#or shattered glass adjacent

[transingthoseformers]

Honestly that would've been so fucked up if mnemosurgery was involved with Megatron's trial before he boarded the LL.

Whether it was part of his sentence, or before it. Whether it was officially mandated... Or done on the dow low because someone knew they weren't supposed to do this.

[hyperactively-me]

break in, break down

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering. You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him. With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

this has been sitting in my drafts for like, ever. it's not the best cause its super old, like months old and i lowkey forgot i even had it, but it'll do for now while i'm in this writing rut.

happy reading <3

warnings: home invasion, panic attack reaction (i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything please!)

A loud bang reverberates through your apartment, your peaceful sleep interrupted.

You open your eyes with a start, the volume of the sound causing your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

You're silent for another moment until the sound of glass shattering causes you to jump. You sit up now, dumbfounded for a brief moment before unshakable anxiety takes over.

There's no way this could be happening to you right now.

You immediately leap out of bed, grabbing a stray hoodie off the floor, slipping it over your thin pajamas. Next, you grab your phone with shaky hands, trembling from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins. The sounds from outside your bedroom are starting to get louder. You swipe your car keys from your drawer, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.

In a frenzy, you grope under your bed for a baseball bat, struggling to steady your shaking hands as you grip it tightly. The rattling of your doorknob nearly makes you pass out in fear. Simon had told you multiple times to keep your door locked when you sleep, stressing to you that it wasn't safe to leave it unlocked, especially at night.

There was no way you could escape through the hallway. Lucky for you, your apartment is on the first floor of the building, meaning that you would be able to safely jump out of your bedroom window without injuring yourself.

You place all your things down quickly, unlatching your window from its locks. You heave it open with all your might, grunting as you hold it up to lock it into an open position. Grabbing your baseball bat first, you throw it out the window and onto the grass below you. Could never be too safe.

Suddenly, the person or people on the other side of your door start kicking at it, the flimsy wood shaking from the impacts. You bite back a scream, prompting you to jump out of your window, dropping onto the grass below you clumsily.

You don't bother looking back as you sprint to your car in the adjacent parking lot, throwing yourself into the drivers seat unceremoniously.

Without another thought, you dial 911. Running on pure adrenaline, you tell the operator your address and the urgency of the situation. The kind voice on the other end tells you that the police are on their way before you hang up.

You bite back a sob as your shaking hands type in Simon's phone number. You hold your phone up to your, chewing your finger as it rings once, twice, and the line picks up.

"Hullo?" a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice on the other end of the line rings out. His accent sounds particularly thick.

"Simon," your voice breaks, the adrenaline now worn off, leaving you a wreck.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, now sounding more awake. You hear shuffling on the other end.

"I- I think my apartment got broken into," you sob, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks. "I'm so scared," you cry, bawling like a baby.

Simon's voice takes on a sharp urgency. "'M coming over right now. Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm in my car, in the parking lot," you say tearfully, trying to wipe the tears from your face unsuccessfully.

"I've already called 911; they're on the way—" you add, clutching onto your phone.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut crackles through the phone. "Be there in ten. Stay on the line, love."

"I'm scared," you cry again, your free hand trembling as you reach to make sure your car door is locked.

"I know, love, I know. Just hang in there. 'M on my way," Simon reassures you, his voice gentle. The ten-minute wait feels like an eternity as you sit in your car, sniffling every so often as you look out your car windows to make sure no one is coming towards you.

Sirens wail in the distance, the police clearly arriving on scene. Despite the growing fear gnawing at you, Simon's voice provides a source of comfort.

"The police are almost here," you breath into the phone, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"Good, I'm here," he grunts. You look up and see his truck hurtling through the parking lot, stopping abruptly right behind your car. He slides out of his car, rushing to the drivers side of your car.

The moment he reaches your car, you throw open the door and practically fall into his arms. Simon holds you tight as you fall into him, sobs wracking your body.

"Don't cry," he soothes, pulling you tighter against him. "'S alright, 's handled."

He cradles you in his grasp, running his hand over your hair as you sob into his t-shirt, fists bunching up the fabric. You cling to him as if he's your lifeline, the scent of his t-shirt grounding you ever so slightly.

"I've got you," he murmurs, rubbing your back.

Your sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles, and you take a deep breath.

The distant wailing of sirens grows closer, indicating the police are here. Simon releases you just enough to glance over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. "The police are here," you whisper, your voice shaky but relieved.

The flashing lights of police cars illuminate the surroundings as officers approach. Simon steps back, maintaining a protective stance beside you.

Two police officers approach you and Simon, asking for details about the break-in. You pull at the hem of your hoodie, trying to cover up your practically bare thighs from your tiny pajamas. Simon settles his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to speak to the officers. You recount the events timidly, telling them as much as you know. After providing your statement, the police assure you they'll investigate your apartment, but advise you that it's not the best to stay there tonight. For obvious reasons.

Upon their insistence of you spending the night somewhere else, before you could even open your mouth, Simon is insisting, no, demanding that you stay with him for the night.

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.

You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.

With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

As you approach his truck, Simon opens the door for you. He helps you up into the passenger seat, making sure you're settled before closing the door with a determined thud. Simon then strides around to the driver's side, the scent of him lingering in the air as he gets in. The engine roars to life, and you find comfort in the steady hum of the engine.

The drive to Simon's place is mostly quiet. He occasionally glances at you, concern etched into his features. You stare out of the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind. You shiver in your seat, thinking about what could have happened if you hadn't escaped through your window. Simon's hand finds yours, a silent gesture that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

As you pull into Simon's driveway, you're met with the warm glow of his porch light. The familiar sight brings a new sense of relief. It's not the first time you've been to his quaint home. Simon turns off the engine, and without a word, he's at your side, opening the door for you again.

He leads you inside, the click of the door shutting behind you echoing in the quiet house. Simon heads to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, he appears with a mug of tea, a small but comforting gesture. He hands it to you, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

"Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," he says, his voice gentle.

You take a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile offering a small respite. Simon sits across from you, watching as you try to steady your trembling hands. The silence between you isn't uncomfortable; it's a shared understanding that words might not be enough to mend the damage that's been dealt.

After a while, Simon breaks the silence. "I'll make up the spare room for you. Take your time. We'll deal with everythin' in the morning."

He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the living room. You look around his living room, eyeing his front door for a brief moment. You finish the tea and set the mug on the coffee table, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

When you enter the spare room, you find it tidy and pretty bare. The scent of clean sheets and the comforting atmosphere of his home a stark difference from your own. You watch as he double checks the windows to make sure they're locked tight. He also shows you the lock on your own bedroom door.

"Everythin' is secure, 've triple checked it all," Simon states, turning from the window to look at you. His concern is evident in his eyes, and you nod in response.

"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate all of this," you say, your voice quiet.

He moves over to the wall, crouching down to plug a night light into the wall. He taps it a few times to make sure it works. When it flickers on, he grunts, satisfied. Pushing himself up to standing, he walks over to you.

He gives you a reassuring smile. "No need to thank me. 'S the least I can do. You get some rest. 'M right across the hall if you need anything."

With that, he leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your weary body, exhaustion settling in.

You close your eyes, hoping that sleep will offer some reprieve. As you lay there, the events of the night replay in your mind. The fear, the vulnerability, and the violation of your home weigh heavily on you. Slight sounds make you jump in fear, and all of a sudden you start to breath heavily. You can't be in here, not alone.

You stumble out of the room, practically falling into the hallway. The dim glow of the nightlight casts long shadows, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Determined, you make your way to Simon's door and knock softly.

The door opens, and Simon appears, concern etched on his face. "Everythin' alright, love?"

You can barely form the words, your voice barely a whisper. "Can't stay in there alone."

Without hesitation, Simon opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter. His room is dark, all lights off. You step inside his room, tugging your hoodie tighter around your body. You settle onto the edge of his bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the residual fear.

Simon shuts and locks the door behind him, plunging you both into darkness, save for the slight shine of the moon pouring through between a crack in his curtains.

Simon stands in front of you, looking down with a mix of empathy and concern in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. I don't mind."

"Thank you," you manage to say, the vulnerability in your voice more pronounced in the darkness of the room.

Simon hesitates for a moment before flicking on a small bedside lamp. The soft light casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a space that's both lived-in and comforting. You feel a bit more at ease.

He pulls a chair from his desk and sits across from you, leaving a respectful distance. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, the weight of the night's events hanging in the air. Simon's gaze is unwavering, and you find solace in the fact that he understands what you need without the need for words.

As the minutes tick by, the atmosphere in the room becomes less tense. Simon breaks the silence, his voice a gentle murmur. "I don't want you to go through this alone. You deserve to feel safe, love."

You manage a weak smile, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, Simon. You really don't have to be doing all of this for me--"

"Don't say that, I want to," he cuts you off gruffly, offended as if you would even suggest that you weren't worthy enough of his care.

His response hangs in the air, and you notice a flicker of something in Simon's eyes—a hint of frustration or something deeper. The unspoken tension lingers, causing you to shift slightly.

"I just... I don't want you to feel unsafe," Simon adds, his voice softer this time. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed on yours. "Or alone. Fuckin' hell, if you hadn't been able to get out of there..."

He stops, jaw ticking as he thinks. He can't even say it.

The room feels charged with unspoken emotions, and you sense a vulnerability in Simon that mirrors your own.

"Simon," you say softly, your voice a gentle reassurance, "I feel safe with you."

"I've... 've cared about you for a long time, maybe more than I should," Simon admits, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession.

The vulnerability in his admission tugs at your heart, and you find yourself pushing yourself up off the edge of the bed, cupping his face in your hands.

"I've cared about you too," you confess, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted.

He looks up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of relief and adoration. Simon's hand reaches up to grasp your wrist lightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

"I never want you to feel unsafe or alone again. I can't stand the thought of somethin' happenin' t' you."

Your heart swells at the sincerity of his words, and you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

The conversation lulls, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the sanctuary of Simon's bedroom. The emotional exhaustion begins to take its toll, and your eyes grow heavy.

He stands from his chair, grasping your upper arms gently, leading you towards his bed once again. Before he sits you down, he looks at you expectantly.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you nod, "I've never wanted anything more."

With your permission, he lays you down on his bed, following you into the bed with a contained eagerness. He drags you up until you're settled on a pillow. Simon slides into the mattress right next to you, pulling the covers up and over the both of you. You turn on your side to face him, eyes searching his face just before he turns off the lamp, plunging you both into darkness.

Simon's hand brushes against your forearm, seeking permission yet again. You scoot over until you're flush against him, cheeks heating up at the proximity. You feel Simon's warm presence beside you, his hand finding its place on your waist before he pulls you up against him, cuddling you. Simon's fingers trace patterns on your back, a soothing motion that pulls you deeper into relaxation.

"Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need anything, love," Simon whispers, playing with the ends of your hair.

"Thank you," you whisper into the darkness, your voice barely audible but carrying a depth of gratitude.

He tightens his grip on your waist, a silent affirmation that he's here for you, that you're not alone. The warmth of his touch and the gentle rise and fall of his breath provide a sense of security that eases the lingering tension in your body.

. . . 

The morning light begins to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow in Simon's room. As you slowly awaken, the events of the previous night come back to you in fragments. You turn slightly to find Simon still asleep beside you, his features softened by the morning light. His arm is draped protectively over you, and a sense of peace settles in the room. For a moment, you simply revel in the quiet stillness, savoring the moment.

As Simon begins to stir, his eyes meet yours, and a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. The air in the room feels different, more relaxed.

Simon props himself up on one elbow, his gaze searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I thought I would," you admit, a genuine warmth in your voice. "Still kinda freaked out that people broke in to my apartment, but better."

He nods thoughtfully. "We should probably get up, check in with the police," Simon suggests, but there's a reluctance in his eyes to let go of the warmth of the bed.

You cuddle against him once more, hugging him tightly. His arm comes to wrap around your back, hand splayed across your skin.

"Yeah, we should," you say, pulling away gently as you push yourself out of bed.

"We're goin' together," he tells you. "And I will be installing a new security system in your apartment."

You manage a small smile. "I don't think you understand how much I appreciate you for this."

He sighs as he leads you to his small kitchen. "You never have to thank me for anything, love."

Before you can retort, he turns to you. "Let's get some breakfast in ya. How do you like your eggs?"

[puppetmaster13u]

Thinkin of @radiance1's Prompt & the Threads that @hdgnj joined in on. And got inspired by them alongside *insert a drumroll please*

Merfolk.

It is Mermay after all lol. But anyway!

Danny? Can't remember why he reincarnated, or quite how old he was when he died a second... third... fourth... however many times. He thinks he was an adult- or adult adjacent? But now he's not.

In fact? He's tiny, with pudgy little hands that press against glass and it's weird how he's somehow breathing in the liquid which is freezing. Which is what honestly drives him to hit it- and it shatters.

Which brings him to realize? He has no legs. None. Nadda. He's like, like some sort of seal-person, if they had stripes and spines and a too-long tail. And some medical equipment still attached that he practically rips away with a jolt of terror, even if he isn't sure why.

He's in a hall or room, with lots of other tubes, some empty but most... not. Most have things in them, things that look sort of like him but also not... He tears his gaze away from them, already knowing they're dead even before reading the terminated in front of them.

Oh. He has... information? Information in his head, downloaded into it almost like burning a CD. He's a clone. No, not a clone, it's something more like... a test tube baby? Three donors, though he isn't aware of what their names mean.

If it is names and not like, codenames or code words.

His movement is so very slow, it's obvious that while he's able to go on land he's very much not designed to do so. But eventually he makes it somewhere, not an exit but something he's so very happy to have not missed.

There's another alive person, labeled 1 instead of 9 and bigger than him but missing the spines he has. A sibling. A brother. And he's going to get the both of them out of here- there's water tunnels, he knows that, it's part of the information in his head.

.... Okay it's not fair that he has a scruff he can be grabbed by. Like that's so not fair. Look, they have to go that way if you want out, c'mon.

Extra Info? -Technically the merfolk of the world are more akin to selkies, able to take on a human form via shedding their skin -Danny & Match aren't aware of this, hence why they don't just start walking -Around 2/3 of the entire world is merpeople or other similar fantasy creatures -Yes, this is after the not-sidekicks break Superboy (#13) out & before the episode where he learns about Match

[the-monkeies-girl]

Future. ( Noa x Human!Reader ) Part 8.

I keep waiting for it to get better GUYS

Title: Future. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Violence, injury, blood, eyyyyy. ) Pairing: Implied! Noa x Human! Reader. Words: 6.4K+ Summary: Demise comes in a lot of forms. Read the Series Here.

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Noa must have sent Eagle Sun in his place, choosing to not even bother saying goodbye as you stared at the bird sitting on the back of the horse you were gearing up to depart on. He surely seemed intent on watching as you placed your satchel and freshly filled water gorge onto one of the twining hooks in the back for safe keeping during your travels, going as far as to peck at the item as if to say ‘you’re not leaving, you can’t leave’.

He had been here, you deduced by the fact that there was a freshly rolled blanket mounted on the back carrier of the horse, along with enough provisions to last you at least a week, if not more if you rationed, a few spearheads and a few water gorges, all full. It was clear that Noa hadn’t slept the night before, opting to do something to keep himself busy before you chose to leave. He had no idea when, but he must have figured you’d leave before first light so as to not make a spectacle out of it anymore.

Like it was one to even begin with, rolling your eyes, you tightened the blanket hap-hazardly, subconsciously dallying enough to give you a bit more time to think about what was waiting for you beyond the bushes and safety net that Noa had casted over you for so long.

You adjusted the bag that Noa had given you. Not even bothering a kind thought towards it, there were no good intentions put behind the items in your eyes anymore, it felt hollow and shallow like you were stepping into a lake that appeared deep on the surface but was nothing more than a mere puddle. Noa most likely gave you these things out of ridding himself of guilt if you ended up dead, your face contorted uncomfortably at the idea but it felt right. Let Echo leave with food, some small weapons and small items to help out and if they die on their own, then oh well, at least Noa did what he needed to do so as to not cause your death directly.

Contemplating for a moment as you were in a staredown with the Eagle, you chose to not pet his head goodbye as a means to burning the bridges, as uncomfortable it was to think about and as sad it was for Eagle Sun who had no real position in all of this, Noa’s decision was always Eagle Sun’s and the Ape had to know this choice… Not even a choice. This demand that you leave was going to affect more than just Noa and yourself. This place… Your home for nearly a year, your belongings all fitting into one small bag…

The juxtaposition was clear, the more you thought about it, the more you thought about your Human aspects against their Ape adjacent aspects. You never should have stayed here, you should have never taken the sweetness of the offer that Noa gave. Temptation was a fault of Humans, more than evident now as you felt your heart skip a beat. You turned your back to the horse to get one more good look at what you were abandoning.

The sweeping towers of the clan, eclipsed with running vines up the sides and posts that elevated it high into the air, the lush green landscape peppered deliciously with wildflowers that grew to your mid-calf that surrounded the clan itself and gave it blissed paradise away from the rest of the valley, the rush of the river only a few meters away from the horse paddock, roaring back at you the intricate conversations that you and Noa shared, all shattered into small shards that you wanted to pick up, but with every attempt, it left your hands a bloody mess, and the more you tried to hold, the worse it got.

An hourglass where there was no sand anymore, having been heated by anger and aggression to the point where it was now an hourglass that was responsible for small slivers of glass encased memories. You wanted to look at them through rose-colored eyes, but it was impossible now with the remembrance of your words in conflict with Noa’s, to the point where words themselves no longer made sense as you had re-played them over and over again.

Your eyes lingered on the horizon for a few moments, the sun barely making its presence known along the twinkling dip of the Earth. It was on the cusp of dawn, the sky above you shifting to a mild pink with a richly deep undertone of midnight blue. You hadn’t slept at all the night before, but you let your fire die out on its own out of neglect. It felt good to do, to know that it was dying because you were choosing to not stroke it back to life, with every ember that flittered from orange to ashen, you felt a grotesque satisfaction wave over you. Death brought new beginnings, you whispered to yourself and squeezed your eyes shut but Death also meant the end to something. There was no point for slumber once Noa tore away from you, refusing to even look back as he took his leave from your hut.

You tried to keep your eyes focused and alert as you got the horse ready, as you went to the river to dip a cloth in it for your wrist, to reflect in solitude for only a moment as if the hours of your self-deprecation after Noa left wasn’t enough, as if the minutes it took you to shove things into your bag meant nothing anymore. Your feet felt heavy when making it to the embankment of the river itself, your shoulders torn inwards with equivocation.

The water bounced around your fingers as you dipped it into the shoreline, crisping against a smoothed pebble. Just one, small enough for you to tuck into the wrapped nature of your wrist bandage for safe keeping. You had no idea what to do with it, but you wanted something to remind you of the bitterness that began springing in you at the realization that nothing was sentimental to these Apes, nothing meant anything. Clenching your jaw at that, you steered your train of thought but found it still obsessing over Noa.

Not a goodbye, not a yearning action towards you anymore as if you were expecting a whole departure party. You were selfish, you tore into your own self as a means to dull the vague pained prospect that you were leaving everything you had wanted, and then more. Selfish to think that this could have worked, that months ago, you were willing to give it a chance once actual emotions began seeping into conversations with Noa. He never cared - you yelled inside, he never cared, and he was more selfish than you were trying to hold on even tighter. You figured it would be him who came out on top - he was built to hang, built to hold on. With one glance that meant more than any other, you began sweating, your hands slipping and you were no longer to hang or hold on anymore. Noa won.

Turning back around as you tried with meager desperations to remember the moments, the good and the bad, remember the kindness that you had received while here, along with the toppled glares of the Elders who were not happy at your presence at all, going as far as to convince Noa time and time ago to just let you loose… Bitterly, you smiled at that and brought your hand up to lightly brush the side of the horse. They were going to be so happy once the sun rose and you were no longer there, no longer a ticking-time threat.

You would miss the entire village, but this… Tightening your grip onto the saddle, you rose your body with a grunt and a small cry at the nature of your wrist bending in any position other than stagnantly flat, your knuckles flashed white at what happened the night before as you grabbed the reins and steadied your balance. Anger bubbled to the surface as you dropped your eyelids down to encase your vision with your wounded wrist, now tightly tied into a cloth that had been dipped in fresh and crisp river as a means to help the swelling go down.

As if you were any better, any less selfish, you thought to yourself and let your hands glide along the side of Noa’s horse to calm them down in your presence as you adjusted yourself on top of the saddle. You weren’t their owner, they were begging you to jump off and to just stay, and that’s all you wanted. To fall, even onto your knees and beg to stay. Fluttering your good wrist against the reins, you began trotting to the east, down the dirt pathway used by many Apes over the generations of Noa’s clan, now kissing you a farewell as Noa himself refused to even see you off.

Noa would tell Anaya and Soona what happened, you imagined and drew a deep breath in, holding it painfully long to the point where it felt like your lungs were going to explode. At least, he would tell them what they wanted to hear, you wondered for a split second just how much of a villain in all of this you were about to come but tried to shake that vicious thought out of your mind. There was no sense in thinking about that, you were never going to see them again.

You urged the horse forward and with a wild but tamed neigh, they began trotting away.

You turned your head, tears stinging at the back of your eyelids.

You could still see the clan in all its glory, tightening your hands onto the reins you contemplated going back a few times. Going back and apologizing and asking for forgiveness in hopes that you would be allowed to stay.

Not because you were selfish.

But because you couldn’t imagine yourself anywhere else, being anyone else.

It was home.

A few minutes later, you turned your head once you were in the embellishment of the woods, tears now encasing your entire cheeks, down the slope of your face and off your chin to drip onto your hands.

Just the tops of the tree-bungalows.

A few minutes later, you turned your head, reminding yourself that it wasn’t worth crying over. He didn't want you there anymore than you wanted to be there when you were first picked up by Noa, Anaya and Soona.

Nothing, just forested trees sweeping your vision from all sides, darkened and musky as the sun began rising in the direction you were headed. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Noa racked himself through the coals, holding onto his heart in the only way he knew how as he had watched you prepare to leave. Always, even after what happened, what you said to him and what he had done to you, he watched, waited, perhaps even hoped that you’d come to your senses first, as you always did, and come back to him. That you’d be able to rationalize it all and tell him why your departure was not a good idea, something outside of the self-absorbed realm of not wanting to die if you were out on your own.

It was surely one of those Echo things - Noa never understood it, the sudden surge of codependency you had towards each other, having only shifted a few months ago in the peak of the Summer months. You were the rational one, you kept yourself grounded and by proxy, you kept Noa there too. But now, there was nothing holding him down, nothing to grab onto as if your hand was still reaching for him in dead space.

The tree he chose to watch you from was far enough away that the darkened fur of his body was able to camouflage him, but it was close enough that he was able to see the scape of your face, the timid rise and fall of your shoulders, your scanning glance that was seeped around the edges with darkened circles and redness lingering around the creases of your eyelids. Noa felt bile hit the back of his throat, heaving his chest a bit more adamantly as to remind himself that your words had to be right. You hadn’t slept, by the looks of it and the appearance of your stance behind incredibly slumped in like you didn't have the energy to stand up straight.

He knew that you were aware of the bag of picked provisions he left for you, having gone there an hour prior to prepare the items and set the horse saddle on, something he knew you were incapable of doing with your Echo strength. How he wanted to chuckle at that, but he felt desolate inside when you simply looked into the bag, no evident reaction on your face other than your brows pulling in on themselves, before you continued on your way.

You spared it no more attention and mounted the horse with delicate ease. His green gaze stared at your wrist, embarked with white fabric that you had to tear one of your old shirts apart for. It tied neatly around your thumb, giving you the dexterity needed to grasp things but it was obvious how pained it was. He had done that, and all the times he had thought of hurting you in the graces of pleasure seemed to fade into oblivion in his open mind.

He would bite your neck and make you bleed, tearing at the tender spots until you were lifeless under him.

He would hold your body close to him and feel the shattering of every single one of your ribs before you slumped against his own self.

He would place his forehead against your own in a bid of apology and forgiveness and in the process, you would turn away, afraid to be touched, afraid to be near him.

Baited in self-deprecation once more, he watched you wordlessly set off into the woods, Eagle Sun soaring above your head in a bid to follow you until you were out of Eagle Clan territory. It would take you to the end of the day, Noa figured, factoring in small breaks he knew you were going to need on the back of the horse, and then… Eagle Sun would return to bid Noa news on your venture before he encased himself in loneliness and an astringent prospect that it would take no time at all to forget this. To forget Echo. To forget you.

“You’re just an animal.”

Maybe he was.

Noa felt himself flurring, in and out of a conscious state and without intending anymore damage as he had felt the delectation of your bones crunching under his strength, you had been dropped to the floor, on your side and made quite an impact to the point where Noa could sense the bruising already taking form on your hips and side, eradicating heat running through your ribs as you tried to breath, tried to hold yourself up and had a hard time relinquishing to the adrenaline that was coursing through you, a reaction to his subvertant aggression. It was going to dim, Noa knew that, and your wrist was going to become more distressed and dressed elegantly with sharpened purples, reds and blacks in an attempt to heal the unhealable.

Through pupil-blow eyes, he just looked at you and panted, the bristling of fur on his shoulders rolling through his entire being with a shuffle of electricity through his spine, his shackled feet stagnant but spaced in irritation, his shoulders broadened and intimidating. He liked it; the view of your tears. The struggle you went through as you tried to process what happened, holding onto the pressure point he so willingly took into his grasp, intentionally too tight, intentionally holding you up like a fish caught on a hook so he could look at the prize he once thought he had.

Noa could feel the scratch-marks you left on the side of his hand from where you had tried to get him to let you go, not deeply ingrained to bleed but shallow enough that it was a discomfort to the Ape. You were selfish, Noa thought to himself and narrowed his eyes. Selfish just like he was and you deserved what he did, just like he deserved your harsh words.

Noa expected more. Expected you to snap back at him, and realistically, he wanted you to. Tear him down just to piece him back together out of desperation once you realize what you were losing. Grab onto his shoulders, Noa begged, dig your fingernails into me, make me bleed, make me submit. You hurt me, I hurt you, so you should hurt me back! If I’m nothing more than an animal to you, then I’ll act like it. I hurt you, you hurt me, back and forth until one of us submits to the other. Irrationality never rested well with the Eagle Clan leader.

“I need to think of my Clan’s Future,” His words were torn, a fork in the road. Pragmatism wrestled with primal intent touched with optimism. “Was not when I asked… You to say…” His next set of words came out more biting than before, the pure flinch you radiated at the infliction was something Noa felt was going to be remembered for years to come, “When I w… wanted you to stay.”

Noa savored every bitter drop of it to the very end, at least until he left and was shattered and torn to the reality of what had just happened as you left his view, tangling yourself into the woods on his horse. He counted every trot of the horse. One foot, two, three, four until he was unable to see you anymore and he focused on hearing them instead. One, two, three… There was nothing more for him, nothing lingering in the air.

Your laugh. Noa drew a small breath in to torture himself with dissatisfaction of not entirely inflating his lungs, your smile… He’d forget them with time, but he didn't want to. Just like he had already forgotten his Father’s embrace, his voice on the very cusp of being lost to time, all of you… Will become distant, one year from now, two into three… He wondered then, what he would remember. Your scent would become one with the trees as a breeze rolled through the land, sweet and inviting him to sit blissed in reminiscent melancholy of what could have been. He wanted that.

Actually, if Noa were honest he wanted to chase after you. Mount Anaya’s horse, telling the Ape he’d be back shortly and run away in hopes that he’s able to track you, one of the many skills that Noa possessed to near perfection. There was no point - You’d never come back to him as if you were ever his to begin with, the Chimp scoffed at that. He was not inherently selfish but oh, how he wanted to be… Just for a few minutes to convince himself to get you to selfishly stay with him. He knew the idea was outlandish.

You couldn’t bear him an heir for the Eagle Clan’s longevity and he knew that but still, he’d be willing to risk it just to have you, just for the chance to know what it felt like, to know how it felt like to have your affection tossed towards him. Selfish. You were right. He was selfish. You were just an Echo to everyone else, they never saw, heard or felt you like he had… Every place you had touched him burned, soldering into his skin unbearable to the position that Noa wanted to scream. He was never going to experience that again.

Just like Noa himself, you were incredibly boar-headed in your decisions especially if they were made for you. You’d rather sit back and take it than try to come up with an argument against it because it was hard to do that when you didn't know all the details, all the feelings that were going into it. Noa made this. Noa demanded this decision be reality. Noa needed to think of Anaya… Soona… Dar… The entire Eagle Clan rested on his shoulders, he knew but there was nothing counting towards the agony that drenched over him when he thought about what was said the night before and what he had done to you. Looking down pensively at his hand, he collapsed his fingers into a fist and brought it harshly down onto the tree-branch he was sitting on.

He was sure he was going to forget as time was a funny thing.

But that was the thing… Noa… didn't want to.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Three Months Later.

Grunting, you felt your back slam against the hard bark of a tree trunk that had to have been at least three feet behind you, your head whiplashing forward and then backwards once again, tweaking the tender muscles of your neck along with blunting the back of your head with the momentum. You weren’t bleeding, at least you were unable to feel any trinkles against the back of your head, but it hurt enough for your eyes to squeeze shut.

Gasping, nothing came to fruition from the pure force you had been pushed back with. Waves of stinging hit your senses and your ears felt like they were whistling at the highest pitch possible. Your horse sputtered to your left, tied to a low sitting tree-trunk for the night as you so often did to keep her from roaming too far during the nights. She stayed close, but with lacking skills at tracking, finding her in the mornings was a proven difficulty for you so you began tying her up a month or so ago.

Frantically in the heat of a hunt, you looked for something to protect yourself with. Something sharp? They were all in your satchel, the few spear heads that a certain Ape had provided for you. Something used more for fishing, but you wished you had one you knew as you could swipe at the figure that was talking to another, taking in stride their plans as you were left rather inebriated from being galvanized against a tree.

You tried again, to more success. You were able to breathe, the air seeping into your lungs feeling more heated as you staggered on your feet, trying to keep yourself balanced enough to address the situation, address whomever had chosen to attack in the middle of the night, your fire barely a crest of orange. From the bits and pieces you were able to recall, feeling a tinge of wetness coming from your ear with a mild curse as you had begun bleeding, confirming that you had hit your head that hard, you were attacked mid-sleep. Whoever this was, sitting in the darkness far enough away that you weren’t able to make out any details, waited until you were at your most vulnerable and then made their move.

Shakily, your hand connected with the side of your face and you wiped some of the blood away from trailing down the trace of your jawline. Unable to move, you focused your eyes on the figures. Three, maybe a fourth. Heart sinking into your chest, your eyes widened with realization. They had to be Apes, there was no other reason to attack you unless they had been stalking you the entire day and chose to attack you when it was going to be the easiest to kill you.

These ones had to be sadistic, pushing you against a tree and watching as you cowered, eyes falling between your satchel on the horse's back, their blackened figures and the dim nature of your fire. They hadn’t allowed themselves the pure satisfaction of gutting you alive and then tying you to the backs of their stallions to display that they were able to successfully hunt a Human. Maybe they were waiting until---

A wall of blood hit your tongue. You must have bitten down on it when you were tossed like a rag doll. Spitting out a bit onto the ground, the figures all looked at you before resuming their mild conversation. Whatever they were saying, you were unable to detect as you dropped onto your knees. Slowly at first, and then faster as you quite literally hurled yourself up, hoping that you were able to get a bit more momentum from a crouched position, start and darted aimlessly towards your horse. You just needed a weapon, something, something.

Your ribs were encased by an arm, but before you got a clearer view at it, you were parallel to the ground and swiped down aggressively, back colliding into the mud with a crunched sound of your body and the mud splattering. Once again, not hard enough to break anything, but it left you breathless as you grimaced, your ribs encapsulating in agony as you drew to breath in again. A gurgle hit the back of your throat, a mixture of your saliva and blood, eyes going in and and out of focus no matter how hard you tried to entrance yourself to stay altered on one fixated item.

“Are you sure this is the one?”

Squinting your eyes at the sky, you forced yourself to take note of the voice. Was it… Scratchy? Chopped around the words as if they were unsure of the pronunciation. Tilting your head to the side, you found yourself with a mouth full of mud as you looked over at the figure who had slowed and stopped your attempt at defending yourself.

“Where else did they get a horse like this? It’s obviously been trained!”

Another voice. Softer, but still hardened around the edges with ferality.

Definitely Ape, you decided and shut your eyes for a split second as you willed your body not to fail you as you turned to rest onto your stomach, picking yourself up onto your hands and knees, the saliva and blood mixture leaking onto the ground from your open mouth now unable to close properly from mild swelling.

Your… Your satchel! One of them was holding it against their chest and in their arms, your mind flashing back to the moment that Noa had given it to you. The brushing of your fingertips against his own as he handed it over, the reserve he held as you analyzed it and thanked him… Well, if you were going to get killed by a few blood-thirsty Apes, at least you had the satisfaction of that being your last good thought, you muttered sarcastically to yourself. It was torn apart, the curdled nature of your cry mixing into the tearing captivating their attention back to you rather than drawing on about the spearheads and the small pieces of dried fish you had managed to ration over the last three months.

Being picked up by a handful of your hair, your eyes braced shut in preparation of coming face to face with the Apes sent to kill you. Wanting to bitterly thank them for taking you out of your misery, you refrained from making a snappy comment and felt your scalp begin to burn as you were lifted enough to be face to face with whomever was grasping at you. Your mouth parted, lips conforming into a low setting frown as you cried out again, reaching your hand up in some desperate attempt to get them to stop holding you by your hair, to get them to drop you. You were pleading to be dropped back onto the ground as your eyes frantically opened so you could meet your demise.

Human. The eyes were human, even for an Ape. If you had the time to think about it, that was true for all Apes. Their most Human aspect was always the eyes, the gateway to the soul, the shattering of gazes against your face. They had to be green, they were always green, you bargained with yourself. The blurred edges of your vision and periphery were not helping your cause as your eyes shut again, sweeping away the notion of tears as sweat now dropped into your retinas causing you to see red and engage in a fiery sensation against your pupils.

This was it, you thought to yourself. You were… You were going to join your friends who had died a year prior, you were going to have to beg their forgiveness for not being able to save them, you were going to have to come to terms with everything that had happened, all the selfishness you had taken for yourself. Gasping again, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, suddenly flushed with the known. They were going to kill you and you didn't want to see their face, you didn't want to give them the pure undiluted satisfaction of seeing your eyes, the reflection of their actions in them as they cut your throat open. Noa!

Noa… You straggled your feet below your body once you were lifted completely off the ground by your hair, aiding in the hurt by holding onto their wrists so all the pressures of your body weren’t just hanging on by the grasp they had on your scalp. Noa wasn’t going to know what happened to you. Not that it mattered anymore, not that he cared as he was the one who let you leave, he was the one to do this to you!!

Your mind was going a thousand miles an hour, you weren’t able to focus on one simple thing anymore. Noa did this to you, he… He wanted you to die, just an Echo, afraid, alone… Tears fell from under your eyelids, draping your face into a muddy piece of art as the streaks of salty water scarred down your cheeks. But you couldn’t stop yourself. The idea still remained. You… You wanted him to be happy. You wanted him to… be… happy….You wished… that he would find someone, someone better than you, someone selfless and not self-absorbed.

“You need to tell us where your little Ape town is,” Your breath caught in your throat and you were suddenly placed back on the ground, this time on your knees. The release of your hair didn't come, but the sweet relief of pitch-black death also didn't take over. “And we might just spare your life.”

Human.

“We’ve been watching you,” There was suddenly a sharpness against your jugular. Knife. Human. “We know you came from that direction. Sorta… Hoped you’d turn back and go home, but you never did. Did the Apes not like their pet?”

‘I’m surprised they didn't just kill it.’ That was accompanied by a few cackles, your lips furling into a snarl at the implications.

Swallowing hard against the blade, you felt it scapple in just enough to cause a bit of prickled blood to surface under the touch. “Let me go.” Straining that out, you found your voice unrecognizable. It was gruff, you couldn’t really remember the last time you had said something other than a passing phrase to your only companion, your horse. Finally, you let your eyes open and you could see who had their hands on you.

“We really didn't want to hurt you.” It was a male. Dominating and strong in stature, his voice dripping with malice and draped deliciously with unbridled possessiveness. He was dark haired and they were set into dreads and tied up loosely with twine - the easiest way to deal with hair now-a-days when washing was so far and in-between.

His eyes… It had to have been your imagination seeing them green because now, even in the dim lighting coming from your dying fire and the scape of stars and crested moon, they were nothing but black. Drawn around the edges to the point of blown out dilation and they scavenged your face, preening at the cuts along your cheekbones, the blistering welt on your lips and the shell of your ear, painted red. “You know, humans are too rare now-a-days, it’d be a shame to kill such a pretty one.”

Yapping once your hair was released, you crumpled onto the ground, back onto all fours as you began taking in deep and shallow breaths. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think, process, REMEMBER the last time you had actually seen a Human, let alone four. Groups were common, you knew that, you had been a part of one and they tended to stick to larger quantities.

There was safety in numbers, you were told time and time again. Your friends--- your… Your friends had been the last ones, their voices so torn and in the distance of your mind that you found it difficult to recall at all how they must have sounded, but you missed their voices regardless. Grasping the ground below with dirty fingers, your eyes widened with realization as his words finally resonated in his mind.

They were… after the Clan. They wanted to know where the Clan was, most likely to destroy. You scrambled on all fours, trying to tear yourself away from the man in front of you, but before you were able to get very far, your calf, the one that had been tenderly cared for by Noa himself, was dug into, your flesh screaming at you as the knife came into contact with the scar that was already there from your Ape attack.

Right through the fabric of your pants, you looked down shudderingly at the jilted weapon embedded in your body. Crying out as the man grasped right below the knife entry point, he tugged you back towards him and ardently flipped you into your back so he could crouch right next to it, staring down at you without remorse or even recourse to any of his actions against the same species. There were stories of Human groups like this - the most radical minds seeking power over the Apes by forms of aggression. You grew up hearing about them, hearing about the Ape Villages and Colonies being torn to shreds with fire and pillage.

You had just assumed it was a way to scare you as a child, to never fall into that mindset. Apes were to be feared, and they would kill you if you killed one of them. There was no way that Humanity would fall that far… That they were willing to take the Earth back by matters of War. Three-hundred years had done nothing, you yearned your hands out in a bid to grab something to stop yourself from fluttering in and out of lucidity. Without words, the knife in your calf twisted to the right, seeping a bit deeper towards the hilt and then to the left, back upwards. Terror ripped through you at the penetration, your shouts being heard and absorbed happily. “Just tell us where it is and we’ll leave you alone.”

A repeated phrase you imagined he said often. You rested your head back, gritting your teeth, “I-I… Do-Don’t know what the hell you’re---”

In one foul swoop, the knife left your body before entering again, this time on the adjacent calf. As your scar had been slightly numb to feeling and felt incredibly pressurized at being cut open again and you were able to bear the brute force of it, this one left your entire body to convulse against the muddy ground, your hands flying upwards to grab the man’s hand to stop the injury, your eyes pressing into each other as your teeth bared themselves and you let out a drilling and agonistic howl.

Your body lifted itself up in a crunch before you splayed back onto the ground and tired to tear away, even going as far as thinking that if you were fast enough to move your leg, you could shatter your entire calf open to get relief from the torture of being stabbed.

“Be better if you just showed us.” He ampled his touch against the knife. “Or, I guess we could just spank your horse and they’ll take us right where we need to go.” His words were confirmation for you. This… Thing in front of you enjoyed the chase, enjoyed the torture. He was so easily able to just get the horse to take him where he wanted to go but you were being beaten instead, unable to relinquish any information and that just made the thrill all the more high for him.

“No!” You whimpered, lifting your body up but the man pressed onto your shoulders with hardness and you were unable to actually sit. “I-I don’t know wha-what you’re talking about, I’m just tra-traveling on my own!”

There was no point in lying but it felt good to say as if you were protecting the Clan itself. Demise was coming, for you, for them… Tears flushed into your eyes at that. The Clan, so beautiful and encased in your memory… In flames, your hands grasping at the ashes and tearing them against your face in a desperate bid to save them. Noa… Noa… He'd hate you, even more than he already did. All his suspicions about you would become valid in his eyes. The fear he had to trust you justified as Humans remarked into his village and destroyed everything he had sorely fought for after his Father passed.

He'd hate you.

Noa would hate you, probably for the rest of his life.

Lips parting as you tried to gasp for some air, you thought... How much you hated yourself.

“Y-you may as well just kill me.” You grunted finally, ashamed of the indication that your words gave. You knew the way back to the Clan, you hadn’t left the area, unable to grasp a concept at leaving what you had known for so long, even before you were offered refuge. Realizing now, you had made a mistake. You should have mounted the horse and trailed off into the unknown. You shouldn’t have been scared, you shouldn’t have been afraid but a smaller part of you stayed in hopes that he’d… He’d…

A coughed cry left your lips as you felt like you were drowning on your own spit. You stayed nearby because you wanted Noa to come for you. In your delusions, he always came for you. Even the first time, even when you didn't know each other and you were so convinced that he was going to kill you. Even now.

Your eyes looked at the man in front of you once more and out of the corner of your eye you swore you saw the fluttering nature of an Eagle perched in the trees of darkness. That close to death, you thought morbidly, that you were seeing things.

It wasn’t the Apes, you realized with momentous waves of sickness flooding all your senses. From the way that your eyes blurred, the way that your fingers and toes felt numb like they weren’t getting enough blood flow, your hearing was shot from the impact your head took against the tree…

It wasn’t the Apes you needed to be afraid of. It was Man.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・ TAGLIST:

@ohwaitimthewriter @hera-annwn @saturnnie-03 @filliandkili

@hadesbabygurl @supergoat12 @moonchild1433

@kaenalsha @unsteady-bitch @whamsworld

@yummyfanta @nuhteyam @babylockley @edynmeyer1  @callsignwidow 

@moonlightnyx

[mistydeyes]

cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me" with ghost?? :,)

Thank for for submitting @corvusmorte ! Literally buckle up bc this is one of many angsty ghost prompts to come (y’all love seeing this man suffer)

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me"

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, ANGST, VIOLENCE (emotional and physical), verbal insults, depiction of injury - you have been warned simon is a bad bad boyfriend in this

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

As you sat on the couch enjoying a bottle of wine, the last thing you expected was the rhythmic thumping on your door. Your merlot splashed in the glass as you rushed to answer. “Jesus I’m coming,” you yelled as the pounds grew louder. On the other side of the door, you were met with the tired and darkened gaze of your boyfriend. The air smelled of bourbon and cigarette smoke as you looked up at him. “Simon,” you gasped slightly as he pushed past you into the shared flat, “where have you been?” Your question was met with empty air as he slumped his large body across the couch. “Didn’t I tell you to never fucking ask me about work,” he angrily replied as you saw him grip your wine bottle and drink it like water. There were only two rules in your relationship. 1. Never leave fights unresolved (especially before deployment) and 2. Never ask about what happens once Simon walks out the door. It was as if he changed from the quiet, civilian Simon to the cold hearted and emotionally-charged Ghost, once he left.

“I’m sorry, I just was so worried,” you said as you locked the door and sat on the loveseat adjacent to him, “you hadn’t said how long you’d be gone.” “I just want to rest,” he mumbled and harshly drank from the bottle in his hands. “Do you want anything? I can go out and get you some food?” you offered but he gave you a pathetic flick of the hand which shut you up. Your fingers anxiously tapped on the frosted glass in your hands. You hated when he came home like this, you never knew how to react and he somehow made you feel at fault for every action you did. “Fuck can you just sit still!” he said through gritted teeth and you couldn’t help but jump in response and cause the crimson wine to coat your clothes. “God you’re such a mess,” he dryly laughed and you hoped this night would end in a drunken stupor. You tried to put your mix of emotions aside as you walked to the kitchen and cleaned yourself up. You couldn’t help but feel a few salty tears fall as you dabbed your clothing. You turned away as you could feel Simon’s presence in the kitchen. You said nothing as he cleaned the bottle to put in the recycling. Despite being drunk and angry, he still held onto his routines. “Do you have another?” he asked in a sudden kind tone but you were too preoccupied to answer.

Wrong choice as your indecision sent him on another drunken argument. “I fucking asked you a question,” he barked and as you turned, he furiously threw the bottle into the sink. The moment it fell, Simon could only watch as the shattered glass coated your hands and forearms. You screamed as your already stained white shirt flickered with more crimson specs. He moved closer to you in a moment of sobriety. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly but you were terrified as you reached for a rag. “Don’t come near me!” you commanded and he stepped back at your shaky voice. You were sobbing as you did your best to release the glass from your arm on the way to the bathroom. He stood silently as he heard your painful tears and the sound of drawers being slammed in an attempt to bandage yourself. Eventually, you emerged with two arms wrapped in gauze and you made a sprint for your phone and shoes. Simon was quicker than you and in an act of desperation, harshly grabbed your wrist. You let out a hoarse scream at the shooting pain and he dropped it as you fought against him. “Please, I didn’t mean to,” he tried to apologize but your ears rang with adrenaline as you pushed past him to the locked door. You fiddled with the lock as you fought through the cuts. As you finally got it open, you could hear him whisper a statement that made you almost turn around. “Please don’t go, please don’t leave me,” he whispered and you ran out the door without hesitation. First was rule two and now rule number one officially broken.

[luminnara]

the beast inside | wolverine x mutant!reader (18+ ONLY)

Summary: you wake up in a strange, cold military facility...and you aren’t alone.

Warnings: (attempted) breeding, not really ABO but feral man beast vibes, monster fucker adjacent, SEX, fem reader but not super heavily described as such

Your head was throbbing, your brain seemingly attempting to beat its way out of your skull from the inside. That was the first thing you noticed.

The second thing was the cold sterility of your surroundings, the air tasting stale and recycled, the surface beneath your hands smooth and cool like concrete. When you managed to crack your eyes open, you were forced to immediately squint as a harsh, industrial light suddenly made your splitting headache even worse, and when you looked around, you found that your worst fears had been realized.

You had been captured.

The room—if it could even be called a room—was dingy and gray, sparsely furnished with an uncomfortable looking cot and…and that was about it, really. A thin blanket sat folded up on the cot, a luxury you supposed you were meant to be thankful for, and as you crawled to your feet, you felt a shiver run through your body. 

That’s when you realized you were completely unclothed, and the threadbare blanket would be your only source of comfort. 

You grabbed it with shaky hands, draping it over your shoulders and pulling it close as you turned in a small circle. The walls of your cell looked like plexiglass, or something similar, reinforced with cage-like wiring inside. As you approached one of them, you found yourself staring out into a dim hallway, the light in your cell so bright that you could barely make out anything at all. Despite the glare and the shadows, however, you could see other cells, most of them dim and likely unused...

And one with the light on. 

You felt your heart give a hopeful little leap. Maybe you weren’t alone in this place, after all. Maybe this meant you had a chance to escape, or at the very least, socialize and save yourself from spiraling into a lonely sort of delirium. Maybe you could make a friend.

“Hello?” You called out, your mouth feeling dry and your tongue feeling thick. When there was no reply, you realized your cell might be soundproof—but that didn’t stop you from trying again.

“Hello? Is—is there anybody else here?”

This time, you were answered by a roar. A real, honest to god roar, the sort that no regular human could ever hope to make. It sent terror flying up your spine, every single nerve ending on edge as some primal, animal part of your brain recognized it as the roar of a predator. 

“S-sorry!” You stammered quickly, stumbling back towards your cot. Was that stupid? Probably, but what else were you supposed to do? There was some sort of monster, just down the hall, and you suddenly regretted making your presence known.

Another angry roar echoed into your cell and you busied yourself with huddling under your blanket. You had definitely pissed the monster off, the roars punctuated with loud, slamming thuds. Oh, fuck, was it trying to get to you now? You curled in on yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the sound of shattering glass and then the pain that would come after when this thing ripped you apart. 

But there was no shattering glass, only the blunt, muffled thuds of whatever it was trying to get to you. What the hell was this place, that it housed angry-sounding monsters? And why the hell were you trapped there, too? 

As you lay curled up on your rickety little cot, you tried to remember everything. You tried to remember anything. You could recall your home, your family, the town you lived in...you could still remember your home phone number, and the job interview you had next Tuesday. Well, for all you knew, it was next Tuesday already, and you had missed it completely...but something told you that you had bigger things to worry about. 

Like how you had wound up in this cold, gray cage. 

You pulled the thing blanket tighter around yourself as you sniffled. There wasn’t any use in crying, but there wasn’t anything else to do, was there? You knew why you had been brought here. You could guess that it had something to do with those reports in the news, headlines about mutants and think pieces on whether they were a threat to society or not. 

No, not they.

You.

Why anybody would want to capture you, you had no idea. You weren’t like the mutants who were always in the news. You didn’t have super strong powers like that Magneto guy, and you couldn’t camouflage yourself in someone else’s skin like the blue lady. You were just...you, just a person, just someone who had always tried to hide and evidently failed. And now, you were trapped in a cell, probably thanks to some kind of government program like the ones you heard rumors and conspiracy theories about, and they hadn’t even given you food.

The thought made you realize how hungry you were, stomach growling pitifully and with impeccable timing.

“Hey!” you barked, wiping away tears and sitting up and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. “I know someone’s listening right now. I know you’re watching me. What’s it take to get some food around here?”

You weren’t sure what you expected, but you were met with nothing but silence. You craned your neck, looking around at the ceiling, and there you saw it--a small red light, blinking rhythmically, no doubt attached to a camera. 

“Come on, what’s your angle here?” you shouted, frustration growing. “Don’t you feed your prisoners?

Still nothing. 

You let out a frustrated yell, filled with momentary rage and enough confidence to try to do something--but when you were answered by that roaring monster down the hall, you immediately dove back under the blanket and made yourself as small as possible. If that was some sort of guard dog intended to keep you under control, it was doing a great job of it so far. You were too scared to do any more shouting, and as the hours passed and your hunger grew, you realized you had no choice but to conserve your energy, and you did your best to get some sleep.

----------------------------

The hours stretched into days. 

You kept track by etching tally marks into the floor. With nothing in the form of clippers or files, your nails were left unchecked, and they were quickly growing back out into claws. Short, curved, and wickedly sharp, they were the most physically obvious aspect of your mutation--and you had always tried to hide them. Now, you had no way to, and something told you that was intentional. 

Your captors fed you twice a day. Two, sometimes three, men in generic, unspecific military uniforms would stroll down the hall, one with a metal tray in his hands while the other held a rifle. They fed you slop, a beige mixture that looked like it should be served in a trough for pigs, and at first, you had refused it. You had turned your nose up and they had laughed, telling you that you’d break eventually, because even he had, and you were nowhere near as tough as him. You hadn’t known who they’d been talking about initially, but when you’d started seeing the third man joining the other two, you’d realized that it meant they’d be stopping at the cell down the hall...and that that was probably who they were referring to. 

Him.

For some reason, knowing that the monster was eating the garbage they gave both of you made you feel a little bit better. It obviously wasn’t poisoned, because he was getting louder and louder by the day, roaring and throwing himself against the walls. Once, you almost caught a glimpse of him, as they pulled him out of his cell and forced him to walk away. You had your face smooshed against the plexiglass, desperate for a look, but all you managed to see was a vaguely human shape before he was out of sight entirely. 

It only made you wonder about him more. 

The days passed, and you started obediently eating your meals. The slop stopped being revolting as you got used to it, and you actually started looking forward to feeding time. When you saw the soldiers approaching with a tray, you knew it was going to be a good day--they were going to throw a few insults your way and then leave you alone. When they showed up empty handed, though, you knew it would be worse...because that meant they were going to be dragging you down the hall, away from your monstrous neighbor and up to a lab where they took your blood and poked and prodded at you. 

They ran tests. They tortured you. You felt icy cold water tubs and burning hot coals. You were pumped full of insulin and shocked with electricity. It seemed like the scientists wanted to try every archaic, disproven science experiment ever recorded, and there was no end in sight. 

“Wh-why are you doing this?” you managed to groan one day, vision swimming as you were roused from a quick coma. 

“Oh, don’t worry yourself too much,” a man answered. “Just know that you’re going to be very, very helpful here. You’ll be playing a very important role in our program.”

And then your vision went black and your head grew light and you passed out, something you had unfortunately grown used to on lab days. When you came to again, you were back in your cell, naked, as always, but clean as if you had been recently scrubbed down. You grabbed your little blanket, wrapped it around yourself, and collapsed onto your cot, as you always did.

The cycle was becoming repetitive.

You slept when you could, usually waking up when your neighbor down the hall decided it was time to throw a tantrum. You never heard him speak, but you heard the military men refer to him as Weapon X, and that was the only name he was given. You started calling him X in your head, and though it still felt impersonal and cold, just like your prison, it was better than nothing. It made you feel closer to him, somehow, more familiar, and you found yourself wondering what he was like.

He was wondering the same thing about you.

He didn’t know his name. Not really. He didn’t know where he was, or who he was. He was pretty sure that he had, at some point, had another life, but that was far behind him. Now, all he knew was the cage he lived and paced in, the men he always tried to cut in half, and the relatively new, absolutely delicious, smell that had begun wafting down the hall.

The animalistic part of him, the beast inside, knew what it was. An adult female, not a human but a mutant just like him. He was drawn to it, and from the very first moment he had been awoken by your voice, he had known how badly he needed to reach its source. So he threw himself against the walls of his cell until he was bloody, slashing at them with his adamantium claws over and over and over again. He would do whatever it took to get to you, he would destroy himself if he had to…and Stryker’s team knew that. Whenever they took him out for testing, they repaired the cell, giving themselves more time to assess the situation and make a decision. It was clear that Weapon X wanted you, and they were running out of ways to keep him contained. He was going to get to you one way or another, it seemed.

So one day, he was allowed to.

You heard him before you saw him. A siren suddenly blared throughout the facility, rousing you from your sleep, and you found yourself bathed in a red light rather than the usual bright white. Panic flooded your system and you immediately jumped to your feet, hoping that something had happened and this was your chance to escape—but you found the walls of your cell firmly intact, and your confusion only mounted.

Then, you heard the snarling, and you knew it was him.

Your cell door slid open and for a moment, you felt relief washing over you. There were no soldiers waiting on the other side with guns and cattle prods, just a long, almost empty hallway. At the sound of heavy footsteps, however, you stepped back towards your cot, suddenly wondering if you would prefer to met by the soldiers rather than X.

When he appeared in front of you, your mouth suddenly went dry.

He was just as naked as you were, covered in a sheen of sweat as his chest rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths. You could feel your face absolutely burning as you desperately tried to keep your eyes from wandering too far down, gluing them to slightly more respectable areas rather than where they really wanted to roam. Refusing to give in, you focused on his torso, taking in the sight of his broad, well muscled chest as you slowly gathered the courage to make your way up.

When you did, you realized he was handsome, with dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes, and he was lighting some sort of fire inside you that you didn’t know was there.

His nostrils flared, taking in your scent. As he stepped into the cell, the door slid shut behind him, and you were trapped—alone, with this beast of a man, and no way out. Was that a bad thing? …should you be scared? You tried to swallow and expected to feel the usual panic rising in your chest, but you suddenly found yourself feeling incredibly calm, and as X walked towards you, you realized why.

He didn’t want to hurt you. There was nothing overly aggressive in his body language. His movements were cautious, yes, measured and wary, but…he seemed curious above all else, watching you, studying you. He moved like an animal, a predator, trying to decide whether you were friend or foe. Honestly? Judging by those muscles, you didn’t have much of a chance against him, so you were hoping you came off as friendly.

“H-hey,” you managed to choke out, voice rough from disuse. You sounded meeker than you had intended, but you stood your ground, facing him as he drew closer. “Hey.”

X froze, tilting his head as he listened. Thinking. Waiting. He was cautious, learning about you in that intelligent, uncanny way that predators learn about their prey.

 You expected a reply of some kind, but when none came, you cleared your throat.

“I-I, uh—whoa,” you reeled back as he suddenly leaned in, nose pressed against your neck. 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in your scent, and you felt a chill fly down your spine. His skin was so warm, and there was suddenly so much of him all around you, the musky, masculine smell of his body flooding your senses as he pressed himself against you. 

You didn’t know what you should do. You didn’t know what you could do. But what you did know was that as his hands found your waist, his grip was surprisingly gentle, as if X was afraid of breaking you somehow. He was gentler than you thought possible for someone who roared and slammed into the walls of his cell all day long, but as much as you wanted to marvel at his soft, caring behavior, he didn’t seem too keen on giving you the chance.

With his nose still pressed against your neck, he pulled you up against him. You were barely aware of the sound of the door sliding shut somewhere in the distance, trapping you there with this absolute beast of a man who seemed intent on feeling every part of you. And after so many weeks of isolation, you were so touch starved that you were happy to let him run his hands up and down your sides.

They were big and warm, softer than you had imagined. Everything about his appearance suggested that his fingers should be rough and covered in callouses, but as he grasped your lower back, they felt perfectly smooth. When you raised nervous, shaky hands and cautiously placed them on his own back, you found that he was free of scars and blemishes, as well. Who was this wild man, with his thick, dark hair and beard, and his gravelly, throaty growl? Why was he imprisoned there with you, and, more importantly, why were you suddenly together?

Your hands slipped down his sides and he seemed to almost curl around you, nudging at you gently with his nose as if he enjoyed the feeling. As you gave him a small push, though, he withdrew slightly, taking a step back when you repeated the motion and looking down at you in confusion.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you looked at his face. When he was silent, you continued with, “…do you have a name?”

He paused in thought and then nodded slowly, his eyes glued to yours with such intensity you wanted to look away out of instinct.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

He grunted and shook his head, then closed the distance between the two of you and returned to his previous investigation of your body and scent. You held still, though you were becoming significantly less nervous as time passed and you hadn’t been torn to pieces yet. X felt your hips and back and shoulders, holding your head in a clumsy yet gentle grip as he gazed down at you. You felt that it was safe to assume he couldn’t, or simply wouldn’t, speak, but you were finding that his body language was fairly easy to read, and his intentions were clear as day:

He liked you.

He really, really liked you.

He was watching your face carefully, waiting for something. Waiting for you to move or reply, to give him permission or deny him. Honestly, you found him incredibly handsome, and something about his features, something about his eyes was utterly captivating. He had yet to speak, and maybe he never would…but you could see that he wanted to communicate with you, and you somehow knew that he wasn’t going to do anything unless you moved first.

When you placed a hand on his jaw, a low rumble sounded from his chest, and you guessed that he was pleased with your response to his advances. He turned his head and practically nuzzled into your palm, nostrils flaring as he took in your scent. You found that his beard was softer than it looked, and that somehow, he was perfectly healthy, despite his living conditions. Well…physically healthy, at least.

“Why are you here?” You tried asking.

His eyes never left yours, even as his hands slipped away from your hips. He raised a fist in front of you and you watched the muscles in his arm flex, tendons straining as three sharp, silver metal claws slid out from the back of his hand, piercing the skin between his fingers as they elongated.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight. So he was a mutant, just like you...maybe more like you than you even knew.

“How long have you been here?” You asked, eyeing the claws warily. They were sharp and straight, like knives, and there was no doubt in your mind that a guy like him, wielding weapons like those, could do some serious damage. You preferred not to be on the receiving end of them. 

X let out a grunt and dropped his hand to his side, the claws sliding back inside.

“…does that hurt?” You asked.

Another grunt and a shake of his head. Alright, that was a no, then, and you got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It was obvious that he was growing impatient, and when both of his hands returned to your waist, he tightened his grip and pulled you up against him. That rumble was back in his chest, seeming to vibrate your entire skeleton as your skin met his.

It sent shivers up your spine. While you had been far too nervous to spend much time looking at any part of him below his waist, you could feel him there, pressed so close, and only a fool wouldn’t know what he wanted.

You were a little surprised to find that you wanted the same thing.

With your face growing incredibly warm, you tried to focus on his eyes. They were glued to you once more, watching your every move. His nostrils twitched. His shoulders rose and fell steadily with his breathing. He was waiting for you, holding himself back despite the straining muscles you felt against your abdomen. As your hand slipped up the side of his neck, you found that you enjoyed the feeling of him there with you, and you couldn’t deny the excitement that you felt building up within yourself. 

Maybe it was because you had been so isolated for so long. Maybe you were so incredibly touch starved that you were perfectly willing to fuck the first kind soul you’d encountered in this entire godforsaken facility. Or maybe this was something more akin to fate, an almost cruel joke that you would find a man as enticing as him in a place like that. The reason didn’t really matter to you, not at all; the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his rough hands dipping between your thighs after you gave him a nod, and the heat of his breath against your neck as he nuzzled into you. 

His fingers were clumsy. Desperate. There was no softness in his motions, no romance...and yet you still sucked in a shaky, surprised breath when they dipped inside of you. X let out a pleased sound, something close to his grunts from before but so much sexier, and when he withdrew his hand, you watched with wide eyes as he licked it clean. Judging by the growl, he seemed to enjoy the taste of you.

He pulled back and turned you around quickly, pressing you into the wall as he grabbed your hips again, roughly this time. At the feeling of his cock teasing you from behind, you let out a gasp, and when he thrust inside, you almost couldn’t believe how good it felt. The stretch was delicious, the sensation of him pushing deeper making your fingers curl into fists. He fucked you like a starved man, whose only meal was you, and whose very survival depended on fucking you senseless.

You moaned and whined, jumping as his hands moved up to grab at your tits. He squeezed you wherever he could, leaving behind bruises that bloomed just like your building orgasm…and when you came, the snarl he let out had you immediately tipping even further over the edge, eyes squeezed shut as you cried out.

X came inside you, cock pulsing as he filled you. It wasn’t until he stepped back and you felt the cool air of your prison cell that you realized exactly how hot his skin was, and as he stood there, shiny with sweat, chest heaving, dark eyes watching you, you knew that you’d be going for a round two. And three. And as many as you could fit in before someone came to drag him away from you again. Because now, as you approached him on shaky legs and placed a hand on his jaw, you realized exactly how much you liked your wild, terrifying neighbor from down the hall.

[yuugen-benni]

Euthanasia

- "A very gentle and quiet Death" Prompt: With an incurable disease that would destroy you over the years, you chose death before it actually came to you. A painless death is only painless for the one who suffers, and not for the one who witnesses it. Characters: Diluc - Albedo - Neuvillette - Kazuha Tags: gn!reader, Euthanasia/ assisted suicide, Burial types (Diluc- Cremation; Neuvillete - Sea), mentions of Death by medications, Grief, injuries A/N: The inspiration for this post was because I recently went to a funeral and the topic of "how do you want your funeral to be" came up among my family, honestly I would like a sea burial! Because of my beliefs, So I added the euthanasia and wrote this sad mess. I hope you guys enjoy and cry

The large doors of the mansion closed strongly announcing the return to the stillness that surrounded the entire building. Diluc had dismissed the maids in the afternoon, and gratefully, not even they asked why. The floor creaked louder than usual with his exhausted footsteps, wet from the thin rain that fell throughout Mondstadt, and he headed straight to his office like a sleepwalker on his nightly routine. The leather coat is left tossed on the adjacent divan as, without saying a word, he moves with purpose, sweeping objects from the tables, their crash a discordant symphony echoing his inner turmoil. His destruction was slow, allowing silence to fill the environment from time to time. His last victim was the window, shattered by his calloused hands clenched into fists, trembling from the fragments of glass that embedded themselves in his skin. In the distance, a fire crackled, strong enough to still reign under the rainwater. Diluc raised his head towards the noise, his face covered in soot and his eyes as red as his iris. There was no surprise in his expression because he knew that your body was burning there respecting your request to be burned by his flames and even though there was no need, he blamed himself.

The one thing Albedo doesn't like about nature: How everything seems to have been planned out beforehand. We can observe this in the seasons, in the rains that fall at the most inopportune moments, in your last words to him before the medicine killed you, and in that moment when Albedo hovered next to a hospital bed inside his own laboratory. Your vital signs would be nothing more than a straight line, the sound of the monitor beeping tirelessly like a cry for help - was the genius's sentence. It was so planned that you were the only person in whom he couldn't discover the most essential thing. And he hates hates hates hates hates hates it so much.

Just as the sea gives life, it also takes it, returning it to the earth, to our natural state. Water supplies us and cleanses us from the sins we have acquired in our lifetime and with the prophecy of the flood, the people of Fontaine adopted sea burial as a ritual, believing that the souls would join the ocean and thus protect their people. But Neuvillette had never thought about it until holding your body as he entered the vast expanse of water. The lapping of the waves was gentle, but agitated with the anxiety of welcoming another one of their children. Arrangements of Romaritime and Lumidouce Bell flowers, chosen specifically by him, were tied around your body; Slowly, with his hand on the back of your neck, Neuvillete lowered you into the water until it covered your entire body and finally released you allowing nature to do its part as you fall deeper. A flash of lightning rips through the sky, the electric tendrils branched across the heavens, illuminating the dark landscape and then the rain fall like tears. Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, Don't cry.

Kazuha witnessed everything - the diagnosis, the decision and your death - trying to keep his heart that beat stronger than the wind blows through a sail on stormy nights inside his chest, he wanted to keep his facade of light breeze in front of you when he was just an inch away from breaking. But now, right there, with knees on the ground, head bowed and fists clenched tightly in his lap, he stood in front of your grave vulnebrable, praying to the heavens to allow your soul to leave freely.

Somehow he keeps hearing your voice in the rustling of the leaves, your scent on the air, and your touch on the breeze. Will this be another burden ? Possibly, and if so, the blade of his katana will be enough for an excuse because in joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness, every day of yours lives he was there, so he would like to add one more promise: In life and in death.

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - A is for Apology

For the first prompt for this month’s event Alphabet of Whump by @alphabetofwhump!! Who knows how many of these I’ll do, I just loved the prompts!

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees, implications of past abuse, recovering whumpees

——————

When Prince had brought up the prospect of joining the others for lunch, which in turn obviously meant leaving the two’s shared room, Mutt had panicked, instantly shooting him down with a shake of the head.

In the end Prince left anyway - as if he even needed to listen to Mutt in the first place - Mutt obediently and cautiously following in suit. Keeping his chest puffed and his scowl solid, Mutt ensured an intimidating presence.

It didn’t last long.

The glass, formerly halfway empty, was now a shatter of slick, knife sharp shards scattered across the wood of the kitchen. It happened so quickly Mutt couldn’t so much as tell how he broke it, too caught up in his own world to notice, only sure that it was his fault. He always was humiliatingly clumsy.

And everyone stared daggers at him, the room falling eerily silent, as if Mutt was under a blinding spotlight. The sting of their gazes made him cower, curling in on himself as a pounding sensation of horror began. nearly enough to get him to drop to his knees and beg had he not been paralyzed with fear.

“I-,” Should he have spoken, spilling meaningless apologies that could never overshadow the mess he had made? Should he have stayed silent, and be reprimanded for thinking something like him wouldn’t need to grovel? Mutt took a shaking breath, clenching his fists. “I’m- I- I’m sorry-,”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Isaac stole a swift step forward, far away enough not to step into anything that may cut her, hands out as if to stabilize him from feet away. “Just a glass. An accident.”

She said it so reassuringly, but Mutt was well aware that all of his accidents had piled up since he’d gotten to this strange place, and now he was finally going to be punished for every single little thing. How could they not be completely fed up with him?

Sniveling back ugly tears, Mutt choked out more apologies, biting at his quivering lip. “I- I, um, I’m sorry-,” his hands were trembling - no, his whole body was.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. No one’s mad, nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.” Her voice wavered with a slight of urgency, each wary of how the other might react. “You can cry if you need to, I understand. Just- look at me, okay, can you do that?”

“Y- yes, yes ma’am.” Doing exactly as ordered, all the while holding back his overflowing emotions, Mutt met her glimmering brown eyes. Leaning toward her, almost enraptured by her stare, he looked to Isaac for any sort of guidance.

“Take some nice, deep breaths. In, and out. In… and out. In… and out.” She guided him along as he obeyed, keeping a wave of sobs at bay all the while calming the drumming beat in his heart. “Better?”

Salty tears flooded his gaze as he stumbled backward, bumping into Prince who caught him by the arms. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-,” he always was a crybaby, as his masted had deemed him.

He hadn’t even noticed how long it had been without a punishment until then, he hadn’t been grateful for it. They were going to make him pay. Master always did.

She shook her head, just by a bit, curls shaking along with the movement. “Accidents happen, we all make them. You’re all good, man. Swear on it.”

His vision flickered to a woman - Edith Prince had called her - bumbling in front of him with a tall broom as she got right to work cleaning up Mutt’s mess.

He reached out for her. “Can- I can help, please-,”

A hand, absentmindedly and gently placed to Mutt’s arm, was soft with a slightly cool touch. Unfamiliar it was, but he didn’t realize until then how terribly he craved it. “Oh no, my dear. You have no shoes on. You might step on something and hurt yourself.”

“But, but, please-,”

“Isaac will help you to the other room, okay honey? Me and Oscar will clean this up, no problem.” She had this smile that bubbled a sugary warmth in his belly, even through the horror running about his mind. “Don’t even worry about it.”

Shaking his head, Mutt insisted, begging to be of service, to try even the slightest to make up for himself. “I can help, I can do anything, please.”

Swiftly and carefully Isaac cut between them, with a soft force stealing Mutt away from the kitchen, tears running down his flushed cheeks. “Come with me, okay? We’re just going to go over here by the couch.” She took him by the hand, her far smaller fingers curling over his as Mutt took Prince’s hand in his other, pulling the pet to his guard’s side.

Mutt whimpered, realization striking him hard in his knotted stomach as he stole a glance outside. “Do- do I… have to go in the dog house?” He was sure it was coming, positive there was no way they would let him off scott free for his undeniable insolence.

“Dog house?” Isaac took a piece of his tear stained hair, gently brushing it back into place. “Is that like… that’s a punishment, yes?”

“Uh, uh huh.” He sniveled, wiping one eye with a burly fist.

Her warmth hardened, expression going cold. “No. No, never ever, I promise you. There’s no such thing as that here - not even punishments.”

“No… punishments?” The idea was completely foreign to both him and Prince, the other pet quietly chiming in with his own confusion of the concept.

“Nope. You will never be punished, disciplined, or anything else your owner may have called it ever again and that’s final.” Isaac stated, sternly. “That goes for the both of you.”

“B- but-,”

“Never.”

“What if-,”

“Hey.” Isaac stopped the two, putting both of her outstretched pinky fingers to them. “Never. No what ifs, no buts. Pinkie promise.”

Prince carefully interlocked his own finger with hers, letting out the faintest of a chuckle as Mutt watched in confusion.

“It’s like a regular promise, just better. One for both of you.” Isaac whispered to him, and he, drying his face with his shirt, followed along with Prince. “Good.”

No punishments.

That’s what she said at least, and Mutt was inclined to believe her.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[post-it-notes7]

so based on the 'dmk poking mir falspar' comic there, can falspar actually Feel through those pauldrons around the cracks at all or did he just notice dmk prodding him through the contact the armor has with his arm and that was enough to set him off? It certainly seemed to hurt him when he put on a new pauldron that one time and it shattered, could he actually feel it break or was he reacting to something else? Loving the comics as always btw being so normal about these funny little guys and their funny little problems~

Oho, an interesting question!

Mostly, he's reacting to the noise. Reflections who have shattered before tend to be more sensitive to the sound of something breaking, particularly mirror-adjacent material, like glass, and thats only more unsettling when it appears to be coming directly from you.

Mir Falspar can't feel his armor breaking, but he can feel when his shoulder itself is getting worse, which usually results in more extreme breakage in whatever is connected to it—which in-turn stresses him out even further, and can occasionally lead to a feedback-like loop where he's stuck there, gripping his arm, trying to ride it out. (Comicwise, Mir Falspar noticed his pauldron was nudged and flinched away as soon as he saw it was DMK who was prodding.) No one has really witnessed the full extent of this, as Mir Falspar will hide himself away the moment he suspects he's going to seize up, and if he truly can't escape in a situation, then he will grit his teeth and force his way through it as if nothing is wrong, blazing denial until the end.

And at last, for some inside knowledge (things Mir Falspar won't admit aloud), when his shoulder starts acting up, he begins losing the sensation in his left arm. It's harder to grip things in that hand and it could become a liability in a fight for either being a) unable to strike/guard with like he normally would, or b) too numb for Mir Falspar to tell how much strength he's putting into it, resulting in causing much less or much worse damage than he intended. It looks painful, and can be, but usually stays in line with a feeling of intense pins and needles.

(the kind where it's almost a little too hard to breath, though)

[yoonavii]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓

Rich bachelor! Law x Reader

Description: On your courthouse wedding day, hope and determination fueled you, but your fiancé's absence and the revelation of a secret girlfriend shattered your dreams. In that moment of heartbreak, Trafalgar Law, an eligible and wealthy bachelor driven by the need for his family's inheritance, appeared. He offered a life-altering proposition: marry him in exchange for financial security. You immediately accepted without hesitation, unaware of the thrilling twists and turns awaiting you on the unexpected love journey.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The city of Sabaody appeared almost surreal under the persistent downpour, the streets glistening with rainwater and neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. You hastily exited a yellow taxi, its tires sending up a spray of water as it sped away. Clutching your umbrella, you dashed up the stone steps, the raindrops patterning a rhythmic tune on its canopy. Inside the courthouse, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling, rain-soaked streets. The corridors were lined with heavy wooden doors leading to various courtrooms, their dark oak contrasting with the white marble floors. The scent of rain-soaked coats hung in the air, and the soft murmur of conversations between lawyers and clients filled your ears.

Finally, you reached the designated courtroom, your heart pounding as you pushed open the imposing wooden door. The judge, an imposing figure in a black robe, peered over the rim of his glasses. He tapped his watch with a measured impatience, the seconds ticking away audibly in the otherwise silent room. With a flush of embarrassment, you offered a hurried apology, the words echoing in the hushed space. The judge leaned forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority as he remarked, “You’re ten minutes late.”

Your gaze swept over the room, noticing the familiar faces of friends and family who had gathered for this momentous occasion. Panic surged as you realized your fiancé was conspicuously absent. The judge’s stern tone deepened your anxiety as he asked, “Where is your fiancé?” Desperation took hold, and you retrieved your phone from your pocket, trembling fingers fumbling as you dialed your fiancé’s number. Each ring felt like an eternity, and your hope dwindled with every unanswered call. Finally, it diverted to voicemail, and you excused yourself from the courtroom, stepping into the hallway. The fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, casting an eerie glow on the gray walls. As you tried your fiancé’s number once more, your heart raced. Outside, the relentless rain painted a picture of uncertainty, mirroring the doubt and concern swirling through your thoughts.

As you continued to redial your fiancé's number, minutes stretched into half an hour, and the stress began to gnaw at you like a relentless itch. Frustration and worry etched lines across your forehead. You kept glancing at your phone, hoping for any sign of life from your missing partner. Unable to quell your anxiety, you allowed your gaze to wander, and it landed on an open courtroom adjacent to yours. A courtroom wedding was in progress, and the atmosphere inside was surprisingly festive. The bride and groom, dressed in exquisite attire, exchanged vows with radiant smiles.What struck you as odd was the extravagance of the guests' attire. They sported both recognizable luxury brands and some that seemed to be known only to a select few. It was a stark contrast to your own choice of a simple courthouse wedding.

Your attention was briefly diverted when a slim, tall man around your age exited the room. He exuded an air of sophistication and confidence. His golden eyes hinted at a hidden depth, and his chiseled face framed by slicked-back black hair added to his allure. He was dressed in a minimal yet elegant all-black ensemble, oozing a kind of charm that was hard to ignore.

For a moment, you found yourself admiring his appearance, but then a wave of guilt washed over you. You had no business checking out other men when you were supposed to be getting married today. Your gaze returned to your phone screen, desperately waiting for your fiancé to pick up, your heart heavy with worry and doubt. As you waited anxiously, a voice from inside the courtroom called out, “Law.” It was the groom, and you mentally noted the name of the handsome man as Law. You watched as Law turned to the groom, annoyance flickering in his golden eyes. He whispered something to the groom, who appeared chastened and immediately apologized, bowing in deference.

Your curiosity piqued, but before you could dwell on this interaction, your phone finally came to life. Relief washed over you as you asked your fiancé if he was okay, explaining your concern for his unresponsiveness earlier. However, instead of your fiancé’s voice, a woman answered the call, and your heart sank. As the woman’s words cut through the air like daggers, you found your voice despite the turmoil inside you. Anger and disbelief fueled your response, and your tone was sharp as you retorted, “What are you talking about? This can’t be true!” The woman on the other end of the line, her voice dripping with condescension, replied, “Oh, sweetheart, it’s as true as the sky is blue. Your so-called fiancé has been seeing me for months behind your back. He’s been spending money meant for your shared expenses on me.”

Your mind reeled, and you clenched your fists, desperately trying to process this shocking revelation. In a mix of anger and heartbreak, you shot back, “How could he do this? We were getting married today! Who are you, anyway?” She laughed again, that same cruel laughter that grated on your nerves. “I’m the one who’s been keeping him entertained, while you were here planning your wedding like a fool. I’m the one he’s chosen over you, darling.” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of humiliation and betrayal. “You… You’re destroying my life!” you exclaimed, your voice quivering with emotion. She remained unapologetic, her voice cold and dismissive. “I’m just telling you the truth. He never loved you, sweetie. You’re better off without him.” You demanded, in a trembling voice, that he pick up the phone and confirm the terrible truth himself. After what felt like an eternity, he finally picked up the call. Your voice was seething with anger as you confronted him.

With the phone pressed to your ear, you could feel your anger rising like a tempest. "Is it true?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury. "Tell me you didn't do what she said." A heavy sigh on the other end was followed by a heartless admission, "yeah, it's true. I haven't loved you for a long time. I've been using you, living off your money while saving everything for my new girlfriend and our new life." Each word cut deeper, igniting a burning rage within you. "You heartless, selfish... Do you even understand how much I've struggled because of you?!" Your voice quivered with a blend of sorrow and anger. "I gave you chance after chance to change, to be a better person, and this is how you repay me? I regret every moment I ever spent loving you or feeling pity for you!"

The line went silent for a moment as your fiancé absorbed the force of your words. Finally, he responded, "Well, I don't need your pity or your love anymore—“

With those words, you reached a breaking point. The torrent of emotions, the years of suffering and betrayal, all culminated in a moment of sheer frustration. Without thinking, you slammed your phone onto the ground, the sound of it shattering echoing through the hallway. Your heartache was now accompanied by the pain of a destroyed device, symbolizing the wreckage of the life you had built together.  As you sat there in the dimly lit courthouse hallway, shattered phone in hand, your focus consumed by the turmoil of your own life falling apart, you were unaware that Law had been observing your situation with keen interest.

Just as Law opened his mouth to perhaps offer some comment or consolation, his own phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up, his expression quickly shifting from curiosity to irritation. It was his father's financial advisor on the line, and they delved into a discussion about his father's will. Law's brows furrowed deeply as he listened, and he finally interrupted, frustration evident in his voice. "Why are you discussing this with me when my father is still alive? Is something wrong?" The financial advisor explained matter-of-factly, "Your father instructed me to discuss the beneficiaries with you in case anything were to happen to him. It's a precautionary measure, nothing more."

Law's irritation lingered, but he couldn't deny the weight of the conversation. As he concluded his call, his thoughts seemed to drift back to you, sitting there with your world shattered, much like his own feelings of betrayal and uncertainty about the future. As the conversation with his father's financial advisor continued, Law's irritation gave way to bewilderment. The advisor disclosed a surprising update to his father's will, something that caught Law completely off guard. His voice filled with curiosity and disbelief, Law questioned, "What is it? What did my father do?" The advisor hesitated for a moment before delivering the unexpected revelation. "Your father updated his will recently. In it, there's a condition for you to inherit his wealth and properties. You won't gain access to your inheritance unless you're married for more than a year."

Law was struck speechless by this revelation. His father's desire for a daughter-in-law and the prospect of a grandchild had always been a topic of discussion, but he never imagined his father would take it to this extreme. Law sat in stunned silence as the weight of his father’s unconventional condition settled upon him. He never thought his father’s desire for a daughter-in-law and grandchild would manifest in such a peculiar way. The advisor’s voice brought him back to the conversation, “Your father made this decision to ensure the continuation of the family legacy. It seems he was quite adamant about it.” Law could hardly believe it. It was as if his father was orchestrating his life from beyond the grave. A mixture of frustration and resignation washed over him. “Is there anything else in the will I should know about?”

The advisor assured him that he had covered the essential points, but Law couldn’t help but contemplate the unexpected turn of events. His father’s plan seemed to be unfolding like a complex chess game, and Law was left to grapple with the implications, all while sitting in the courthouse hallway where your own life had taken a dramatic, painful turn.

Law's gaze lingered on you for a moment, and when your eyes briefly met, a fleeting connection sparked between you. However, you quickly looked away, wiping away the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks as you listened to your own life unravel over the phone. In the midst of his own turmoil, Law's determination grew stronger. He couldn't let this opportunity to secure his inheritance slip through his fingers, regardless of the price it might entail. He leaned closer to the phone and instructed the advisor, "Tell my father that I've met someone and that we were planning to get married at the courthouse."

Unbeknownst to him, your ears perked up at his words, and your heart raced. Normally, you didn't jump to conclusions, but the timing and context of his statement left little room for doubt. A sense of disbelief and curiosity washed over you, as you wondered if his words could somehow be connected to the dramatic events unfolding in your own life. Law's confident gaze locked onto you as he interrupted your thoughts, revealing that he had been listening to your conversation with your now ex-fiancé.

The shock of the situation left you momentarily speechless. With a calm yet determined tone, Law explained his unexpected proposition. "You're not getting married to him," he stated matter-of-factly. "I need a wife, and I can assure you that you'll be well taken care of, both physically and, most importantly, financially. You won't struggle ever again." The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn't believe what you were hearing. It was as if you had stepped into the pages of a romance novel, and this modern prince was offering you a castle and a princess title. You pondered on it briefly, the weight of the decision heavy in the air. Then, with newfound determination, you met Law's gaze and agreed, "Alright, I'm in. Let's do this." It wasn't every day that life presented such a surreal opportunity, and you were willing to take the leap into this unexpected twist of fate.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[transingthoseformers]

I had a horrible idea

So in IDW, Megatron's trial right?

What if they gave him the shadowplay x Empurata combo like they did Shockwave, and I mean really far on the significant end.

Megatron doesn't know he used to be Megatron, and I'm torn on whether whoever is watching him knows or not.

[brewed-pangolin]

Broken Memories

cw: mentions of loss, angst no comfort, continuation of Evie MacTavish

All his senses seemed to disappear the moment he caught a glimpse of the emerald light in his periphery.

A discarded and broken beer bottle, deep green muffled by a thick layer of war that culminated into dust along its glimmering finish.

He crouched down, careful to avoid its sharp edges as he grasped the tattered glass within the palm of his calloused hand.

Soap sat quietly, pushing all thoughts of current events aside to study the shattered random piece history that somehow echoed his own broken psyche.

Dragging his thumb over a section of its smooth surface, peeling away the veil of sanity and exposing the deep pain of heartache that festered within his chest like a morbid disease.

His jaw clenched. A sudden wash of memories of her played over the revealed portion of the shimmering vessel within his hand.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her adventurous vitality that mirrored the green yearning of the Scottish highlands within her enigmatic and emerald eyes.

Soap tightened his grip around the jagged thing with a mournful scowl. Ignoring the pain as he broke the skin, cursing the gods above under his breath for taking such a vital part of his being with no thought or remorse.

His eyes began to glisten and his chest burned. Only the sudden call of his name pulled him out from the depths of growing prisonment and silent melancholy.

"Soap. Ya good, mate?" Gaz asked from the within an adjacent doorframe. His casual friendliness washing Soap's pain away as he tossed the broken bottle to the floor and wiped the layer of crimson along his panted thigh.

"Aye. We done 'ere?"

"Yeah. Place is clean."

Soap nodded in acknowledgment. His bright blue eyes dimmed with the pain of loss as he crossed the room to make a hasty exit from within its tight confines.

Gaz stepped aside, letting Soap retreat from the flood of memories leaching out within the walls around him as he made his way towards the freedom of the outside.

He vanquished all thoughts of her back to the deep recesses of his mind with a cleansing breath. The fresh air soothing his tormented soul, calming his psyche and focusing his mind once more back to the task at hand.

"What was her name?" Gaz's voice echoed from within the vacant foyer as Soap stood outside the crumbling front entrance.

Soap narrowed his eyes. Jaw clenched, and his fists turned into tight knots as the memory of her name danced along the tip of his tongue.

"Evie." He replied. Her name lost to the wind like a forgotten dream as it drifted into the cacophony of violence and chaos around them.

"Who was she?" Gaz pressed on, stepping out beside him while expertly griping his rifle within his hands.

Soap remained silent. Eyeing his surroundings, debating whether to answer or move on and forget this conversation in its entirety.

He inhaled sharply, gaining the composure needed to complete the mission with a clear head and a steady hand.

As he stepped off the landing, he answered. Implicating his will to continue this discussion had ended as he walked straight into the next simulated battlefield.

"My sister."

Premise Here (Her story breaks my heart. But I'll continue it nonetheless)

[frozenjokes]

Rage Room (I’m Loving A Losing Battle, But I Can’t Quite Seem To Let Go)

in which aromantic scar finally tells his friends what’s been happening between him and Grian, and how he processes the space between them

“It’s just- not fair!” Scar smashed the bottle against the tile floor, the glass pelting the ankles of his reinforced pants.

Bdubs clapped behind him, though stopped when Scar turned around, visibly not in the mood. Admittedly he knew he was shooting low when he went on, but Scar didn’t care, “And I’m kind of pissed off about Etho! If the roles were switched, I would be there, and he said he’d be here last time he missed.”

“Oi,” Cleo cut in, about as unamused as Scar figured they’d be. “No friendly fire.”

“Is it really friendly fire if he’s not here.” Scar huffed, but Cleo knew better than to take his words at face value, and shut him up with a firm glare.

“And you better start talking before I make you pay for all of this.” Her words were rugged, but Scar knew she didn’t mean it, and he could take as much time as he needed. But really, if he was taking shots at Bdubs, he probably should cut to the chase. This was why they were here. This was why they had all made this pact in the first place.

“Grian is.” Scar started, stilted, “Sorry, Bdubs. I shouldn’t have said that. Grian won’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t- want to talk to me.”

“What?” Bdubs said, eyes flying open, and yeah, no one here was really caught up with his whole.. situation. Anything that felt close to Mumbo he tended to avoid, and basically everything about Grian in the past weeks was Mumbo adjacent.. and also a little sensitive. Not something he was eager to talk about. Scar was more than a little pent up, and based on the expressions of concern across Cleo and Bdubs’ faces, it must have been pretty obvious. “Weren’t you guys hanging out nearly everyday for- I don’t know, it’s been a month at least, right? Did something happen? Hasn’t Grian been driving you around everywhere, too? You’ve sure been asking me a lot less.”

“Yeah. We were.” Scar spoke stiffly, picking up another empty bottle and spinning it in his hands. He chucked it at the wall, aiming at the newly set up targets Cleo had implemented a couple weeks ago. A good choice. Fit with the theme of the axe throwing/rage room combo. The bottle shattered near the bullseye, unsurprising, given their whole friend group had pretty tight aim. Still satisfying. “Until he went and fell in love with me.”

The memories burned like open wounds, like red, angry flesh, like sunburns on your eyelids, like the stinging smell of bleach. Cleo said something, some sort of assent, but Scar didn’t hear it, smashing two more bottles for release, though he didn’t feel any less like his ribs had been torn from his chest, hanging limply on hooks, dripping on his face from his place on the cold ground, bleeding out, dying, but never quickly enough.

“I don’t like labels, alright, you all know this, but Grian says aromantic, and that works for now, because I don’t love him like he loves me and that’s fine. That’s fine! That. Is. Fine.” Scar took a bat, needing something bigger, needing more release, and the old TV would work just fine, “And you know how I feel about dating. I like it. I like to get to know strangers, I like to feel things out, and I like to be close! But you know who I don’t like to date?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Scar swung his bat, splitting the TV screen with a satisfying crack. “Friends. Good friends. Friends that mean a lot, friends that I can’t afford to lose when everything goes to shit.”

Scar hit the TV a couple more times, physically battling away distress, “I was so afraid when he brought it up- dating. I was so afraid. I couldn’t just date Grian, because it would end and I would lose him and maybe he’d say we could still be friends and I would say yes! Yes, please, please can we still be friends, and he would say that’s okay, and then two weeks later he’d slam me with a message about ‘needing space’ and ‘not wanting to talk for a while’ and suddenly, suddenly my heart’s being ripped out of my chest and stomped on, but it would be fine, right? It would be fine, because after he’s taken his time, we could be friends again, and things could return to normal. No!” The TV was hardly satisfying to hit anymore, reduced to shattered glass and warped plastic under Scar’s assault.

“It never just. Goes back to normal. You try, and you try and you try, but they just can’t do it, they just can’t love you anymore, and suddenly your best friend is slipping away and there’s fucking nothing you can do about it. Because you dated them. Because you took things ‘to the next level,’ because you made something volatile without even knowing, and the next thing you know, it’s blown up in your face, and you’ve been completely blindsided again.” Scar’s arms shook, and gently, from behind, Cleo laid a hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm to take the bat he was gripping so tightly. Scar let go when they touched his hands, but his teeth remained locked, grinding near painfully.

“Deep breaths, Scar. Breathe with me. Let me count for you,” and Cleo did, counting to five and back again, forcing Scar to take a step back. Scar wasn’t someone who particularly valued meditation or breathing; it was often too difficult to focus, especially alone, and he was easily frustrated knowing how he should be feeling, but Cleo had a way of grounding him, and when Bdubs was doing the same exercises at his side, Scar didn’t feel so stupid. And it did help. Fives minutes to breathe really did wonders sometimes; it was a shame Scar couldn’t quite manage to utilize the tool as effectively when he was alone. Not that he ever remembered to try.

And now it was quiet, and Scar was so vulnerable, and there was no more anger to hide behind, because it was all just sadness, stiff and aching so impossibly deep.

“I thought if we didn’t.. date.. I thought things could just be normal. That nothing would change. But every awful thing just got expedited- he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to talk to me- he needs space, he said he needed space, but I know what that means now.” Scar had to sit down, and Bdubs joined him, Cleo standing close by. “I feel so helpless. And it didn’t even matter. I just wish I knew so badly, so I could have said yes, so at least we might have had a chance before it all went to shit. I could keep my friend a little bit longer. I wish I understood how he felt. I wish I felt what he felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.” Scar let his head drop to his hands, voice muffled under his palms, “I just kinda hate myself sometimes.”

Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, a question of touch, and one that Scar accepted with closed eyes. “It would still be hard, Scar. I can promise you that. If this isn’t what you want to hear right now, then you can let me know, but I have to think Grian and your other exes of the past who you haven’t kept in contact with were and are just as torn up as you. Maybe they need to let go for themselves, but I can tell you from personal experience, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make you miss them any less.”

“But when people leave me, it’s always because in some way, their lives would be better without me,” Scar felt like wailing, but in reality, his speech was far more soft, “And my life is always worse. It’s always worse. Like I’m just a plague on my friends, and I have no idea how to fix myself to keep this from happening.”

Bdubs squeezed his hand to get his attention, and Scar knew what was coming, he just couldn’t love himself right now.

“There’s nothing to fix, Scar. You’re one of the most delightful people I know, and I mean that. The way you navigate the world is inspiring.”

“Just doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Cleo said, something faraway about the words, “You just should know, that’s all. How we feel.”

“I just wish I was normal.”

“I don’t,” Bdubs snorted, something so passionately reactionary, Cleo laughed, and Bdubs himself looked a bit surprised by his own words, then a tad embarrassed, “I mean, come on. You’re a complete monster, and I love it. I love how comfortable you are about touch, I love how physical you are, and I love how normal you make it feel. Sometimes I want to fall asleep on my friends’ shoulder, or hold hands, or just be held, you know? And no one does it like you, Scar, no one. I think everyone ought to take a couple pages from your book.”

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but it wasn’t the type of thing you argued about. You just had to accept it. In all honesty, having people to love him when he couldn’t manage it himself felt indescribably secure. Like a heated blanket wrapped tightly over his shoulders when he was so, so cold. But he couldn’t acknowledge it either, not when he couldn’t breathe the words. So he let it hang, hoping he’d remember to say something later. He knew he would. For now, Scar dodged around the words, stuck in his own raw truth.

“I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I know,” Cleo kept their hand on his shoulder, and Scar wanted to cry.

“And I- Okay, so I can’t really talk about this.. NDAs and such, but I was working on something with someone- something cool, all three of us, Grian included. And at the same time Grian.. cut contact.. I haven’t been able to reach this other uh- colleague, and I don’t know what happened! I don’t know anything, and I have no way of contacting this other guy, and Grian doesn’t know either, and I was so excited, but it just feels like everything is falling apart around me. And- and don’t be mean about the other guy, please, it’s not his fault.” Cleo looked quite skeptical about that, but a pleading look from Scar was enough to get her to leave well enough alone, “I just wish I knew why. Or if he was coming back. Might not have been able to communicate that anyway though, there’s a bit of a language barrier.”

“Can’t use google translate?” Bdubs asked, and Scar couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped his throat.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he mumbled, which was enough to get Bdubs to let it go. Cleo didn’t look happy, but she didn’t push either.

“That fucking sucks,” she said instead, and Scar laughed in earnest, along with Bdubs, the entire air feeling just a little bit lighter.

“It does,” Scar sighed, resting a cheek on his fist, “Guess I have to find something new to throw myself into. I just really wanted this. I really wanted this.”

There was a long silence, Scar having nothing else to say, and his friends in a similar boat. There wasn’t much to say. They knew. Scar knew they understood. But there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing that could make this any less horrible. But Bdubs did perk up after a minute, catching Scar and Cleo’s attention

“We could go skiing!” Bdubs suggested, to a chorus of groans from Scar and Cleo. Bdubs huffed, affronted as he crossed his arms, “You two need to live a little. Even if you suck, you’re both exhausted by the end of the day, which would do Scar some good in my opinion, and I know you’d be able to take the time off for an impromptu trip.”

“I don’t even think you like skiing,” Cleo rolled their eyes, a laugh under her voice, “You went on one trail ride in those mountains and it changed your life, that’s what. There are no wild horses out there, Bdubs, the guide lied to you.”

“She did not lie! There are horses, and they’re going to see me and know.”

“Know.. what, exactly?” Scar teased, and Bdubs puffed up, as if this was the most blasphemous question Scar could have asked.

“They will just know. And anyway, Etho believes there’s horses out there too, he does, and he wants to see them just as much.”

“Pretty sure Etho is also fucking with you,” Cleo said, smug, and Bdubs gasped.

“Never!” But something stopped him from ranting on; a short pause, a bit of uncertainty. A guilty glance in Scar’s direction. “I’m really sorry he’s not here. I told him- I don’t know. He said something came up last minute and wouldn’t explain. I’m not happy with him either- quite frankly, I’m embarrassed.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Scar rubbed his neck, frowning, “It doesn’t really bother me much, Bdubs. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s fine if it bothers you! It bothers me! And you’re right, he’s not here, so I think a little friendly fire is well deserved,” Bdubs paused, eying one of the few bottles that were left, “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Bdubs snatched at a bottle, flipping it in his hand, nearly dropping it trying to look cool, then whipping it at the target across the room, the entire thing smashing right on the bullseye.

“Oh, score!” Scar smiled, and Bdubs pumped his fist.

“Yes! You know, I already feel better. This is great, Cleo, have I told you this is great?”

Cleo looked pleased, exactly the cat who got the cream, “You have. And I know. So how about you boys throw back a couple beers to replace these bottles, and we do a little axe throwing.”

“Are you paying?” Scar asked, hopeful, innocent, but Cleo snorted, shaking her head.

“Uh, no. Don’t let that hold you back, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Bdubs whined, but not without his signature grin, “What’s the point of free rage room therapy hour if it’s not all free?”

“I’m not going to make you pay for the axe throwing either, and that is not included in our little deal, so the least you can do is drink.”

“You can’t make us pay to axe throw with you because we all know you’re going to whoop our asses,” Scar shot back in fake accusation, but Cleo shrugged, a crooked smile across her lips.

“You have fun.”

“I do,” Bdubs assented, earning a sharp jab from Scar’s elbow.

“We don’t! Unless you buy us each a beer, then we do.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Okay fine,” Scar sighed, fully intending on a large tip regardless, since despite her sharp tongue, Cleo would still refuse any sort of compensation for an outing like this, “But you also have to drink.”

Cleo scoffed, the smile never leaving their face. “Who do you think I am?”

***

It was fun. Of course it was fun. Scar lost pretty miserably in nearly every round, though that could be accurately attributed to the fact he was more than a little tipsy, and Bdubs, always spying an opportunity to get an edge, took full advantage. Though, to his credit, Bdubs was having a great day in general, overtaking Cleo in score multiple times, and even winning one or two games. A feat, even against an inebriated Cleo, which, in all honesty, was pretty much the only way Scar or Bdubs could ever surpass her. Etho.. It was safe to say Etho had little talent for the sport. Didn’t matter how much instruction he got, he was nothing short of miserable every time all four of them got together to play. Actually, out of the four of them, Etho was probably the only person who improved when he was drunk, which was always hilarious to see. You’ve never seen a fire lit under someone’s ass like you did when Etho managed to squeak ahead of Bdubs or Scar, the cackling of Cleo only furthering their panic.

Scar did wish Etho was here. He wished he wasn’t so flakey sometimes.

Regardless, when they were done, Bdubs was only two steps away from sober and plenty able to drive. Scar was relieved to have to ride, and even more so that he hadn’t brought his own car in the first place. It was a nice drive home, anything but quiet, and really, just what Scar needed. The less time he spent alone with his own thoughts, the better. Though, after such a nice evening, tonight was going to be a little easier.

Thanking Bdubs for the ride, Scar stepped out onto the cobblestones once they reached his apartment, taking a deep breath before going inside. It was okay. He was going to be okay.

But there was one little habit he had developed, a little something he couldn’t quite shake despite knowing it wasn’t doing him many favors. It had only been a week since Mumbo had disappeared, but Scar refused to miss it if the mermaid ever did return- he couldn’t, even if Grian wouldn’t be in the picture anymore. This still meant something. Scar wasn’t about to give it up so easily.

The trail cams were still open on his monitors when he sat at his desk. Of course they were. Scar never closed them.

So there he sat, chin in his hands, eyes glazed as he watched every angle of that little cove. The trees, waving gently in the breeze. The sand, shifting ever so slightly in the presence of bugs and crabs. But mostly he watched the water. Scar never stopped watching the water.

[arxims]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 ғɪᴠᴇ

Returning to Seoul was a decision that you finally ended up in , given that it was the place where you spent your past years. Leaving your messed up past behind, you made the conscious choice to return to Seoul in order to breathe new life into your existence. Little did you know that this decision would change your life. For the good or bad. As you reconnected with an old friend from your past, you were introduced to his younger brother, whose presence became far more significant in your life in a twisted way than you thought.

Pairing : jungkook x reader

genre/au : a lot of angst, smut, killer!Jungkook, non idol au, violence.

Warnings : graphic depiction of violence and gore, lots of blood, mentions of rape, smut, sexual activity, toxic Jungkook, red flag Jungkook, psychopathic behavior red flag behavior, mentally disturbed characters, suicide, murder, depictions of torture, serial killing, lots of trauma, depression, criminal behavior, murderous tenancies, possible major character death, mentions child abuse and child pornography, unprotected sex, cumming, teasing, commitment issues.

Rating : only suitable for mature readers

Word count : 7.7k

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Previous // next

"FUCK THIS!!"

The outburst reverberated through the air, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces. Taehyung, engrossed in cooking in the adjacent kitchen, abruptly abandoned his task and dashed towards Jungkook's bedroom.

"Kook, stop this," he implored urgently as he entered the room.

Jungkook, in a state of utter distress, was frantically tugging at his own hair with one hand, while the other was now marked by a deep, bleeding gash from the broken window pane. His actions of self-destruction mirrored the shattered glass surrounding him, reflecting the turmoil within his tortured soul.

"Kook, please, stop!" Taehyung repeated, his voice tinged with concern and compassion as he took in the scene before him.

Moving quickly, Taehyung took hold of Jungkook's injured arm to examine the severity of the wound. Jagged shards of glass had sliced through skin and muscle, causing blood to flow freely. "Stay here and don't move," he instructed softly but sternly, casting a sorrowful gaze upon his distraught friend.

Witnessing his brother in such a vulnerable, unhinged state stirred a deep ache within Taehyung's heart, amplifying the palpable sense of brokenness permeating the room. No matter what arrogant, selfish words Jungkook had thrown at you, dripping with denial and self-loathing, Jungkook knew he could not truly live without you by his side for even a second. You had become his entire world, whether he admitted it or not.

Taehyung tenderly dressed the wound, his gentle expression a stark contrast to Jungkook's stoic, shutdown expression that remained hauntingly unchanged despite the violent outburst. The room was consumed by a heavy, suffocating silence as Taehyung pondered why Jungkook seemed unable to accept the reality of the situation.

Despite his history of carelessly leaving a trail of one night stands in his wake, Jungkook now struggled to cope with the thought of one particular girl - you - willingly walking away from him. The one who had somehow, inexplicably, come to hold a special, coveted place in his heart. The only one who truly mattered to the man he had become.

After tending to the wound, Taehyung reached out and cupped Jungkook's cheeks, now streaked with glistening tear stains. It was a rare, soul-crushing sight to see the strong, unshakable Jungkook weeping openly. The sight of him shedding so many tears over you made Taehyung acutely aware of the depth of his pain and inner conflict.

"Kook, what she did was the right decision for her," Taehyung spoke softly, gently wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. "She wanted a real family, something you once admitted you couldn't fully provide her with, no matter how much you cared for each other."

His eyes shone with a deep sadness as he studied his brother's anguished expression. "You have to let her find her own happiness now, Kook. Let her be with someone who can truly love her and share a lifetime together, the way you couldn't. It's the only way either of you can move on."

In that moment of raw vulnerability, Jungkook understood his hyung would always stand by his side, offering endless support and comfort through any challenges, no matter how far he fell. But even that realization could not dull the agonizing ache now gripping his heart.

"She's mine, hyung..." he rasped, voice cracked and weighted by despair. "I can't just stand by and watch her loving someone else, allowing another man to touch her and share her life. She loves me...she's obsessed with me, just like I am with her. I can't let her go, I can't..."

The denial and desperation were palpable as the first fragile cracks began shattering the deluded mindset Jungkook had constructed around your relationship and his toxic, possessive hold over you. Try as he might, he could no longer ignore the simple truth - that losing you meant losing a part of himself he could never regain.

And that truth terrified him to his very core.

“I need her, Hyung. Or I might die”

"It's been a long time, huh?"

Mingyu greeted you with a warm smile as he took a seat across from you at the small café table. Although you tried, it was difficult to return his friendly gesture with the same enthusiasm. This date wasn't really something you were excited about, but you felt like you needed it anyway.

He took a sip of his wine and as you asked, "How was your time in England?" This was the first you'd seen Mingyu since he had gone to study overseas. You thought he had settled there permanently, but he had crossed the ocean and come back, just for you. "It was a really good experience," he replied about his studies abroad.

After a pause, Mingyu seemed to notice your subdued expression and lack of energy. "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well? You don't look so good..." He leaned in with concern evident in his voice. He had good reason to worry - you looked like you had just crawled out of a grave.

"I'm fine. It's just...nothing," you said, trying to brush off his concern.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing that something was bothering you. "We can reschedule the date if you need to rest," he offered considerately. Unlike Jungkook, Mingyu was always polite and put others' needs before his own. He truly valued relationships and cultivating love.

"I know...you're still hung up on Jungkook, aren't you?" Mingyu stated knowingly.

Your eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Jungkook's name. "How do you know about him?"

Mingyu gave you a sympathetic look. "Jennie told me everything about your past with him. Look, I don't care about any of that. You know your past doesn't define who you are..."

You cut him off, raising a finger. "I know, I know what you're going to say."

"What I'm saying is, I fully accept your past involvement with him," Mingyu continued earnestly. "If you could just try to move on from him...I'll be here to help you through it every step of the way. Remember when we were little kids? You said you would marry me one day."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching to gently take yours resting on the table. The soft candlelight made his features look warm and inviting, but your heart wouldn't let you appreciate their beauty.

A wave of nostalgia washed over you, memories of times when everything had been so simple and perfect in your youthful innocence. Before Jungkook...before the chaos and turmoil.

"You might have said it playfully back then," Mingyu said with a slight chuckle. "But a part of you has held onto the idea of us all this time, hasn't it?" He pointed to his chest. "I won't push you to move on right away before you're ready. But one day, when your mind is free from him...would you consider giving me a real chance? Giving us a chance?"

His hand finally took yours, holding it gently as if it were made of delicate glass. You were stunned into silence, your mind wanting to embrace the future Mingyu offered while your stubborn heart still desperately clung to its hold as 'Jungkook's girl.'

"I...I..." You struggled to find the words, unable to voice aloud the tangled knot of emotions inside you.

"Oh, don't rush yourself," Mingyu said soothingly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We have all the time in the world ahead of us. Just think about the possibility of me, of us. We can spend more time together and rebuild our bond first. We'll only take that step into marriage after that, when you're absolutely sure."

He entwined his fingers with yours in a tender gesture of loving affection. You could feel the warmth and care he was pouring into the simple act, but you couldn't fully embrace and enjoy it due to the storm of doubts swirling in your mind. What if you eventually could let yourself move on with Mingyu? You knew you were giving him a glimmer of hope by not rejecting his suggestion outright. But you were also sure you likely wouldn't end up marrying Jungkook and living happily ever after...a reassuring thought amidst the turmoil. And you wanted, more than anything, to be capable of loving Mingyu far more than you still loved Jungkook.

"Really now, my temptress?"

Your eyes went saucer-wide as you suddenly found yourself staring at Jeon Jungkook himself, seated across from you in Mingyu's place. How was this possible?

"You're just going to rip me out of your heart and replace me? You seriously think that's possible?" He let out a sinister chuckle that felt like oppressive storm clouds surrounding you, heavy with the threat of a dark downpour.

His thumb traced over your lower lip in a practiced seductive gesture. "Oh my wildcat. You're mine. Forever and always. Get that through your naive little head before I have to fuck you back to your senses." His voice dropped to a possessive growl. "You're bound to me eternally, my beautiful temptress."

A sheen of cold sweat broke out on your forehead as you fought against the magnetic pull he still held over you, the burning desire to throw yourself into his arms and embrace his intoxicating warmth, even though you knew it would only end up scorching you once again. 'Stop...please,' you pleaded internally, but his seductive voice, sweet like poisoned honey, matched his tempting nature all too well.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping your pounding head in anguish and confusion as shards of sharp pain stabbed through your mind, your ears ringing loudly. Jungkook's disembodied voice echoed endlessly, chanting your name, only making the cyclone of tumultuous feelings churn wilder. Suddenly, mercifully, it all stopped - the voices, the pain, everything.

"(Y/N)?" A deeply concerned voice penetrated the silence.

You looked up from your trembling hands to see Mingyu gazing at you with worried eyes once more. "What happened? Oh god, you're drenched in sweat." He quickly grabbed a napkin and gently dabbed at your brow, brushing away the beads of perspiration. "Did you hear what I said?" His touch was feather-light as he wiped your forehead with such tender care and concern.

Swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in your throat when the haunting specter of Jungkook had appeared before you, taunting you with his presence even now, you struggled to push aside the experience as just another cruel trick of your mind making your lingering desires for him even worse to bear. You cleared your throat, putting on a facade of nonchalance as you decided to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying again?" you lied, your expression carefully composed into a mask of calmness despite the storm still raging within.

Mingyu seemed to accept your deflection, though his eyebrows knit together skeptically for a brief moment before smoothing out. "I was just asking if you want to keep going out on dates together like this. It's okay if you don't feel ready," he said gently, his voice warm and patient as he crumpled the used napkin.

It was time for you to make a firm decision and start truly turning the page on this chaotic chapter of your life, leaving Jungkook and the turmoil he represented behind you once and for all. Taking a steadying breath, you opened yourself up to embracing this potential fresh start that Mingyu offered so freely.

"I...think it's better if we do try keeping our dates going," you replied, finally voicing aloud the step you knew you needed to take, even if it still felt immensely difficult. A tentative smile found its way to your lips, this one genuine. "I'm ready to move forward.”

"I want him to feel immense, heart-shattering pain,"

Seojoon hissed venomously. Standing before his desk was Kim Namjoon, one of the most formidable hitmen in the criminal underworld and Seojoon's trusted ally. "Take whatever you need. He should suffer tremendously. He must pay for what he did to my brother Hajoon, and then some."

Namjoon's expression was cold and stony, devoid of any emotion or mercy. It was his trademark - no feelings, no compassion. His name alone struck fear into anyone who heard it. And his voice...you were as good as dead.

"It will be done," Namjoon replied, his tone as frigid as his gaze. "Have I ever failed to deliver the anguish you seek?"

Seojoon shook his head. "Never. That's why you're the only one I trust with a job this personal."

"Personal is meaningless to me. It's just business," Namjoon stated impassively. "But I will ensure he suffers as you wish, more than he can possibly imagine."

Clenching his fists, Seojoon's eyes burned with hatred. "That sniveling worm dared to lay hands on my own flesh and blood. He needs to pay the ultimate price."

Namjoon remained unmoved. "Death is too good for those who cross you. Suffering, prolonged anguish, that is the real punishment."

"Exactly," Seojoon said with agreedy nod. "I want him completely and utterly broken before the end. I want to see the light leave his eyes as hopelessness consumes him."

"Consider it done," Namjoon stated coolly. "I will make his torture an exquisite art form."

Seojoon seemed satisfied by this. "I know you will. Money is no object, you know that. I want you to go all out on this."

"I don't need your money," Namjoon rebuffed. "Fear and respect are all the payment I require."

"And you have more than earned both," Seojoon assured him with a wave of his hand. "Which is why I'm giving you carte blanche on this matter."

A faint, sinister smile played across Namjoon's lips. "Then prepare yourself to witness suffering like no other."

Seojoon leaned back, mirroring the smile. "I can't wait. And once you're done, that insect won't be the only one suffering..."

Namjoon gave a subtle nod. "As you wish. What's my actual role?"

"Oh, your part is finishing the little victim. My men will do the abduction and you'll do the slow, torture part. You'll get the opportunity. Soon," Seojoon stated vaguely. "My men are tracking Jungkook's every move. He has no idea the world of pain that awaits him."

"Good," Namjoon said flatly. "The element of surprise will make his despair that much sweeter."

An amused chuckle rumbled from Seojoon's throat. "You're a twisted one, my friend. No wonder they call you the Rap Monster."

Namjoon didn't react to the moniker. "It's an apt name. I am a monster, one who can spit lyrical venom just as effortlessly as I can make a man beg for death's embrace."

"Your reputation precedes you," Seojoon acknowledged. "Which is why despite our history, I wouldn't dream of crossing you myself."

A faint smirk ghosted across Namjoon's lips at the thinly veiled compliment. "Smart man. You know better than to make an enemy of me."

Namjoon's origins traced back to being a victim of a brutal child abduction when he was only five years old, torn from his family of parents and a six-month-old brother. His family was found dead by suicide, the baby the sole survivor.

As for Namjoon, he had to endure vicious abuse just to live another day in captivity. Sold from captor to captor, he eventually found his salvation by murdering his "owner." After that, he discovered his twin passions - becoming an underground rapper nicknamed "Rap Monster," and finding money, pleasure and pride in killing, earning him an eerie reputation in the underworld. Rap Monster - it defined him perfectly. A literal monster who could rap.

"He'll suffer, Seojoon. I'll make sure you witness it - him agonizing, lamenting, regretting the day he laid a finger on your brother. I'll let you see it with your own eyes," Namjoon stated with conviction.

Seojoon slid a blank check across the desk toward Namjoon. "I trust you, friend. Do whatever it takes."

But money meant nothing to Namjoon. He cared only about his reputation, about the fear that coursed through others' veins at the mere mention of his name. That's what he craved. "Who is the target?" he asked flatly, glancing up from the check.

"You'll find out when the time comes for action," Seojoon replied enigmatically. "Until then..." A cruel smile stretched across his lips. "Let Jungkook have his...happiness. So we can take that 'happiness' away."

Namjoon didn't need to know the details yet. The name and face of his next target were irrelevant until it was time to strike. All that mattered was that another soul was about to be extinguished by his hands.

"Very well," he said, pushing the blank check back across the desk, untouched. "Just give the order when you're ready. You know how to reach me."

As Namjoon turned to depart, Seojoon called after him. "One more thing..."

The hitman paused, glancing back impassively.

“Be careful. Jungkook is not your average guy,. Make it slow with the target" Seojoon instructed "This mission is important to Give him a lifetime of suffering crammed into his life."

The barest hint of a sadistic smile played across Namjoon's lips once more. "It will be my cruelest masterpiece yet."

With that, he turned and strode from the room, his mind already racing with the most artfully sadistic ways to carry out Seojoon's brutal request. His client would get to remember forever.

‘ Oh Jungkook. Find your happiness soon before I take it away’

"So the kitten started testing my limits, huh?" Jungkook spat out angrily, hissing like a wild animal. "YOU NEVER LEARN, DO YOU?"

He slammed a vase to the floor in a fit of rage, shattering it into pieces that scattered across the hardwood. Stomping towards the stairs, Jungkook headed straight for the main door, intent on leaving, before Taehyung quickly stepped into his path.

"Where are you going in this unhinged state?" Taehyung asked, his expression a mixture of worry and fear. Day by day, he could see Jungkook losing his grip on sanity more and more.

"To kill whoever is trying to take what's mine - my (Y/N)!" Jungkook's teeth were gritted, his eyes reddened by the fury burning in his chest like an uncontrolled wildfire.

Taehyung felt his own anger flare at Jungkook's obsessive possessiveness over you. "Are you insane, Kook? She's not some object for you to own! You're not going anywhere near her or this Mingyu guy. Let her live her own life instead of destroying it with your deranged jealousy!"

Yes, you had told Taehyung about Mingyu. But he wondered who the traitorous snake was that leaked this information to Jungkook. Hoseok - that little spy had to be the one.

"Step aside, hyung," Jungkook warned through gritted teeth, clinging to his last thread of rationality. "This is between me and my kitten. Don't make me go through you."

"No, it's not just between you two anymore," Taehyung stated firmly, planting himself like an immovable object blocking Jungkook's path. "I'm the reason you met her. I'm the reason she's miserable now because of your unhinged behavior. And it's my duty to protect her from the monster you've become. So I'm telling you - step back and get a grip before you do something even worse!"

Jungkook's eyes widened in disbelief at his hyung's resistance and harsh words. The monster inside him raged and clawed to be unleashed. "YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

In the next moment, Taehyung's palm met Jungkook's cheek with a harsh, stinging slap that jerked Jungkook's head violently to the side. His hyung...had just struck him across the face. Hot, shameful tears spilled from Jungkook's eyes as he recoiled from the blow, clutching his throbbing cheek. But the ache in his heart hurt a million times worse than the lingering sting on his skin. His hyung, who had never harmed him even with words or harsh looks before, had just hit him.

The slap seemed to momentarily shock Jungkook out of his unhinged fury. He looked at Taehyung with a mix of hurt, anger, and dawning realization at how far he had fallen. This wasn't him...this obsessive, violent persona was a twisted, warped version of himself that he could scarcely recognize anymore.

Seeing Jungkook's tear-streaked face, guilt bloomed in Taehyung's heart at having to resort to physical force against his brother . But he tried to shrug it off. Because he knew, deep down, that he had done the right thing to hopefully shake some sense into Jungkook before he did something unforgivable and ruined multiple lives forever.

"You're not the same person I once knew and cared about," Taehyung said, his voice catching with a hint of mournful regret. "This deranged, possessive behavior...it's like you're a complete stranger."

Jungkook flinched as if those words cut deeper than the slap. His shoulders slumped as the weight of his hyung's words crushed what little remained of his raging anger into a simmering resentment and shame.

"I never wanted this..." Jungkook muttered, more to himself than Taehyung. He stared unseeingly at the shattered remains of the vase on the floor, feeling just as broken inside. "I never wanted to become this..She's making me go crazy, Hyung."

How had things spiraled so disastrously out of control? When had his unrelenting need to possess you completely smothered all reason, logic and his own core values? Jungkook's mental haze began to clear just enough for him to recognize how monstrous his behavior had truly become.

But it was already too late, wasn't it? He had pushed away the very person who had always looked out for his best interests, all for the obsessive desire to make you his - no matter how much he had to break you in the process.

"You made me do this," Taehyung said softly, glancing down at his own stinging hand before meeting Jungkook's eyes again. "I didn't want to...but you left me no choice."

With those words hanging heavy in the air, Taehyung brushed past the devastated Jungkook and stormed off, leaving his baby brother to wrestle with the consequences he had brought upon himself through his twisted obsession.

“ Hyung just slapped me”

Everything felt unbearably heavy - the bed, your head, your heart. 'Am I doing the right thing? Did I make the right choice leaving him behind? Or am I just causing trouble for Mingyu?'

You wrestled with the doubts and regrets that had been plaguing you constantly since walking away from Jungkook. 'I don't want to hurt Mingyu. I won't hurt him. I won't let my troubled state over my lost love affect him.'

Despite your inner turmoil, you knew you still loved Jungkook fiercely. 'I freaking love him. God...I love him. Why can't I let him go? He's probably doing just fine without me, maybe even sleeping with some girl.' Your heart clenched painfully at the thought. 'Why can't I move on? Why can't I replace him with Mingyu?'

You berated yourself for the questions. You had made your decision, as agonizing as it was, to escape the toxic cycle with Jungkook. 'I want to listen to my parents for once, do what pleases them. But I can't bear to hurt Mingyu's kind soul in the process.'

Your swirling thoughts made tears spill down your cheeks yet again. You had cried more these past few weeks than your whole life combined after leaving Jungkook behind.

A knock at the door pulled you from your reverie. You quickly sat up, wiping the tear streaks and trying to compose yourself before opening it.

"Dad. What is it?" You mustered up a faint smile.

"Mingyu is here to see you," your father replied. "Should I tell him to come up or would you prefer to meet him elsewhere?"

Already an emotional wreck, you shook your head. "It's fine, have him come up. I'm...not feeling up to going out right now."

Your father's concerned look told you he recognized your fragile state, but he simply nodded before departing.

Mingyu entered moments later, sharply dressed as always. He carefully took a seat beside you, eyes studying your face.

"Talk to me, (Y/N). I can see something is weighing you down," he said softly. "I miss your smile, your cheerful spirit...when will I get my bright girl back?"

You felt your eyes well up again at his tender words. "I'm still me, Mingyu. I just...I need some more time."

"I know, my love. And I'm here for you every step of the way. I'll be whatever you need me to be - a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or a quiet supportive presence."

He reached out, cradling your face in his warm palms. His thumbs gently brushed away the fresh tears spilling over.

"Don't think for a second that I'll judge you. I could never," he murmured. "No matter how troubled your past is or what demons you're battling from your relationship with...him. I accept all of you. Because I love you deeply, (Y/N)."

A sob escaped your lips at his loving declaration. This was why you had to try to move forward, to fight for this kind, devoted man.

"I want to let my past go. I want to let him go," you forced out in a trembling whisper. "But it's...not that simple. He still has a hold over my heart that I can't seem to break."

Mingyu pulled you into his reassuring embrace, stroking your hair soothingly.

"We'll get through this together, step-by-step. Have patience and be kind to yourself. One day, you'll be able to look at me and only see me. I'll be here, cherishing you always."

As you relaxed into his arms, his figure briefly morphed into your lost love's familiar form, smiling tenderly. You blinked and it was Mingyu again, but you couldn't shake the feeling that a piece of your heart would eternally belong to Jungkook, despite your choice to leave.

As Mingyu's arms enveloped you, offering solace, your mind began slipping into the familiar fantasy of your Jungkook holding you. You closed your eyes and surrendered to it, letting the intoxicating vision consume your senses.

I'm a process, you slowly leaned in, sharing your first kiss with Mingyu. But for you, it was your familiar kiss with your love, Jungkook.

His phantom hands trailed over your body in a lover's caress, igniting smoldering sparks wherever they roamed. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck as spectral lips brushed along your skin reverently. His gravelly voice seemed to whisper ardent endearments into your ear, making your heart swell achingly.

"I need you so much," you whimpered, momentarily forgetting this was just an illusion.

"I'm here and I'm yours. Always," his silken tones promised as you imagined his mouth trailing lower, worshiping every inch of you with adoring kisses.

You arched into the phantom caresses, drowning in the depth of sensations only Jungkook had ever mastered evoking. Rational thought and your surroundings faded away as you entirely surrendered to the erotic fantasy.

When Jungkook's hands and mouth found their way between your thighs, your mind transcended into a world of blissful oblivion. For those heated moments, it truly felt like your lost love reclaiming you, possessing you utterly as only he ever could. You cried out shamelessly, back arching off the bed as relentless waves of indescribable ecstasy consumed you.

"Mine!" A moan ripped from your lips in a guttural moan as you shattered apart, spinning uncontrollably through the throes of rapture. "Always...yours..."

Long, hazy moments passed before you slowly drifted back to reality, boneless and spent in Mingyu's arms. Your harsh, ragged breaths slowly evened out, cheeks flushed and skin beaded with a sheen of sweat. You curled against Mingyu's chest, bestowing tender, adoring kisses across his skin.

"I love you," you murmured groggily, still half-trapped in your fantasy of making love to Jungkook . "Always and forever, my love..."

Mingyu cradled you close, stroking your disheveled hair as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. It gutted him to hear you profess eternal love for the man who had ruined you, the man you had courageously walked away from. But he would weather this storm just as he had every other, with infinite patience and compassion.

This was merely another hurdle to overcome on your path to healing, to letting Jungkook fully go. He pressed the softest, most reverent kiss to your brow.

"And I love you, my beautiful angel," he whispered fervently. "More than you can ever comprehend or imagine. I will cherish you until my last dying breath, shower you with adoration to slowly wash away his stain on your heart."

You were already dozing off, physically and emotionally spent. But somewhere in your drifting subconscious, you registered Mingyu's loving promise. Perhaps someday soon, you could open your eyes and only see him - your caring, devoted soulmate who had picked up the shattered pieces to put you back together again.

For as much as part of you still stubbornly, masochistically clung to the memory of your Jungkook's intoxicating passion...you knew Mingyu's endless well of pure, uplifting love was what you needed to be reborn. And inwardly, you vowed to stop resisting and start embracing that love without reservation. One step at a time.

"Don't hit it like that, bro. You got some kinda fucked up grudge against that punching bag or what?"

Hoseok's words barely registered as he watched Jungkook absolutely manhandling the heavy bag. Sweat poured down the younger man's face and sculpted torso, glistening in the low light of the dingy gym. Each bone-jarring impact made the chains suspending the bag groan from the sheer force behind Jungkook's strikes.

With a feral grunt of exertion, Jungkook transitioned into a blistering combination - jab, cross, hook, uppercut - over and over again without relenting. The bag's worn material started fraying more with each punishing blow.

Jungkook didn't even spare a glance at Hoseok lounging in the corner, the tattooed man's lean frame splayed lazily in a battered armchair. He just kept wailing on the bag with unbridled fury, knuckles growing redder and more abraded until they started weeping beads of crimson.

"Yo, what's eating you, man?" Hoseok tried again, swigging from his beer can. "Spit it out already."

He punctuated his words by crumpling the empty aluminum noisily and tossing it aside in a careless arc. Tilting his head back, Hoseok took up a posture of indifferent ease - legs kicked out wide, one arm draped over the chair's torn upholstery.

"She's. Fucking. Engaged!"

Each word was a savage utterance torn from Jungkook's throat and emphasized by a blow powerful enough to make the heavy bag jump violently on its chain mounts. Finally, with one last devastatingly vicious punch, the aged material simply exploded in a plume of sand as the bag's seams ruptured apart.

Jungkook staggered back a step, chest heaving like winded bull's from the exertion. His knuckles were split open and trickling rivulets of blood down his forearms now.

Hoseok's brows hiked upwards as he cracked open another beer with a hiss of escaping carbonation. "Whoa, (Y/N)? Thought she was just a fling or something to scratch an itch." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never figured you for the type to get this bent outta shape over a girl, Kook."

With a snarl of incoherent rage, Jungkook turned and delivered a visceral kick to the shredded bag's remnants, sending a plume of dust and sand exploding outwards. Not even pausing, he pivoted and brutally wrenched a fresh heavy bag off the wall mounts, instantly resuming his unrelenting assault.

"Get bent outta shape?" he spat out between impacts that made the chains quiver and groan dangerously. "She's fucking annihilating me from the inside! Ripping me into pieces!"

The new bag jumped and swung violently with the force of his blows, stuffing already beginning to leak from split seams. Sweat flew from Jungkook's face and hair with each untamed, full-body rotation into his strikes.

"And I swear on my life, the scumbag piece of shit who had the audacity to put a ring on her finger is going to suffer an agonizing death!"

Hoseok gave a low whistle at the crazed look blazing in Jungkook's eyes, like that of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. "Easy, bro...you're gonna break your damn hands before too long. Pretty sure your knuckles are already hamburger meat." He nodded towards the smears of red now streaking the new bag in macabre patterns.

But Jungkook was well past listening or caring about any pain. A switch had been flipped, unleashing the savage beast within that lived for blood and violence.

"I can't just sit idly by while another man dares to stake his claim on what's mine!" he roared, each word punctuated by a blow that made the entire heavy bag rig shudder violently. "Not while there's still air in my lungs!"

His breathing quickly turned feral, harsh growls and snarls ripping from his throat in time with the frenzied combinations he battered the bag's bulging surface. Sweat flew in arcing streamers with every pivot and twist of his body.

"Well...shit, bro," Hoseok finally spoke up again, pausing to take a long pull from his beer. "Why don't you just put a bullet in the bastard then and get your fucking girl back?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if idly discussing directions rather than a brutal murder.

Jungkook's only response was a guttural roar of fury, launching into a blinding flurry of strikes that split the second bag wide open, spraying them both with a plume of dust and sand. Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, he staggered back from the wreckage, hands clenched into fists so tightly the knuckles went white.

"I can't," he gritted out through bared teeth after dragging air back into his lungs. "Taking him out directly will only make this whole fucked situation even worse. Trust me...if I could, he'd already be rotting six feet under."

"Fair point," Hoseok acknowledged with a somber nod. "Then I guess it's time to pull out the old mind games, yeah? Work that psychological mastery of yours, really fuck with the guy before you finish him."

A cruel smirk slowly twisted Jungkook's bloodied lips at those words. He started nodding slowly, heavily, some of the frenzied gleam fading from his eyes.

"Been trying, but she's not letting me in," he finally rasped out, voice hoarse and shredded from his exertions. "That fiery little wildcat has been shutting me out completely. I've tried every fucking way to reach"

The corner of his smirk twitched downwards, anger rekindling in his obsidian gaze. His split knuckles ached with every clench and release.

"I can't keep doing this," he snarled, body visibly trembling like a man haunted. "I need her in my arms again. I need to feel her, taste her, breathe her in until I'm drowned in her essence! Fuck!" He whirled away, venting his frustrations with a few more punishing kicks to the bag's obliterated remains.

When he finally turned back, there was a look in Jungkook's eyes that made the hair prickle on the back of Hoseok's neck - a dark, smoldering, feral hunger behind those depthless pools.

"Damn, looks like that little kitten's got you by the balls, dude," he remarked, unable to keep a note of unease from his tone. "She's burrowed herself a nice little permanent den inside that head of yours, hasn't she?"

But Jungkook didn't respond to his friend's words, seeming not to even register them. Instead, a slow, sinister smile began curving those battered lips in a taunting sneer that made Hoseok's stomach churn unpleasantly.

Jungkook stalked forward with a predator's casual, rolling gait until he was looming over the seated man. Hoseok instinctively shrank back as Jungkook leaned down, the younger man's proximity forcing him to hold his breath against the thick, cloying reek of sweat and blood.

"Guess I'll just have to go pay my little wildcat a visit then," Jungkook purred in a sultry tone gone unmistakably unhinged. His twisted smile stretched wider, sending a fresh trickle of perspiration itching down Hoseok's spine.

"Yeah...that sounds like a good time. Teach her who her real daddy is so she'll stop forgetting her place."

The vicious, vindictive promise lacing Jungkook's words left no ambiguity about the sinister intent behind his "visit." Despite the scorching summer heat outside, Hoseok felt a chill go lancing through his core.

"Fuck," was all he could croak out, head spinning and stomach churning sickly. "Just...don't lose yourself in the game, Kook. Don't become the very monster you're trying to destroy."

But the hollow, mocking chuckle Jungkook gave while straightening back to his full height told Hoseok everything he needed to know - it was already far, far too late for that.

It had been an exhausting day, yet filled with joyous celebration as the Kim and Ahn families officially united through your engagement to Mingyu. After an extended family dinner, you were utterly drained to the bone as you finally retired to your room.

Mingyu had been your unwavering rock of support through all the turmoil and upheaval. His steady presence and unconditional love were major factors in helping you slowly regain your genuine smile in recent times. You have been able to find authentic moments of happiness and lightness more frequently these days.

However, as you entered your room and flipped on the lights, your eyes landed on a tall, imposing figure standing in the shadows across the space. It was Jungkook, the man you had walked away from, appearing like a specter of your past.

Before you could react, he closed the distance in several long strides and firmly captured your lips in a searing kiss that stole your breath away. As he finally broke away, his voice dripped with unrestrained hunger and longing.

"Fuck. How much I've missed this…”

“Stop!” You pushed him away.”You should not be here, and how did you get here?” You were partially frightened at the thought of you giving yourself to him in a vulnerable moment.” You don't give me orders. And climbing up is nothing”

Your heart pounded rapidly as Jungkook advanced on you, the man you had walked away from invading your space so brazenly. Despite your best efforts to move on, he still stroked those familiar flames of desire low in your belly just with his presence alone.

"Jungkook, please...you need to leave," you managed in a tremulous voice, mustering every ounce of willpower. "I'm engaged to Mingyu now. We're starting a new life together."

You held up your hand, letting the glittering diamond on your ring finger catch the light - a reminder of your commitment. But Jungkook merely scoffed at the symbolic gesture, his obsidian eyes blazing with possession and hunger.

"Some shiny rock doesn't change a damn thing," he growled lowly, backing you up against the wall. "You'll always be mine, kitten. No matter who tries to tame you."

His mouth crashed over yours in a searing, demanding kiss that obliterated your protests. You whimpered against his lips, equal parts arousal and shame coursing through you as your treacherous body instinctively arched into his solid frame. This man had utterly ruined you, branding his ownership on your very soul.

Somehow you managed to tear your mouth free, chest heaving. "Jungkook, stop! I can't...I won't do this anymore. You need to respect my engagement!"

For a long moment, he simply stared at you with that predatory, smoldering gaze that always made you weak in the knees. Then, uncannily tuned into your body's reactions, his fingers deftly found the zipper at the back of your dress. You gasped as he slowly inched it downwards.

"You think so, baby?" His voice had dropped an octave, dripping with dark, melted chocolate promise. "Your greedy little pussy says otherwise. I know the truth..."

With one deft tug, the dress parted and slipped off your shoulders in a whispering caress, pooling shamelessly at your feet. You shivered at the feeling of his heated gaze raking over your exposed figure, stoking your arousal to fever pitch despite your desperation to resist. Jungkook pressed even closer, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of him straining against the confines of his pants.

"The ring means nothing," he murmured in a low, graveled purr against the sensitive curve of your neck. "This leaking little cunt is what proves you're still mine."

Your breath hitched at the wicked caress of his tongue laving over your thundering pulse point. The cruel, possessive truth in his words made your thighs clench with undeniable need. As much as you had tried to fight it, Jungkook's hold over you was inescapable...at least for tonight.

"Please..." you finally whimpered in a broken tone of bittersweet surrender. "Just… Go…” for which Jungkook didn't respond

“Please, Jungkook..." You tried to muster firmness in your voice, despite your body's visceral reaction to his intoxicating proximity. "You need to go. This isn't right."

You shakily bent down to retrieve your fallen dress, using the motion to put some space between your traitorous form and his. Wrapping the garment protectively around yourself, you lifted your chin to meet his smoldering gaze steadily.

"I meant what I said. I'm engaged to Mingyu now. We're building a life together - a healthy, loving life. This...this toxic, obsessive bond you and I have, it can't continue. It will only destroy me utterly in the end."

Jungkook's full lips twisted into a mocking sneer at your words. "Don't lie to yourself, kitten. You'll never be free of me, of what we have. No matter what pretty little prison you try to build."

He took a purposeful step forward, his intense presence overwhelming. You held your ground, struggling not to crumple beneath the weight of his stare and the cyclone of roiling desire and dread it awoke.

"Maybe not," you admitted in a small voice. "Maybe some insane, masochistic part of me will always burn for you, for the way you make me feel so alive yet so utterly destroyed."

A fleeting look of surprised respect flickered across Jungkook's harsh features at your moment of brutal self-awareness. His eyes searched yours intently for a long moment before he gave a curt nod.

"Good. At least you're being honest with yourself finally." His tone held a strange gentleness. "Keep clawing for that light, kitten. As twisted as our bond is, I don't ever want to see it snuff out that beautiful fire inside you."

Then, as abruptly as he'd appeared, Jungkook turned on his heel and headed for the doors, leaving you to stare after him with bewildered tears pricking your eyes. Just when you thought you had him figured out, he showed you glimpses of something deeper, more complex behind that shattered, obsessive exterior.

Still, you could only pray this was the last time he tried to pull you back into the darkness with him. Your priority now was fostering the new, tender roots you had started putting down with Mingyu. No matter how violently the flames for Jungkook still scorched you at times, you had to strangle them out.

It was the only way to survive and finally blossom into the woman you desperately wanted - and needed - to become.

As Jungkook reached the apartment, he didn't forget to notice the eerie feeling he had at the back of his neck. Like something isn't right. Reaching the doorknob, he noticed it was already open, but the lights were off. ‘Hyung forgot to lock the door?? No he's not that careless’. Something felt unsettling in his stomach as he gently pushed open the door. No sign of anyone.

“Hyung?” He called into the darkness, his words wet with nothingness. “HYUNGG!”He raised his voice. ‘What the hell’. He turned on the lights to see.. Blood. Smeared on the pristine tiles? “HYUNG” panic rushed into his veins as he ran to every room, trying to find him. What if he's lying injured somewhere. He searched every corner. No sign of Taehyung.

“Oh no. Please no no no no.. He's innocent.. Please” He hopelessly kneeled on the bloody floor, tears rolled down his cheek as he had no idea how to overcome the pain in his chest and this increasing worry wondering if Taehyung is okay or where the hell he is. In dire need of help, Jungkook's mind reminded him of that one name. The one who could help. He quickly reached his phone, his chest panting and voice broken as a frantic sob left his lips. The person on the other side picked up.

“Yoongi,Hyung is missing”

Reposting 😪

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ : @looneybleus @ttanniett @jjk174 @jksusawife

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #7: Angel Heart

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #7 Summary: Halloween is a magical time, where mysterious things happen.

Pairing this chapter: Steven Grant x f!reader (alters mentioned)

Word count: 3k

Content: angst, fluff-adjacent, the yearning, dealing with death and COD, Steven is so very Steven, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

You acted out of pure spectral instinct.

The sight of your partner "taking arms", or suiting up in his defense against you...It absolutely shattered you.

You thought you heard your name called, but it was galaxies away. The sound faded and all that was left was the Dark.

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Steven was spooked.

After encountering what could only be described as a malevolent spirit in the form of his girlfriend, there was no way he would sleep a wink. Your pain had somehow devolved into rage, bursting out of you.

“A proper haunting,” he gasped, his Mr. Knight suit dissolving after you disappeared. 

What was happening to you?

Unable to calm down at home, he ventured into town again, his feet shuffling desperately along the sidewalk, crunching dead leaves as he hurried away from the haunting. 

“Don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered, hands clutched tightly to the center of his chest.

Soon enough, Steven found himself staring into the darkened window of what was the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties," desperately seeking answers. The shop was gone. Ms. Marjorie was gone. You were gone.

"You blokes are awfully quiet," he said to his alters, feeling so alone and heartsick at the thought of your torment. 

You were murdered? How could it be possible? How could they not know? You were young enough that an autopsy was performed to determine cause of death, but the coroner assured them that your heart simply stopped, and you died of natural causes.

That was unbearable enough- a life so young, with unlimited potential. A moderately successful children’s book author, beloved by the small town you inhabited, and a loving partner. Why had a life been snuffed out so needlessly?

Now they had an answer: someone took your life - stole it from you. But the answer brought no peace - only anguish. You died because someone hurt you.

Steven knew this discovery was most assuredly what had catapulted him to the front, and sent Marc spiraling. 

One glaring question burned in his heart, above all others: why were you here? Was there some way they could help you find rest? Anything Steven could do for you, even in death, he would move heaven and earth - he would return to the sands of the Duat if he could help you.

With a weary sigh, he scuffed his foot on the sidewalk, giving one final glance to the Mystic Delights window. Walking around aimlessly wouldn’t solve anything. He would have to face what waited for him at home.

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What waited for Steven was a huge mess. He couldn’t handle cleaning it up tonight, so he made sure you weren’t in the bedroom before sleeping on the couch.

The next morning, he showered early and cleaned all the broken glass from the bedroom. He disposed of the broken lamp and changed the bedding. He wasn’t sure how to help you or Marc (or himself of Jake, frankly), but this, he could do. 

The idea of work was daunting, but he decided to show up to the library anyway. He stopped at Triple B’s for breakfast. He passed the old storefront where Mystic Delights wasn’t. Not one damn thing made sense to him, but Steven had been playing catch up most of his life. One foot in front of the other. Keep calm and carry on - all that. 

On the way home, he spontaneously decided to get a new fish. Everything was shit at the moment, so why the hell not? Walking his new finned friend back to Elm Street, he half hoped/half expected to witness the rustle of bedroom curtains in the window. 

Standing in front of your bungalow, he sighed, his eyes traveling over the bright blue - ahem, cornflower blue front door. An autumn breeze swirled, tossing dead leaves carelessly about and sending a chill through Steven’s thin jacket. 

“Come on, little friend,” Steven declared, holding up the clear plastic bag with a golden finned pal darting around inside. “You have to meet someone. An absolute angel. And you’ll have some company in your tank too.”

Once inside, Steven decided to introduce the new fishy into a fish bowl before adding him to the larger aquarium with the other three fish. Besides, he wanted to show it to you.

Yes, Steven was going to treat you with as much love and normalcy as he could muster. Maybe then you would feel comfortable enough to come back.

Trepidation built with each stair climbed. He hesitantly pushed open the door to your bedroom with bated breath, expecting to find the room empty. Deep in his heart, however, he hoped to find you sitting there on the edge of the bed, as you were last night.

Just as he thought, you were absent.  He checked the bathroom, to be certain, but, as usual, he was completely alone.  With a heavy sigh, he set the new fish in his bowl down on the nightstand and sank down on the bed.

“Wish you were here, my darling,” he sweetly uttered, glancing around the room. “It’s okay that you’re not. I only hope you’re somewhere good.” He nodded toward the fish bowl. “Brought us home a new friend. Thought it might be nice.”

He tried not to take your absence personally, but it was clearly he who’d encountered you the least. You’d spent substantial time with Jake and even more so with Marc. What was he doing wrong? 

“Just gonna leave Mr. Fishy right here while I grab something to eat,” Steven declared, pushing off the bed, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. “That way, you won’t be alone if you come back and I’m not here.”

An hour passed before Steven climbed the stairs. Honestly, he didn’t want to walk into an empty room again. Having remembered Mr. Fishy would be waiting for him and needing some company, he braved the climb, wishing with all his soul he could see you again.

Halloween is a magical time, where mysterious things happen.

So when Steven found you sitting on the bed, leaning toward the night table, talking animatedly to Mr. Fishy, a piece of his wounded heart instantly healed. He spoke your name, soft and sweet, his heart bursting with love and longing.

“Steven,” you breathed, floating off the bed, holding up your hands defensively. “Don’t go. I-I won’t hurt you. I didn’t mean to, before. I’m sorry, I - "

“‘S’alright, darling,” he soothed, nodding encouragingly. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I was just surprised to find out…” He trailed off, figuring mentioning your murder was the wrong way to go.

Having spent more time in the darkness, you came back to yourself, to this room, before  remembering the pure, unbridled rage that had burst out of you. 

“Oh, no…no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I…” You trailed off, your gaze dropping as your shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, or if it even matters now that I’m gone. I just know I scared you. I could have really hurt you.”

“I don’t know,” Steven cheekily replied, hoping to lighten the mood, his eyes sparkling animatedly. “I’m tougher than I look.”

It didn’t exactly work. Shaking your head, you eased closer to him, the depths of your eyes sunken and sad. “You put on the suit to defend yourself.” Instead of arguing, he gave you a chance to say your piece. 

“Steven…I know it can’t be good that I’m here. It will only hurt you if I’m…haunting you.”

Dark eyebrows shifted curiously as he held your gaze. “Well…Mr. Fishy isn’t afraid of you, so I don’t see why I should be. You’ve known me a lot longer, after all.” He flashed you a grin. 

You smiled in spite of yourself, glancing at the fish bowl. “You named him Mr. Fishy?”

“Temporarily,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief. “I thought we might name him together. What do you think?” 

The hint of relief you felt only a moment ago slipped away from you. “Are you sure you want my opinion? Won’t that be like…an upsetting reminder?”

He frowned, confused.

“Of what? Getting another chance to see you, and talk to you?” Steven challenged. 

When you didn’t answer, he took a seat on the bed, near Mr. Fishy. Staring at the fish bowl for a few moments, he thought carefully about what he would say next. It meant everything to him that you not return to the dark, if he could help it.

“We died too, you know,” he softly uttered, tracing the fish bowl with his fingertip. “Marc and me. And Jake - he was trapped there, all by himself. And it was scary.” His warm brown eyes found yours. “And temporary.” He patted the spot beside him on the bed, beckoning you closer. 

You complied, easing down beside him, your skin tingling with anticipation. Only you didn’t have skin. 

“Can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, my love,” Steven whispered, staring sweetly into your eyes. “I know it’s hard, and lonely. I’m sorry. So sorry.

“Don’t know if it makes any difference at all, but…I’m here.” He reached for your hand, but, as always, swiped right through where you should be.

Marc did it all the time, but this was new with Steven. He gasped as his fingers tried to trace the vapor of you.

“Amazing, innit?” He whispered, his eyes wide with awe. “Here but not here.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”

Clearing his throat, Steven withdrew his hand, hoping not to upset you. “Can you feel that, love? Or only see it, like I can?”

At that moment, you could have sworn you had a heart, because something inside of you was thudding.  The air rushed out of lungs that weren't present and your non-existent cheeks burned with raw desire.  You sat beside him, the honesty of your feelings for him evident in the flutter of your bright eyes.  You moistened your lips, preparing to speak, but distracted by the feelings bursting inside.

You felt so real, you were certain Steven could pull you into his arms, hold you close and press his lips to yours. 

“I…feel,” you stuttered out breathlessly. “I feel things. Inside.” Motioning to your slightly translucent form, you realized how odd you sounded. So you shrugged. “Steven,” you whispered, scooting closer to him on the bed. “I feel my heart racing. I feel…warm.” The tiniest hint of a smile curled the edges of your pretty mouth. “When I’m with you, I feel warm.”

Gazing at you adoringly, his deep brown eyes melted you on the spot.

You swallowed.

“With Marc, I feel…solid. Steady. Substantial,” Your forehead wrinkled as you tried to explain. “With Jake, I’m bright. I feel like I sparkle.”

He nodded encouragingly, sweetly - just so…Steven.

Which made you remember, “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know why you couldn’t see me.”

“I wondered that too, but…” he trailed off, wishing he could trace his fingers over your cheek, the way he loved to do. “Maybe it wasn’t the right time. And now, we’re here, together - "

“But that’s just it,” you desperately interjected, floating off the bed, toward the window. 

“I’m not with you. I mean, we’re not really together. I can’t be with you. I’m gone and…and you’re alive, and the more I’m here, the more I want the one thing I can never have.” Squeezing your fists in frustration, you remembered that you shouldn’t get riled up. The goal was to not terrorize the love of your life. 

A few quiet moments passed, until you could somehow sense him behind you.  Turning your head slightly, you realized he was actually standing there. You imagined that if you could feel each other, he would wrap his arms around you protectively.  

““I wish I could hold you,”” he whispered beside your ear.  The sound was so sensual, it permeated your senses, sending shivers where your spine should be. Your eyes drifted shut as you basked in his presence, certain you could sense him somehow.  

Steven called your name, but your gaze was fixed on the darkened window glass. Your own, ghostly form reflected itself back to you, and Steven hovered behind you. The sight soothed you somehow.

“You can tell me what you want, my love,” he whispered, and you could swear you felt his warm breath on your cheek. “What do you want? If you could have anything. Don’t…bottle it up inside.”

You gasped out, emotions brimming inside your chest, but you could not cry. How would you ever have guessed you would miss crying?

“Steven...” you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you want.” 

““I wish I could show you…how much I love you.””

Turning around, you stared into his eyes, shining with love and concern for you. “I…I want to touch you.” Laying your hand alongside his cheek, you attempted to caress the handsome contours of his face, sighing wistfully. “I want a lot of things. But mostly that.”

He nodded sympathetically, his dark eyebrows shifting back and forth like a puppy. “I want that too.”

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You and Steven decided to name Mr. Fishy after one of your book characters: Jeremiah. 

“Bit of a distinguished name, yeah?” Steven teased, pulling a soft white t-shirt over his head, driving you crazy as the shirt’s collar raked over his freshly washed curls.

Jeremiah was swimming happily in the fish bowl and you already felt a bit attached to the little guy.

Warmth and utter devotion bloomed in your chest at the gesture. Steven bought you a fish? You were gone and still he wanted to cheer you up, to make you feel as if you belonged. Such an angel.

You studied his face closely, truly feeling a little lighter after your confession about wanting to touch him. 

““Will you lie down with me?”” You ventured.

Steven’s face lit up with a warm, inviting smile that caused you to smile in return. ““Yeah, I’d like that.””

Lying on his side, Steven faced you, mirroring his pose, your bodies “touching” at the slightly bent knees, arms and foreheads.  

““Tell me something wonderful. How does the town look this October?”

“Spooky as ever,” Steven answered, choosing not to bring up the mysterious Mystic Delights shop again.

“Describe it to me,” you insisted, wishing to think of only good things. “And don’t leave out a single detail.”

Steven was more than happy to describe, in excruciating detail, every cobweb or jack-o-lantern on every front porch or storefront, even tossing in a few classic Steven puns, which made you giggle.

“I love that - the sound of your laugh,” he told you. “Best sound in the world.”

““You make me happy,”” you shrugged. As happy as a ghost could be, you supposed. 

You were so close, talking the night away, falling more desperately in love with every moment shared.  Dawn approached near and Steven was drifting.

“Help me stay awake,”” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek cutely into the pillow.

““Um, okay, how?””

““I dunno. Sing really loud.”

You giggled again, tracing your fingers over his mouth, craving contact, but knowing it would not come. “”It's okay if you fall asleep.””

““But - "

““Shhh, baby...”” You “ruffled” his hair.  Somehow it felt good to him. “”I don’t know how it will be for you if I disappear again. It's better if you fall asleep and wake up later.””

“”I don't want to let you go,”” he pouted, his words adorably slurred. 

““It's okay. Shhh...”” you hummed softly in his ear, something low and sensual, yet calmingly innocent.  Steven felt more relaxed than he ever had in his life, as if your voice was pure magic.  “”Sleep. I love you.””

“Mmm,” he drowsily hummed. “Wish I could love you back to life.”

That line zinged right through your body. You could swear those words alone restarted your heart.

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Steven slept. 

You watched over him, drinking in his beauty, basking in his love. 

Damn, you sounded like a cheesy fanfic writer. Weren’t you an accomplished author while you were alive?

At any rate, you found a modicum of peace watching his long lashes kiss his cheeks. So peaceful, in fact, that you felt your own eyes growing…heavy.

Maybe the darkness was pulling you back. But this felt different. You felt…weary. As if you needed rest. Just a moment…

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You became aware of yourself differently this time.

It wasn’t like emerging from the Dark Place. It was as if you never left, and spent all night in bed with Steven.

You felt warm. 

But not theoretically warm. You actually felt a wave of human warmth in your body. 

Your…body.

Something was different.

The first thing you actually felt was breath in your throat. You exhaled in a rush. Your eyes darted around, attempting to help you get your bearings.

But they were hindered by a gritty, burning sensation. You blinked. Skin eased down, reflexively to cover your orbs, relieving the sting with fresh moisture.

Your lips parted in a gasp…only your mouth felt cottony. You found it difficult to swallow at first.

Thirst.

Instinctually, you reached up with your fingers to touch your lips…and your fingertips made contact. 

Releasing a trembling breath, you whimpered as breath - real, heated puffs of air tickled your skin.

Your skin.

Fingertips traced parched lips, far too dry, yet moisture gathered. You realized then that your cheeks were wet.

Squeezing your eyes shut, fresh tears spilled down, blurring your vision. Reaching up reflexively, you swiped them away.

That’s when your hand collided with soft white cotton.

A thousand sensations electrified your body at once.

The clean, earthy smell of their body wash. The scent of fabric softener on their t-shirt. The way your tears left marks - slightly darker than the fabric. 

The sensation of cotton against your fingers. So soft.

And then you dragged your fingertips down past the sleeve’s hem to his skin.

Warmth met your skin - your flesh met his.

next

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[prettyboykatsuki]

IM ASKING YOU TO WRITE THE CHILDE FIC ZERO IM ASKING x1000000!!!

the blizzard and the storm | tartaglia / childe (ajax)

✭ tags ; extremely dark content ahead, dead dove do not eat, mother/son incest / hard incest, noncon, spanking, mentioned domestic abuse (nothing graphic) and explicit alcoholism (his dad is the bad guy here), canon adjacent but not compliant (spoiler warnings for his background), violence and murder etc etc. 18+

PLEASE HEED THE TRIGGERS.

✭ wc ; 3.5k (????)

✭ a/n ; this one is pretty bad man. sorry about that. but exploring this dynamic with him was very interesting. also the different usage of childe and ajax r intentional here

✭ synopsis ; to be a twisted son means to be born to a mother who loves you. if you're ajax, anyway.

The blizzards of Snezhnaya are ceaseless.

Ruthless and violent. The winds that touch the barren lands are so strong and mighty that they are near impossible to brave. The snow comes down so thickly that the world is painted in white for miles to see. If you leave just a little outside the city, you must prepare to remain indoors for days.

Even if you were to break your back trying to clear it, the next day it would pour heavier. A relentless storm. The dirtied tracks of snowboots and handprints are gone, desolate underneath them. You could dig for days but the frostbite would riddle you sick before you made it out alive.

Nothing changes the color of a snow like that. When winter comes, it buries everything that attempts to defy it. It is cold and unforgiving.

Childe knows this better than anyone. He grew up along side it, the knowledge engraved in his skeleton - he could feel the chill of winter all the way in spring when he was a boy. Hairs stood on the back of his neck as he pictured the days to come - chopping wood and hauling them on his back. To keep the fires lit and his sibling alive. Bartering with neighbors for keeps, for food and grain before the storms took over again.

Childe does not regard the winters of his adolescence fondly.

A decade of trying to survive them sours the memory like a whiskey gone off. Perhaps they could be, if you hailed from Inazuma where the snow is no less than decoration, or Mondstat where spring comes just as often. But in Snezhnaya, winter was war torn. It was hungry.

What an unpleasant childhood it had been. For as long as he could remember - winter had been a game of survival. At 7, he'd picked up glass shards off the kitchen floor from where his father had smashed glass bottles of gin. At age 9, he had learned from a doctor how to suture with sewing thread just in case and what liquor is best to pour over wounds in case to prevent infection.

His father was an unpleasant man. A fool-hardy one. Though he wasn't always. During the years he was able to adventure and come back to boast - Childe would even describe him as fatherly. They would fish while young Childe(though then he was Ajax) would listen, eager to hear the tales from beyond seas.

It's just that when a man born for freedom is trapped, he retaliates against what he believes are his chains.

For his father, that had been that crooked house with walls that moaned in pain. It had been you, his mother, who spoke meekly and softly no matter what pain befell her.

His father was an unpleasant man during winter. Childe cannot recall each instance of it. Just that the shattered glass of his memories painted him as a monster. A violent alcoholic, a boastful and arrogant bastard.

A man unworthy of you. One who raised his hand at him often. Who raised his hand at you, his loving mother, even more.

The first time Childe tasted bloodlust, he was 10. He remembers it vividly, so much so he often dreams he is back in that kitchen. In a small cottage, with a butchers knife trembling in his palm and anger coursing through him. That night, had he not heard your weeping cry of solace as you lay in bed alone, his father would've been dead 4 years earlier.

Instead, he crawled into bed with you. Nursed the bruise on your cheek - his poor, poor mother. By then he was still small. Stronger than you though. He wiped your tears and apologized. Said he'd take care of breakfast tomorrow, to which you only laughed.

All you had was each other. Some of his siblings hadn't been born yet, and they were too young to understand it all. Childe only had you. And you only had him. His mother who loved him. Who called him starlight or dear boy as often as his name.

(He loved how you uttered his name, so softly. Ajax. Like you chose it. Like you wished for him)

His mother who was lovely and bright, like a star falling against the snow.

Childe has loved no such thing as you. Had it not burdened you if his father died, he would've buried him years ago.

But he waited. Bared his teeth for many years. Killer instinct might be the right way to describe it.

It handn't been time.

When Childe was 14, he got lost in the forest. He disappeared for three days and encountered the Abyss. In the forest, alone with nothing but a cruel swordsman and rage - he had gained strength that he had longed for so desperately his whole life.

In this way, unmistakably, he was so much like his father. The ambition in his heart was so hard and heavy that Childe could not remain the same after looking at it.

(Even as a Harbinger, he cannot recall the extent of this darkness. Only that at the time it felt righteous and true. If this was the doing of destiny, then Childe was always meant to be a weapon of war.)

In the Abyss, times passes slowly. 3 months entrenched in vile, filthy ambition had only been 3 days. When he had returned, his mother had a fresh bruise on her eye and his sister wept for a week.

He did not came back the same.

Where he used to meek or quiet, he had become hostile and arrogant. He was strong. Strong enough to intimidate. Clever enough to lure people to their death. The summer he turned 15, he had gotten into so many altercations - he would lick the blood in his mouth pre-emptively so it didn't spill on the clothes you lovingly tailored for him.

Darkness was a powerful force. A welcome one. The world was bigger than the winters of Snezhnaya and Childe could no longer deny that truth.

A man who yearns for freedom retaliates against his chains. Childe could no longer tolerate the presence of his father.

(During his training, his mentor drew a sword to the tip of his throat. And Childe felt his breath hitch in excitement, but not fear. A rumbling voice of a masked soldier echoed in his ears.

"Ajax," He had said, cold and low "What do you wish for?"

He laughed and leaned his head back against the hard floor.

"Power," He said, clearly and starkly - a headrush of euphoria as he wiped blood from his nose "And..."

"And?"

"To take my Fathers place," He says, with less hesitance that he expected, too restless to pretend "To make my mother mine alone."

"What a twisted boy you are, Ajax."

He laughs "You wouldn't understand, Master. What it's like to be so twisted and know you'll always be loved.")

Childe, upon his return, no longer tolerated anything. The more he retaliated, the more his father seemed to take issue with him. But he was no longer a boy afraid of the world. He had seen its underbelly and bathed in the blood that run through out it.

When Childe was 15, in a fit of delight, he had killed his Father with his bare hands. The old man was drunk, and only when he stumbled back did Childe realized how weak he'd been all that time.

You watched him, then, as Childe killed his own father so ruthlessly. You flinched, and closed your eyes. But you did not yell for him to stop. That night, he kissed the crown of your forehead and told you to rest

He buried the body with his two hands. The blood that trickled into the snow had disappeared as a blizzard hailed the next day. His littlest siblings were too little to remember, and his sister did not ask any questions.

Things were different then. In a single night, Childe went from boy to man.

It was the following morning his vision appeared. Hydro. The Archon of justice approved him. It was the next week in which he had been hailed to join the Fatui Harbingers as the youngest of them - that the Tsaritza crowned him a jewel.

Thing were different. Childe had grown up to be a fine weapon, after all. In exchange for joining the Fatui, he was compensated well. He had bought you a home and land, and sent money to you every month for years. The work kept him busy, but he wrote to you. To his siblings. And he visited whenever he could.

There was never enough time, to do as he pleased. He had what he wanted. Power. But not what he wanted most. You.

When he was 21, there was a lull in his work. For the first time in almost 6 years, he could remain in Snezhnaya as nothing called for his attention. There he stayed with you, and his sibling all grown-up. And like the man of the house often does, he took care of everything.

Spoiled his sisters with clothes and shoes, his brothers with toys and books. You, his mother, with dresses and jewels so fine that you seemed shy even trying them on.

How beautiful you were, had always been in his eyes. What a fine young woman you must've been too. His father was so undeserving of you. To bear children with you, to make love to you when he could not give you a house with warmth.

(But Childe did it all so easily. How unforgiving he cannot take you as consolation. How beautiful you would look, swallowed in the silks he bought. In the perfume you'd smell best in.)

Childe did not interfere on the matters he wished too most. Because, despite himself, he had not wished for your ire nor to cause you suffering. His mother who he loved. Who he longed, the strength of his desire was bone chilling.

In Childe's mind, you had always been his. You were his long before you were his fathers. He had lived inside of you, so wasn't it only natural to regard you this way? Your flesh and blood. His home since the very start.

Staying with you now when he'd grown up into a man had done nothing to quell the lust. The first time Childe takes you, it's unceremonious. It's a decision he makes on the flip of a coin.

(All alone in an empty house, he walks into your bedroom. With an agenda and little in his mind other fulfilling it - you're asleep in your night time attire. A sheer, loose little bodice that you can only wear given the heat - with a blanket thrown haphazardly over your waist.

Childe slips into bed with you, and like instinct you stir. You turn, your eyes fluttering open as you face him. Childe gives you a small smile as you rub the sleep out of your gaze - a soft, rounded way of speaking.

"Ajax, starlight, what are you doing here?" You offer, your hand reaching for his face in the dark. He grasps it in his, nudging his palm into his cheek

"I'm very stressed," He hums, warmly, coming closer towards you all the same. And you welcome him, despite the fact he is too old for any of this. He hugs you close, too close, and you let him. You rub his back fondly "I missed you very much."

"Such a big boy you've grown into and look at you, coming to sleep in mommy's bed." You tease, so lightly it doesn't sting "That's alright. You're always welcome. You grew up right before my eyes. Is there anything I can do?"

And Ajax laughs. Assured, that you will still love him because you are incapable of leaving even when you should

"Yes," He says, moving his hands too low for comfort "A few things...?"

"...Ajax?" )

The first time Ajax takes you, he wonders why he hadn't done so sooner. Like the kind, soft mother you are - best you could respond with is crying. It was the first time he had been the source of your tears, did he realized you'd always been like this.

How could you be such a cry baby? What a darling quality.

Your body was sensitive to the touch. Ajax kissed you like you were lovers and you only barely bat him away. You weren't strong enough to do much more, and eventually you gave in completely.

Kissing you had felt so right. It had all been perfect. You were always a woman. More than his mother, you were nothing but a delicate woman. One who longed for touch and affection. He can't imagine his father gave you enough.

So he did. He kissed down your throat lightly, pinned your wrists and made you helpless. He nudged his nose against your pulse and pinned you with the brunt of his strength, made you feel the hard twitch of his cock. Feel his burning, sick desire for you. You deserved that much.

He makes a show of it, just for you. Eventually you stop squirming, relenting instead. And you mewled, so noisily when he toyed with your body. He liked learning about your body. It made him feel close to you in a way he'd always longed for.

Your nipples were so sensitive to the touch, but especially to being licked and sucked and bitten at. You liked delicate touches on your hips and waist. But you liked your cunt to be touched more relentlessly. You're wettest when his fingers are toying with your clit, a needy little thing. Hard under the callous pads of his fingers.

You're cute when he's a little rough with you. Even now. His palm smacked hard against the most sensitive and achy parts of your body and you liked it.

You wept when he finally fucked you. He went raw and you whimpered his name like a plea, Ajax. Archons, how could anyone ever compare? Hot and wet inside, soft and womanly with the stretchmarks of childbirth. He wanted nothing more to fill you with his seed over and over again and again. To touch your womb again like a welcome.

He'd never known how much he longed for domesticity. His father was a foolish, foolish man. How could anyone mistreat you? Husbandry with you is so sweet.

The first time Childe takes you, your relationship changes forever.

But you, his kind mother who loves him with so much affection, don't turn away from your son. And he's relieved and delighted to be able to have you. Even though, sometimes you look at him so sadly, you hardly push away.

("It's my fault," You sob, as Ajax bends you over the edge of the kitchen counter. He kisses your bare shoulder, cock sheathed inside of your warm cunt. He breathes a sigh of relief "It's all my fault."

"Don't blame yourself, mama," He coos, a hand around your waist as your pussy clenches down hard on his cock "Nothing could have changed me being born your son.")

Childe learned you blamed yourself for his desires. And he thinks in many ways, that's so like you. His beloved mother, his mama who cries and cries and cries. You blame yourself for everything because you are weak.

But Childe loves your weakness. He loves that you are so tender that all pressure makes you fall apart. Because you are like that, he doesn't let you go too far. Who knows what you'll do when he's away from home? What things you'll get yourself tangled in when he's gone? The leash is tight, but you are comfortable and safe.

And you can go out as long as you bring guards and come home by a certain time. You listen when Childe tells you these things before he returns to his duties, even fixing up his coat.

When Childe is forced to leave again to attend to his work, leaving you behind is the hardest of all. But he does so with high hopes, and he kisses you goodbye in the inappropriate way he loves when no one is looking.

(When he leaves, he finds about your affair as soon as it happens. There is always someone watching. At the time, he takes his anger out on whatever target has been assigned to him.

And it quells the violence in him long enough to plan. Ajax doesn't blame you. His mother who he loves, who must've been lonely. Your adultery reads to him like a cry for attention.

Your punishment will be light.

But any man who lays hands on you that isn't him must be punished violently. Childe thinks of how he'll scatters the body in the oceans breaching Snezhnaya. Or how he might feed them to the creatures kept in Dottore's lab.

He sits on the anger for a year until he's officially around to come back to his hometown.)

When Ajax returns, he doesn't hesitate upon arrival. He is 24 and stronger than he'd ever been. Before he even walked through the threshold of his home, he detoured to the house off the end of the street and killed the man who's defiled you in his absence.

He came home to you with the blood still splattered on his pale cheek. He told the children to go with his guards so he could talk to you about "grown-up" things and went without thinking twice.

And then he is home. Childe is Ajax, and he came home to you, his mother. And Childe would never pride himself on raising a hand against you, but even you must learn your lessons.

(You look good bent over his lap. This is the first thing that crosses his mind as he takes you over the knee - on the side of the bed.

You're wearing a dress with tight stockings, like you're trying to look nice for someone. And the idea is so rage inducing, he almost forgets to control the strength in his hands.

He pulls the skirt past the curve of your ass and lets it bunch around your waist. Your hands tied over your back, Ajax lets his fingers tease against the seem of your stockings. White, lace panties like you're a young girl underneath the thick, sheer fabric of nylon.

He sucks some air inbetween his teeth.

"Were you lonely while I was gone, mama?" He says, voice soft but curt "Is that why you were wasting your time on other worthless Snezhnayan men?" '

"Ajax," You beg, sobbing while you squirm "Please."

"Shhh. Don't cry too much, okay? I already got rid of him and took care of it."

You weep out a no, and Childe lets his hand come down on the fat off your ass. A harsh smack echoes against the room and you quiet almost immediately. For someone who shies away from his discipline, you sure take it well.

"You should take care of your family, you know? And that means not bringing around strange men, okay? You already have me to take care of your needs."

"That's wrong, Ajax—"

"Who can tell you what's right and wrong? I'm a very powerful man now, Ma. And I'm strong too, so you shouldn't worry about it," He rips the seam of your stockings as he tugs the fabric to the side - revealing your cunt. Unshaved and wet, Ajax lets out a pleased sigh as he draws his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit gently "I'll always be your starlight, though."

"Ajax." You whisper, hoarse and ashamed and so sweet for him "Please."

"Did you miss me, Mama?"

And your voice softens, even as Ajax eases himself into you with his fingers. Violates you gently, letting you fuck against the resistance, pushing up along your walls until you're moaning involuntarily. Even as he touches you in the way you love to detest, he can hear it in your tone. That you can't bring yourself to resent him for it all.

He rubs your gspot with careful precision. A well-practiced act of love and devotion, like a man to his wife that he doesn't often get to feel. You bury your head, stifling a moan when you speak.

"I always miss you, Ajax."

And it's enough to make him lose all control)

The blizzards in Snezhnaya are ceaseless.

And Ajax is 26, and this time of year never changes. It's like a reminder that somethings never do. Like his love and devotion, wiping the slate clean each time he sins.

Ajax comes through the door with flowers this year. He does every year on the day his father passes, but the flowers don't go on a grave. It'd be pointless to do that in that old backyard.

Instead, he wipes his shoe's on the mat and places them in the vase that you've kept out for him. He sees you in the kitchen and peers over your shoulder as you make something with your hands. He kisses your shoulder, innocent.

"I'm home, Mama."

"Welcome home, Ajax. Go wash up before dinner."

Some things are so unchanging, like how he will always be your son. Just like winters in Snezhnaya will always be cold and he will always come home to your warmth.

And you will always, always let him.