—this. I meant to, but… I didn’t know how you’d take it. If you’d understand the kind of danger I could put you in.”

She grasped his chin in between her thumb and forefinger. “You thought I would leave you.” 

Jason hesitated, then nodded. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. I still—I still wouldn’t blame you.” He swallowed thickly, refusing to meet her eye as he blinked away the emotion that was bubbling up in his throat, constricting like a noose. 

He closed his eyes at the soft feel of her lips against his temple, slightly tacky from syrup. “I’m not leaving you, Jason. Not now. Not ever.” He shuddered in relief, burying his face in her hair as quiet cries of solace left him. “Besides,” she reminded him, kissing his temple, “I’m kind of invincible. If anything, I’m a great girlfriend for someone like you to have.” 

Despite himself, despite the fear that still clung to his body like a second skin, he had to laugh at the irony of it all. The impossibility of having met someone who could meet the end of a gun and walk away. 

“Let’s… let’s wait a little longer before you make those kinds of jokes, yeah?”

“Fair enough,” Y/n whispered. 

When she finally pushed away the tray, too full to move, he carried her all of two steps back to the four-poster bed, crawling under the covers beside her until they were fused together. 

He shared his side of the story with her — the Batman, his Robin Hood days, Red Hood, the pit, everything. And she listened with the same quiet understanding she’d done for everything else. She traced the autopsy scar that split down his chest, kissed it better in a way Jason didn’t know was possible. 

Somewhere else in the Manor Damian and Tim were busy scrubbing away the knowledge of the day. Tying up loose ends like they were nothing more than fabric unraveling. And while Jason would have much to answer for, it would wait another day. For now, all he cared about was the living, breathing body of his lover beside him and the promise of more days than he realized with her under his arm. 

Safe. 

Protected. 

Loved. 

His.

<- Previous chapter

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Red Summer | Ghoap x F!Reader | Slasher!AU

After breaking up with your long term boyfriend you take a job working as a camp counselor in Northern Vermont. Seven weeks of swimming, volleyball, archery and hiking. There's even a hot lifeguard. It seems perfect until you find something evil is lurking in the woods

Tags: Slasher AU, Ghoap x Reader, intro chapter, nondescript reader, dark fic

Chapter 1: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

5.5k words

It smelled like Summer. Ozonic and earthy, carried into your car by the breeze as you drove North through winding roads. Montpelier was two hours behind you now. 

Despite the eighty degree heat, Vermont was lush and green. Only a couple more miles of shaded forest roads before you reached camp. At least you hoped so. Your maps app had been slow to load the last twenty miles.

The place was North, nestled between the border of Canada and the New Hampshire state line. It was gorgeous though. Anytime you thought about moving out of New England to somewhere cheaper the next season changed your mind. The trees just didn’t look as pretty in fall or the snow as splendid in winter. You just wished it was cheaper.

Suppose that’s why you took this job, as much as it didn’t appeal to you. Camp counselor for seven long weeks, the pay was shit but your food and board came free. After a bad breakup you didn’t have time to find a new lease so your life was packed up into a rented storage box with anything valuable shoved into the back of your car. 

A friend of a friend recommended it. She’d been working here for years, attended for even more. She was an old money New Englander. Boarding school outside of Boston and all that. She was nice though. Got you the job over any qualified candidates. It wasn’t nepotism but whatever it was called you wouldn’t complain.

Your car dinged. Low gas. Shit.

Scrolling quickly through the map you saw a gas station up ahead. You’d just make it… hopefully. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled into the station. It was older with dusty windows and sun-faded posters for cigarettes. 

A piece of paper was taped to the pump.

“Reader broken. Pay inside” scribbled in sharpie.

You sighed and headed inside. 

It was dusty inside too. A couple aisles of brightly packaged food and walls lined with fridges filled with beer and soda. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book when you walked in.

He was handsome. Black with dark, short cut curly hair and big brown eyes. Much too handsome to be working in the middle of nowhere. He’d look more fitting in the corner of a bar, buying you a drink. He smiled up at you and your heart might have skipped a beat. 

“Pump three? How much?” He was English… strange.

“Just…uh… ten bucks.” You stumbled out. 

“It’s the accent,” he chuckled. “It throws everybody off the first time.” 

“It’s a strange place for an Englishman to be, I guess.” You swayed awkwardly. 

“I go to Middlebury. Easier to get a summer job than fly home.” He shrugged. 

“Understandable.” You weren’t an expert on Vermont geography but you swore the college was on the other side of the state. 

“Ten on three.” He said, nodding his head towards the window.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.” 

“You still got to pay, love.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry… uh… Kyle.” You read his name tag before digging through your tote bag, finding the last bit of your cash.

“No worries. What brings a girl like you out here.”

“I’m working at the camp.”

“Weldon lake, right?”

“Yeah. First time… I’m going the right way, right?”

“If you continue up the road. There will be a sign when you need to turn.” He handed you your receipt. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hey!” You were half way out the door when he called. “Stay alive out there. Heard the campers can be down right evil.”

“I’ll try!”

The rest of the journey was smooth, there was a sign just like Kyle said. Another one after that taking you down a long gravel drive and into a dirt parking lot. A couple other cars were there already. 

You made sure everything important was locked up in the trunk before grabbing your duffel bag and tote. You hoped you brought enough sunscreen. 

The sun was warm on your back as you made your way up to the main building. Two other girls were hanging around on the porch. They each wore matching white baseball shirts with red sleeves and trim, each labeled with STAFF on the back. 

“Hey, you’re Sophia’s friend, right? I’m Janie.” She jumped down from the porch fence. “I love your braids by the way.”

You’d done your hair before leaving, figuring it’d be easier to keep clean braided than fight for limited shower time. 

“I’m Natalie,” The other girl greeted. You introduced yourself, thanking Janie for the compliment.”

“I think your cabin is next to mine. I can take you over once you check in.” Janie said.

Check in was easy enough. Sign a couple more papers, show off your ID to prove you were you and get your cabin assignment, key and two staff shirts. Tomorrow was orientation before the campers arrived Monday morning. Tonight was for getting to know everyone. 

“So, where’s this cabin?” you asked, walking outside.

The girls grinned and led you down the path. Everything seemed to branch off from here. They pointed out where the dining hall was just past the main office next to the nurse’s station.

“Don’t expect much. They’re still recovering from when Covid almost killed this place.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. They had to raise fees and a bunch of parents freaked out. Guess an extra hundred dollars really threw all the millionaires off.” Natalie laughed. 

Next was the pool, fully fenced in and surrounded by two tennis courts and two basketball courts on either side. 

“Hey lasses!” A man called from the pool, leaning over the chain link fence. Natalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the new girl?”

He had a thick Scottish accent. Lots of transplants for the area, you guessed. He was also handsome. Muscular with a dark mohawk and light eyes. He was shirtless with very short and tight red shorts on and a silver whistle around his neck. He was dripping water over the ground.

“You say that like you aren’t also the new guy, Johnny!” Natalie called, clearly annoyed already. 

“Nat hates him.” Janie giggled. 

“It’s been three hours and he’s already tried to fuck half the counselors. He’s a dog.”

“One I’d put on a leash.” Janie laughed.

Johnny walked over, still dripping wet. His crocs squeaked with every step. 

“Johnny,” he grinned, holding out his hand to you. You introduced yourself as he shook your hand excitedly. He had a tattoo on his side, up by his ribs. You couldn’t see all of it but it looked like a heart with someone’s initials in it. S and something else, you couldn’t tell for sure. “Beautiful name for a beautiful gal.”

Your cheeks felt hot as his blue eyes traveled over your body. 

“It’s going to be a fun seven weeks with all you bonnie lasses around.” He grinned. Nat looped her arm around yours.

“Down dog. We still have half the camp to show off.”

“You know where to find me. Pool looked like the lake when I got here.” He raised his hands up as he walked backwards towards the pool again.

“Come on, before we lose Janie.”

“He’s hot!” She defended. 

“You just like him because he got your name right on the first try.”

“He’s intelligent too!”

The cabins were next. Ten white painted buildings split in half with about eight beds on each side and a shared bathroom in the back. They formed a circle around a fire pit with log benches. 

You had cabin room 14. Janie was the building next door in 15 and Nat with 16 sharing with her. They took turns explaining everything.

“Your bed is the only non bunk and the chest underneath locks so anything you don’t want the campers to find should go there.”

“Basically all your shit. I had a copy of Crime and Punishment stolen last year. Fucking Crime and Punishment like any of these kids could read Dostoevsky.”

“Showers are in the back. Hot water is sparse so if you want some, move quick and early.”

“Breakfast is at 8. Coffee tastes like shit unless you pour half a pound of sugar in it.” 

“You can vape just outside but if you smoke you gotta ask your neighbor counselor to watch your kids. At least thirty feet away or they’ll snitch too.”

“Weed is only for days off because they'll either snitch or demand you share. That goes for kids and counselors.” 

“Days off are randomly assigned but you should get one every other week.”

“I don’t recommend sleeping with other counselors but if you must, go to your car.” Natalie said. 

“We’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is in an hour. You can meet everyone else then.”

“Thank you guys for everything.” You felt overwhelmed just a bit. 

They left, still arguing about Johnny. He was cute but the break up wounds were still fresh. You didn’t want to sneak around either. You weren’t a teenager anymore.

You haphazardly dumped the contents of your duffle into the lock chest before shoving it back under the bed. You had seven weeks to organize it. 

The bed was okay. A plastic covered mattress with an old sleeping bag. You should have brought your own pillow. Maybe a Target run on your next day off whenever that was. 

The ache in your muscles from driving all day hit hard the moment you sat down. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Hey sleepyhead!” Sophia came in. You rubbed your face as you woke up. Out the window you could see the sky looked darker, a blue summer evening. “I’m glad you ended up coming.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me the job.” You stretched, your shoulders cracking. “It’s nice to get away.” 

“I’m sorry about you and Ale.” There it was. She was nice but always craved gossip. 

“It’s okay. Just wanted different things.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t a bad breakup, no arguing, just a slow and painful demise. He’d even offered to let you stay with him when the lease ended and he found out you didn’t have a place to go. You chose this instead. 

“Well, let’s get you something to eat. The food is incredibly mediocre but I heard a rumor that the lifeguard has beer and weed for the fire pit.”

She was not wrong about dinner. Hot dogs with a slice of Kraft cheese melted on top with a bag of chips as a side. 

You sat with Nat, Sophia and Janie. 

“There are my lovely ladies!” Johnny sat down, forcing his way between Cel and Sophia. Nat looked like she wanted to kill him. “Coming out to the lake tonight? Hope you all brought swim suits or birthday suits.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nat groaned. 

“I think we’re gonna have an easy night. Some of us had long drives.” Sophia motioned to herself and you. “Just some girl time.”

Johnny pouted. 

“Fair enough but I do expect all of you at the bonfire tomorrow.” He pointed at all of them, even Nat. “Especially you new girl.”

He got up and jogged off to another table of girls. 

“Am I allowed to call him a slut?”

“What happened to dog?” Janie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dogs can be trained.” 

You all laughed. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. All the other girls knew each other for years at this point. Janie and Sophia had been coming here since they were kids. Nat met Janie in high school and got a job as a junior counselor with her the first chance they got. 

It wasn’t a super attractive job and the pay was shit but it looked good on resumes and college applications apparently. Showed responsibility. Most of your experiences with camp were from horror films. 

The sun was still out as the four of you walked back. Sophia was your cabin neighbor, taking care of room 13. It’s where you all gathered. 

Sophia and you sat on her bed while she did your nails. 

“Red looks nice on you.” It was a bright cherry red. She’d picked it out, saying they should all match. 

The evening was spent talking and laughing. You asking questions about camp life and getting advice from the other girls. 

You had friends back home but you were glad you fit in so fast. Any anxiety and fear for the Summer slipped away as the sun set. 

“I’m beat.” Nat yawned. It was almost midnight now. Janie agreed and the two wandered off back to their cabin. 

“I’ll head back too. Thank you for being so welcoming, Soph.”

“Absolutely! It’s nice to get fresh meat every once and a while. It can be tough with the kids so some people get jaded. I hope you have fun this Summer and if you don’t you can blame me.” She laughed. 

The air was cool on the little porch out front. Most of the other cabins had their lights off by now and the center was lit up with fireflies, neon yellow dots. 

There was an orange dot out towards the back of one of the cabins across the way. A cigarette. The man smoking it seemed larger than any counselor you’d seen but it was dark and he was half hidden behind the building. It was Johnny’s cabin, you think. He was big. 

He waved and you waved back. He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. The little corner fell dark and you went into your side.

You didn’t realize how quiet the world could be as you curled up in your sleeping bag. No hum of electronics or cars. No people yelling above or below you. Just the stillness of the stars.

It was an early morning. Johnny was running around the circle of cabins playing music to wake everyone up. He was shirtless again and his shorts seemed shorter than the day before. You wouldn’t complain. 

“So why did you choose this wonderful vista as a summer job?” Johnny asked, jogging up next to you as you made your way to the dining hall. 

“Needed a break. Get out in nature for a bit. I grew up in the suburbs and just broke up with my boyfriend so I guess I wanted to breathe for a bit. You?”

“Running from my previous life of crime.” He smiled. “Nah, just also trying to get away. Was military back home, knee injury did me in. Didn’t know what else to do. Hiked part of the Appliachian trail. You know, it's the same mountain range as the Highlands. Felt like I had to see them. Haven’t really felt like going back home yet.”

“You hiked alone?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew that it was one of the longest and hardest trails in the country. 

“Had a mate with me but I’m on my lonesome now.” He opened the door for you. Sure, he was boisterous but he seemed harmless one on one. Maybe a little dogish but he wasn’t going to hump your leg unprompted. 

“Shirts are needed in the dining hall, Mactavish!” Sophia called. He held up his hands in surrender before fishing out a cropped muscle tee that had been shoved into his pocket. It was a nice change of pace to be around a man that wanted to show off his own skin rather than try to get girls to show theirs. 

You told yourself before you got here that you wouldn’t look for that kind of distraction. It wasn’t worth it, especially not this early. You could look though. No harm in that. 

Bacon, Eggs and self-serve cereal was today’s breakfast. You joined back up with the girls from last night. Orientation was supposed to take up most of the day so they encouraged you to grab a couple pieces of fruit and a protein bar.

“Only fill up your water bottle in here. There are fountains elsewhere but I think they taste weird.” Said Janie. 

You were put in a group with Johnny, Sophia, and another guy named Warren. He and Sophia were long term counselors so they gladly took on the role of being you and Johnny’s tour guide. Johnny had been hired because of his lifeguard training so he already knew the layout of the lake and pool. You were scolded for not having proper shoes for hiking.

“What’s your size? I might have an old pair in my car.” Sophia offered. “If not I think there’s an L.L.Bean like two hours away. We can go on our next day off.”

You weren’t sure if you could afford brand new boots so silently hoped that Sophia did have that old pair and they fit. 

“Don’t want ya getting blisters all summer.” Johnny said. He was doing the hike in crocs but apparently did have boots back at his cabin. 

You didn’t do the full trail but Warren pointed out the different routes and how difficult each one was and which ones kids could do by themselves and which ones they couldn’t. The fields were next. A soccer field and baseball field were across the way from the cabins. It was a loose definition of each. One was a huge patch of grass and the other a diamond of dirt. Both looked a little off size wise. There was the sports supply shed that had all the equipment in it. Only a couple counselors had keys to it.

“People kept using it inappropriately.” Sophia smiled.

There was the art building, the rec hall, a path leading towards the archery field and riflery field.

“Riflery?”

“Yeah. We used to teach kids how to shoot. Mostly clay pigeons but it was one of the programs cut after Covid,” Warren explained. 

“Shame I missed it. Could have taught the kids trick shots.” Johnny joked, pretending to aim a rifle backwards over his shoulder. 

The horse stable was also closed. Too expensive to have horses here for even half the season. 

The Lake was the last part of the tour. It was on the other side of the road so to get there was an underpass to get there. It was large enough for five adults to walk side by side comfortably but the yellow light from the lamps gave it a sickly vibe. 

It ended a little ways before the beach. There were several rows of Kayaks and another shed filled with life preservers and paddles. 

“Wow Johnny! You cleaned it up well.” Warren clapped him on the back. For a moment Johnny looked irritated that he’d been touched but he shoved that emotion out of the way to make room for his usual excited self. 

“Yeah. Cleaned up the best I could.”

“It looks great, Johnny.” You were impressed. He’d even sprayed the kayaks down, bright clean plastic in a rainbow of colors.

“Yer making me blush.” He laid a hand over his heart. 

The lake was gorgeous. Cream colored sand feeding into sapphire waters. You could just see the beach on the other side, a small empty dock with a path leading into the woods. The camp side had a floating platform about thirty feet into the water. 

“Campers have to swim there and back to pass the swimming competency test.” Sophia explained. “If you can’t swim on your own you’re stuck in the buoyed area.” 

There was a ten by ten foot area cordoned off by buoys, keeping to the shallow end of the lake. Made enough sense. No one wanted to fish a dead kid out of the water.

“Let’s head back. We don’t want to miss lunch.” Warren clapped his hands together. 

The four of you made the trek back to the dining hall. You did feel like blisters were starting to form on the back of your ankles. You’d have to put band-aids on them later. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over itinerary for the following week. Campers would arrive tomorrow between ten and six. It was a day mostly planned out for settling them in with an inaugural bonfire that night. After that it was seven weeks of regular old American camp adventures. 

You went back to your cabin the moment you had free time. Your ankles hadn’t started to bleed but they were bright red and throbbing. You applied the bandaids and grabbed another pair of socks to wear the rest of the way. 

There was about an hour and half before dinner and final orientation from the camp managers, who, you had been told, often made themselves scarce throughout the summer to avoid having to do their jobs. You settled on top of your sleeping bag. A nice breeze came in through the screen door. Janie had told you that it was the best way to keep the building cool.  

You thought about Ale. His smile and deep laugh. How he’d wake you up in the morning with kisses to the back of your neck. How he loved your hair and ass. How he’d whisper in Spanish to you. You still had the English/Spanish dictionary he gave you shoved in a box back in the city. You missed him. Your cowboy. He would have been so disappointed to hear the stables were closed. Maybe you’d call him after all this. Ask to work something out. 

You drifted off daydreaming about the scent of his cologne.

“Bonnie! You’re gonna miss dinner!” Johnny was knocking on the screen door. Maybe Nat was right in being annoyed by him all the time. 

“I’ll just miss it.” you sighed, rolling over on the bed. 

“You never know which meal is your last. Best not to skip any! C’mon or I’ll drag ya myself.”

You would have thrown a pillow if you had one. How did he always have so much energy?

He jogged literal circles around you on the way to the dining hall.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You were limping on the way back to the cabins earlier.”

“Oh…yeah just blisters.”

He tutted at you. 

“Got to get you some good shoes soon.”

Dinner was the same hot dogs as the previous night with a bonus of a bowl of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and a slice of cucumber. 

There was an excited energy in the room. Most people who’d snuck in alcohol or drugs said tonight was the best night to use it all. An unspoken competition of who could drink the most and still function when the first campers started to arrive. It could be fun, you mused. You were never a big partier in college and what was this if not a perfect chance to make up for that. 

The boys built up a nice fire, each poking and prodding their own side with their favorite stick. You sat on one of the log benches next to Sophia and Janie. Johnny was across the fire, his arm around the waste of another girl counselor. Ceilidh you think it was. Pronounced like Kay-lee, she’d said. Pretty name, Gaelic. Made sense for him to go after a piece of home.

“Glad he’s finally left us alone.” Nat chuckled. 

“I think they’re cute.” Sophia said. You pushed down the twinge of jealousy you felt seeing her giggle at his joke. 

Warren came around with a cooler filled with a hodgepodge of beer. He was his fraternity’s president and one of his responsibilities was to get rid of any extra at the end of the term to avoid trouble. Dry campus issues. 

You grabbed a Modelo. Ale’s old go to and one you’d gotten used to drinking. It left a familiar warm feeling in your stomach.

You drank, you danced, you ate s’mores, you laughed with your new friends. The stars seemed so bright and clear out here. Janie had you all lay out on your backs in the grass nearby as she pointed out each constellation.

“That’s the big dipper and above it is the little dipper but Draco is the constellation between them. If you guys tell me your star signs I can point it out for you.”

There was laughter nearby and you glanced up to see Johnny and Ceilidh sneaking in the dark towards her cabin. 

You had another beer. And another. Maybe one more after that. 

Someone offered you a hit off a joint so you did that too. 

The four of you were laughing and stumbling back to Sophia’s cabin. You had no idea how late it was. The fire was dying out. Warren said he would make sure everyone got back inside all right. The designated driver of drunken counselors. He was a good guy. 

You found yourself laying on your side on one of the empty beds. Sophia and Janie were on her bed, half asleep against each other. Nat and you were talking about your childhoods. 

“I broke a bone three years in a row, each time in May. I missed field day every time. My mom once pulled me around in a wagon so I wouldn’t feel left out,” She laughed. 

“How did you break so many bones?”

“Catholic school where the playground was just a parking lot. I was a wild kid. I broke my arm tripping and falling against the priest’s car. I dented it too. I thought I was going to hell.”

There was a shrill noise. Loud and stomach dropping. A scream cut off. You and the other girls all jumped to attention. It was silent except for the crackling of the fire outside. 

“Fisher cat.” Janie said, trying to convince herself.

“Or a fox.” Sophia added. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Warren said, coming in. 

The four of you nodded.

“It sounded close. I’m gonna check it out.”

“By yourself?”

“One of the other guys is gonna come with me. It’s probably just an animal. If you see Johnny tell him to go check on everyone. I want a headcount before we all go to sleep.”

You all watched from the window as Warren met another guy holding a flashlight and a baseball bat. Sophia turned on the porch light. They disappeared between the cabin’s across the way. 

“Johnny and Celilidh went off together. Should we try to find them?” Sophia offered. 

“Maybe we should just stay here. Safety in numbers.” Janie answered. 

“Safety from what? It was just an animal.” Nat insisted. 

“Didn’t sound like an animal.” You thought. No one else would say it but you were all thinking it. A slide show of clips from horror films played through your mind. 

Four sets of eyes darted around, looking out windows and the front door, waiting for some masked killer to seep through the walls.

Bang!

You all screamed as Johnny flew through the door, clutching his stomach. 

“We have to go now!” He grunted. Blood was pouring between his fingers.

“Oh my god. What happened? Where’s Ceilidh?”

“Dead… fuck.. She’s fucking dead. Fucker came in through the window in the bathroom. I tried to fight him off. I’m sorry.” He gulped. “We have to go now!”

“You’re bleeding. Please let me look.” Janie reached out and he pushed her hand away. 

“Don’t have time. We have to go. Get my car keys. I can fit us all.”

“What about everyone else?” You asked. There was so much blood, it was dripping on the floor now. 

“I don’t know… when..when’s the last time you saw anyone?”

There was another scream from outside. Silence took you over again.

“Please… we can get out and get help but we have to go now.” Johnny pleaded. His bright blue eyes were watery and his tan skin was stained red down his legs. 

“I’m going.” Sophia said, grabbing her backpack. “Fuck this. I’m not fucking dying like it’s a movie. We’re all going. Johnny, do you need help?”

“No, I can manage. I need to get my keys though.”

“I have mine. We can just take my car. It’s an SUV.” Sophia urged, crouching down to look out of the door.

“No…no…I…I uh…I have a gun in my car.”

“You brought a fucking gun to camp?” Nat’s jaw dropped. 

“Old shotgun. It works. I’m trained for this. Get to the car and I… I can kill him.”

“You’re bleeding out, Johnny.” Janie cried, reaching for him again and once again being pushed away. 

“Come with me.” Johnny looked at you.

“I…I…I don’t know.” You were shaking. It didn’t seem real. Too cliche. A real life spree killer running around the woods of a Summer camp. Sophia was right, you didn’t want to die like it was some movie. 

“He knows I’m weak. He’ll go after me first. We’ll get my keys and if he shows up… you take them and run.”

“You..can’t sacrifice yourself.” Your voice warbled.

“It was my job to do that. If I can’t die saving my country, I’d like to die saving a group of pretty girls.”

Johnny was pleading. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it on his own. You thought about Ale saying you needed to stand up for yourself more. You never did. You didn’t stand up to bullies in high school, rogue professors in college or shitty demeaning bosses. You didn’t even stand up for yourself when Ale said he wanted a break. 

Nat was saying how you should all just run to Sophia’s car. She had her keys. Sophia was agreeing. Janie was crying silently. 

“I’ll go.” You forced the words out like vomit. It was that or actual vomit.

“Okay.” He almost smiled. “Sophia, turn off the lights. We’ll give you a signal when it's safe to come out. Then we all run to the parking lot.”

“What’s the signal?” Janie sobbed.

“I’ll whistle.”

You were shaking so much you worried you’d fall right down the front steps of the cabin. Johnny was in front of you, shoulders hunched up, his eyes darting everywhere. Sophia turned off the lights, leaving the two of you in near darkness. The fire was nothing more than orange smoldering logs. 

“You seem like you’ve done this before.” You said quietly, finding yourself holding the bottom hem of his shirt. 

“Like I said. It was my job.”

You walked on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. Your heart cried for the others. Even if you didn’t know them. You didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they all got out? They escaped already…or the killer was chasing them deeper into the woods.

You didn’t want to die. In the movies it always seemed so prolonged. The stabbings and bleeding out. Johnny had been hurt and he was still going on, trying to save you and everyone else. 

“Stay here. I’ll go check to make sure it's clear.” He said. You’d made it to his cabin, whole body still shaking just on his porch now. Your heart leapt into your throat as the door creaked open. 

“Be careful, please.”

He winked at you before heading in. You picked at the skin around your nails, a nasty old habit that you tried so hard to kick. You could forgive yourself for this relapse. It seemed an appropriate time to scratch out anxiety.

The step behind you creaked. Any light from the fire was blocked out. A arm wrapped around your neck and pulled you flush with a wall of muscle. You screamed for Johnny as a knife cut into your stomach.

It hurt worse than you thought it would. He was stabbing you over and over. All those movies and none prepared you for the sound that came from being stabbed yourself. The rush of blood in your head. You kicked and scratched the best you could, catching the gap of skin between his gloves and sleeves. Flesh caught under your nails and tore. The knife cut sideways across your stomach. Something wet and heavy hit the floor by your feet.

“Fucking cunt.” The man growled. You could have thrown up if it didn’t feel like your stomach had been torn open. 

You hit the porch face first, no strength left to even try to hold yourself up. Blood pooled in your mouth. He stepped around you and in the corner of your eye you could make him out. 

Large, well over six feet and bulky with large shoulders. A half skull mask covered the top part of his face. His head was buzzed. He had a hunting knife in his hand and it dripped your blood onto the wood and onto your face. 

“Johnny!” Your killer called. You’d doomed him too. He could have gotten away. Johnny would die and it would be your fault. They all would now and it was your fault. 

You closed your eyes as the throbbing subsided. You didn’t want to listen. He was so nice. He didn’t deserve it.

You didn’t deserve this. 

You closed your eyes and let yourself slip away. 

You heard music. Loud obnoxious music and singing from an off key baritone scot.

You opened your eyes and you were in your sleeping bag in your cabin. It was Sunday morning again. 

Shout out to @ceilidho for being an inspiration to me to write darker fics and letting me use her name for a counselor.

[karlachismylife]

In the long run

#PriceGazWeek

Day four: Long distance

I swear I'll finish all of the prompts even if exams eat me alive.

CW: NSFW (Price has a lot of Thoughts watching Gaz running laps)

Early morning is gentle with those who dragged themselves to the training grounds outside. Sun isn't scorching yet, just quietly drying the slippery dew to help avoid injuries, fresh breeze isn't choked out by the smells of overheating tarmac and transportation exhausts yet, sky is softly powdered with feathery clouds. The air is cool and tangible on bare skin and ready to fill lungs like a mountain creek fills spongy soil, feeding lush greenery.

Yet both Price and Gaz are burning up.

Rubber surface springs under Kyle's running shoes on each step. He's doing his laps, testing his endurance on the long distances with additional weights, and has already several kilometers behind his back. There's a familiar slightly metal taste in his throat from the increased blood pressure, a scratchy burn in his calves and sticky sweat on his skin, coming out hot and liquid and drying in the headwind into a thin film. Exercising keeps his head clear, anxiety and thousands of pressuring thoughts often clouding his mind incinerated in the heat his body generates into the world with every flex of his muscles - and it reflects on his face, peaceful with a hint of a smile even, despite the scorching exhaustion.

For Price it's the complete opposite. Standing outside with a simmering cigar in hand, relaxed and groggy after another almost sleepless night that left him with barely any power to generate thoughts, he catches sight of Gaz running and immediately gets stuck with his eyes glued to the lean figure. Kyle is full of springy, tight strength, coiled in the firm muscles, each one taut and perfectly elastic. Rather slow pace he chose for the long distance run allows Price to see it all in detail: he watches Garrick's sculpted thighs flex and jiggle from the impact of his steps and feels his mind sink to his gutter almost against his will.

Kyle is perfect. Wite sleeveless top with large dark stains of sweat soaked through clings to his chest so tight that John wonders how it's still in one piece; his skin is glowing with sunlight bouncing off sweaty curves of his shoulders, weights taped around his ankles somehow turn into beaded cuffs and bracelets instead of boring pieces of equipment - all thanks to Kyle's effortless beauty. John wets his lips with a little tobacco crumb stuck to them and imagines himself tearing these weights off with his teeth, Garrick's perfect legs resting on his shoulders in a bent position that shows off incredible landscape of his back and inner thighs.

This short 25th frame turns out to be the gateway drug for the rest of unsavory thoughts that flood Price's mind with little to no resistance from him as he shamelessly ogles his Sergeant on his morning run. When Kyle raises his arm to wipe sweat off his forehead and flashes dark armpit hair, John gulps, vividly remembering that same sight from another angle, with Garrick panting above him, lean arms resting against the headboard of the creaking bed to support his hip movements. This emphasizes the elegant shape of his pec lined with a neat curve down from his arm, peeking from the tank top just enough to remind Price of the generous squshy meat there - John's fingers twitch instinctively, wanting to latch onto Kyle's chest and knead it, brushing his thumbs over the firm nipples and dark dusting of hairs slick with sweat.

He wants - no, he needs to pull Gaz in his lap, get a posessive grip on his perfect arse, sliding up under his shorts to cope a feel directly; needs to feel Kyle's thighs squeezing his own in an effort to grind desperately and get some relief on the desire pent up in the evident bulge in his crotch; needs to kiss Garrick until their lungs burn like after thirty kilometers of running, tasting salty sweat soaking Kyle's moustache. His Sergeant feels like a tight new gun of his favourite model in hand: precision, comfort and the right amount of stubborness that distinguishes him from a more compliant, older arm - and Price is fully leashed by this almost-tamed strength.

Passing his Captain for the third time, Gaz finally notices the way Price stares at him - a heavy, heady gaze, full of promise of big rough hands smelling of cigars running up and down his arching back and firm, demanding kisses of lips that no one knows are the softest - and slows down to send John a wink.

"Help me with stretches after this, sir?" he asks cheekily, turning to run backwards - anything to see the effect his mischief takes on Price.

"You're playing with fire, Sergeant," grumbles John into his beard, trying to discreetly adjust himself. "Don't make me wait or the burn from laps will be the least of your worries."

They both know Gaz would never be late.

[narcoticv3nus]

Chasing Ghosts ♡ Simon “Ghost” Riley

Kinktober Day XXII: Hybrids

summary: you’re a bunny hybrid taking a short walk in the woods you think you’re all alone until you’re not tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, dubcon, p in v, fingering, praise, degradation, rough sex, predator!simon, threats of unaliving, panther!simon, prey!reader, bunny!reader, dom!simon, sub!reader, animalistic sex, crying, virgin!reader wc: 4.4k

MASTERLIST

The air was heavy with humidity, each breath infused with the earthy aroma of rain-soaked grass and damp soil. As you cautiously navigated the lush, dewy terrain beneath your feet, the vivid sounds of nature surrounded you. The rhythmic chorus of cicadas filled the air, harmonizing with the cheerful melodies of birdsong flitting about in the trees above. Sunlight poured down, its warmth contrasting sharply with the cool, wet ground, creating a vibrant tableau of summer life. Each step sent tiny droplets of water shimmering in the light while the foliage glistened like emeralds, alive with the vivid colors of the season.

As you ventured deeper into the wilderness, each step squelched delightfully in the thick, wet mud that oozed between your toes, a cool contrast to the sweltering heat that had wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. The sun hung high in the sky, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor. You had wandered farther from the safety of your home than intended, and an instinctive alertness sharpened your senses.

With every rustle of leaves or distant snap of a twig, your ears twitched, straining to pick up the faintest of sounds—the chirping of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, a whisper of wind through the branches. Each new smell caught your attention, from the earthy scent of wet ground to the sweet, musky aroma of wildflowers. You inhaled deeply, letting the fragrances mingle in your mind, a lively tapestry of the world around you, eager to commit them to memory.

Unbeknownst to you, a cunning predator lay in wait, his gaze fixed intently on you—the small, diminutive rabbit hybrid. From his concealed position, shrouded in the thick underbrush, his sharp brown eyes transformed into narrow slits, capturing every moment of your delicate movements. The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the lazy flick of his tail as he crouched low amidst the ferns and bushes, ready to strike any moment. The air was thick with tension; each breath he took was a silent testament to his growing anticipation.

He admired your determination despite your obvious fear—the subtle tremors in your legs, the near-constant twitch of your ears. His heartbeat remained steady, a testament to his years of experience in this unforgiving environment. A predator at the top of the food chain, he was drawn to your vulnerability, his body instinctively reacting to the potential conquest.

“Who goes there?” he called out, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder. There was no malice in his tone, merely curiosity tinged with authority. He wanted to gauge your reaction, to see if you were a worthy addition to his territory or simply another lost soul who would fall prey to its perils. He allowed himself a small smile, anticipating the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of claiming you for himself.

A jolt of terror surged through your veins as you soared into the air, mud flying in chaotic arcs, splattering your clothes in the dark, clinging patches. Heart racing, you spun around, your head darting from side to side as you strained to pinpoint the source of the haunting voice that echoed through the stillness. The world felt suspended then; each sound amplified as anticipation gripped you tighter.

Chuckling to himself at your startled reaction, the human panther emerged from his cover with a smooth grace that belied his muscular frame. The sunlight glinted off the black fur of his ears and tail, casting an ethereal aura around him as he prowled closer. His movements were calculated and deliberate—like a predator stalking its prey. He reveled in his power over you, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that only added to his menacing allure.

“Easy there,” he purred, his voice low and soothing despite the underlying threat. “No need to fear the shadows. You've got nothing to worry about… unless you're planning on causing trouble in my territory.” He studied you intently, noting the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the erratic pulse at the base of your neck. You were frightened, but there was something else there, too—curiosity? Intrigue? Either way, it made his blood sing with excitement. He took another step closer, his tail twitching in anticipation.

“What brings a little thing like you to these parts?”

Overwhelmed by fear, you found yourself lost for words as you gazed up at him, your eyes wide and shimmering like saucers. Your small hands trembled involuntarily, each twitching a reflection of the panic coursing through your veins, leaving you paralyzed in place.

His grin widened slightly at your paralysis, his chest rumbling with a low, approving purr. You were just as he liked them—scared but not broken. As you stared at him, fear-ridden and trembling, he took the opportunity to assess you more thoroughly. Your delicate form was intriguing—small enough to fit within the palm of his hand, yet there was something undeniably alluring about you. Your fear was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but wonder how you would react when he finally claimed you.

He crouched down lower, his movements deliberate and non-threatening, as if he were trying to coax a wild animal to approach him. “No need to be afraid,” he repeated, voice still calm and soothing. He allowed his tail to brush lightly against your leg, testing your boundaries and waiting for any sign of resistance or submission.

“I…” Your voice trailed off, soft and airy like a gentle breeze, as you found yourself lost in the endless depths of his onyx eyes. The intensity of his gaze felt like a magnetic pull, drawing you in yet making it hard to hold contact. You cast your eyes downward, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. “I got lost,” you confessed, your words barely above a whisper tinged with vulnerability as you avoided the weight of his stare.

A low growl of disbelief escaped his lips. Lost? In his territory? He didn’t buy it for a second. Prey never wandered in here accidentally. They knew better. But still, something about you piqued his interest. Perhaps the innocence seemed to radiate from you like a warm aura, or maybe it was the way you submitted so quickly to his dominance. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply to catch your scent. It was intoxicating—floral with a hint of something sweet, like freshly picked berries. His body hummed with arousal, and he could feel his instincts taking over.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice firm and unwavering. When you hesitantly raised your eyes to meet his, he continued, “Lost, huh? That’s not a good excuse for trespassing.” He let the implied threat hang heavy between them, his gaze never wavering from yours. He could see the wheels turning in your mind as you searched for an explanation that might appease him, and he relished every second of it.

“But I suppose I can make exceptions... under the right circumstances.” He allowed one clawed finger to trail down your arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Thank you…” you murmured, letting out a shaky breath that trembled in the air around you. The gravity of the moment pressed against your chest, and you fought to blink away the hot tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, each one a reflection of the fear that gripped your heart.

His expression softened slightly at your response, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. The fear rolling off you in waves was intoxicating, and he wanted more. The panther leaned closer, his breath hot against your cheek as he spoke, “Tell me, little rabbit, why should I let you live?”

He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the rapid beat of your heart drumming in his ears like a symphony. It was music to his predatory soul. He let his claw graze gently across your collarbone, enjoying how you flinched at his touch. The thought sent a surge of arousal straight to his groin.

You let out a whimper at his words, squeezing your eyes shut as his claw pressed against the center of your throat. You swallowed your spit, feeling the sharp pressure dig deeper.

As the breath rushed out of your lungs, it felt as though a heavy weight pressed against your chest, trapping you in a suffocating grip. Your throat constricted painfully, leaving you gasping and helpless, the air just out of reach. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, each one a silent testament to the turmoil inside, while you sniffled softly, a mix of vulnerability and despair.

A dark smile twisted across his lips as you cried beneath his touch. The sound sent shivers down his spine, only fueling his desire for control. He pressed his claw ever so slightly harder against your delicate throat, enjoying your reaction. Your vulnerability was like a drug, and he wanted more.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, “Answer me,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. He could feel his cock hardening in his pants as pictures of taming such a delicate creature flashed in his mind.

“Why should I spare you?” He repeated, applying a little more pressure. His thumb stroked the pulse point beneath his claw, feeling it race wildly beneath his touch.

“I don't know…” you whined, wheezing underneath him. You couldn't come up with anything to say to him, your instincts telling you to run as fast and far as you could, but you knew you couldn't outrun him. You were stuck.

“Please…” you begged, your chin trembling, tears slipping between your lips and down your neck.

His smile turned feral; he loved it when prey begged for mercy; it showed how far they would go to survive. He leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning your trembling form as he considered his options.

“That’s not a very convincing answer, little rabbit.” He retracted his claws from your throat, giving you a brief respite, only to slide his hand down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to live.” The heat from his hand was almost unbearable against your cold, wet skin, but the tenderness of the gesture was surprisingly gentle.

He wanted to see you fall apart underneath him, hear you scream his name until your voice gave out. But first, he needed to listen to you beg correctly. “Tell me,” he whispered huskily, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

“What will you do for me?” His voice clarified the implication, and he could practically taste your fear.

You blinked at him, your thoughts racing as you processed his words. The room felt charged with anticipation, and you could sense the weight of his expectations hanging in the air.

“Any—anything!” you exclaimed, your voice rising above your usual quiet, the urgency spilling out before you could rein it in. At that moment, nothing else mattered; your heart raced, and the noise around you faded into nothingness. All that remained was the spark of possibility in his gaze.

His eyes flashed at your eager response. You were quicker to break than he had expected, but then again, rabbits were known for their fragility. He could feel the thrill of victory coursing through his veins as his cock throbbed in his pants, straining against the confines of his clothing.

“Good,” he purred, his hand sliding down your neck and between your breasts, pausing at the swell of your cleavage.

“Then prove it.” He pushed you slightly, urging you to get on your knees. His fingers traced the fabric of your clothes, teasing the sensitive skin underneath, before resting at your waistband.

He growled softly as you obediently obliged, his voice thick with lust and hunger. He undid the button of his pants, pulling out his length. It bobbed heavily in front of your face, demanding attention.

“Use your mouth.” The order was simple yet held so much weight. He could hear your pulse racing faster and your breath hitching at the sight of him.

You sat on your knees, feeling the wet grass scrape against your skin. You were taken aback by the abruptness of the situation unfolding right before you. The unexpectedness of it all sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You could feel the sun's warmth on your skin, starkly contrasting the chill of anxiety creeping in. As your heart raced, you licked your lips, the taste of anticipation mingling with the pooling saliva in your mouth, a physical reminder of the gravity of what was happening.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your lips slightly parted as you took deep, steadying breaths, trying to soothe the fluttering anxiety within you. “I’ve—I've never…” you began, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission.

He smirked, raising an eyebrow at your confession. “Never?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice. The thought excited him further, knowing that he would be the one to break you, to claim you. His fingers traced the side of your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he promised sultrily.

“But first, you have to show me you’re willing.” He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze back to his arousal. “Open up for me,” he commanded, his tone low and dominant. You could sense his excitement and approval, the heat radiating off his body, and how his tail swished behind him.

You braced your hands against his thighs, opening your mouth wider, flicking your eyes back up to his face to gauge his reaction.

He watched you closely, approval flickering in his eyes as his fingers tightened around your chin, guiding you closer to his cock. As your soft lips enveloped the tip, he let out a low groan, his hips jerking slightly in pleasure.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, “take it all in.” He pushed your head down slowly, savoring the sensation of your warmth engulfing him. He could feel your hesitancy, but your willingness to try only made it hotter. As you began to move your lips along his length, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride at having you submit so readily. He tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes and letting the waves of pleasure roll through him.

“Deeper,” he growled, his grip on your head becoming firmer as he thrust shallowly into your mouth, guiding your movements to match his rhythm.

His eyes remained closed, relishing in the sensation of your lips wrapped around him. His tail twitched erratically as you tried to keep up with his pace. He knew you were struggling but couldn’t bring himself to ease up. The feel of your mouth on him was too good, too enticing.

He could hear your soft whimpers, which only fueled his arousal. A dark grin curved against his lips. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. He felt you gag slightly and paused, pulling back to allow you to catch your breath. His thumb traced your bottom lip, smearing precum across your face.

“You’re learning,” he purred before pushing your head back onto him. He began to thrust again, this time harder and deeper. Simon’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto your watery ones.

He enjoyed watching you struggle to please him, your small form trembling beneath his firm grip. His hips moved in rhythm with your mouth, setting a pace that he knew would bring him closer to release.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “Show me how much you want it.” As you obeyed, licking and sucking fervently, he couldn’t hold back a moan of satisfaction. He reached down to stroke your long ears, his movements becoming more erratic as pleasure built within him. The sound of your muffled whimpers only added to the experience.

“That’s right,” he growled, feeling himself growing closer to climax, and tightened his grip on your head, holding you firmly in place as he thrust deeper. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice husky with lust. “Say it.”

You pulled back, hollowing your cheeks and flicking your tongue along his veins, pressing against his frenulum. With his tip pressed against your lips and your nails sinking into his skin.

“M’yours,” you mumbled, dragging your tongue across his tip, licking up the salty droplets slipping from the slit. Your eyelids fell halfway, and your mind began to fall deeper into a subspace.

A rumble of approval vibrated through Simon’s chest at your words, feeling a surge of power and possession. “Mmm,” he groaned, “good bunny.” He stroked your head encouragingly, pressing his thumb against your cheek. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice thick with desire.

The sight of you like this - submissive, eager to please - ignited a primal instinct within him. His hips moved involuntarily, pushing his cock towards your waiting lips. As you wrapped them around him once more, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He allowed himself to sink deeper into the moment, letting the sensations wash over him.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, his grip on your head tightening again. He thrust deeper into your mouth, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. His tail lashed behind him, betraying his mounting pleasure.

“Take it,” he ordered, pushing himself further into your mouth. His eyes snapped open, locking onto your half-lidded gaze, watching you submit to his every whim. He could see the trust and surrender in your expression, which only made him harder.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice husky with arousal. “Mine to use, mine to protect.” He pushed himself deeper still, holding you in place until he felt his orgasm building. With a final thrust, he released himself into your mouth, growling with satisfaction as you swallowed every drop. He released you, stroking your hair softly as he caught his breath.

“Good,” he praised, “very good.” His voice was calm and controlled once more, the moment's intensity having passed.

You preened at his praise, your chest puffing in pride before resting your cheek against his thigh, wrapping your arms around his leg, purring softly as you gazed up at him. Your soft tail twitched against your lower back, its soft touch offering you a sense of comfort.

His fingers traced idly through your silky hair, “Look at you,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his deep voice, “so eager to please.” His hand moved up to gently caress your cheek, his thumb brushing away the drool that clung to your lower lip.

He leaned down, capturing your gaze with his intense one. “You did well,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He lifted your chin with a single finger, tilting your face upwards so he could claim your lips in a slow, possessive kiss. His tongue swept across yours, tasting himself on you before delving deeper, exploring the warm cavern of your mouth. Without words, he wanted you to know who you belonged to - who owned every part of you. When he pulled away, his breathing was ragged.

“But don’t think this means you’re safe,” he warned, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re still my prey.” The words were spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the threat behind them. He stood then, towering over your small form.

“Get up,” he ordered, offering you a hand. “We’re not finished here.” His grip was firm but not harsh as he pulled you to your feet. He led you towards a large tree, pressing you against it, his body pinning yours against the rough bark. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You’ll learn your place,” he whispered, his voice dark and promising.

He trailed his free hand down your torso, feeling the slight tremble in your body as his fingers traced along your curves. He reached the hem of your top, swiping through it with one claw and letting it fall to the floor in tatters, revealing your naked form to his greedy eyes.

He growled low in his throat at the sight of your exposed flesh, his hunger for you growing stronger by the second. His hand moved to cup one of your breasts, his thumb rubbing circles around the nipple as it hardened under his touch. He could hear the rapid beat of your heart against his chest, feel your quickened breaths against his neck.

His eyes narrowed in appreciation at your obedience, noting how you arched into his touch, your soft purrs music to his ears. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another dominant kiss, claiming every inch of your mouth. He felt your small, delicate hands fumble against his chest before sliding around his back, your nails lightly scraping his skin. A low rumble of approval sounded in his throat, and he deepened the kiss further, letting you know who was in charge. Breaking away, he murmured against your lips, “Good girl.”

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around him. He supported your weight effortlessly, the muscles in his arms flexing under your touch. His fingers trailed along your exposed skin, eliciting shivers as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. With a single swift motion, he pulled them down, revealing your lower half. He stepped back, admiring the sight of you pressed against the tree, completely bare and at his mercy.

“Beautiful,” he praised, licking his lips. He placed a hand on the trunk beside your head, caging you in with his larger form. His other hand traced down your body, stopping at the juncture of your thighs. He could feel your heat radiating against his palm, and he couldn’t resist sliding a finger between your folds. You gasped, your hips jerking forward slightly at the contact. He smirked, his feline eyes gleaming. He circled your clit lazily, enjoying the feel of your body reacting to his touch.

“Mine,” he growled possessively before dipping his finger inside you. He savored the feel of your wetness around his finger, your body quivering under his touch. His thumb continued to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. Your reactions only fueled his desire, his cock straining against his pants. He leaned in, nipping at your earlobe, eliciting your whimper.

He slowly removed his finger, causing you to whine softly in protest. Chuckling darkly, he pressed his lips against your neck, sucking and biting gently, leaving a trail of marks that would brand you as his. He reached down, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip teasing your wet folds.

With one powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. You cried out, your body tensing around him. He hissed in pleasure, holding still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once your body relaxed slightly, he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning and writhing against him.

He loved the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on. He moved one hand to your breast, teasing your nipple until it peaked beneath his fingers. Your pants turned to whimpers as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with ferocity.

The predator smirked, enjoying your desperate attempts to keep up with his relentless pace. Your whimpers and gasps spurred him further, driving him to push you closer to the edge. He pinched your nipple lightly, eliciting a sharp cry from you, and he knew you were close. He leaned his head back, savoring the sensations coursing through his body. His tail swished lazily behind him, the end twitching as he thrust deeper into you.

He could hear the soft thud of your body against the tree trunk, each impact punctuating the sounds of your combined ragged breaths and wet flesh meeting. His grip tightened on your hip, guiding your movements as he drove himself further into your warmth. He was so close, but he needed you to come undone first. His thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

“Come for me,” he growled against your ear, nipping at the lobe again. Your whimpers grew louder, your body tensing as your orgasm built. He could feel your walls contracting around him, milking him, urging him toward his climax. He increased his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful, more demanding. He watched your face contorted in pleasure; your eyes squeezed shut as you bit down on your bottom lip. And then, with a final gasp, you fell apart, your body convulsing around him as you rode out your release.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With one final growl, he released his seed deep inside you, claiming you once more. He held you there, panting heavily, until the last tremors subsided. Only then did he pull away, tucking himself back into his pants. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that streaked down your face.

“Pretty bunny,” he praised, his voice still rough with desire. He kissed your forehead softly before releasing you, letting you slump against the tree to catch your breath.

His eyes narrowed, watching you closely as you struggled to regain your composure. He savored the sight of you, flushed and spent against the tree trunk. Despite the tenderness of his last action, he reminded himself that this was still a game of survival - one he intended to win. He knew you were vulnerable now, but he also knew you were resilient. He needed to keep pushing to make sure you understood your place.

“Don’t think that was enough,” he murmured, his voice still thick with arousal. “You’re mine until I say otherwise.” His hand trailed down your arm before spinning you around, pressing you against the tree again, his body still radiating heat against yours. “Do you understand?” His grip on your wrists tightened, pulling them above your head so you were entirely at his mercy.

“You belong to me.” He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.” With that, he released one of your wrists, his hand sliding down your body to cup your breast, squeezing gently. His thumb teased your nipple, eliciting another moan from you. He smirked, satisfied that you were still so responsive to him.

“Now,” he said, his tone firm, “we continue. You’re going to walk ahead of me, nice and slow.” He released your other wrist, allowing you to move away from the tree. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

“And if you try to run,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ll just have to catch you again.” His fingers traced along the curve of your waist, his nails digging in just enough to remind you of his presence. “And trust me, little rabbit,” he purred, “you won’t enjoy it nearly as much.”

main masterlist, rules

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part three

PART I • PART II • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U •  P A R T T H R E E 🎶 thick skull ( re: julien baker ), paramore ft. julien baker

❝ GOOD GIRLS DON’T CRY & GOOD GIRLS DON’T LIE & GOOD GIRLS JUSTIFY BUT I DON’T ❞

“Think she’s okay?”

“Shh!”

“What? No way she can hear us back here.”

“Dustin, ‘back here’ is literally a seat behind her.”

Sat quietly at a table seat in the Winnebago, Eddie looking on worriedly across from you, you were still grappling with the fact that you were alive. That you didn’t die. That you were breathing fresh air and free from the dark and free from Him.

For now.

And as the RV bumped down the road out of Hawkins you said nothing. Felt Steve’s eyes on you constantly as he glanced at you in the rearview. Eddie’s hand still holding tight to yours after he helped you up, afraid to lose you again. Dustin and Lucas and Max all talking in not-so-hushed voices behind you about what it all meant and if El could get back in time and was this all gonna be enough?

Voice thick and choked by the sobs that had felt endless, you’d managed to tell everyone what Vecna had showed you. Told them about Hawkins, about the monsters, about your family, about them. Eddie, Robin, Nancy Steve. And no one had said anything at first. The sounds of your cries filling up the RV. Stark against the silence and heavy with the weight of your words and they knew before you’d even opened your mouth that it was going to be bad.

Of course they knew.

But now that Vecna had revealed his master plan, the efforts you were all making just felt hopeless. The munitions stuffed under the bench seats and closets and cabinets, all puny and worthless against Vecna and his army of nightmares.

A big bump in the road brought you out of your thoughts and when you glanced up your eyes met Steve’s as he snuck another look in the rear view. And instead of glaring, instead of flipping him the bird, you looked right back. Held his gaze for moment longer and he didn’t shy away until he came up on a turn-off.

“Alright, shitheads. We’re here.”

“Here?” Lucas asked, more than confused at the thick forest Steve was now driving you all through.

“Yeah, this is it.”

And as the trees slowly thinned out, thick grass and wildflower blooms took their place. Creeping out ahead of you to reveal a meadow, wide and green and lush. A haven that felt so very far away, felt safe, and as Steve parked and the engine quieted you let out the breath you’d been holding.

❝ MAYBE IF YOU JUST GOT SOME GUTS WE’D KILL ‘EM WITH A THOUSAND CUTS AND SAY WE DID IT OUT OF LOVE ❞

Everyone piled out of the RV and got after their tasks. Pretended like preparing for the end of the world was totally normal and routine. Nancy and Robin sawing off the end of a shotgun. Lucas and Erica attempting to make spears from tactical knives and broom handles. Eddie and Dustin shoving each other around in the grass with their garbage can lids full of nails at their feet and none of it instilled you with confidence, but Dustin screaming No wedgies! did manage to pull a little smile out of you.

And for a split second it felt okay.

Laughter, the sound of birds, the feeling of the wind on your bare skin and all the green around you – so unlike the cracked and bitter feeling in the Upside Down and then your smile fell.

You wished He hadn’t shown you.

Wished Vecna had just left you alone. Wished for just a moment that you hadn’t gone to Max’s trailer and put yourself in the middle of all this, but then Eddie grabbed Dustin in a big bear hug and your chest squeezed.

Your best friend.

The reason why you had gone to Max’s trailer.

The reason why you weren’t going to run.

The reason this was all worth it.

“Ah, shit.”

Sat next to you, Steve sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. The funnel in your hands slipping as you lost focus and liquid trickled down your hands and wrists.

“Hold it still,” Steve quickly tipped back his can of kerosene and set it down to grab a piece of ripped towel.

A string of curses were muttered under your breath, so much for homemade molotov cocktails.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment you went to wipe your hands on your sweater, but when you looked back up at Steve he was looking too. Eyes searching yours, unsure and tentative. Moles dotting along his cheeks and jaw like tiny constellations. Skin gold like it held summer and when you blinked away the haze of him, you realized he was reaching out to you.

“Here, get that off so it doesn’t burn,” he said a little softer. Cloth in one hand, he took yours in the other and wiped at the kerosene.

Oh, fell from your lips. Surprised. Unsure. Your skin buzzing where he touched you and you swallowed thick as you felt your pulse flutter against your neck.

“Uh–here, you can get the rest,” Steve said quickly, like he’d felt it too and hastily passed the cloth off to you, dropping your hand to wipe his on his jeans.

“Thanks,” you mumbled back.

It was quiet for a moment as he cleared his throat and picked up his can of kerosene again. You followed suit and grabbed your empty vodka bottle and funnel. Wordlessly he leaned over to hold your hand in his and once it was steady began pouring again, eyes flicking over to look at you.

“I’m an asshole,” he suddenly admitted, breaking the silence, and you had to focus really hard to not fumble the bottle again.

“I didn’t say it,” you started and he chuckled under his breath. A low, warm thing that made the air around you fizzle and crack like bonfires down at the quarry.

“Didn’t say you did,” he gently pushed back, lips still tugged up into a small, wry smile, but it faded the longer he looked at you. “Listen. I know we aren’t…well, I know I don’t have a great track record,” he said and the change in his tone surprised you. Told you he was serious and you had to look away to try to gather yourself back up again.

"No, really?" you said, all sarcasm, and he huffed another laugh.

“Hah hah,” he joked, weakly at first, and then his expression shifted more serious. “I just wanted to say that…well, that you have every right to be here it’s just–” the boy hummed around his words. Dropped his gaze down to where your hands met on the kerosene filled vodka bottle and put the can on the ground.

Talking to you like this, showing weakness and vulnerability, made him feel so exposed. Uncomfortable. Unable to find the right words and his tongue jammed into his cheek as he tried to decide just how honest he wanted to be.

With you.

“It’s just–everything about the Upside Down wants to kill you and it’s like–” he sighed heavy and carded a hand through his already messy hair. “I dunno. How many more people have to die? You know?” and then he was looking at you again. Really looking, really asking, and for a second it made you doubt everything you felt about him.

Jock. Asshole. King Steve.

No second chances, remember?

“Can I ask you something?” you heard yourself say and you could feel the muddled mixture of nerves and frustration and anticipation buzzing under your skin. Everything you’d been holding onto all this time pent up and pushing against the wall you’d built around it. Waiting waiting waiting for you to set it loose.

“Oh–sure, yeah.”

“Why are you really here?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide and he sat back on his milk crate, hands squeezing at the tops of his thighs.

“Why am I here?”

“Yeah. Do you really care about Eddie?”

Steve’s eyes darted back over to where Eddie and Dustin were hammering more nails into their garbage can lids and maybe you were impatient or maybe Steve was stalling, but you didn’t want to wait.

“Cos you didn’t care about him before.”

“B-before? I don’t–what d'you mean–”

Steve was stumbling over himself now, struggling to own the words you put on him and frustration grew warm in your chest, but you tried hard to swallow it down. Tried hard to let him prove Eddie’s theory of change.

“High school, Harrington,” you started, trying to keep your tone even and calm. “Yelled at us in the quad? Tossed people’s books in the hallway? Threw fries at us in the cafeteria.” You paused, debated whether or not you wanted to tack more on, and then you thought of Tommy and it came out all on its own, “Let your friends say really shitty things to me.”

Steve’s gaze dropped down to his feet and he didn’t say anything at first, not a word, and you kicked yourself for even bothering to think he’d be able to handle it. Of course he couldn’t.

“You know what–nevermind,” you mumbled, capping your bottle and moving to stand, but his hand grabbed yours and pulled you back down onto your milk crate.

“Wait. Please?”

And the way he was looking at you was pained, the pinch between his brows deep, and it made you pause. Was Eddie right? The way Steve cared for these kids, for your best friend, showed clearly something had shifted in him, but was it enough?

“Wait for what, Harrington? So you can show me things are different now?” your voice was softer, but hurt, “Because Eddie swears you’ve changed, but you still sound just like Tommy.”

The mention of his ex-best friend felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew Tommy was wrong now. Hell, he knew it back then too. Knew how fucked up it'd been in the parking lot at the school, but he hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Couldn’t stand up to him or tell him off because he ‘had a reputation to uphold’ and what would everyone else say if he went ‘soft on a freak’?

“I–I know. I fucked up. I get it and I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but–” he started truthfully, hand still holding yours, thumb shifting softly against your palm, “–but I am. Really sorry.”

Really sorry.

Finally. After all those years. After everything he’d said and done, but sorry didn’t fix it. Or take any of it back. Was it too late?

Reluctantly you pulled your hand away from Steve’s, his fingers flexing as they fell away from yours, wanting to hold on just a little bit longer but you weren’t ready.

“You know that doesn’t fix it, right?” you said quietly, glancing up at Steve through the long sweep of your lashes and guilt settled heavy over him.

He knew it didn’t fix it. Knew all too well that words didn’t mean shit, but he would be the first to admit he was a slow learner. Crawl before you walk. Hit your head and maybe something will suddenly make sense and when it came to you? Vecna had been like a sucker punch.

You were strong-willed. Didn’t take shit lying down. Were fiercely loyal to your best friend and just wanted to try to help and it had taken Steve a minute to realize – in your eyes he was still bullshit, but he didn’t want to be. It wasn’t going to be easy, not in the least, but just like you he wanted to try.

“I know it doesn’t fix it.”

His eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to look at you. Tried to make it easier on himself as he pushed through the discomfort of taking responsibility for his actions. Tongue running along his bottom lip, just like it always did when his brain was working overtime, he finally looked back up at you.

“I’m not asking you for forgiveness or–or to be my friend or anything. I just want you know I really am sorry. For all of it. Okay?”

Sitting there so close to him, your hands inches away from touching, holding each other’s gaze as you listened to the words falling from his lips in sincerity – it was almost too much. The wall you’d built around yourself cracking and straining against this new feeling that had settled in your chest, but the words wouldn’t come to you as your lips parted and you tried and pull yourself together but–

“Dammit, Eddie, no wedgies!”

Dustin’s voice cut through the silence that had settled and Steve reflexively sat up. Pushed himself away from whatever it was you’d waded into together. Away from sorry and the feeling of your hands pressed together and the look you gave him through the long sweep of your lashes and the way you made his heart race. Turned away from you and played it off.

“Hey! Less dicking around, more putting shit together!” he yelled at Dustin and Eddie flipped him off without looking.

“Like you’re doing anything important, big boy!” Eddie hollered back and the way it made Steve’s cheeks grow pink made your lips twitch with a smile you had to work hard to hold back.

“Shut up,” Steve muttered at Eddie, but mostly to himself, and stood from his milk crate to put your filled vodka bottle into the box with the rest.

You watched quietly as he placed the last bottle in and folded the cardboard shut. Muscles tensing and pulling taut as he worked, moving against the fabric of his shirt and you quickly looked away for fear of being caught.

Then your eye caught his nail covered bat tipped against side of the Winnebago and the threat of the Upside Down and all its nasties wrapped around you tight like a vice.

Oh.

Right.

The end of the world.

Just a few yards away Nancy pulled the trigger on her shotgun, the sound making you flinch, and it hit you like a ton of bricks – you had absolutely no clue how to defend yourself against this. Against Him. Against an army from hell. You knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the crotch and you’d always had an arm on you from playing volleyball, but none of that had anything to do with monsters. Or guns. Or nail covered bats.

“Uhm–” came out mumbled, more sound than word, and it pulled Steve’s attention up from the box.

“What’s that?”

“Can you–er–would you maybe show me how to swing that?” you asked and it made him turn to face you, giving you his full attention.

“What?”

Your cheeks grew hot.

“That bat,” you said shifting uncomfortably on your crate, “I don’t think–I can't shoot a gun.”

Steve’s expression softened as he remembered what it'd felt like the first time he saw a demogorgon. The first time he swung that very bat into the side of a demodog. The first time this world had been exposed to him and he knew how overwhelming and absolutely crazy it all felt.

Grabbing the bat in his hand he gave you a small smile and took the few steps back over to you.

“Sure. It’s not too hard. You know, just aim and swing.”

“Just aim and swing?” your tone was flat, all skeptics, a defensive move against his kindness and it made him chuckle.

“Well, there’s probably more to it than that, but those stupid bats are thick enough when they swarm it’d be hard for anyone to miss.”

Your eyes grew wide at the thought of swarming bats and it made him laugh again, a half-grimace pulling at his features.

“Shit, sorry. Uh–here,” readjusting his grip he bent his knees a bit and dug his heel into the ground. “Just make sure you get a wide stance, yeah? Like, hip width apart? And don’t be afraid to choke up on your hold. It’ll make your swings hit harder.”

He swung the bat and the sound it made as it cut through the air made your breath catch in your throat.

“Wanna try?” the boy held the crude weapon out to you and you swallowed thick. Stood up from your own milk crate and tentatively took it from him.

It was heavy in your hands, heavier than you thought it’d be, but smooth. You did as he said and slid your hands up a little further on the handle and tried a swing, but threw yourself off balance and stumbled forward.

“Ah, that’s okay. Here, uh–” Steve stepped in behind you and placed his hands over yours on the bat, “–try again, but follow through with your hip. Your grip’s good, just don’t throw your full weight forward.”

The warmth of his chest on your back made your cheeks burn again. Made your heart race. Hammering against your ribcage as he slowly took you through the motion again.

“Then when you get to the end of the swing, follow with your hip," his voice was much quieter over your shoulder, words falling into your ear and making you dizzy as he tried so damn hard to keep his focus. Placed a hand on your waist to guide it and toed your foot forward with his shoe as he took a step. “See?”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage, the feeling of his breath on your neck trailing goosebumps across your skin and you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way the closeness of him pulled your gaze and when you looked up he was looking too.

“Does that–uh–did that make sense?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper and you nodded. A small thing that barely registered and he was so close now. Close enough his nose nearly brushed your cheek, getting closer by the second and–

“Harrington! Where are those bottles? I gotta get ‘em loaded up!” Eddie yelled from the other side of the RV and the space between you shattered. Both of you stepping away as though you’d touched a hot stove and you pressed the bat into Steve’s hands.

“Should probably get ready,” you muttered and he nodded, cleared his throat and took two big steps back to set the bat down.

“Coming!” Steve called back as he scooped up the box of molotov cocktails, bottles clinking against each other as he walked away and disappeared around the corner of the RV.

King Steve turned Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington turned something else.

Something more.

Something you thought you’d written off.

Something that held you so tightly now it made you want to run, but at the back of your mind, somewhere soft and warm, you couldn’t help wondering what might happen if you didn’t.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART THREE OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

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