#resigned to fate chapter 4 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wildernessuntothemselves · 1 month ago

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Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 4

Genre: dark fic, smut, angst

Word Count: 17.8

Chapter Excerpt:

“I was invited,” He says simply, and you feel a heat crawl up your spine. Invited. No. No, you didn’t invite him. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of this.

“I… I didn’t—” You croak, your throat tight around the words. Panic claws at your chest, and your breaths come out shallow, frantic. Your gaze snaps to your mother, desperate to explain to her that you had nothing to do with this, but when your eyes meet hers, you see none of your own horror in them, none of the shock.

Instead, there’s an eerie calm in her eyes—a nauseating resignation.

“I did,” She tells you flatly, her voice steady, emotionless “I said I would end it, didn’t I?”

You stare at her, your mind struggling to comprehend her words. End it? What does that mean? Your heart hammers in your chest as it refuses to put the pieces together, to admit to what your mind already knows.

But it can’t hide away from it for long. Not when your mother blatantly proclaims it to the world to hear, not scared of how her act of betrayal against her own daughter might incur the wrath of the gods.

"Take her. Do what you want with her. Just release me."

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/DUBCON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu, allusions to child sacrifice but nothing graphic, character death, smut, blow job, handjob, riding (lol the warnings be giving you whiplash)

______________________

The high priest’s burning sparks a twisted revelation in Beomgyu’s mind. Why should the tribe carry the burden of those marked by the curse—housing them, guarding them—when he could rid the land of them as he did with the priest? With each body he casts into the fire, he sees it as another step toward his grotesque mission of purification, purging the tribe of these cursed souls and claiming victory over what he calls the evil that threatens all of you.

It is not difficult for him to rally the tribe to his cause. After all, the afflicted were all but dead in the eyes of the people, their fates sealed as soon as the first sign of the curse was seen within them–and Beomgyu presents the purge as an act of deliverance, allowing the tribe to turn its gaze away from the humanity of the victims. With his power to draw out the mark before the curse could completely corrupt their bodies and souls, he convinces everyone that the victims’ removal is not only justified, but humane—a mercy killing.

The first of these so-called purifications unfolds in a scene of dreadful cruelty. Dozens of men and women, their voices silenced by gags and their limbs bound tight, are led to the center of the settlement where the flames are stoked high, eager to consume their bodies and drown their cries in the crackling and snapping of its fire.

The cloud of smoke that results from the horrid act is putrid and choking, hanging over the settlement like a deathly veil. It clings to everything—clothes, hair, even skin—until it becomes part of the very breath the people take. For days, the ash lingers like a dark miasma, a constant reminder of the atrocity that has occurred, haunting the people like a second shadow.

Though the smoke eventually begins to lift, it never fully dissipates, for the fire is never allowed to die. As long as there are new victims to be found, it continues to burn, fueling Beomgyu's influence over the tribe, as if his dominion is sustained by the very lives he consumes.

You confide in your mother, knowing full well that you cannot speak of your suspicions to Kai or his family. They would not understand. She listens, appearing perturbed by what she was hearing. But instead of confronting the horror you both know to be true, she retreats further into her work, her magic now consuming her every waking and most of what are supposed to be her slumbering hours. Though she does not say it, you know she believes you.

She has become a shadow of her former self, her body ravaged by the dark forces she’s courting. Her hair, once thick and full, falls away in brittle strands. Her eyes, once bright, are now hollow and drained of life. Her once-strong frame is now emaciated, the dark powers stealing away years of her life in mere weeks.

The sight of her chills you. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill her, the magic will. Either way, you fear for the fate of her eternal soul.

Not that she welcomes your concern. With each passing day, her bitterness toward you deepens, winding its tendrils around her heart, suffocating the remnants of warmth she once held for you. She holds you accountable for the blight that has befallen the tribe. In her eyes, you are the harbinger of doom. She insists that, were it not for you, none of this would have come to pass. She believes you were sent by the gods to curse your family, as Beomgyu cursed his, and that, unless she can find a way to break the curse, she will succumb to the same fate that afflicted your father and Beomgyu’s parents.

Oh, how Beomgyu would delight in this, were he to hear her words—or perhaps he already does, watching from some hidden corner, amused by your suffering. It must be endlessly entertaining to him to witness you enduring the very fate you once abandoned him to escape from—the distrust of your family, the suspicion in the eyes of your people, the public fall from grace. Could this all be an act of vengeance devised by a scorned man?

It can’t be… Surely he would not go so far just to hurt you. To curse the innocent, scorch their bodies, to raise those long slumbering powers—

Overwhelmed by it all, you flee to the hills that embrace the settlement, desperate for a breath of air that does not taste of ash. But when you reach the crest and look down, your heart falters.The village lies beneath you, shrouded in a veil of black smoke. It rolls across the earth, giving shape to the curse, devouring home, streets, and souls alike.

From this height, it’s difficult to find hope to cling to. From where you stand, all seems lost.

Should you flee? Kai and his family still rule the tribe, but for how long? How soon before Beomgyu weaves his schemes to undo them, just as he did with the high priest? His influence grows with each passing moment, and you wonder if their reign will slip through their fingers like water in the palm of a hand.

But where would you go? Would it be better to die under the claws of a wild beast than at the hands of Beomgyu and his men? Everywhere you turned your gaze you saw only death.

Your families were still fighting—that much was true.

Your mother, Kai’s family, and the remaining elders had bound themselves in an uneasy alliance, pooling what power and knowledge they possess between them in a last, desperate attempt to stall Beomgyu’s creeping dominion.

But as it was necessary for your mother to conceal the full truth from them in order to shield you both from suspicion—much of her work had to be done in secret. And due to that secrecy, she often found herself with no choice but to turn to you. Her summons were never tender. Your obedience never willing. It brought her no comfort, and you no peace.

Ever since that dark ritual she performed on your father’s lifeless body, your mother had spiraled deeper into the abyss of dark magic. Each incantation drew her further from the path of righteousness, binding her more tightly to shadowed forces—those ancient, insatiable beings whose whispers came with a price. Their demands grew darker, their hunger more cruel, and with every new pact, a toll was taken.

Her body suffered. But it was her soul that bore the deepest scars.

You tried to distance yourself as much as you could. Surely, fighting darkness with darkness was not the path of the gods. This calamity should have been an opportunity to prove your steadfastness, to remain true to your faith even if it meant your death. Better, you thought, to endure a slow, agonizing end upon this earth than to be cast out of the eternal bliss in the shadow of your beloved gods and into the fiery depths of the underworld.

You have come to realize a bitter truth: that despite all your knowledge, all your years of training and sacred rites, you are no different from the common folk when true peril knocks at your door. In the face of such a threat, even the wise falter. Even the learned cling to superstition, whispering half-remembered prayers, and committing the most desperate and selfish acts in the name of survival.

“You’re a long way from home, flower.”

Terror seizes your body at the sound of his voice. You hadn't heard him approach—not a single footfall, not the faintest rustle of leaves. How could you have believed that the wilderness could shield you from him when this is where he has always found refuge, where he has long conspired with the unseen forces that dwell in the shadows of the wild. This has always been his domain for as long as you can remember, his secret kingdom. Here, there is no escape from him.

“I just wanted to breathe,” You murmur, your voice barely a whisper, your body stiff with terror, refusing to turn and meet his eyes.

“I see,” He replies, his tone flat, undecipherable..

A silence hangs between you, as stifling as the black cloud of smoke. He is content to stand there and let the stillness suffocate you, and you realize you must break it yourself before it breaks you. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Do you think I am going to kill you?” He throws your words back at you, replacing your fear with amusement. They come out slowly, as if he’s savoring them, relishing in the terror he’s created in you. It is clear that your discomfort, your fear, pleases him.

“Is this funny to you?” You frown, unable to mask the disgust in your voice. He was the one who brought about this catastrophe, and yet here he stands before you, unburdened by any hint of guilt. His cold indifference to the suffering he has caused, the destruction in his wake—it’s almost worse than the act itself. He watches you, as if this is all some twisted game to him. He truly is a monster.

“I must admit, it is.” He replies, his voice light, almost playful.

“Why are you doing this? Just... please, tell me,” You plead, the desperation clear in your voice, seeking to find the real reason for his actions, to finally make sense of why he has seemingly decided to throw the world into chaos one day.

He laughs and you stare at him in incredulity. “What is so damn funny?”

"I find it rather amusing," He says, his tone laced with a quiet, unsettling humor that is only funny to him, "how not long ago, I was beneath you. And now, here you are, so eager to talk to me."

“You still are beneath me.” You proclaim proudly, no matter how dearly that would cost you. If he insists on this path, so be it. The monster standing before you has no shred of mercy within him so there is no point in trying to appeal to it. “Just because you’ve maimed and killed your way into this farce of a leadership among your band of savages, does not make you worth anything.”

The false lightness in his expression slips away, replaced by a burning hate. "And just because you married into power," He spits with bitter disdain, "does not mean they will protect you or your kin. When the time comes, they will stand aside and watch your bodies burn, all to save their own hides. He would, too."

“You know nothing of him.” You hiss at him, feeling defensive of Kai. “Your wretched soul cannot even begin to fathom the love his heart can hold. He would lay down his life to protect us.”

“But how will he protect you when he’s not even here?” Beomgyu tilts his head, feigning curiosity. In that moment, the reality of your situation comes back into clear focus and you remember where exactly you are, and who the man standing before you is.

He steps closer, his presence looming, and reaches out to gently grab your neck in his large hand, pressing down slightly. The absolute emotionlessness in his expression sends a shiver down your spine. You dare not resist; there’s no point. Any struggle would be futile, and you know all too well how easily he could overpower you. You’d be on the ground in no time like you were the last time you were alone with him. At least if he kills you now, you will die standing.

“If I wring your little neck and bury you in the earth under our feet, how will he stop me? If I choose to end this now, would he even know where his lovely bride laid? ” He taunts you, “Tell me, did you even bother to tell him you’d come here?”

He feels your gulp under his hand and his grip tightens in response, sensing your answer without you even needing to utter a word. A rush of regret floods over you—no, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going. You had acted carelessly, and now, that recklessness may cost you your life.

“Figured as much. You’ve always been pretty, but not too bright, my flower,” He remarks with a sneer, and you're taken aback by how his words sting. Though your death by his hands seemed imminent, you had still believed your past friendship was genuine. The thought that he had always harbored such disdain for you cuts deeper than you expected. It tarnishes the memories you thought were safe, innocent. Had he been deceiving you all along? Was he always the monster everyone had warned you about, and you’d simply failed to see it? You really are stupid…

It doesn’t matter now, does it?

But then, unexpectedly, he laughs and releases his hold. “How has your mother been?”

The sudden shift in his tone catches you off guard, and you freeze, unsure of what to make of this abrupt change. For a brief moment, confusion clouds your mind, but that confusion quickly turns to dread as the true implications of his question settle in.

“No. Don’t you dare!” You warn, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

He chuckles, a hot, bright sound that scalds its way down your spine. “Dare to do what?”

You have no time for his games—they serve only to entertain him, offering you nothing but distress in return. Whatever truth he holds, he’ll twist it into something unrecognisable just to watch you suffer. The only way to find out what this threat truly means is to go find your mother right now.

So with a shaky breath and even shakier limbs, you take a step back. “Are you going to let me walk away?”

He grins, the expression predatory and playful, as if this is yet another game to him. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

You draw in another shaky breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come, before you sprint down the hill, heart pounding in your chest. Each step feels frantic, as if you’re trying to outrun your fear, the thought that Beomgyu could be hot on your heels unshakable. Every part of you expects him to leap from the shadows and drag you back into his grasp, to make good on his earlier threats. The world around you is a blur of trees and underbrush, and despite your desperate pace, the tangled roots and uneven ground slow you down, making you stumble and fall as if the earth itself, subject to his swat, has conspired to bring you to your knees.

By the time you see the familiar sight of home, you’re battered and breathless. Mud streaks your clothes, and your skin is marked with scratches and bruises—a testament to the battle you’ve waged against the wilderness. But none of that matters now. As you stand before the entrance to your home, a dread unlike any you’ve ever felt sinks into your bones. What will be waiting for you inside?

The possibilities rush to your mind, each one worse than the last. Will your mother be missing? Dead? Bound, tortured, andleft to the mercy of those dark forces she meddled with? The thoughts gnaw at you, and the images they summon are near enough to fell you where you stand if you let them continue to run wild.

With a quiet prayer to the gods above, you steel yourself, pushing the terror down into the pit of your stomach, and step over the threshold.

“Mother?” You call, the word leaving your lips with an urgency that belies your composure. There is a long, drawn-out moment of silence before you hear her answer. Weak, but unmistakable. Her voice, though faint, is still there—and in that small, fragile sound, you find a breath of relief. The tension that had wound so tightly in your chest begins to loosen, though you remain on edge, knowing the fight isn’t over yet.

You follow the direction of her voice, finding her hunched over her cauldron in her usual spot—her ghastly face illuminated by the flickering candlelight, casting eerie shadows as she stirs whatever concoction brews within.

At first, you don’t notice it, the strange lighting obscuring your view. But when she looks up at you, taking a step back from the cauldron, your eyes catch it—the faintest discoloration on her skin, a sickly, blackish hue that sends a rush of nausea through you. You’re so struck by the sight that you can’t hide your reaction, and it’s then that she sees your dismay.

“What?” She croaks, her voice trembling. You remain silent, a lump forming in your throat. “Is it on me?”

“Mother, I’m sorry–” You apologize as if you truly believed it is your fault. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s all because of you.

Your words have the opposite effect than you hoped. Instead of evoking her sympathy, they seem to fan the flames of her fury. In an instant, anger takes hold of her, and she thrusts herself toward you, scratching at your face. “You fucking slut. You did this. You brought him into our lives.”

“I am sorry.” You weep, holding your hands to your face to prevent her from clawing your eyes out.

“I ought to kill you right now, bury you alongside your father and rid us of this evil. No, you do not deserve the dignity of a burial. I should slit your throat and leave your body out to the vultures to pick at your innards and the beasts to tear you apart from limb to limb.”

“Please, mother, I did not mean for any of this to happen.” You try to reason with her, but even you feel yourself choking on your own guilt.

“Shut up! Shut up!” She snarls, striking you repeatedly.

Fortunately for you, her strength has long waned, the dark magic sapping what little power she had left. You manage to push her away, stumbling backward toward the door, your heart hammering in your chest. As you flee your home, your tearful apologies echo behind you, but they feel hollow—an empty attempt to ease the guilt that eats at you with every step you take.

Kai is taken aback by the state you’re in when you stumble through the door of your married home—disheveled, wounded, your eyes wide and wet with grief. He asks what happened, tries to coax even an explanation from your lips, but you are in such an inconsolable state, you could not have given him any even if you had wanted to. So he stops asking.

All he can do is gather you into his arms and hold you close, rocking you gently as if the motion might carry you out of your despair, and futilely drying off your unending tears as he whispers meaningless reassurances to you.

It’s all worthless. Beomgyu is going to win. He will take each and everyone you love away from you and then he is going to kill you.

________________

You fabricate a story to tell your husband, weaving it with just enough truth to make it sound believable. The words flow from your lips with effort, each one stinging with betrayal. You tell Kai that you had a falling out with your mother over your decision to venture into the woods in search of a rare herb that would aid in her potions—potions that would ultimately benefit his family. You tell him that you ignored her warnings and ventured out alone, only to be attacked by a wild animal. You describe how your mother arrived just in time to save you, though her fear of losing you—much like she had lost your father—left her furious. Her anger, you say, led her to say things she didn’t mean and ultimately cast you out of her home.

It would have been a convincing story had the scratches on your face not looked so human and had you not been so reluctant for Kai to attempt to mediate any form of reconciliation between the two of you, fearing that your mother would be angry enough to expose your secrets to him, even if it meant her doom. After all, what has she got to lose? She’s already been claimed by the curse.

So imagine your surprise when she was the one who extended an invite to you to talk things over at your family home, telling you that she has found a way to get rid of the curse once and for all.

You felt exceedingly nervous about it, especially that she had specifically instructed you not to tell anyone you'll be meeting her. It made sense that she didn't want anyone to know about the secrets you've been harboring, but after the way she had spoken to you the last time you saw her, you worry about this being a trap to get you within arms reach so she could act on her previous threats.

Still, you had no other choice but to go. If anyone could find a way to break the curse, it would be your mother. And if not, you die. Either way, you die, right?

Your mother looks nothing like herself anymore. The curse has latched onto her like a parasite, rapidly consuming her body until she’s nothing more than skin on bones. She’s covered with it from head to toe. It writhes and pulsates over her in deep slow breaths.

“Mother…” You speak slowly and she grimaces.

“Don't you dare look at me in pity. You did this. You're the one who invited the evil in. But I'll be the one to end it.” She tells you resolutely, but before you can seek more answers, before you can ask her what she means, a sudden suffocating presence presses down on your chest. The room grows impossibly still, and the world outside seems to fade, leaving only the rhythmic pounding of your heart in your ears.

Your gaze is drawn, unconsciously, toward the front of your home. There’s a shadow, a figure standing just beyond the threshold, barely visible in the dim light of the evening. It feels like you’ve been here before, the vision cut right out of your nightmares—the figure so suffocatingly familiar to the deepest, most primal part of your brain, bringing forth images of deathly blue eyes, and with them, the paralysing fear.

The figure moves, a silhouette cloaked in darkness, each step slow, deliberate. Your pulse quickens as your mind races, your body rooted to the spot, unable to move, barely able to breathe. But when the figure steps fully into the light, the air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, panicked gasp, for the monster it unveils is even worse than the one in your nightmares.

Beomgyu.

A mixture of disbelief and terror floods your veins. You try to speak, to say something, anything, but your voice falters. He’s standing there, more real and solid than the ground beneath you that threatens to fall away from under your feet to escape his presence.

"W—what? What are you doing here?" The words stumble out of your mouth, barely more than a breath. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to stone, unable to carry you to safety even as terror pulses through you. The monster in the doorway, Beomgyu, stands with an unsettling calm, his eyes fixed on you, something predatory in the curve of the smile lingering on his lips.

“I was invited,” He says simply, and you feel a heat crawl up your spine. Invited. No. No, you didn’t invite him. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of this.

Instead, there’s an eerie calm in her eyes—a nauseating resignation.

“I did,” She tells you flatly, her voice steady, emotionless “I said I would end it, didn’t I?”

"Take her. Do what you want with her. Just release me."

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, sharp and burning. You can't breathe. You can’t think.

“Mother!” You shriek, shaking your head in denial. “What are you saying?!”

Her eyes meet yours then, but there’s no softness, no comfort in them. Her expression is cold, like she’s already detached herself from what’s happening, like she’s already let go of whatever bonds once tethered her to you, allowing her to commit the unthinkable against her own flesh and blood without her heart giving way in protest.

Beomgyu doesn’t make any move. He just stands there, watching your reaction with curious intensity, studying your every flinch, your every gasp, as if to see if this will finally break you. The room feels impossibly small, as though the walls are closing in on you, and the darkness of his gaze—of his presence—fills every inch of space, suffocating you.

He tilts his head towards your mother, his voice laced with false sweetness as he continues to wear that chilling smirk on his lips, like a tyrant delighting in watching his subjects perform their misery for him.

“Look at you, Mother. You are unwell. It's making you delirious.” He coos, his eyes glinting with amusement as they flicker toward you. “I have nothing to do with this or your daughter.” “Don’t you dare mock me,” She spits out, her voice fierce, but there’s something hollow in it, something broken. “I know it is you behind all of this. I know you want to have her for yourself, so do it. Take her and do what you will with her. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.” The words send a tremor of revulsion through your body. Your stomach lurches, nausea rising like bile in your throat at the sheer abhorrence of what she’s just said. Your mother, your own mother—the woman who should have been your protector, the very one meant to shield you from the cruelties of this world— is willing to give you up, to throw you out to him in order to save herself. How could she? She has seen what he's capable of. How could she hand you over to him like this?

But to your surprise, Beomgyu doesn’t act on her offer. He doesn’t step forward, doesn’t claim you the way your mother so coldly suggested. Instead, his grin widens, and he chuckles softly, as if amused by the entire exchange.

“No offense, mother,” He says casually, his voice smooth and playful despite the jarring reality. That lightness, that ease, only makes it more terrifying. “Your daughter is a beautiful lady, and I understand that every child is precious and priceless in their mother’s eyes. But do you really think I’ve set the netherworld loose on my own tribe just so I can have her?” He pauses, letting the silence stretch between his words and wrap around your throats, before he continues, “I think you might be overestimating her worth a little bit.”

You halt at his words. When he says it like that, it sounds almost absurd, doesn’t it? How highly do you think of yourself? How inflated is your own sense of ego, that you could ever believe that a man would go to such lengths just to possess you?

You suddenly question everything—the beliefs you held, the assumptions you made. Have you completely lost your mind? The realization hits you like a wave, washing away your certainty, leaving only the salty sting of embarrassment in its wake. In truth, are you nothing to him but an insignificant pawn in a much larger game? All this time you had convinced yourself that you were his sole obsession, the source of his dark desire and unquenchable wrath, when your suffering may be nothing more than an afterthought to him.

But your mother is not so easily dissuaded.

“Don’t you dare lie to my face,” She snarls, voice shaking with fury, and lunges at him. “I know who is killing me.”

A blade flashes in her grip and for a moment your heart lurches in your throat as visions of blood, of Beomgyu’s skin split open and carved by her fury, flash through your mind unbidden—but she is much too slow. Whether it’s the curse draining her strength or the unnatural force thrumming through him, it hardly matters, because Beomgyu catches her arm mid-swing and twists it with savage ease, a sickening crack echoing through the room.

Her scream is as mangled as her arm and the fight leaves her all at once. She would crumble to the floor if it wasn’t for Beomgyu grip on her arm holding her up

“Mother, is that the mark of the curse?” He asks emotionlessly, bringing her now deformed arm to his face so could have a closer look.

Your mother pales at the realisation of what she's inadvertently revealed and tries to pull herself away from him but he quickly grabs her by the throat with his other hand, ruthlessly cutting off the protests she tries to utter.

No, this cannot be happening. You cannot bear to lose another parent to him.

Desperation surges within you, and you rush forward, falling to your knees. “No. Please, don't. I beg you. Don’t take her from me.”

He gazes at you, bemusement flickering in his eyes. “You wish for me to spare her? She was prepared to sacrifice you to me.”

Yes, you’re acutely aware of that fact, but she is the only family you have left. Without her, you would be utterly lost. How can you ever hope to stand up to him if the only remaining person who knows the truth about you and him is gone? The only person remotely capable of devising a plan to stop him?

“She’s the only family I have left. Please, don’t take her from me.”

The world seems to hold its breath as Beomgyu regards your pitiful form at his feet. His expression reveals nothing, his face carved from stone. You cannot begin to decipher what he's thinking, and that is the most terrifying thing of all.

You want to save your mother. That’s what you tell yourself. But as you kneel before him, a dark terror coils in your chest—tight and shameful. Because in pleading for her life, you’re leaving ajar the door your mother had opened—an invitation to come in and steal you away.

And what if he does?

You are all too aware of his hatred for you, and the thought of him finally getting his chance to unleash that festering rage, not on strangers or enemies but on you, the one who left him behind and chose another—it makes your blood run dry. Because you know you won’t be treated with the same twisted cruelty he treated them. No, what he has in store for you will be far worse.

And yet, when he finally speaks, it is not with fury—but with cold indifference.

“She has been marked. Her fate is no longer in my hands.” Beomgyu finally declares, his voice devoid of human emotion.

Without another word, he turns, dragging your mother along, and you follow in frantic pursuit, but neither your mother's wailing and flailing nor your screams and attempts to separate them yield any success. He leads you both toward the heart of the settlement where the bulk of the cleansings have been taking place.

“I have another,” Beomgyu announces to his men, who are tending to the ever burning flames at the center of the ritual site, keeping it well fed with daily sacrifices.

“No, please, don't do this.” You plead hysterically, but Beomgyu’s men have long forgone any trace of mercy. They move with grim efficiency, one tearing you away, another seizing your mother. There is no flicker of hesitation or remorse in their eyes, as though this act of unimaginable cruelty—this tearing apart of families, this march to feed the flames—has become second nature to them…mundane. “No, please, please!” You thrash and scream until your throat burns, but still you cannot break free of the grip that holds you. People gather quickly, drawn like moths to the flame, eager to feast their hungry eyes on the latest sacrifice to the fire that rages like a god over their lives.

And before long, so do your husband and his family.

A sense of nauseating terror and shame fills you as you see them make their way through the crowd, for in that moment, your greatest fear is not the impending loss of your mother—but the dread of what they might see, the secrets that she may expose in her desperation and anger at you.

“What is happening here?” The leader’s voice rings out, commanding attention, but Beomgyu does not flinch. His expression remains impassive as he calmly reveals the mark on your mother’s body, exposing it to all who have gathered around, and the sound of shocked gasps ripples through the crowd, echoing in the air like thunder.

The leader is struck into a disquieting silence, wearing a grim expression that tells it all. You shake your head in disbelief, the words tumbling from your lips in a frantic plea. “No, no, it’s a mistake. You must do something.”

But he does not answer you. This man—your leader, your shield, the one who once stood bold and brave against a whole horde of enemies at your gates—cannot even summon the strength to meet your eyes.

He doesn’t speak, because he doesn’t have to. His silence confesses what his pride won’t—that he is too afraid to challenge Beomgyu. Too afraid to stand between her and the flames. And in that moment, whatever faith you still held in him withers away completely.

So you turn your gaze to Kai instead, pleading for him to save your mother. And your husband, your precious Kai, tries to move forward, tries to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But before he can act, hands seize his arms. Not Beomgyu’s men, but his own family.

“She bears the mark,” His father declares, his voice flat, stripped of emotion. A wave of disgust churns within you, not just at his words, but at the apathy with which he speaks them, as though he agrees that condemning your mother to a fiery grave was the only possible solution.

"I have to do something!" Kai shouts, his voice raw, his body taut with urgency, but his family does not yield, they keep their grip on him iron-clad, unwilling to let him risk his life to save your mother’s.

Left with no other recourse, and desperation all but consuming you, you throw your body around, managing to somehow slip away from the man holding you.

“She didn’t do this. You know she didn’t!” You dash towards Beomgyu, but one of his men quickly intercepts you, shoving you back roughly, the force causing you to crash onto the ground–and you lay once again at Beomgyu’s feet.

He looks down at you, his expression blank, unnerving. “I know—or you know?” He asks, his words laying out a trap for you. “Is there something you’re hiding from us? Do you know who is behind this?”

A knot tightens in your stomach, and for a moment, the world stands still. You know you cannot accuse him, not without proof.

And without proof, nobody would ever believe you—they would turn on you as easily as they have turned on everyone else. They’re itching to burn you too, you are certain of it. This must be what Beomgyu wants. He seeks to provoke you, to drive you into a corner, to force you to reveal your own culpability in front of them all and seal your own fate.

“I—I don’t,” You stammer, flinching as you crawl back, the fear in your chest tightening around your lungs like a vice.

“Then how do you know she’s not involved?” Beomgyu takes a step forward, like a panther stalking its prey.

You hesitate, your mind racing for an answer that could save your mother without giving yourself away, but you cannot find a lie convincing enough even if your mother’s life depends on it.

So you turn your face away in shame, just like Kai’s father did. You’re all nothing but cowards and he will pick you off one by one.

“I don’t.”

A cold sneer curls on his lips, and he spits the words at you in contempt. “Then don’t waste our time.”

“He did this. He's the devil.” Your mother finally screams, not afraid of holding back anymore. But it’s too late for her now. No one listens to the ravings of the condemned. No truth she speaks will save her life—But that doesn’t mean her words won’t damn yours.

“Are you happy with what you’ve done?” She snarls, her voice trembling with fury as her eyes bore into yours. And in that gaze, you see it—a hatred deeper than any she could ever hold for anyone else, even Beomgyu. “You’ve killed me. You’ve killed your father!”

Your heart lurches in your chest, your mouth running dry. Is this it? Is this how you burn?

But before she can speak further–before she can offer you up to the hungry crowd, Beomgyu steps in, wrapping a strip of cloth around her mouth–silencing her.

Your mind reels. Why did he do that? Why did he save you? Is it so he can trap you a little longer in this waking nightmare? To force you to watch as everyone you love is devoured by flames? So he can draw out your agony, savor it, let it rot in your bones before he finally claims your life?

You watch as Beomgyu’s men bind your mother in the same manner they did the high priest, the ropes biting into her skin as they force her to her knees and hold her there. She struggles but her muffled screams are lost behind the cloth gagging her.

Then Beomgyu approaches her slowly, in his hand he carries a censer of burning myrrh, thick smoke billowing from its bronze mouth in slow, curling tendrils. He swings it over her head, his movements rhythmic and purposeful, the scent heavy, cloying, smothering.

"Spirits of darkness, foul ones born of shadow and hate, hear my warning and depart from this vessel. Recede back into the deep earth, to the cold underworld below our feet. Linger not, lest you perish with the flesh that binds you. Let her soul rise, carried by wind and smoke, to the gods who dwell above, that she may finally find peace and forgiveness in the light of the heavens."

A strange wind answers. It weaves through the crowd like a living thing, burrowing through cloth and skin alike with claws that cannot be seen–sinking into flesh with a chilling sense of foreboding and terror. Something ancient has stirred, and it is listening.

But even in the chaos of your frantic thoughts, an unsettling detail strikes you.

Why is Beomgyu invoking the evil spirits to depart? Why not bind them within her, trap them in the flesh they defiled, and let the flames consume them?

Surely, if his goal was to destroy them, this would be his chance. Unless… their destruction was never his aim. Unless this ritual is not a cleansing—but a deliverance. A gruesome offering to those same dark spirits.

You glance around, your eyes darting from face to face, searching for even a flicker of doubt—some glimmer of recognition that this is not right, that someone sees through the veil he’s cast over their eyes. But no one stirs. They stand in still, vacant silence, their faith—or fear—rendering them blind.

And so, without question, they watch as his men step forward and present him with a shallow dish filled with a foul-smelling ointment—thick, dark, and reeking of rot. Beomgyu takes it with solemn hands, dipping his fingers into the paste and leaning over your mother. Then, in slow, deliberate strokes, he begins to smear it across her forehead, tracing a shape you do not know—Not of your people. Not of your gods.

It is other. Ancient. Wrong.

“O watchers beyond the veil, turn your gaze from the mark that stains her flesh and upon the weary soul beneath—lost, bound, and cursed,” He intones, his voice echoing inside your skull. “Unbar the gates, and let her spirit pass into your keeping.” His words fall with the cadence of prayer, but they ring hollow. The chant drifts, aimless and meandering—lacking the clarity, the structure, the intent of true communion with the divine. He names no god, directs his plea to no realm, invokes no power.

To the unknowing, it may pass as a true prayer. But you know better.

The hollowness of it unsettles you—for it either speaks of his ignorance of the sacred rites he dares to mimic, or more chillingly, his deliberate intent to obfuscate the ritual’s true nature so as to confuse and mislead those who are watching.

Your suspicions are all but confirmed when Beomgyu is handed a ceremonial knife—its blade dulled by time but still sharp enough to serve its purpose. Without pause, he presses it to the center of his palm, unflinching as he draws a thin, precise line of blood.

Then, with grim ceremony, he places his bleeding hand upon your mother’s chest, the crimson smearing across her skin like a second mark. His chanting continues—a dissonant blend of the familiar and the foreign. Words you half-recognize, twisted into forms that sound unnatural to your ears.

It soon becomes clear—this is the true spell, veiled beneath the pretense of prayer and cloaked in the cadence of forgotten tongues. Yet its purpose still eludes you. There is no revelation in his words, no guiding light—only a slow, suffocating dread that wraps around you tighter with every utterance.

Whatever he calls upon is not merciful. It is old, it is patient, and it is hungry.

As his chant begins to wane, Beomgyu looks to his men, and with a single, commanding gesture, they seize your mother and drag her toward the fire. He lifts his hands to the heavens, his voice rising in one final invocation—deep, resonant, and utterly unintelligible–spoken in a tongue long forgotten by time, its meaning lost to all who hear it.

But you’re no longer listening.

You are rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on the figure of your mother as she’s cast into the fire. Her small frame is devoured almost instantly, swallowed whole by the flames. Even her screams are soon lost to the roar of the inferno.

You stand there, motionless, the tears that should have sprung forth remain trapped behind your eyelids, their ghostly tendrils burning hot on your cheeks. Around you, the world feels distant, veiled behind a wall of smoke and ash.

You stare at the faces of those around you–everyone who has come to witness your tragedy. Beomgyu stands at the center of it all, the firelight casting haunting shadows across his blank face, untouched by the horror he has wrought. His men, however, are alive with twisted fervor, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust as they watch their sacred flame consume your mother's body.

And the common folk… they are no different. They whisper among themselves with eager smiles, reveling in your tragedy—gleeful to see another of your kind consumed by the flames.

And then there is your leader—your brave leader who cannot summon the courage to lift his gaze to you, nor to your mother’s fiery grave, his shame shackling him.

They do not mourn for you. Not him. Not his family. Not the crowd that gathers like vultures at a feast. It is just as Beomgyu had promised. They would all stand back and watch, silent, eager, complicit, as you and everything you cherish burns to ash.

____________________________

Kai tries to explain, to excuse—offering hollow apologies for his father’s shameful cowardice. He promises you protection, swears by all the gods that he will keep you safe.

But you no longer have the patience for these white lies. You remind him that he couldn’t protect your mother from Beomgyu and he cannot protect you from his family.

Because now, just as Beomgyu had warned, his family force you to take her place—pressuring you to fill the role she left behind before her ashes have cooled. They drape her robes across your shoulders and place her tools in your unready hands. You are expected to brew their potions, chant their spells, stitch their wards—positioning you as a shield between them and Beomgyu. They do not care about the risk to your life or the toll it would have on your soul. Just as they hadn’t cared about what it did to her.

But the joke is on them, for you are not your mother. You possess not her strength. The power that once coursed through her blood lies dormant in yours. You cannot command the dark forces as she did, and so your body is spared the toll that broke hers—not out of mercy, but out of lack.

And with that lack, their terror grows. Beomgyu stalks their nightmares still, and without your mother’s protection, they are left vulnerable to his attacks.

In their fear, they grow more and more callous. They demand more. Always more.

They hold Kai over you, blaming you for any harm that would befall him should you fail. They shut you within the cold walls of your mother’s now empty home for days on end, leaving you to choke on the air heavy with long-spent incense and bitter memories. Days pass, and still they demand, pressuring you to invoke powers that should never be meddled with.

And when your hands falter, when the spells fail, they turn cruel. They tell you that if Beomgyu should come for you, they would not stop him.

But their threats fall flat. If they had possessed the strength to stop him, they would never have turned to you. And if your mother had failed, how could they have ever thought you would succeed? This was all an exercise in futility, and they know it. Only they cannot bear to face that truth. They would wear you thin, grind your bones to dust, bleed you dry, tear your soul from your body and lay it bare before the void—before they would ever face the reality of their own doom.

But before they can sacrifice what little you have to offer, Kai steps in.

He cannot silence their demands, nor can he shield you from the endless expectations they heap upon your shoulders—but he can, at the very least, keep them from raising a hand against you.

Not that any of them would admit to considering such a thing—yet you see it clearly in their eyes, the desperation, the growing contempt. If it came down to it, they would throw you to the flames if it meant they could delay their own reckoning, even if for a day.

And so, in the wake of your failure and inadequacy, Kai’s grandmother, a former temple priestess herself, has to step in—the magic in her bones faded but not gone.

She arrives at your mother’s house with two men in tow, straining to carry a heavy stone slab between them—its surface worn but unbroken. She bids them to place it at the centre of the room before she dismisses them, leaving only the two of you inside. You and the dark stone.

She tells you it was once part of a great altar, built by your forebears in time before memory, when your ancestors called down unknowable powers before the tribes bowed to gods with temples. This fragment is the only piece that remains. And for that, it holds power—ancient and terrible, capable of channeling the kind of dark magic Kai’s family so desperately needs.

She begins by laying down the materials atop the cold stone—arranging them carefully in the shape of a cross, each point aligned with one of the five cardinal directions: north, south, east, west… and the center—the axis, the bridge to the underworld.

To the north, bat wings—thin and crumbling at the edges—symbols of the veil, laid down to draw the unseen from its hiding places, to give shape to powers were never meant to walk in flesh.

To the west, mugwort— dry and heavy with scent—laid at the feet of the dying to open the path between worlds, to beckon what lingers between life and death.

To the south, wormwood—gnarled and acrid—burned to rouse what sleeps beneath the earth, to tempt spirits into the realm of the living.

To the east, a hare’s thigh bone—scrubbed clean, wrapped in ash-dyed twine– a vessel of passage, used in rites that tread the seam between realms, where breath falters and blood is the price of entry.

At the center, cedar—weathered, etched with faded sigils—It anchors what is summoned, lest it drift and devour. Once it touches the stone, the rite takes hold.

She murmurs to herself as she places each item, speaking in a tongue you barely recognize—an old dialect of the priestesses, near-extinct, clinging to life only through the lips of women like her, remnants of a world that has all but turned to dust.

Your pulse falters, skipping once—twice—before racing on. Though she has not said it, your heart knows it to be true. Each item, taken on its own, could belong to any number of rites. Harmless, even sacred in the right context. But not like this. Not laid out in this formation. Not chosen in this combination.

This is not a rite of protection. It is a summoning. And whatever it calls forth will demand a price.

Then, without saying a word, she leaves you, disappearing into the shadows outside your home, and when she returns, you see a babe sleeping quietly in her arms. Swaddled. Unaware.

Your breath catches and your stomach turns.

“Grandmother,” Your voice barely leaves your lips, “what are you doing with that baby?”

She places the child at the centre of the altar, directly atop the cedar. Her eyes find yours with an unsettling calm.

“You did not think blood magic came without blood, did you?” She asks. “The old rites demand life in exchange for power—untainted, pure life.”

The air grows colder, thicker, as if the house itself is holding its breath. You stagger back, one hand clutched to your stomach. “No—I will not do this.”

“You must,” She tells you, her voice low and final as she begins to light the materials one by one, the flames catching like a stuttered breath. “It is the only way.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the child, so small, so still. The flickering shadows from the burning herbs dancing across his skin like claws waiting to dig into flesh.

“Whose child is that?” You whisper, heart hammering in your chest. She meets your gaze without flinching.

“The debt has already been forgiven by his family,” She replies, as if that excuses the butchery. “They gave him to me willingly. They understand what must be done. He will save us all.”

“Save us?” You spit out, disgusted. “You think salvation could ever come from shedding the blood of the innocent?”

She says nothing, only stares—her eyes empty, carrying the same vacant look you saw in Beomgyu’s. They are no different than him. None of you are.

“You’ve lost your mind,” You hiss, stepping back, bile rising in your throat. “This is madness and I will not be part of it.”

The flames crackle louder, as if stirred by your defiance.

“It’s either this child or everyone else.” She tells you, her voice sharp like the crack of dry bone. “If you will not help us defeat him, you would doom us all. If you do not stand with us, then you stand with him.”

“I don't.” You insist fiercely. “I won’t be made his champion just because I refuse to slaughter an innocent.”

But she only narrows her eyes, her voice rising with condemnation. Then if the ritual fails because of your cowardice, do not dare to weep as your husband is dragged to the fire for you will have no one to blame but yourself when he becomes the next sacrifice to feed the fire you refused to quench.”

“No! There has to be another way.” You cry, refusing to believe that Kai’s salvation could be bought with the life of a child barely given to the world—a soul still cradled in innocence, not yet touched by sin or time.

“There isn't'.,” She tells you cruelly, banishing your hopes away. “Spare the child, and he’ll burn with the rest of his kin before the season turns. His death is mercy. His death is salvation.”

You recoil from her words, your voice breaking. “The gods will not forgive this.”

A cruel smile twists across her lips. “What do you know of the gods, foolish girl? The old gods demand blood. They always have. They have slept long and deep, and now they wake—and they hunger.”

“I won’t be a part of this.” If you stand on nothing, then you must at least stand on this.

“Then you are every bit the failure your mother feared you would be.”

Her words almost knock you off your feet yet she does not bother to waste another glance on you. Without another word, she turns away and begins to chant. At first, her voice is thin, worn by age, but as the words spill forth, it begins to shift. It deepens. Fractures. Each syllable splits into layered echoes, as though more than one voice now speaks through her. The sound slithers across the stone, coils around your spine, and settles behind your ribs.

The air shifts, darkening, as if it’s remembering a time before light. The walls of your home seem to breathe, expanding and contracting with each syllable of her chant. And somewhere just beyond your sight, you feel it—the veil thinning, the world bending. And something drawing near.

The moonlight recedes completely, swallowed into shadow, until only the dim glow of the burning herbs remains, their smoke rising in faint spirals. The scent of mugwort is sickly sweet in the back of your throat, mixing with the acrid tang of wormwood to churn your stomach. The symbols carved into the slab—ones you hadn’t noticed before—began to glow as if sensing the offering.

A strange power stirs within you, rising without warning. It shivers along your skin, flaring at your fingertips, lighting your nerves with wildfire. It fills you to the brim, heady and intoxicating, making you feel more alive than you have in moons—whole, strong, near invincible.

You glance at the old woman, and her face—withered and worn mere moments ago—now seems to shine with youth, her features blossoming by a vitality not her own. The dark force that is sparking within you has rooted itself fully in her, feeding her strength beyond what her flesh should hold. A faint smile graces her lips as she looks at you, knowing, triumphant.

And for one breath, you waver. For a moment the power calls to you—sweet and seductive. With this power, you can make the world right again. With this power, you can save Kai, you can save the tribe, you can restore everything to order. Perhaps one life is a small price for peace. Perhaps some sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.

But then, the child stirs.

And your eyes fall on him—-small, fragile, alive. His chest rises with each shallow breath, lashes trembling against his cheeks, tiny fingers curling as though instinctively reaching for comfort he will never again receive. And in a flash, his future unfurls before you like a vision—the laughter of boyhood, the wild courage of youth, the heat of love, the wisdom that only time can bestow. All of it devoured by a power that prowls around him like a beast, eager to tear into his soft flesh.

And then—suddenly—all that power is gone. It departs your body in a violent rush, leaving you gutted and raw. You stagger back, breath caught in your throat, bile rising. The strength that once made you feel godlike now curdles from the guilt and shame brewing in your gut.

You turn around, fleeing from the horror of it all. Your feet slamming against the ground as you run—out of what was once your home and into the cold night. You don’t stop to think. You can’t. All you know is that you have to get away.

From the altar.

From her.

From the child.

From what you’ve all become.

You flee the settlement in a haze, your feet carrying you into the wilderness before thought could catch up to you. You don’t pause to consider that if Beomgyu finds you alone, in the dark, he might not spare you a second time. Perhaps, somewhere beneath the panic, a part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

The forest swallows you whole. Branches clawing at your skin. Rocks biting into the soles of your feet. You wander deeper, breathless, until the walls of your world are replaced by thorns and shadows.

The air out here is biting—cold enough to make your teeth chatter, and still you welcome it. The frigid night air is a balm against the fever that has clung to you ever since the night-bloomer scorched its way through your blood. That cursed flower was the beginning. It opened something inside you, and whatever stepped through never left.

From the edge of this high ridge, you watch the settlement below. Its fire flickers and dances—no doubt being fed new sacrifices even now. It has become a nightly ritual. You have stopped asking who, or why, or what it accomplished. It no longer mattered. One day, it would be your turn. Perhaps soon.

You stay there for hours, curled against the earth like a wounded animal, until the morning sun breaks the night open with its blinding light, its heat beating ruthlessly against your back, pulling you from your icy resting place. Only then do you begin the long walk home. Step by step, as though the daylight could erase what you had witnessed from your mind.

As you approach Kai’s home—the one you had once tried to think of as your own—dread blooms anew in your chest.

Kai is waiting inside for you. He sits stiffly near the hearth, though no fire has been lit. His eyes, hollow and rimmed in red, snap to you the moment you enter. He hasn’t slept. You can tell.

“Where were you?” His voice is rough, dry. You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch. “I—I was just…”

He turns fully to you, something brittle in his expression, like a man one breath away from breaking. “Were you with my grandmother?”

Your heart seizes up, scared to beat lest it betray you. He knows. He knows what you've seen. What you’d almost done. He knows what you are now. A monster.

“Did my grandmother slaughter a child for blood magic?”

You open your mouth, but no words come. What is there to say? There is no explanation, no defense that wouldn’t rot on your tongue.

But he does not wait for your answer. He seems to barely even see you.

“She’s gone,” Kai tells you, his voice hollow. “They burned her.”

You stare at him, quiet, still, guilty.

“She was caught trying to dispose of the body,” He continues, looking somewhere past you. “The villagers found the remains… and the altar. They saw what she had done.”

He swallows hard, his own words hard for him to stomach. “They dragged her to the fire—And they threw her in.” His breath hitches, faltering for a moment. “My father tried to stop them. He tried to save her.”

Kai’s hands tremble, fingers curling into fists in a futile attempt to steady himself. His eyes shine with unshed tears. “He stood before them all and called Beomgyu the devil. Said he’d cut him down—and every last one of them who stood with him. Even if it meant slaughtering the entire tribe.”

Kai looks down, and for a moment, you fear he might shatter into a thousand pieces that you’d spend the rest of your short life trying to piece back together. “Beomgyu didn’t even need to say a word. His own people turned on him. Just like that. They dragged him to the flames and threw him in after her.”

He lifts a trembling hand to his face, his fingers press against his skin like a dam against a flood, but it’s no use. The tears spill anyway, silent and searing. “I only survived because my men held me back. They stopped me from running into the fire after them.”

Silence settles between you for a few long moments—pressing in from all sides, crushing. Then, finally, Kai lifts his gaze to you, and for the first time, you see him utterly broken.

“I’m next. I know I am.” He swallows hard, voice thinning to a whisper. “You were right. I can’t protect you. I can’t protect anyone.”

____________________________

Kai watches, helpless, as more and more of his family fall like winter leaves—plucked from the tree one by one, their faces lost to the fire.

He moves through life like the dead, a ghost barely bound to flesh, walking only because he does not know he has been claimed. Each morning he wakes is not a mercy, but a sentence delayed. Each breath drawn is a borrowed one.

And still, you try to protect him.

You surround him with wards, cleanse the air around him with sacred herbs, speak the old words over his sleeping figure. You draw on all the knowledge you had learned from your mother and your masters—every charm, every rite, every shred of knowledge that has been passed down through the ages.

And still, it is not enough. You can see the darkness seeping in through your protective walls, like water through cracked stone. So you shift course, forced to adopt a new approach if you wanted any hope of making it out alive.

You form an alliance with Beomgyu, offering him the illusion of compliance. You adopt the language of compromise, of reason—anything to buy time. You push Kai to yield, not just out of fear, but out of strategy. Because if Beomgyu truly means to rule, he cannot do so alone.

Let him burn the priests, let him silence the elders—but he cannot kill everyone. If he erases every trace of the ruling line and all religious authority, there will be no one left to legitimize him. The people may fear him now, but once the blood stops flowing, they will begin to question. And power built on fire alone will, in time, burn itself to ash.

You believe this. You hold onto it. Because the alternative is too monstrous to bear.

So you and Kai play your parts in this madness. You nod in silence to Beomgyu’s demands. You keep your gaze lowered when they drag another innocent soul to the pyre. You swallow down your shame, choke on your disgust, and wear your submission like armor.

And it works. For a time, the sickness slows. The village breathes. The sacrifices seem to satisfy something—if not Beomgyu, then whatever he serves.

But even that isn’t enough to save him.

You notice it first, of course. A faint shadow, just beneath Kai’s skin. A sheen of black along his collarbone, no bigger than a bruise. He doesn’t see it, but you do. You press your fingers to it, try to rub it away like dirt, but it stays.

And if Kai can’t see the rot slowly overtaking his body, he can still see your reaction to it—your alarm, your despair, and eventually he has to ask. “What is it?” He says softly, his voice quiet, resigned, as if he already knows the truth you cannot bear to speak.

Instead, you burn more herbs until your eyes sting from the smoke, steep roots and resins until your hands are raw, chant until your voice grows hoarse. You bathe him in salves, wrap him in spells and prayers—but still, it spreads.

The darkness that clung to your mother has found him now. It festers beneath his skin like rot, blooming slowly. The same black veins. The same sleepless nights. The same flickers of pain he tries to hide behind weary eyes and quiet smiles.

And with every passing day, you watch as you fail the one person you have fought so desperately to save. You wonder if this is why Beomgyu has spared you. So you would live long enough to witness your lover’s slow and torturous demise. So you would be forced to bear the agony of helplessness, to watch as love turns to ash in your arms. So he can see how much more you can take before your heart splits open under the weight of your grief.

_____________________

The fire in the hearth has long since died out, but you don’t have the strength to reignite it. The shadows stretch long across the room, and Kai lies beneath them—asleep, his breath shallow, his skin dark with the unmistakable touch of the curse.

You sit with him, legs folded, his head resting on them. You haven’t left his side since the coughing began—since the first flecks of blood stained his lovely lips.

His eyes flutter open, slow and unfocused, but when they meet yours, he offers a weak smile. “You’re still here.”

Your throat tightens. “Where else would I be?”

He shifts, just barely, wincing from the effort. “I keep dreaming… that you left me. That you–” He frowns, not continuing, and you did not wish him to.

You brush your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, as though trying to smooth the sickness away. “I wouldn’t leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

Kai’s hand finds yours—shaky, and weak—and he brings your knuckles to his lips, resting them there. There’s no heat in his breath anymore, just the ghost of warmth. The silence between you is thick, filled with everything you feel and everything you don’t have time to say. Outside, the wind howls like it mourns for you.

Kai’s hand moves slowly, fingertips brushing your cheek. “Do you remember the first time I saw you in the temple gardens?”

You smile weakly, the memory fond and precious in your mind. “You asked me if I was a spirit.”

“You looked like one,” He murmurs, awed. “Too bright to be real.”

You let out a soft laugh—real but slightly bitter. “I think you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like that.”

It’s true. No one has ever looked at you so kindly. Not your parents. Not Beomgyu. Not anyone.

“You’re the only one I ever looked at like that,” He tells you, his weak voice sounding firmer than it has been for a long time. “If my end is near… I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You press an aching kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering there, as if the love you press into his skin can sink deep enough to drive out the curse.

“It’s not the end,” You lie gently. “You’re still here. And I’m not letting go yet.”

He looks up at you, and there’s something in his eyes that breaks you—resignation, sadness, the desperate look of a man who knows he’s fading and wants to feel alive just one more time.

You shift, laying his head down on soft fabric so you can climb over him, breathing him in. His hands reach for your waist, tentative, as if asking permission. You don’t pull away. You wouldn't dream of it. Instead, you lean into him, your foreheads touching, the tip of your nose brushing his.

His fingers graze the back of your neck, sliding into your hair, and you press your mouth to his slowly. The kiss is soft. His lips part against yours, and you drink in the faint warmth of him while it lasts.

You pull back just enough to look at him again, eyes shining with love. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing the side of your face.

“If I die, I want to die like this. Holding you. Not in—” He gulps, and you shush him, quickly pressing another kiss to his lips.

Then his cheek, then lower—to the hollow of his throat where you feel his thready pulse, to his chest, where his heart beats faintly beneath your lips. You take your time with him. Every brush of your fingers, every kiss, is slow, deliberate—like you’re trying to remember him—not just his body, but everything about him, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, the way he sighs your name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You make your way down his stomach, lingering where the faint little hairs rise from under his breeches, listening for the way his breath hitches at your proximity.

Then you pull them down, exposing his hard member to you. You gather it in your hands, placing a few gentle kisses along the length before taking it in your mouth. You shudder at the soft moan he lets out. He lies still and pliant, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your movements. His hand finds the back of your head, not pushing, just holding—like he needs you to anchor him.

“You feel so good.” He chokes out, breath quickening as the heat of your mouth gets to his head. “Gods, I love you so much.”

You slow down again, needing to savor the way his hips twitch beneath your touch, the tremble in his legs. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, not wanting to overwhelm you with his urgency. It makes your chest ache. Even now, with his body failing, he’s still thinking of you.

“I know, darling. I love you too. So much.” You whisper, taking your mouth off him to pump his length in your hand instead, your pace fast and easy over the wet member. “Want you to give in to me. Forget everything and only focus on my touch, the tightness of my grip, the softness of my lips…”

You talk him through it, punctuating your words with open-mouthed kisses to his cock, until his head falls back and a quiet, broken sound escapes his lips.

“I'm right there. I can't–I need you!” His body arches, shuddering as you draw every last drop of pleasure from him, and then he collapses back against the ground, boneless, eyes fluttering shut.

You move back up his body slowly, pressing soft kisses to his stomach, then to his chest, then to the curve of his jaw. When you finally reach his lips, he pulls you in, arms around your waist, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Your heart drops in guilt, and you hush him with a kiss. “You deserve more than I have given you. More than I can ever give you.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve given me everything.”

No, you’ve taken everything from him, and soon you’ll take his life too.

Still, you stay close to him, selfishly curled along the length of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his breath still shallow but slower now. You rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat—faint, yes, but steady. Strong enough to ease your worries, if only for tonight.

His fingers thread loosely into your hair, his other hand cradling the back of your neck, as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Neither of you speak for a while. The silence full of things too heartbreaking to put into words: thank you, I love you, I’m scared.

You kiss the skin over his heart, once, then again, and he hums softly, tired but content.

“You're warm,” He murmurs, and you frown. Does he feel the burn of the curse too?

You shift to look at him, your leg draping over his hips, hands resting gently against his ribcage. You can feel the sickness thrumming under your fingertips. You know it all too well now—the slow, merciless crawl of it. The way it spreads inward, inch by inch, carving through flesh and spirit alike as it creeps toward the heart, and yet he holds you like he’s still whole.

“I wish I could take it from you,” You whisper, fingers pressing down firmly as if you could draw it out through touch alone. “I’d carry it all, if I could. Every ache, every breath. I’d let it tear through me instead—if it meant saving you.”

He shakes his head resolutely. “I would never let you. I would die a thousand deaths before I let it hurt you.”

There is no use arguing with him. For all your declarations, neither of you can save each other. So you lay your head back down on his shoulder and fall into a rhythm with his breathing, your hand moving slowly up and down his side in a soothing motion.

“Tell me something good,” He asks you quietly.

“Like what?”

“Anything. A lie, even. I don’t care.” He says, and his desperation breaks you.

You think for a moment, then smile to yourself, picking the most beautiful lie. “You’re going to get better. We’re going to beat this, beat him, and restore everything to what it was. Then we’ll rebuild—cleanse the tribe, shape it into something kinder, somewhere safe. A place worthy of the children we’ll raise together. And one day, there’ll be stories about us. Legends. Our descendents will speak about how we saved the world from darkness.”

Kai chuckles, low and raspy. “That’s a good lie.”

“I’ll keep telling it until it’s true.” You lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his head and kisses you back, more desperate and needy this time—the kind of kiss you give when you don’t know how many more you have left.

He touches you more boldly, his hands running along your sides, to your hips, pulling your dress up and guiding you over his cock until you’re sinking down on it, making you both cry out in relief as you become one.

If you could, you would never let this moment end. You would stay here, forever bound to your beloved.

Your hands slide across his chest, your mouth trailing close behind it, kissing every inch of skin as if each touch could buy you another day. He murmurs your name like a prayer, over and over.

When your bodies meet, it’s not rushed despite your desperation. It’s not even just about pleasure. It’s about closeness. Skin to skin, breath to breath. You move together in the dark, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers grasping your waist, your shoulders, your arms—anything to keep you near. You feel him tremble beneath you, from the strain of his pleasure, from the emotions he can no longer hold in.

You kiss his tears away. You give him your everything—every thrust of your hips, every desperate moan, every gasp as you ride him until neither of you can tell where he ends and you begin.

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, fighting to hold back your own tears as you watch him ache beneath you, his cock hot and twitching inside your fluttering pussy. “I’m so sorry.”

He can’t hear your apologies, and perhaps that’s a small mercy. Better he never knows what you’ve done. The curse might claim his body, but to live his final days with the knowledge that he has been doomed by the very person he loves—that is a fate more cruel than death.

You can tell that he’s close, and you let one of your hands drop between you to brush against your pussy, pushing yourself over the edge so your contracting walls can milk his cock dry.

“Oh, gods!” He groans, his eyes fighting to stay on you as his second release wracks through his weak body. “I love you. Thank you.”

You cannot bear to receive his gratitude, not when you know that the slow ruin overtaking his body all began with you. So you kiss him until he can no longer speak, until the tension fades from his limbs and his body yields to exhaustion. Only then do you stop.

You collapse beside him, your bodies pressed together, limbs entwined like roots grown from the same tree. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your hand over his heart once more.

It still beats. Not strong. Not for long. Not if you do nothing.

You cannot let him die. You need to save him. You’ve been selfish enough, watching him suffer for far too long while you cling to your fear, your pride, your hope that there might be another way. But there isn’t.

And you know what you must do.

_________________

You slip out in the dead of night, silent as the grave, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it can be heard through the stillness. The village sleeps around you, tucked into an uneasy slumber. You should be asleep too—wrapped in your lover’s arms, but instead your feet carry you forward—to the one place you swore you’d never go.

Beomgyu’s home looms ahead, shrouded in shadow, the darkness pooling thickly around it, making it seem larger, more oppressive than it is. The door hangs slightly ajar, as though left open for you. And perhaps that should have been your first warning.

You step inside, breath lodged in your throat, every footfall echoing loudly in the unnatural stillness. You half-expect to find him asleep, or hunched over in some twisted ritual. But instead, he’s standing in the center of the room, perfectly still, eyes fixed on the door, on you, as if he knew you were coming. That should have been your second warning.

The hairs on the back of your neck lift. Every instinct screams at you to turn and run and not look back until you’re far away from here. But it’s already too late. You’ve stepped into his grasp, and you know he will not let go so easily.

“What are you doing here, flower?” He asks, his voice quiet—almost gentle. There’s no surprise in it. No confusion. Just a calm certainty. As if this moment had already taken place in his mind a thousand times before.

You open your mouth to speak, but your words fail you. You’re struck by the softness of him—not the snarling cruelty you've come to expect, not the hollow-eyed hatred he’d worn all these weeks since you’d first rejected him.

Gods—has it only been mere weeks? It feels like the terror and grief you’ve lived through can fill up a hundred lifetimes.

“Is it proper,” Beomgyu murmurs, his tone and expression almost… fond. As if you were lovers meeting in secret. “for a married woman to be alone in another man’s house at such an ungodly hour?”

His tone is light, but beneath it lies something darker—a knowing, a warning, a welcome. And though you haven’t yet said a word, he already knows why you’ve come. You see it in the way he steps closer, in the slight, assured curl of his smile. He’s been waiting for this.

“There is no such thing as an ungodly hour. The gods watch over us always.” Your voice is steadier than you expected, the defiance slipping out before you can stop it—small, trembling, but there, surprising even you.

Beomgyu smiles wider, and you can’t help but feel mocked. In this house of darkness, you worry that the gods can’t see you.

“Indeed they do,” He takes another slow step toward you, hands clasped behind his back as if he does not need to lift a finger to bring you to your knees. “Does he know you’re here?”

You shake your head, already struggling to breathe. “No.” Your voice is quieter now, more weak. “He can’t know. He can’t know any of it—so please, just… stop.”

Your mouth fills with saliva as bile rises to the back of your throat. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t understand what you want from me. But please… no more.”

You hate how broken you sound. You hate the way the shadows press closer around you as if they can sense your weakness, how he watches you as if he’s ready to devour you.

“So you’ve come here all alone… behind your husband’s back… to another man’s home?” He advances on you slowly, like a predator savoring the moment before the strike. “That’s not very wise.” Another step. “What if I do something to you?” His head tilts, eyes gleaming with something far too close to hunger. “What if I decide to take what I have always wanted?”

His words hang in the air like incense smoke, thick and cloying. He watches you the way a cat watches a mouse it had battered within an inch of its life—curious to see what you will do, knowing you can’t run.

Your breath is shallow, but your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears. You flinch when he finally closes the distance between you and reaches out. You brace for the worst, but his fingers merely brush through your hair to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. The gesture may seem sweet, but it only serves to remove what little separates you from the depthless darkness of his eyes, and that is exactly his purpose.

He hates you and he wants you. This isn’t about affection—it’s about conquest. About proving that he can take what was once denied him. That he can make you his, if only to undo you. You feel it in his gaze, in the sharp softness of his touch. This is the revenge he’s always hungered for.

Your voice comes out quieter than you had hoped, but it remains resolute. “Do what you will… just stop this.”

“Stop what?” The corner of his mouth twitches. That cruel little glint of satisfaction, duper’s delight, flickering in his eyes like he can barely contain his pleasure at seeing his plans unravel so perfectly. “I am only purging this tribe of those infected with the curse,” He says, mockingly pious.

You stare at him, heart thundering, disgust bitter on your tongue. “Then go jump into that fucking fire. That will cure us all.”

He laughs, the sound battering against your weak heart and making it want to shrivel up and die–his apparent good mood more unnerving than his anger. You feel like prey already halfway into the lion’s mouth.

“Why, surely you’re not implying that I am behind the curse?” The mockery drips like poison honey from his tongue. He’s daring you to say it, daring you to try to strip away the mask he wears for the others and face the monster you’ve unknowingly nurtured.

“You are!” You cry, your voice thrumming with a courage you do not truly possess. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, or how you can find any of it amusing, but it’s not. You’re killing people—innocent people!”

Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, your fury and disgust scattering around him like ash in the wind. He merely tilts his head, a slow, mocking gesture, and drawls, “Who is innocent? Your mother? The woman who tried to barter your life for her own?”

That silences you—but he isn’t finished.

“Or perhaps your husband’s father—our brave leader—who threatened you, used you, and would've cast you at my feet just as your mother did, if it meant I’d spare him.”

You don’t respond, the truth of his words piercing your skin like blades.

“No one in this tribe is innocent,” Beomgyu continues, his voice low, almost mournful. “They care for nothing but their own safety. Their own comfort. They would let the world burn just to keep themselves warm.”

His fingers lift—gentle, too gentle—and brush against your cheek. The touch is soft, but it feels like it brands you. “They condemn that which they don’t understand and cast it out without a second thought. Without mercy.”

You swallow, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Is that what all of this is for? To punish them? To take revenge for what they did to you?”

His gaze darkens, like a storm passing over still water. You've struck something raw. “Do I not deserve revenge?”

“For what?” You ask, incredulous. “Because they looked at you in distaste?”

“You think that’s all that was done to me?” His false smile finally slips from his face, revealing the raw edge beneath. “I was feared by my own mother, hated by my own father, then blamed for their deaths. I was judged before I even had the chance to defend myself. I was stripped of everything, my family name, my birthright, my future, and you all watched it happen. No one came for me. No one defended me. My bloodline was doomed to rot while others like yours were revered. I was condemned to nothing—and still you call it distaste?”

You feel the world bend around you—as if even the night itself recoils in fear of his wrath.

“If you think all that was nothing but distaste,” He murmurs, his voice stripped of all pretense, “then why are you here, begging for it to stop when it’s finally happening to you?”

You blanch, the breath catching in your lungs like smoke.

Suddenly, everything begins to make sense. His aim was not just to dismantle and destroy those in power so he could rise to take their place. No—he wanted you to suffer as he had suffered. To feel the whispers at your back. To endure the suspicion in your family’s eyes. To suffer the isolation that gnaws at the edges of your sanity. To see your name soiled, your future crumbling in the palms of your hand.

He wanted to ruin you, just as you watched him get ruined. “Please,” You whisper, voice quivering with the tears of despair and utter hopelessness you’re struggling to hold back. “Whatever justice you believe this to be, you’ve delivered it. Let it end now—please.”

“But I am not doing anything, my flower,” Beomgyu says, his voice once again cloaked in silken innocence. “This is the gods’ wrath, sent down to punish the sinners.”

You recoil as though scorched, fury and dread climbing your throat like smoke from a pyre.

“Liar!” You hiss at him. “It’s you. This is all your doing.”

He feigns confusion, his smile soft and patronizing. “How can that be? I have no power, remember? I am nothing, no one. Not compared to you.” His gaze sharpens, though his tone remains deceptively light. “Wasn’t it your family who was entrusted with the sacred arts? The divine craft passed down through generations? Wasn’t it you who once told me of the dark magic that is kept hidden behind the walls of the temple? The spells marked in blood beneath the altar?”

The implication in his words is clear. You cannot give him up. If he burns, you burn with him.

Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of it all—his threat, his power, the noose he’s been quietly tightening around your neck seemingly since the moment you met him.

“Please,” You plead, voice frayed. “Spare them. Spare him.”

He regards you in a silence that stretches between you like a taut thread ready to snap. Then, calmly—almost kindly—he says, “Only the innocent will be spared.”

Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. “But… you said there are no innocents.”

His answering smile is slow, terrible, and you finally start to cry, the tears falling faster than you can wipe them away. “He is innocent.” You insist, wailing.

“Is he?” His voice is not raised, but sharpened—like a blade sliding between ribs. “His family is the reason mine is dead.”

“Lies!” You shout, desperate to drown him out, to push back against the tide of his hate. “He is good—he’s good.”

But your words barely leave your mouth before his hand strikes like a snake, fisting in your hair and yanking your head back sharply. You gasp, pain blooming across your scalp, your neck straining as he forces you to look up at him—his eyes dark and gleaming with fury and hurt, long-fed and allowed to fester.

“Tell me again. Tell me how good he is.” His grip tightens, uncaring that he’s hurting you as he watches your tears stream down your cheeks.

“Tell me why you chose him over me.” For the first time, his voice rises, a crack forming in his composure, letting you glimpse his hurt. “Was it because he is respected? Because his family’s name sits high on the tongues of fools while mine is dragged through filth? Because the people love him—trust him—as a matter of birthright—while they hate and fear me for the lies his family told? For the poison your elders whispered into my father’s ear? For the lies they let fester until they bled into every home in this cursed tribe?”

You try to shake your head, to deny it, but his grip holds you fast.

“You’re lying,” You manage, the words brittle, barely holding shape. “Why would they do that? Why would they want to hurt you?” You ask as if you’ve never heard the rumors. As if you don’t remember the whispers that once buzzed like flies around a fresh grave, speaking of his father’s untimely death and how fortuitous it was for Kai’s father to survive his only real rival for leadership.

Beomgyu’s laugh is empty, humorless. “Ask your precious husband. I’m sure he won’t lie to you—not now that you’re one of them.” The accusation in his voice burns like his fire. “You’re both cut from the same cloth. Liars and hypocrites. You wear righteousness like a veil, pretend to be pure, pretend to be above me—” He sneers down at you, his shadow devouring your light.

“I’ll strip away that veil—thread by thread. And when there’s nothing left to hide behind, not your name, not your blood, not your husband’s family, I’ll show everyone what you really are. What you’ve always been—rotten underneath.”

You stare at him, heart fluttering in your chest like an injured bird. “You’re insane,” You whisper faintly to whatever monstrous creature is wearing Beomgyu’s face.

And yet, the cruelest truth is the one you cannot deny—he is not wrong. You’re no better than him. You have brought death to your parents, ruin to your husband’s bloodline, and doom to the tribe. Every choice you have made has carried you further from the grace of the gods, and you fear that their gates have been long closed to you.

He leans closer, until there is no air between you and him. Until the warmth of his breath ghosts over your skin, and you can smell the faint trace of herbs and smoke clinging to him like a second skin. “Maybe I am after all,” He murmurs, voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret only with you.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” You sob, wondering with growing terror if there remains any plea, any offering, that might yet stay this madman’s hand. “Just to kill us all for crimes you’ve imagined we committed?”

“Oh, flower,” He murmurs, almost fond. “You’re even more beautiful when you cry but I must warn you that those precious tears you shed only burn me with more hatred.”

He cups your cheek in his hand, and though he stands suffocatingly close, you can’t pull away, not with his fingers tangled in your hair like claws hooked into flesh. “It makes me want to kiss you until I've taken all your breath away, to fuck you until you have no tears left to shed and your throat bleeds from screaming my name.”

There it is—he no longer makes any effort to conceal his ravenous hunger. You came knowing this moment could come, hoped for it… but to say you were prepared for the violence of his desire would be a lie. Still, if surrender is the price for a little more time, you will pay it. If he harbors even a sliver of mercy in that withered heart, you’ll trade whatever pieces of yourself he demands so he will let you breathe a little longer. Not for you, but for it…

“Please…” You tremble, the words tearing your throat like thorns. “Spare my child. It is innocent.”

He stills, his haughty expression faltering. “You’re… with child?”

For the first time, there is no mockery in his voice. No smile on his face. No anger in his eyes. Just curiosity. And a flicker of something you’re scared to name.

You nod, tears blurring the shape of him, but never softening it. The despair wells up like a maelstrom in you as your thoughts drift to the life inside you. So small, so fragile. A child who may never see the light of day because of the monster that stands before you.

His shadow spills over you—vast, engulfing—larger than any mere mortal’s. His hand moves. Down. Until it lays gently over your abdomen.

You still, every muscle in your body tightening. You want to recoil, to strike him, to run. But you can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do if you try.

His touch is warm, gentle even, but it makes your skin crawl just the same. He is silent, contemplative, as though he could feel your child's lifeblood pulsing beneath his fingers. Then comes the faintest curve to his lips—a small, inexplicable smile that unnerves you. You can’t make sense of it and that terrifies you more than all the threats he’s made. Is he marveling at the life within you… or planning how best to use it? Will your child be spared, or sacrificed?

Your mind spirals. Behind your eyes, that horrible image resurfaces—the one you’ve tried so hard to banish: the infant Kai’s grandmother laid on the altar, soft and helpless, its innocence consumed to feed something foul and ancient.

Will he slaughter your child the same way—spill its blood to sustain whatever darkness writhes beneath his skin?

You wish you’d never told him. You wish your child would slip into the silence of your womb, its life fading before it could be used for something unholy. Before he could defile it, as he has defiled everything he’s ever touched. Before he could stain its soul so utterly that even the gods would turn their faces in disgust and refuse to welcome it home.

“Please,” You sob, barely able to speak through the wave of panic drowning your lungs. “Please don't hurt my child.”

He brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle it only deepens your horror, convincing you that he’s preparing you for the slaughter. “Hush, flower,” He whispers. And then, slowly, he leans in—

His lips find your cheek first, kissing the trail your tears have burned down your face. He follows them as they run, until they pass over the corner of your mouth. There, he catches your lips in a kiss. Uninvited. Unwanted. Unstoppable.

You do not dare fight him. Instead, you kiss him back, desperate, needing to appease him. You let him draw you closer, pliantly responding to his terrifying hunger. You suppress your flinch when his hands start to roam, caressing and groping places only a husband should claim.

His pleased sighs are hot against your mouth, and you force yourself to swallow them down—burying your revulsion, your horror, your shame. You feel the hardness of him pressed against your hip, and everything inside you screams at you to stop this.

But you can’t. Because if this is the cost to keep your child alive… If this is what it takes to keep him from burning the only person you have left… then you will endure. Even if it breaks you. Even if the gods forsake you. Even if you never forgive yourself.

Your breath hitches as his hands roam lower, kneading the flesh of your hips, fingers digging in as though trying to mold you to him. You feel his hips grind faster against you—firm, insistent. You hear the roughness in his breath as he leans in closer, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in. And still you don’t pull away.

“So soft,” He murmurs, voice rough with need. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

You’re filled with revulsion—at him, at yourself. It sickens you to hear him all but admit to having viewed you so lewdly, to having lusted after you. But what makes your stomach turn even more violently is the way your body still reacts to his touch, despite everything—despite the monster he’s become, the horrors he’s unleashed, the blood he’s spilled. Despite the fact that you belong to another man, one you love. You hate it. You hate yourself for it.

And you begin to wonder if this too, is just another step in his cruel design? Not just to take you, not just to break you down and claim the pieces for himself—but to make you complicit? To make you question your purity, your loyalty, your sanity?

His lips press along your jaw, down the side of your throat, trailing heat and dread in equal measure. You close your eyes and try not to feel any of it. Try to think only of the child inside you. Of Kai’s face. Of anything but this.

You pull back, breathless, your lips damp with the salt of your own tears and the taste of him still clinging to your mouth. “Please, if I let you have me… will you spare them?”

He cocks his head to the side—eyes wild, feral. He lets the silence stretch until your heart is pounding against your ribs as if it wants out. You’re the first to break. Of course, you are. You cannot bear it, and so carefully, slowly you push one hand between your bodies to find his hard length and wrap your fingers around it in a tentative stroke. His jaw parts on a groan—a low sound that rumbles from deep in his chest. His lashes flutter shut, and for a few breathless moments, his body is open to you.

You study him—the quiver of his lips, the tension in his brow, the ache he hid for so long.

You watch his lashes, long and thick, fan out softly against his cheeks. His nose rising in an elegant silhouette from his handsome face. And his lips—soft, full, and delicate in a way that doesn’t belong in his world of ash and fire. You wonder how someone so lovely could hold so much darkness. With his eyes closed, he looks almost peaceful. Serene. Like an angel caught between two worlds, reminding you so much of the young boy you once held a small flame in your heart for, and your heart breaks. Not for the man in front of you, but for the boy who never stood a chance.

For a few moments, all you see is the boy who once waited for you at the edge of the woods with dirt on his knees and wildflowers in his fists. The boy who laughed too loudly and asked too many questions, excited and eager to have a friend, to get a glimpse at a world that never made room for him.

You wonder if he is still in there, if the fire burning through him hasn’t completely consumed him. You wonder if it’s not too late, if the monster still remembers what it means to love. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, there is a way to pull that boy out from underneath the embers.

But even with his eyes closed, you feel watched. Not by him—but by whatever always clings to him.

You keep stroking him, slow and measured, your other hand braced on his chest to keep some distance between you because despite all your mournful ruminations, this is not an act of tenderness, of love. This is a bid for salvation. He is no longer the little boy who yearned for belonging, who begged for your attention. That boy is long gone, if ever he existed. In his place stands a monster who slaughters those who once shunned him, carving out the place he was robbed of with blood and ash, and forcing you to bargain for the life of your unborn child with your chastity and dignity.

Beomgyu’s head drops back to your neck—gravitating there like it’s in his nature to tear you apart. His lips are hot and open, teeth scraping against your skin with something between hunger and rage. You wince, swallowing down your cries and moans. You can already feel the bruise forming there, how you’ll have to hide it later. If you live long enough to care.

He drags your dress up with possessive hands, fabric sliding over your thighs like a shroud being lifted. You shiver, the cold air meeting your bare skin, but that brief moment of chill does not last long for it is quickly replaced by his burning touch, his cock pressing—hard and hot, against your bare pussy.

You try not to cry out, try not to feel, but every nerve in your body seems to betray you, registering the pressure, the heat, the terrifying intimacy.

“What a pretty, pliant little whore,” He breathes against your ear, voice low and filled with a dark kind of awe. “Look how easily you break for me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, shame burning you alive. You want to vanish, to disappear inside yourself—anything so you won’t have to endure the shame and guilt of your body reacting to his touch.

But you stay still. You let him. Because there’s nothing else left to give. No more bargains to make. Just this. Just your body. And he knows it—He savors it.

You feel it in the way his breath turns ragged, in the low hum that escapes his throat like a growl. His hands tighten on your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh like he’s trying to imprint himself on you, like he wants you to never forget this.

His thumb brushes against your clit, touching you with slow intent, forcing you to feel as he drags his cock against your wet pussy. His satisfaction is palpable in the heat of his body, in the raspy moans that break from his lips like prayers through clenched teeth. Each breath he takes sounds like hunger. Each sigh, like triumph.

“Gods,” He mutters, voice shaking with pleasure. “I can eat you whole.”

“P-please…” You barely have the power left to speak, your shaky voice sounding repulsive to your own ears. Oh, how deep you’ve sunk. “Whatever you want. Just… just spare my baby. Spare Kai. Please.”

Suddenly, he pulls back, and the shift in his demeanor is swift and jarring. His mouth that was open in pleasure snaps shut. His brows that were furrowed in pleasure take on a furious look. And his dark gaze that is no longer tempered by pleasure—locks onto yours.

His hand wraps around your wrist and you swallow down the trepidation at the back of your throat, bracing for him to pull you in for more, to finish what you started. But instead, to your relief—and despair—he doesn’t. He pushes your hand away and steps back, shaking his head.

You blink, uncomprehending, as the distance opens between you. His eyes stay on yours, and for a heartbeat longer, he allows you to see the storm behind them. The rage. The grief. The boy who was buried alive beneath years of humiliation and exile, and who clawed his way back from the grave with nothing but the hatred and pain burning through his veins.

The full revelation of it, wrapped in a single, horrifyingly calm moment, almost knocks you off your feet.

“Can you give me back respect?” He asks, his voice low, his anger barely contained. “The dignity they stripped from me? The place in the tribe that should have been mine by birthright—stolen by your husband’s family?”

Your stomach knots. “No,” You shake your head, denying it until the end. “That’s not what happened. You brought this upon yourself. You killed your parents. You gave yourself to the dark.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe they conspired to ruin my family in order to keep their place atop the tribe?” His eyes blaze, his tone bitter, “And yet so easy for you to believe that a child—a child—could murder his own parents? His unborn siblings?”

You struggle to meet his gaze as if the hatred within it has the power to fell you. “Because you’re evil. Everyone can see it.”

The words hang in the air, quivering like a blade waiting to drop.

His smile returns, and your stomach drops. That’s when you know—you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve broken whatever fragile thread held back the monster. “Then everyone will see their evil too. And they won’t be given mercy, just as no one showed me mercy.”

“Please,” You try again, voice cracking and hands trembling as you try to reach out for him. try to fix it. “Please, Beomgyu.”

But his eyes remain cruel, pitiless. You’ve squandered your one chance.

He seizes your arm, his grip bruising, and hauls you toward the door. “Save your tears. You never shed them for me. Why should I care if you shed them for him?”

With a final shove, he casts you out. “Go to him,” He spits, looking down at you. “Save him if you can.”

And just like that, the door slams shut behind you—snuffing out the last flicker of hope you still dared to cling to.

__________________________

A/N: There is only one chapter left because this one was humungous. please let me know what you think and how you think the story will end

and just for fun though i already know the answer

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #heuningkai smut #supernatural au #dark fic #yandere au

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scary-grace · 26 days ago

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Skin Hunger (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation.You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“They’re here.”

You don’t know who begins the whispering, but you hear it crest, moving from the maids in the antechamber to the servants who are ferrying supplies to the maids like you, tucked all the way out of sight in Asylum’s deepest recesses for fear that you’ll be spotted. It’s a little courtesy of Chrono’s, on this full moon as well as the last one, although it’s not one you requested. Still, Asylum is your home, the only one you’ve ever had, and the news travels quickly when you know how to listen. They’re here.

You hear it repeated over and over again, until a new phrase enters the lexicon. “They’re here,” someone says. “They’re early.”

There’s no such thing as late or early in Asylum – since it’s always open, guests come and go as they please. But on a full moon, arriving before it crests in a guest’s home time zone is considered odd for anyone who isn’t a werewolf. You wonder who the guests are, and what led them to arrive early. And why everyone’s so concerned about it. In any case, you don’t need to be. You’re so far from front of house that you’re unlikely to see or be seen by any guests until the full moon’s passed.

You’re used to full moons being busy, chaotic, dangerous, but last month, you spent it in the toy shop, cleaning or disposing of the ones that had already been used and sending out new ones to fit the guests’ needs. This month, you’re in the costume department – not because you have any skill with costuming, but because Chrono’s judged it to be the last place the vampire Shigaraki Tomura would come looking for you. He looked for you last month, or so the other maids say. When you asked Chrono after the full-moon crowds had ebbed, he laughed at you.

“He doesn’t miss you,” he told you. “He’s simply bored. You’ll vanish from his thoughts completely the instant his master finds him an appropriate victim.”

Shigaraki can probably find his own victims now that he’s a full vampire, or else he’s got Overhaul hunting down unique victims for him, too – but if that was what was going on, why wouldn’t Chrono have rubbed it in your face? You don’t know much of Shigaraki’s master, but you’re pretty sure what happened two months ago was a one-off, just a trick to lure Shigaraki into transforming himself at last. The kind of victims Overhaul finds for Shigaraki’s master are expensive. Shigaraki’s master has probably gone back to sending Shigaraki after the maids.

Thinking about that makes you feel sick. Shigaraki’s left the other maids alone because he’s been following you around, and with you hidden far out of the way, there’s nothing to distract him from hunting the others. The other maids are humans. They won’t have a prayer of fending off a full vampire. You imagine being called to clean blood-spattered hallways, to send bloodless corpses down the disposal trapdoors. Then you imagine walking in on him in the act of draining one of them, and the sickness multiplies until you’re dizzy with it.

Your transformation into your half-fey form is complete, and with it, your magic’s settled into the set of abilities you’ll be working with for the duration. Your strongest gifts are still in the realm of glamours and illusions, and they’re still not strong enough to hide your appearance from the kind of direct scrutiny you’d face if you lived full-time in the human world. You’re stuck, even more stuck than you were before, and where you were once resigned to your fate, now you’re miserable with it. There wasn’t even a split second where you believed you and Shigaraki could escape this, where you thought he’d really take you away. But you remember him saying it, remember how sincere he seemed to be, and that’s enough to haunt you.

It haunted you through the last full moon. It haunts you when Chrono summons you to his room at the end of your shift or pulls you into a supply closet on your breaks. And it haunts you whenever you have a second to really think about what your life looks like, and the fact that you’re going to have to do this forever.

It’s best if you don’t have a second to think about anything. You bury yourself in repairing costumes, ignoring the whispers that echo through Asylum’s halls, until a message from Overhaul zips in through the door.

It opens at your touch. Come to my study at once.

You’ve never gotten a message like that before. You wonder what you did. Maybe he’s got an assignment for you. Chrono won’t be happy if you abandon your post, but there isn’t usually a person manning the costume department, anyway – it’s basically self-serve. You leave a note explaining the situation to whoever comes in looking for an outfit, then make your way back up to Overhaul’s study, using the secret passages rather than walking the halls. You know Shigaraki and his master will be here at some point. You don’t want to risk running into him.

The door to Overhaul’s study is open part way. You knock. “Come in,” Overhaul says.

You push open the door and step through, and it slams shut behind you. You have a split second to realize that something’s gone wrong before Overhaul snaps his fingers and chains appear out of thin air, draping themselves around you and pulling tight. Your arms are pinned to your sides, your hands locked down tight, and worse than all of that, a mask comes down over the lower half of your face, preventing you from even opening your mouth. You can’t move, and you can’t talk. “This is almost certainly an overreaction, but I don’t believe in taking unnecessary risks,” Overhaul says. Who is he talking to? “Is she the one?”

“Yes,” a familiar voice says. You’ve heard it only twice before, but you know instantly – it’s Shigaraki’s master. “I saw her only briefly, but there’s no mistaking her scent.”

A bolt of terror breaks through the confusion. You thrash against the chains. They sting your skin in a way they shouldn’t, and you realize that they’re iron. Pure iron, reinforced with warlock magic. There’s no way out. “Half-fey are quite rare,” the master vampire continues. “How did this one find her way into your employ?”

“She’s the child of a former worker and a guest. Unplanned, obviously, but accidents happen.” Overhaul sounds bored. “Her magic is weak, and she’s contained for the moment. Would you like to inspect her further?”

“Of course.”

The master vampire’s shadow falls over you. An enormous hand descends toward your face, and one clawed finger tucks beneath your chin, forcing you to look up and keep looking. The master vampire’s face is a ruin, absent eyes, absent nose, but his mouth is smiling, distorted by the presence of enormous fangs. He leans down towards you and a forked tongue flickers from his mouth, brushing across your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had fallen from your left eye.

If it’s possible, his smile widens. “Delicious,” he pronounces. “Just the thing to tempt my reluctant apprentice.”

What? “No,” Shigaraki says. You didn’t realize he was here. Your stomach drops. “I don’t want her. I can pick my own victims.”

“I gave you the chance to do so,” his master says. He’s still smiling, but you hear a dark note in his voice, one you’ve never heard from Overhaul only because every threat Overhaul makes is a direct one. “You chose otherwise, and I’m not surprised – with this rare delight awaiting you here, why would you waste time with ordinary humans? And you showed the appropriate respect for Overhaul by hesitating to take one of his more prized possessions without payment.”

“Indeed,” Overhaul drones. “It’s appreciated.”

“Now that I understand the true nature of your hesitation, Tomura, I’m happy to assist you,” Shigaraki’s master concludes. “You were willing to wait for the perfect first victim to complete your transformation. I’m certainly willing to pay for her.”

First victim? Your head is spinning, but that’s enough to break through the temporary fog. You take a breath and realize all at once that the scent of old blood and rot is only coming from a single source, and it’s not Shigaraki. You thought he was a full vampire already. You watched him drain someone to death. “Remind me,” Overhaul says, “what does the transformation require?”

“Simply for Tomura to consume every drop of her blood,” Shigaraki’s master says. His clawed finger caresses your face once more, and you retch. “Only then will his true nature assert itself.”

Finishing off his master’s victim wasn’t enough? He was still a half-vampire last month? Somewhere in the terror and disgust, you feel a surge of fury with Chrono. He lied to you. If you’d known – if you hadn’t hidden, like an idiot – “I must ask about her history,” Shigaraki’s master says. “For Tomura’s first victim, I want only the best. Has she been sold before?”

“Once, but not for blood.” There’s a moment of silence before Overhaul elaborates. “It was a standard sale.”

“To whom?”

“A faery, of course. The Fair Folk are discerning buyers, like yourself,” Overhaul says, “and she was the best I could do.”

Your face is burning with shame now. Listening to Overhaul talk about you like this makes you feel like he’s peeling off your clothes publicly – and not just your clothes, but your skin, human and fey both. “I have no concerns about that,” Shigaraki’s master says. “As long as her blood’s gone untainted. We’ll take her – and we’ll need a private room.”

“No.” Shigaraki speaks up again, louder this time. “I told you. I don’t want her.”

“Truly? You were so unhappy on our last visit,” Shigaraki’s master says. Shigaraki says nothing, and his master sighs. “I see. As you and I are both aware, I cannot force you to drink. But while your control may allow you to leave the maid untouched, mine is not up to such a task. If you refuse to drain her, she will take the place of my meal for this evening.”

Your heart goes still in your chest, then lurches into a panicked sprint. “No,” Shigaraki snarls. “I won’t let you have her.”

“If you don’t wish for me to have her, claim her yourself,” Shigaraki’s master says. That almost-indulgent note is back in his voice, cloying as rotten fruit. “One of us will taste fey blood tonight. Which of us it will be is entirely up to you.”

It’s over, then. The knowledge of your fate settles over you like a shroud. You’ll die tonight, one way or the other. But there’s one way to die that’s far more preferable than the other, and for the first time since you realized he was here, you turn your head in search of Shigaraki. Your iron restraints barely allow it, but you ignore the sting, and with two iron cords biting deeply enough into the side of your neck to burn, your eyes finally meet his.

He looks the same as he has every time you’ve seen him, but he’s never worn this expression before. You’ve never seen him so angry, never seen him boiling with hopeless rage, and with no way to talk, all you can do is pray that his anger won’t lead him to defy his master. You don’t want to die at the hands of a vampire, your spirit drained to nothingness along with your blood. You don’t want to die at all. But if you have to, and you do, you want Shigaraki to be the one who kills you.

He holds your gaze, and you wish you could read his mind, or he could read yours. You wish you could remind him of all the times you’ve saved him from his master’s wrath, tell him he owes you one rescue in return. You wish you really were one of the Fair Folk, that debts to you were binding after all. But you’re as useless as ever. Your blood’s more valuable than your life. All you can do is hope that Shigaraki will see it the way you do. All you can do is wait.

“Well?” Shigaraki’s master prompts him.

Shigaraki looks away from you at last, and answers through gritted teeth. “She’s mine.”

You’ve been slipping in and out of rooms at Asylum for your entire life, but you’ve only entered one as a worker once before – and that time, you didn’t know what was going on until it was too late. This time, you’re agonizingly aware of what’s about to happen to you, and as a result, you fought back when the people you used to call your coworkers dragged you into room 941. They weren’t expecting you to fight. You have no idea why they weren’t expecting it, but you did some damage to every last one of them, Rappa included, before they managed to subdue you again.

You’d like to say it’s because you’re stronger than you thought, but you’d be lying. The only reason it took your former coworkers so long to restrain you is because Overhaul forbid them from leaving marks. When Nemoto, who caught the worst of your frantic efforts to get free, raised his hand to strike you, Overhaul seized his wrist and blew his arm apart.

That was the first time you heard the price you’d fetched for Overhaul – when he snapped it at Nemoto as he writhed armless and eyeless on the floor. “At that price, she’s worth more to me than all of you put together,” he said. “If she’s damaged at all when she’s delivered to the half-vampire, the sale is void, so keep your hands to yourself – or I’ll remove them.”

You had no doubt that he’d do it, and neither did anyone else. No one laid another finger on you for the rest of the march to room 941, but when they got there, they took no chances. You’re tied to the bed, on your knees with your hands strung up between the bedposts in a web of delicate iron ribbons, unable to do anything more than turn your head and rattle them. Overhaul called in a ropes specialist to ensure you were arranged pleasingly, and if all of that wasn’t awful enough, you’re almost naked. All you’ve got is some awful piece of lingerie that exposes all your pulse points and every patch of fey skin your body has to offer.

With one significant exception, being displayed like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. The only consolation is that it’ll be over soon.

You don’t know what to do with your last minutes alive. You have a feeling you wouldn’t know even if you were free to use them as you liked. Your mind keeps dragging you towards what’s about to happen, then dragging you back to the jealousy you felt when you watched Shigaraki drain the other worker, and what a stupid thing it was to feel. Stupid of you, too, to take Chrono’s word for it, to hide on his orders instead of confronting Shigaraki yourself. It didn’t have to happen this way. This is your fault.

There are voices in the hallway – Overhaul’s, and Shigaraki’s. “I would advise dispensing with the matter quickly,” Overhaul is saying. “Waiting will not make it easier.”

“Shut up. What do you know about it, anyway?”

“I know that particular employee of mine deserves the quickest death you can manage.” Overhaul’s voice is as flat as ever, but there’s an edge to it. “Your master paid handsomely. I would not have sold her otherwise.”

You didn’t think you were that valuable to Overhaul. “Here are the keys,” Overhaul continues. “When you’ve finished with her, simply leave. The maids will take care of the rest.”

“I want to keep her.”

Your stomach clenches. “Her body? By all means,” Overhaul says. “I can repair many things, but death at a vampire’s hands is not one of them.”

It’s silent for another moment. “Enjoy your meal,” Overhaul says, and leaves. A moment later the door opens, and Shigaraki steps through.

He shuts the door behind him and stands facing it for long seconds before turning the lock. When he finally turns and spots you, his reaction is instant – his face turns red, and he whips back around the other way. “I didn’t tell them to do that.”

“They wanted me to look appetizing,” you say. Your voice sounds strange. “Did it work?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer, and while you could fake resignation before, you can’t fight the nerves that are beginning to claw at your insides. “Remember when you asked about the rest of my skin? You can see it now. They made sure.”

“Not like this.” Shigaraki still doesn’t turn. Why is he dragging this out? Would it be insane for you to tell him to hurry up and kill you? “I didn’t want – not like this.”

It’s not what you wanted either, for the two seconds you let yourself think about wanting it at all. Your eyes sting with tears. “Then let’s get it over with.”

Shigaraki’s head snaps up, and he turns back to you, crossing the room to stand before you in a scant handful of steps. The key to your chains dangles from his left hand. With the way you’re restrained, on your knees on the bed, you’re not quite at Shigaraki’s eye level, and that’s the only reason you don’t panic when he leans in – he’d have to bow his head a lot further to sink his teeth into your neck.

His voice is quiet. “Are they watching?” In Room 941? You nod, and Shigaraki asks again. “Can they hear us?”

You nod a second time, and Shigaraki curses. He steps back from you, grimacing, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “What?” you ask. “Why does it matter if they’re watching?”

“Because I don’t want them to watch!” Shigaraki’s voice is harsh. “Do you?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you say. “I never have to see them again.”

Shigaraki’s expression twists, and he takes another step backwards from the bed. You grit your teeth. “The longer this takes, the harder it’s going to be,” you say. “I’m the one who has to die. I don’t want it to be any harder than it already is. And I want –”

You trail off, almost losing your nerve – but what would be the point of losing it? You’re already losing your life. You might as well try to get what you want. “If I’m going to be your first victim, I want to make sure you don’t forget me,” you say. “And I want to feel something good before I die.”

The color was going down in Shigaraki’s face for a little bit there. It comes back up all at once, in such a visible head rush that you’re shocked he doesn’t pass out. He comes a few steps closer to you, lowers his voice. “Are you joking?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Two months ago I told you – and then you hid –”

“I saw you feeding,” you interrupt. “I was jealous.”

Now he’s looking at you like you’re out of your mind. Your eyes are stinging again. “I didn’t want to die. I wanted –” You break off, struggling to describe a set of feelings so intense that they led you into the worst decisions you’ve ever made. It’s not possible. “Unchain my hands and I’ll show you.”

Shigaraki takes another step closer, and another. His face is still bright red, but you see determination settle over his features, the same as despair must be falling over yours. “I’ll unchain you,” he says. “But you don’t need to show me.”

The hand that’s not holding the keys comes up to cup your face, tilting your chin up to the necessary angle. Shigaraki hesitates for a split second before leaning in.

His lips are dry and rough as they meet yours – rough in texture, not in pressure. If he’s kissed anybody before you, you wouldn’t know it by his hesitation, but at the same time, it doesn’t matter at all. Confident or not, Shigaraki is in complete control of you, because you can’t move with the way you’re chained up. You can’t set your hands on his narrow shoulders or run your fingers along the web of scars at the side of his neck, or sink your hands into his hair the way you’ve thought of so many times. You can’t even lean in the way you want to. Whatever happens now is up to him.

He said he’d unchain you, but as you kiss him back, his hands find your waist. You’re expecting him to put his hands there and leave them there, not for him to slide almost immediately into motion, and yet it’s only seconds before one hand drifts down to your hip, fingers ghosting over the curve of your ass. The other draws upwards along your spine, a slow, almost delicate motion that feels wrong for what’s happening here. This isn’t a seduction, where you can take all the time in the world exploring each other. You’ll be dead at the end of this. You don’t want to drag it out.

You kiss Shigaraki back with more fervor than before, opening your mouth against his, catching his lower lip between your teeth. He catches his breath, and you deepen the kiss further, as much as you can with your movements constrained. “Let me out,” you say again. One of his sharp teeth catches on your lip, digging in and spilling blood. “I want to touch you.”

Shigaraki’s tongue skids across your lip, collecting the drops of blood that have oozed out. “Stop, then,” he mumbles. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

You stop with what feels like a herculean effort, and Shigaraki’s hands leave your body. They’re shaking as he unlocks the chains, and when they come loose, you slump like a puppet with cut strings. Shigaraki catches you, crushes you against him. His lips are slick with your blood when he presses them to your ear, speaking in a cracked whisper. “Trust me,” he says. “I have a plan.”

What plan? How can he have a plan? Any thoughts you might have about it are knocked out of your head when Shigaraki drops you back on the bed, kicks off his shoes, and climbs on top of you to pin you down. You’re trapped, probably for good, but your hands are free. You tangle one of them up in his hair as he leans in again, startling at the way his body jerks, at the sharp gasp that exits his mouth when you pull ever so slightly. Shigaraki’s hair is rough, tangled. You imagine taking your time to untangle it, tugging here and there until he’s slumped in your arms, tilting his head back for more – and then you remember where you are, what’s about to happen, and it’s an effort not to cry.

Your lingerie, such as it is, barely presents an obstacle, but Shigaraki’s clothes are more difficult. You wrestle him out of his tie and then his shirt, but there’s no time for you to do more than reach for the button on his pants before one of his hands is cupping your breast, toying with your nipple while the other slides between your legs. You’re wet. Shigaraki looks surprised, and your face heats up with shame, worse when he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes going half-lidded in enjoyment. He shouldn’t look at you like that. Not when he’s going to kill you.

Shigaraki’s fingers are rough, inexperienced, as he works his hand back between your legs again, but his enthusiasm is undeniable. So is the way he reacts when your body responds to him, and you’re struck again by just how awful it is that this is all you get. All you’ll ever get, and you’re going to die tonight, so you want all of it. You grab his wrist and pull it away. “What?” Shigaraki complains. “If you don’t like it, say something. I don’t –”

He breaks off as you undo his belt buckle, then the button on his pants, freezing in place when you palm his cock through his underwear. There’s a damp patch in the fabric, one you’d maybe sit up and taste if this wasn’t what it is. As it is, you stroke his cock awkwardly until he struggles halfway out of his pants and underwear and gives you the access you need. Looking at him while you touch him is too hard for you. It’s too hard to see the pretty flush in his cheeks and know that you’ll never see it again, to see the almost frantic look in his eyes as he slumps back into the pillows. No matter how hard you try to lose yourself in him, it’s not enough.

“Stop,” Shigaraki gasps, desperation evident in his voice. “Stop, I’ll –”

You stop, and Shigaraki sits up, dragging you roughly into his lap. It’s not hard for you to guess what he wants. Maybe this will be it – the thing that wipes your mind clean, that lets you forget that you can have what you want, but only once. You sink down slowly onto his cock, shuddering and struggling to adjust. He won’t stop squirming beneath you, clawing at your hips, telling you to move faster or to slow down, instructions you couldn’t listen to if you wanted to. Shigaraki’s twitching stops as you settle fully into his lap. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other.

This is what you wanted. You wanted him, and you’re going to die for it. “When you do it, just do it,” you say, your voice shaking along with the rest of you, beyond your power to steady. “I don’t want to have to choose.”

Shigaraki nods, his pupils blown wide. One hand tears away from your hip to cover the back of your neck, pulling you in close for a kiss even as he shifts beneath you. “Trust me,” he says, his voice nothing more than a breath of air against your skin. “I have a plan.”

The question you’d ask about what plan, about what he thinks could possibly save you now, vanishes as he shifts beneath you again, and twin surges of need and despair force you into motion, chasing the only thing that could make you forget.

You kiss Shigaraki, when the uneven rhythm the two of you have set allows for it. His hands are all over you, sometimes guiding your pace, sometimes clamping down over patches of fey skin and holding on tight. Every time his mouth strays from yours, you tense up. You thought letting him choose when to kill you would make you less frightened, less sick with horror. You were wrong, but every time panic seizes you, Shigaraki kisses you again, tightens his grip again. Maybe he thinks he’s helping. All he’s doing is dragging your nightmare out.

You move faster, hoping he’ll see what you’re doing and kill you, but instead of responding to your frantic efforts, Shigaraki’s hands glue themselves to your hips and hold you down. You’re not riding him any longer so much as you’re being fucked from below, uneven rolls of his hips that leave you gasping. You can barely breathe, let alone kiss him, and in spite of knowing you’ve got minutes left to live, your body seizes around his cock.

Shigaraki swears under his breath, holds onto you tighter, buries his face in the side of your neck. “Now,” you whisper as the tension in your body builds. You’ll never feel better than this, and you want the last thing you feel to be good. “Just do it, now – please –”

Shigaraki swears again. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop, and as you fall apart in his lap, his teeth sink deep into the side of your neck.

It hurts. You knew it would hurt, never expected anything less, and although the sweeping agony of your blood being drained is more than enough to counteract the pleasure still making you shudder, it’s exactly what you wanted your last moments to be. For the last few moments of your life, every aspect of Shigaraki’s existence is focused on you. The warmth of your body, the taste of your blood, the sensation of your fingers scrabbling uselessly at his shoulders, too weak to leave a mark that will outlive you. Right now, you’re all that matters to him, and as he consumes you in desperate, greedy swallows, you burn one of your last true thoughts on telling yourself it’s enough.

Your vision blurs, nausea sweeping through you, and a terrible cold begins to seep through your body, starting at your fingers and crawling upwards. You go limp in Shigaraki’s arms as your breathing stutters and your heart rate slows. Don’t forget me, you think faintly, as everything around you fades into a frozen void. I still want to matter to you.

You know it’s over. Your body doesn’t. You can feel it fighting back, refusing to give in, right until the moment it all goes black.

<- Chapter 3

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numberonesnarkfan · 28 days ago

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thinkin about... Doey.. Ok here's some more autism

a while ago to start practicing writing dialogue for him, I went through all his dialogue and tried to identify which 'self' was speaking at any given time and what I found was pretty interesting.

except in extreme distress, none of the boys ever seem to talk fully individually, it's more like a spectrum between all three where Doey always leans toward one of his three 'parts'.

Kevin's voice is actually softer than the other two's. Unless he's really angry he generally speaks in a low murmur that sounds very practiced and controlled.

He also is a lot less angry than it seems the fandom thinks - I think because they take the word of the Evil Scientist's dehumanising monologue about him as gospel. (It's not necessarily, and is also talking about him in the PAST, from over TEN YEARS AGO)

Doey also really really seems to have parallels to the Freudian Trinity of Mind. (Matthew = Ego Kevin = Superego Jack = Id) if that's intentional, which I hope it is, that's pretty cool since it sort of brings the theming of chapter 4 back around to being about the brain.

Kevin is of course the most immediately interesting of the three since the most attention is drawn toward him but the other two have interesting characterisation as well.

Matthew is tired, he's been resigned to his fate all his life and took it on the chin with a weary smile even when the Things Just Never Stopped Keep Happening. As the caretaker, he sees himself as responsible for regulating not only his own emotions but everyone else's as well. It took a lot to crack him and cause him to become part of Doey's implosion.

Jack seems to be perpetually in a kind of state of shock, or maybe stunted development. Listening to the dialogue, it seems like he can't help but giggle and interject at strange moments, usually with a smile on his voice. His whimsical cartoon persona isn't just for display, it's how his psyche protects him. After a sudden, overwhelming major traumatic incident that completely changed his life, his unconscious mind needed a way to keep itself alive, and learned, 'well, the world can't be painful and scary if I perceive it as silly and fun!' ...Until, of course, pain of either emotional or physical kind shocks him out of it and causes him to shutdown or meltdown.

When Doey lost Safe Haven, that wasn't any of their first time losing their home. Not even their second time. Or third, if you count being taken from your body as losing a home.

I think Doey is both good and bad as system rep. The bad comes from the fact that we see him from an "outsider who is the victim of a violent attack by a mentally ill person" perspective, which is always going to be iffy no matter what.

The good comes from the fact that none of his parts are presented as malicious or even selfish, all of them want to protect, care for or improve the lives of the people they care about, and generally they work together in harmony. Doey is what a system is not just because he has multiple identities, but also because all of those parts work together in order to survive after a majorly traumatic childhood.

#poppy playtime #ppt #poppy playtime chapter 4 #ppt4 #ppt 4 #rambles #doey the doughman #doey #ppt doey #doey ppt #ppt doey the doughman #poppy playtime ch 4 #poppy playtime doey #doey poppy playtime #ppt analysis

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chishiyasdearjacket · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 1: A Game of Wits

Part 1: Their first meeting in the Hearts game, where they begin to observe and test each other.

Masterlist: The King's Decree

Chishiya didn’t believe in fate.

Coincidences? Sure. Predictable patterns? Absolutely. But fate was just an excuse people used when they didn’t want to admit that their lives were ruled by probabilities, not destiny.

And yet, when he stepped into the game arena that night, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something unexpected was about to happen.

The building was a massive, abandoned shopping mall—dark, silent, except for the flickering emergency lights casting eerie shadows along the cracked tile floors. Players gathered near the registration screen, their faces a mix of fear, caution, and empty resignation.

Chishiya leaned against a support column, taking in the group.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

She wasn’t trembling like the others. If anything, she looked bored—arms crossed, weight shifted onto one hip, eyes scanning the crowd with quiet calculation. Most players wore their emotions like a mask slipping off their faces, but not her.

Interesting.

Before he could make any further observations, the monitors above them flickered to life, displaying the game details.

Game: "The King's Decree"

Difficulty: Five of Hearts

A soft murmur ran through the crowd. Hearts games were the worst. Chishiya barely reacted, already turning his attention back to the girl. If she was as cunning as she seemed, she wouldn’t panic over this, either.

He smirked. This could be entertaining.

----

Y/N felt his gaze before she saw him.

A subtle weight, an awareness creeping up her spine. She turned her head slightly, and there he was—leaning casually against a column, wearing that infuriatingly smug expression. White hoodie, silver hair, sharp eyes that held the kind of amusement most people in the Borderland had lost long ago.

She didn’t trust him.

Which meant she liked him already.

The game details loaded. A five of Hearts. That meant manipulation, deceit, emotional warfare. People would cry. People would turn on each other. And someone—probably more than one—wouldn’t make it out alive.

The instructions came next.

RULES:

1. A "King" has already been chosen among the players.

2. Every round, the King issues a decree that all players must follow.

3. If a player disobeys, they die.

4. The goal: Find the King and eliminate them before time runs out.

Y/N glanced around, watching as panic set in. People were already whispering, throwing suspicious looks at each other. She exhaled slowly, schooling her expression into something neutral.

She wasn’t afraid of Hearts games. She knew how people worked—what drove them, what broke them. And she could play along until she got what she wanted.

Then, movement caught her eye.

The smug-looking guy was still watching her. But now, he was smirking.

Challenge accepted.

----

Chishiya thrived in games like these.

Hearts games weren’t about brute strength or physical endurance—they were about control. About watching people unravel, forcing them to make choices that revealed their true nature. And The King’s Decree was no different.

The group shifted uneasily as the announcement ended. Some players immediately tried to shrink into the background, while others stood rigid, scanning the faces around them with suspicion. A few muttered under their breath, already forming alliances they’d probably betray within minutes.

Chishiya let his gaze drift back to her.

Unlike the rest, she wasn’t panicking. If anything, she looked... curious. Calculating. Like she was already two steps ahead of everyone else.

Interesting.

Then, the speakers crackled again.

The first decree has been issued:

"All players must link arms with someone within the next 30 seconds. Anyone left alone will be eliminated."

Panic set in.

People turned to each other in frantic desperation, some begging, others grabbing the nearest person without hesitation. Chishiya, however, remained perfectly still, watching as chaos unfolded.

He had no intention of scrambling for a partner. Someone would come to him—they always did. People gravitated toward perceived safety, and his unreadable demeanor had a way of making people believe he knew what he was doing.

But before anyone else could reach him, she did.

Y/N appeared at his side in an instant, her hand gripping his wrist in an unspoken command before looping their arms together. The motion was seamless, as if they’d done it a hundred times before.

Chishiya blinked, then smirked. So, she’s fast.

“Figured I’d take my chances with you,” she murmured, eyes still scanning the room. “You don’t look like the type to panic.”

“And you don’t look like the type to rely on anyone,” he countered smoothly.

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, but something close. “Maybe I just pick my battles wisely.”

Interesting indeed.

The countdown ended. A deafening beep rang through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground.

A man near the entrance had hesitated too long. He stood alone—wide-eyed, trembling—before his collar blinked red. A second later, his body crumpled.

Dead.

The room went eerily silent.

---

Y/N barely flinched as the first casualty hit the ground. She’d seen worse.

What mattered now was that she wasn’t next.

Her grip on Chishiya’s arm remained firm, though she could feel his gaze on her, assessing. He was unreadable—relaxed, unbothered, as if this was just another passing moment rather than a game designed to tear people apart.

Good. That meant he wasn’t reckless.

The monitor flickered again.

The next decree will be issued in 60 seconds.

One minute. Not much time to gather information, but enough to make the right moves.

She turned her attention to the group. Fear was setting in quickly—whispered suspicions, darting glances, alliances forming in desperation. She didn’t trust any of them.

But she could use them.

“What do you think?” Chishiya’s voice was smooth, casual, but there was something unreadable beneath the surface. “Got any guesses on the King?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Why? Hoping I’ll tell you so you can use it to your advantage?”

His smirk widened just a fraction. “I like to be informed.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh. Amusing.

“I don’t know who the King is,” she admitted. “But I do know one thing—”

She nodded toward a man in the corner, a nervous-looking guy clutching his own arm so tightly his knuckles were white. He hadn’t spoken once, hadn’t moved beyond what was necessary.

“He knew the first decree was coming,” she continued, voice low. “Didn’t scramble for a partner. Didn’t hesitate, either. Like he was waiting.”

Chishiya followed her gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. “You think he’s the King?”

“I think he knows something.”

Chishiya hummed, as if filing the information away. Then, his eyes flicked back to her.

“Not bad,” he murmured. “You might actually be useful.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Another crackle of static interrupted them.

The next decree has been issued:

"All players must vote for someone to be eliminated within the next two minutes. The person with the most votes dies."

Silence.

Then, the panic set in again.

Y/N could already see it happening—the fear turning to paranoia, the group unraveling, people scrambling to shift blame before it could land on them.

She tightened her grip on Chishiya’s arm and smirked.

“Let’s see how good you really are.”

#aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya shuntaro x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya smut #chishiya x reader #x reader #alice in borderland imagine #boop #Chishiyasdearjacket

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lush-escape · 8 days ago

Text

INDIGO

Part 9

Southern!Jason Todd x Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Part 11 || Part 12 || Epilogue ||

a/n: it's about to get spicy y'all 👀 not this chapter but the next. I'm also thinking of writing a prequel of young Jason and reader being little trouble makers around town

Your eyes flutter open and take a moment to adjust to the bright light streaming into your bedroom through the curtains. A warm ray of sunlight hits your face and you groan, turning away from the light. You attempt to move but discover that you're pinned by a heavy weight on top of you.

Glancing down, you see Jason's muscular frame covering yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you. His face is pressed against your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. He's clinging like a massive child, all heavy weight and muscles pinning you down to your mattress. With a lazy smile you wiggle your arm out from underneath him to thread your fingers in his hair. Slow and soft, nails gently scratching against his scalp.

Jason lets out a low, contented groan, his body instinctively pressing into your touch.

"M'comfy," he mutters against your skin, his voice groggy and sleep-filled. He shifts, moving to bury his face deeper into your neck, breathing in your scent.

"Yeah, bet ya are.." You smile softly. You tilt your head and bury your nose into Jason's hair. "'ve you always been like an overgrown house cat?" You tease.

Jason lets out a soft grumble, his grip on you tightening. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.

He's still fully on top of you, his body pressing you down into the mattress, his legs intertwined with yours.

"You're crushing me, big guy." You tease quietly, giving his hair a light tug. "You're not a scrawny little thing anymore, Jay." You hitch your leg and wrap it around his. Jason lets out a tired grunt, though his grip on you remains unmoving.

"Mmm, 'm not movin'," he mutters with sleepy defiance. "You're soft and warm, and I'm comfy."

His weight on top of you is heavy, pinning you down. He's a solid 6'2, muscle on top of muscle. Despite the weight, there's something comforting about the pressure of his body on top of you. You continue to run your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching behind his ear. Jason lets out a satisfied sigh, his body completely relaxed.

"Keep doin' that," he mumbles, his lips brushing against your neck. "Feels good..."

You wiggle under him, feeling the firm strength of his thighs and arms pinning you against the mattress, the heat of his chest pressed against yours.

"You're squishing me," you complain, your voice a mix of amusement and protest. "You're like a damn pile of bricks." But you don't stop scratching and massaging his scalp.

Jason hums in response, his eyes still closed as he enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

"Tough," he responds in a sleepy grumble. "You ain't goin' nowhere." He shifts a bit, pressing his body even more firmly against yours, his heavy legs pinning you to the bed.

You let out a small sigh, resigning yourself to your fate of being pinned under 200 pounds of pure muscle. Jason's breath is hot against your collarbone, his head resting against your shoulder as you continue to scratch his head. He lets out a contented sigh, almost like a purring.

"You're a bossy thing in the morning, ain'tcha?" You tease quietly.

Jason chuckles softly, a low, rough sound that vibrates against your skin. "Can't help it, darlin'. I'm just too damn comfortable."

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble rasping against your soft skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent.

"You smell good," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. "Like home."

Your hand stills for a split second before continuing.

"Home?" You question quietly. His comment makes you feel nostalgic, homesick. "Whaddya mean I smell like home?"

Jason lifts his head and looks at you with a soft expression.

"You smell like.. like sunshine, after bein' out all day. Like freshly cut hay and..." He trails off, his eyes roaming over your face, taking in your features.

"You sayin' I smell like dead grass?" You ask with an amused smile, a small huff of laughter leaves your nose. You close my eyes and take in the comfort of his presence, even if he’s still practically crushing you into the bed.

Jason laughs quietly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin. "No, darlin'. Not dead grass. Freshly cut hay, like when the farmers cut it after harvest. Smells sweet, like summer and sunshine."

He nuzzles his face back into the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling your skin.

"You've always smelled like sunshine and summer," he mumbles against your skin. "Ever since you was a little kid."

He shifts his weight slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around you, holding you even closer to him.

You take a second to swallow, trying to reign in the feeling that was bubbling up.

"You're so weird." You whisper into his hair. The feeling of needing to stay in this small shitty town was growing stronger every second you spent with Jason. He lets out a soft hum in response, his grip on you tightening.

"Yeah, maybe I am." He murmurs against your skin. "But I ain't never claimed to be normal." He shifts slightly, moving his head to look up at you, his eyes soft and sleepy.

Silence.

"Darlin', what's goin' on that pretty little head of yours?"

You look at him, your expression soft and vulnerable. "Just thinking." Your hand lifts to run your fingers through his hair again.

"'bout how I'm leavin' in a couple days…”

Jason's expression softens, his arm tightening around you again.

"You leavin' on Monday, right?" He asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns across your skin. His mind races as he feels you soften in his arms. You're leaving soon. Again. Away from him.

You take a second to answer, breathing him in. Your free arm wraps around his back.

"Yeah, Monday. I'm meeting the realtor tomorrow." You whisper in response. Jason's hand tightens on your waist, almost as if he can't hold you tight enough.

"You're really doin' it, huh? Sellin' the house and headin' back to Jersey." His voice is tinged with a wistfulness, a note of sadness.

“It's for the best,” you say, your voice still a whisper. “I need to go back. Get my life back on track. My leave from school ends on Tuesday, I start work soon…”

Jason sighs, his face presses against your neck. "I know. I know it is. But I ain't gonna like it." His grip on you tightens, as if he's trying to commit the feeling of you in his arms to memory.

You suck in a sharp breath and your hand in his hair tightens on reflex.

“I know,” you respond after a beat of silence. “I'll come visit you, ya know… even if your mama does hate havin’ me in town.” You smile softly. “And you can always come visit me. I just… Don't wanna lose touch with you again.”

Jason lifts his head, looking at you with a soft expression.

"You ain't gonna lose touch with me. I ain't lettin' you," he says firmly. "And I'll come visit you. Anywhere you are. I don't care if it's Jersey or hell." He reaches up, his hand gently cupping your cheek.

He moves to rest his forehead against yours, his hand still cupping your cheek.

“Ya know… it's been a lot easier to keep in touch if you'd just get some form of social media.” You tease as you look into those big green eyes of his.

Jason rolls his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You know I ain't the social media type, darlin'. I barely know how to work an iPhone, much less some damn app." He presses a kiss to your forehead, his hand still cradling your cheek.

Your eyes are wide and the emotions in them are raw. Your heart thumps roughly in your chest. He's being so soft, tender. It makes your stomach twist.

"Jay..." It's barely above a whisper.

Jason raises an eyebrow, his expression now concerned.

"Darlin', what's wrong? I ain't hurtin' you, am I?" He asks, his voice a low rumble. He starts to shift his weight and move to get off of you, thinking he's been squishing into you too much, but your grip on him keeps him in place.

'Big oaf,' You think to yourself silently.

"No, Jay-" You laugh almost silently. You bite down on your bottom lip and your hand in his hair tightens. Your eyebrows scrunch together as your eyes turn soft.

It's a silent question.

Jason's gaze softens, and his expression turns almost concerned. "What is it, darlin'? You got that thinkin' look on your face."

"You want somethin'? Use them words, darlin', ya know I ain't a mind reader.”

His hand drifts from your cheek down to the side of your neck, running his calloused fingertips across your jawline, trailing down to the base of your throat before going back up.

You swallow against the touch, your throat exposed and vulnerable to him. Your eyes remain locked on his and you let out a silent shaky breath.

"I want you." You whisper.

Jason sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening and his hand tightening on your jaw, just enough to tip your head back, forcing you to look at him.

"Baby girl, you have me. Always have, always will."

___________

taglist: @lettucel0ver @sinnamon-bunn

#whew i don't know when to shut the fuck up #i wanted this to be 10 parts but uhhhh oh well #enjoy the ride I guess #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #lizzy writes

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niningtori · 1 year ago

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let me into your world | chapter three: our world

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you're single again and choi beomgyu is restless.

genre(s): romance, angst, angst with a happy ending (?), soulmate au

word count: 3.3k

notes: hi........ yeah i'm super fucking impatient and literally could not wait to post part 3 NENJWKWKDOE i'm sorry! anyway idk how i feel about this but i'm tired of looking at it so i hope it's likable! also, this chapter is extremely suggestive so be warned. there's nothing explicit, but i'm still freaked out. see ending for more notes!

you do nothing but think of him. you thought your heart was done breaking after beomgyu, but you realize even without the matching seal, your heart was still with soobin. 4 years of love and commitment over and done because of a fucking tattoo. you're tempted to continue wearing your ring to work because you dread the questions that will almost certainly follow. you haven't told a soul - not even sumin - about what happened. what were you supposed to say? the love of my life didn't want me... again?

you entertain the idea of keeping it on to maintain appearances, but the mere sight of it is enough to put a pit in your stomach, so you keep it in the drawer in your nightstand. it's close enough to your bed to take out at night just to do nothing but stare and fiddle with it between your fingers. you remember the night he put it on you. you remember him promising you forever and the sweet loving that followed. you remember every word, every touch, every feeling.

you wonder if he's happy with her, but you know he must be. you two were happy enough as it was - you can't even imagine how happy he must be with the person who was fated for him. you feel envious of a woman you don't even know. what you wouldn't give to have that green seal printed on your wrist. you feel sick just thinking about it.

"you alright?" a voice snaps you back into reality. your coworker, minjun. he's cute, very cute, but you've always been committed to soobin so you've never really noticed before now. you had eyes, of course, but you've kept them trained on soobin for years now. you suppose that dedication was futile.

"uh, yeah. i'm good," you reply while hastily shoving your ringless hand under your desk. he eyes you suspiciously before dropping the subject.

"are you planning on going to the company retreat?"

"what? oh, yeah. i guess," you say, still somewhat distracted. your company is planning a retreat to celebrate the success of combining branches. you don't really want to go, but you can't stand the thought of sitting at home and waiting around for someone who will never come back. "are you going?" you ask, trying to actually engage in the conversation for fear of coming across as rude, but you don't quite catch his next words.

"i'm going if you're going," he says.

"what? sorry, i'm a little out of it," you smile.

"i said i —"

"can someone help me?" beomgyu cuts in from out of nowhere. "the copy machine isn't working for some reason."

"can it wait? we're having a conversation," minjun replies irritatedly.

"it can't. i really need to make some copies," beomgyu says urgently.

"fine, i'll help you," minjun grumbles. you're relieved that he's stepping up because you certainly don't want to.

"actually, i just remembered that sooyoung wants to see you in her office."

"what?"

"yeah, so i guess you can't help me after all," beomgyu says with a smirk you don't understand.

"i'll help you," you sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. beomgyu smiles triumphantly, but you don't see it because you're already heading towards the copy room.

"what's the issue here? everything looks fine to me," you say confusedly.

"where's your ring?" he asks, seemingly harmlessly, but it stings just to hear. you immediately forget about your question to him as you shut the machine and defensively cross your arms, feeling incredibly vulnerable.

"i'm getting it resized," you cough.

"ah, okay," he says, and it's like he sees right through you. "you have lost weight recently. are you eating enough?" your eyebrows furrow at this. yeah, you've lost weight only because you're so fucking depressed eating genuinely seems like a chore. more importantly, why does he know that? and more importantly than that, why does he care?

"why do you —"

"turns out sooyoung didn't need me," minjun cuts in, nearly bursting from the door.

"mmm, i must've been mistaken," beomgyu shrugs nonchalantly. you sense tension, but you can't fathom why.

"did you get the copier fixed?" minjun asks, completely ignoring beomgyu.

"we fixed it, yes," beomgyu says before you can even open your mouth.

"oh. good."

"yeah, she really helped me out," beomgyu says, not without snark. why is he lying? never mind, actually. you don't have the energy to care.

beomgyu can't feel your joy for once, which should make him feel relieved, in theory, but instead there's an incessant gnawing at his heart. all he wants to ask is why, why, why. and what can he do to help? he doesn't have to wonder why for much longer when he sees you walk into work without your ring on. he doesn't mean to notice it, but his eyes always gravitate to the rock on your ring finger, almost like it's taunting him with what he can't have.

he'd be an even bigger liar than he already is if he said he didn't feel some sick sense of satisfaction knowing it didn't work out with you and soobin. this is what happens when you go against fate, he thinks. the thought alone used to scare him, but he's felt what it's like to try to be with people other than you and he knows going against fate just isn't in the cards for him anymore. he tried pretty much everything after you, from casual flings to would-be serious relationships, but nothing panned out the way he wished it would.

he continues to try to worm his way into your life in the little ways. he gives you updates on bands you used to bond over and he mentions jokes you two used to share. he brings you coffee when you're tired and tries to make you laugh. he slowly but surely chips away at your indifference until you unconsciously become dependent on him. he wants his presence to be felt by you, just for him to become a little bit meaningful to you, is that really too much to ask?

the first time you actually smile for him, really smile, for the first time since he hurt you, he almost cries. as cheesy as it may seem, he honestly was unsure you'd ever show it to him again. the smile is over almost as soon as it begins, but he'll take it. he thought he'd take anything you'd give him at this point, but the hunger he has is insatiable. he starts from wanting a smile to wanting every smile. he wants to monopolize your joy, your time, you. maybe he's moving too fast, but he decides he'll tell you just how lonely he's been without you during your company retreat. it hasn't been very long since your breakup with soobin, but he won't sit idly by waiting for you to get snatched up again. no way in hell is he gonna let that happen in front of his nose again. not this time.

the company retreat is full of icebreakers, which is to be expected, but the cool thing is that the bar is open, though it's not an "open bar". either way, you're going to try your best to get plastered as soon as humanly possible. you want to, but beomgyu is constantly on your ass, monitoring every move you make, so it's hard to even get to the point of almost tipsy. you give up after two drinks and you're not even buzzed.

you want to hang around danbi, but she's currently zeroed in on beomgyu, which is a good thing because it means he can't hang around you as much. minjun makes for really good company, though, and before long, you two are off in your own world. you didn't realize how funny he is before tonight. he hints at maybe taking you out some time, but you can't say yes without knowing about his soulmate first. he tugs on the collar of his shirt and reveals an ornate golden seal on his collarbone. it's a beautiful contrast on his gorgeous skin, and your breath catches for a second when he shows it to you.

"pretty, right? i thought so too. my soulmate doesn't want me, though," he laughs softly.

"i understand how you feel," you say.

"so soobin...?"

"is not my soulmate, but he doesn't want me anymore, either." you don't know why you're telling him this, but he's being vulnerable with you and you feel a sense of camaraderie you haven't felt in a long while.

"i'm sorry. i know it's hard, but i can't imagine anyone not wanting you."

"really?"

"i'm serious, if i were your soulmate i'd never let go."

"that's sweet of you," you blush.

"even if you weren't my soulmate, i still wouldn't let go." you still at that. you honestly didn't think you'd ever hear those words again, much less believe them, but he seems to be incredibly sincere. so when his lips come closer and closer, you're prepared to let it happen. you don't know minjun that well, but who's to say you can't? here's a beautiful man who says he wouldn't let you go. it feels nice to be wanted for once, and by someone who's already tried and failed with their soulmate. who knows what could happen? you close your eyes and wait for his plush lips to meet yours, but they never do.

"minjun! sooyoung wants you!" beomgyu shouts while hustling over to you.

"shit. some other time, maybe?" minjun says, face flushed.

"definitely," you giggle. minjun gets up as if it's the last thing he wants to do, and you smile as he stretches his hand out and helps you up. none of these actions escape beomgyu. you watch as his silhouette gradually gets smaller and smaller as he heads over to sooyoung.

"what did sooyoung want with minjun?" you ask beomgyu, trying to break the silence. you still feel a little high off of your almost kiss with minjun and you're not thinking 100% clearly.

"nothing, i just pulled that out of my ass," he shrugs.

"... so that was total bullshit? what the hell is wrong with you, beomgyu?"

"what's wrong with me? what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, if i see you two flirting again, i'm reporting you both."

"you wouldn't."

"try me," he challenges, eyebrows raised with that godforsaken shit-eating grin you've come to loathe.

"beomgyu," you struggle to muster up a shred of composure, "can you stop trying to lord over my life?"

"is that what you think this is?" he scoffs. "you think I'm trying to control you?"

"what i think," you sigh while pinching the bridge of your nose, "is that you're being a dick and i can't deal with you right now."

"alright, if i'm not a dick, how else will i get you to talk to me?"

"i do," you begin incredulously, "i talk to you every day!"

"not in any way that matters."

"has it ever occurred to you that i don't want to talk about anything else?" you inhale and exhale shakily. "please stop before i get angry."

"i wish you would!"

"what?" you question and you can physically feel the frustration rising like steam in your chest, begging to be released. as if he's in a position to be making demands. as if you should listen to a single word that comes out of his fucking mouth.

"i wish you would get angry! swear at me, yell at me, hit me — i don't care! just give me something!" you stare. you're tempted to relent and release all of your anger. your face scrunches in irritation at the implication that you owe him a goddamn thing, but just as you're about to let go and let him have it, you remember who and where you are and think better of it.

"that's enough, beomgyu," you turn to make your way back to your room. you don't have time for this. "i really don't want to—" he grabs your hand and spins your retreating figure back towards him.

"just say something!" his eyebrows are knitted in concern and his words are riddled with desperation. your patience snaps.

"you want me to say something?! fine! i hate you! i hate you, i hate you, i hate you!" you stamp your feet. your eyes begin to feel sour and the corners of your lips tense into a frown. his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open as he searches your eyes for the something he's wishing so ardently for. it feels like he's looking straight through you, just like he always does, so you break away from his gaze and your eyes focus on some fixed point behind him.

"i hate you! you... i wish you'd leave me alone!"

your words are teeming with emotion, just not the ones you're trying so hard to convince him (and maybe yourself?) they are. you look so vulnerable, so small, and so very afraid. he doesn't flinch at your biting words. his hand, so big and warm, still holds yours. his eyebrows are no longer furrowed and his dark eyes seem to lose the urgency within them. instead, they're filled with something that feels like patience, understanding, and tenderness all at once. you don't dare to put a name to the feeling, but you know it when you see it. love.

"don't you fucking look at me like that! you don't deserve to look at me like that! i hate you," you choke out with a sob. hot and angry tears begin to trickle down your cheeks and his eyes widen. gently, purposefully, he pulls you into his chest with one hand and cradles your head with the other.

"shh... don't cry. please don't cry. it's all my fault," he coos as you half-heartedly hit his chest in frustration.

"you're an asshole. you treated me like shit and now you're forcing me to talk about it. why are you making me do this?"

each point is punctuated with a "smack" against his chest.

"because i love you," he whispers into the top of your head as his fingers begin to soothingly stroke your hair. "even if i don't deserve to... even if you wish i didn't, i do. so much. and i think i always have, i just didn't know it."

"that's not fair," you strain between sobs. "y-you broke my heart."

tentatively, like he's handling glass so fragile it could break with the slightest hint of force, he unwraps his arms from your shivering frame and cups your reddened face in his hands, gently wiping away your tears. his head cranes down as he touches his forehead against yours. you look up with your misty eyes and see his gaze trained on you.

"i know, i know... i'm an asshole... it's all my fault. please don't cry. hit me harder, if you want. smack me. punch me. kill me if it makes you feel better. just don't cry anymore, okay? i can't stand to see you cry."

he sounds like he's bargaining with a child throwing a tantrum with the way his words are hushed and hurried, but pacifying all the same. in any other circumstance, you'd roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he seems so desperate to get you to calm down that you can't bring yourself to point it out. he pulls you back into his arms and you burrow your head into his chest as he rubs circles into your back. with every sob he shushes you softly and drowns you with affirmations.

i know, i'm sorry, i love you.

it's my fault, don't cry, i love you.

you stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time.

"i know i was wrong for treating you the way i did; i was young and stupid and i had no idea what i'd be missing. i know i'm being unfair, but i promise i'll make it up to you every day. i'm not going to hurt you and i won't leave unless you want me to. you're my soulmate, and i wouldn't have it any other way. i can't have it any other way. if it's not you, i don't want anyone else."

you're softening now and you hate it; you want to run away and continue to be angry. the betrayal you felt was indelible. you can still see him with a girl on his arm and you feel nauseous. you remember him telling you just how indifferent he was to you, to your feelings, to your pain. but none of that seems to matter anymore as he gently cups your face and runs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes to stop your tears. "okay," you say softly, and you don't have to explain, because he already knows.

when he takes you back to his hotel room, he promises he won't touch you unless you want him to. you want him to. you stand on your tip toes and pull him down towards your lips and his breath catches behind his teeth. he raises his hands up to your face, reminiscent of the way he held it as you cried a mere hour ago, and you giggle at the parallel. he seizes the opportunity to gently glide his tongue on your lips before entering your mouth. he groans into your lips as your tongues tease each other. you're even sweeter than he imagined you'd be, and he can feel his effect on you as he breaks the kiss and trails hot, opened-mouth kisses on your neck. this is what he's been missing, he thinks, as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

that night, beomgyu takes you again and again. it's more than sex - it's as if the stars aligned for the sole purpose of bringing you two together for this exact moment. you feel connected to him in a way so profound, you previously thought it was impossible. it feels like the universe put him on this planet just for you, and you for him. you suppose, in a way, it did. especially when you two are finally finished as you lay your head on his chest and feel every breath enter and exit his warm body. he cradles you in his arms and you look up at him, locking eyes. you both smile while he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ears, revealing your seal.

"so beautiful," he whispers.

"who? me or the seal?"

"the seal, of course," he says nonchalantly, "but looking at you now, you're not too bad." you playfully smack his chest and he reacts with a comically childish yell. you hurriedly cover his mouth and shush him, but he takes the opportunity to grab your hand and kiss your fingers with an overdramatic "mwah!"

"you're so fucking loud, you know?" you tease, poking his side.

"says the one who was screaming out my name the entire night."

"i hate you," you say embarrassedly, blush overwhelming your already flushed cheeks as you hide your face in his chest.

"maybe, but you're still stuck with me," he replies.

"mhmm," you mumble into his skin - already falling asleep.

"stuck with me forever, right?" he asks, and if you weren't so intent on burying yourself into his chest, you'd see the look of insecurity on his face - his long eyelashes trembling ever so slightly.

"forever," you say as you drift off to sleep, and you're so happy, so content, he finally feels safe enough to sleep without fear of waking up in the morning to an empty bed. he grasps you even tighter and mumbles "i love you" into your hair until he eventually drifts off himself.

notes pt. 2: not the best thing i've ever written i fear... anyway do y'all wanna read the extremely corny fluff that i originally wrote for this or no? it's sooo corny but sweet i think. as always, feedback is always appreciated :)

[taglist]

@my313 @woncheecks @superbbananananana @zzhyuu @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @defnotleee @everythingvirgoes

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80pairsofcrocs · 1 month ago

Text

spacial sparks || 4

Chapter warnings - apocolypse talk, drug use, alcohol, y/n being a consenting(?) hostage, fighting (verbal and physical), five is super bipolar, klaus being klaus, let me know if i missed anything

~~~

Second pov

~~~

"I survived on scraps. Canned food, cockroaches, anything I could find." Five chuckles from beside you, the sound a stark contrast to the harsh realities you had faced. You shifted slightly, favoring a position closer to him, absorbing his every word with an almost desperate eagerness.

"You know that rumor that Twinkies have an endless shelf life?" Five posed the question, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

"Well, it's total bullshit," Five declared matter-of-factly, causing a fleeting smile to grace your lips before disappearing behind a mask of neutrality. Vanya's voice, tinged with disbelief, broke through the somber atmosphere.

"I-I can't even imagine," she stuttered, her words echoing the unfathomable depths of survival desperation. As Five paused before continuing, you couldn't help but question the narrative.

'I thought he said he was alone..' the thought lingered in your mind, a whisper of doubt surfacing amidst the unfolding revelations.

"Whatever the world threw at us, we found a way to overcome it," Five's words resonated with a haunting truth, leaving a trail of unspoken mysteries in their wake.

Vanya's curiosity mirrored your silent ponderings, her query about the enigmatic "We?" left unanswered, lost in the shadows of unspoken histories shared between them.

Five's abrupt request for something stronger stirred a response from Vanya, her gaze unwavering.

Caught in the ambiguity of the moment, you exchanged a shrug with Five, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that intertwined your fates.

Turning back to Vanya, Five's blunt declaration pierced the air. "You think I'm crazy."

"No," Vanya stammers softly, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "It's just..." she trails off, her words hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of the situation.

"It's a lot to take in," she finally admits, her eyes searching for understanding.

After that, Five releases a tired sigh, the sound filled with exasperation. "Exactly what don't you understand?" he questions, his tone edged with frustration as he seeks clarity in the midst of confusion.

"Why didn't you just time travel back?" Vanya inquires.

Five sighs again, fatigue evident in his movements as he rubs a hand wearily down his face. "Gee, wish I'd thought of that," he remarks dryly, his words laced with a touch of sarcasm.

"Time travel is a crapshoot," he explains, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. "I went into the ice and never acorn-ed," he admits, a note of regret creeping into his words as he recalls past attempts.

"You think I didn't try everything to get back to my family?" he challenges Vanya rhetorically, his gaze intense as he searches for understanding.

"If you grew old there, you know, in the apocalypse, how come you still look like a kid?" Vanya's question hangs in the air, a mix of curiosity and concern evident in her expression.

"I told you already," Five begins, his gaze shifting between you and Vanya, a sense of vulnerability flickering across his features. "I must have got the equations wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of self-doubt.

"I mean, Dad always used to say that..." Five's voice trails off, his thoughts drifting momentarily as he pours himself a drink, the weight of his past experiences evident in his actions. "Time travel could mess up your mind."

"Well, maybe that's what's happening?" Vanya's voice held a hint of uncertainty as she posed the question to Five, who responded with a ponderous silence.

"This was a mistake. You're too young," Five's words carried a tone of concern as he firmly grasped your wrist, pulling you towards the door. "too naive to understand."

"No. Five... Five, wait." Vanya stepped in front of him, halting his movements before folding her hands into her pockets.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, and I don't want to lose you again. That's all." Vanya attempted to convey her emotions, her expression a mix of regret and sincerity as she blocked the path to the door before turning to address you.

"And I haven't been fair to you, and I need to make up for it," she affirmed.

Gratefully acknowledging Vanya's words, you offered a appreciative smile, though tinged with a hint of restraint.

"And you know what, it's getting late, and I have lessons early, and I need to sleep, and I'm sure you guys do, too," she says gently, noticing the tired expressions on both your faces, emphasizing the importance of rest before guiding you both back to the couch.

"Here," Vanya offers, placing a warm blanket on the couch where you and Five are awkwardly standing next to each other, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere for the night.

"We'll all talk in the morning again, okay? I promise," Vanya reassures Five before bidding goodnight and retiring to her room for some well-deserved rest, punctuating her departure with a soft murmur of "Night," as she closes the door behind her quietly.

"Night," you and Five respond simultaneously, acknowledging the end of the day and the need for sleep.

You turn to Five, meeting his gaze as he sits on the couch and you perch on its arm, one leg lifted off the ground, seeking confirmation about your departure plans.

"We aren't staying here right?" you ask softly, your tone reflecting a hopeful anticipation for returning to your own space and routine.

"Nope," Five confirms, a hint of amusement in his voice as he assures you of the imminent departure.

"Thank god," you mumble, feeling the tension in your temples gradually ease as your headache subsides.

Glancing over at Five, you notice him fixated on what appears to be a glass eye, though you can't be certain.

"What is that?" you inquire, prompting Five to swiftly tuck the eye away in his pocket.

"The key to saving the world," he replies earnestly, but your amusement gets the best of you.

"Sorry, it's just that you seemed so serious," you chuckle, earning a stern look from Five.

"I am serious," he asserts, his tone now tinged with impatience. Your teasing continues nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, I found it endearing," you jest. Mimicking his grave tone, you exaggerate, "'Save the world'," complete with air quotes, provoking an eye roll from Five as he averts his gaze.

"Stop talking," he snaps, his frustration palpable, before abruptly pulling you up and whisking you both away from Vanya's, back into the open air.

"You—" You start, only to be cut off by Five.

"Didn't I just specifically instruct you to shut your fucking mouth?" He challenges.

"And yet here we are, you dragging me around like a sidekick, after you kidnapped me." you quip, trying to lighten the tension.

Five's glare softens momentarily as he encourages you into the waiting car. "Get in and stay quiet."

"Okay, Grandpa," you playfully respond, quick to comply and slip into the vehicle before he can protest further.

~~~

As you and Five stood in the elevator on your way to an office, a sense of curiosity lingered in the air as you questioned him about the eye concealed in his pocket.

"Are we here to find out whose eye is in your pocket?" you inquired, prompting Five to respond with a mocking tone, acknowledging your perceptiveness.

"Now you're using your brain," he retorted with a taunting smirk. "You want a treat?"

You glare. "Dick."

"Very mature, y/n."

With Five glancing back intermittently to ensure you trailed behind, the background noise of ringing phones and chatter filled the air as you were approached by a man in medical attire, curious about your business.

"Uh, can I help you?" the doctor questioned, prompting Five to reveal the eye he held in his grasp.

"I need to know who this belongs to." Five requests.

"Where did you get that?" the doctor asks skeptically.

"What do you care?" Five snaps, making the doctor look at him with concern.

Witnessing the exchange, you raised an eyebrow, silently contemplating the effectiveness of his approach.

'He's never going to get an answer if he snaps that quickly,' you thought to yourself, recognizing the importance of maintaining a level head in such situations.

After letting out a deep, weary sigh, you instinctively reach out to guide Five behind you, your hands resting on his shoulders to subtly keep him behind you.

With an artificially bright smile plastered across your face, you tentatively announce, "We... We found it..."

Five shoots you a quizzical glance before nonchalantly shrugging off your touch. "At a playground, actually," you continue, the pieces of the story slowly coming together in your mind.

As you start fumbling for the right words, your hands instinctively find refuge in your pockets, providing a fleeting moment of comfort.

"Uh, must have just..." you trail off, searching for the appropriate expression.

Five chimes in, clicking his tongue, and smoothly interjects, "Popped out," offering you the missing conclusion.

"We want to return it to its rightful owner," he quickly asserts, mirroring your action by burying his hands in his own pockets.

"Yep..." you mumble softly, feeling the weight of the situation settle upon you.

The man before you responds with admiration, calling you both thoughtful young individuals, prompting your forced smile to falter into a grimace of discomfort.

"Yeah. Look up the name for me, will ya?" Five abruptly sheds his facade of congeniality, revealing impatience seeping through his demeanor by the second, a change not lost on you as you observe his edginess intensify.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but patient records are strictly confidential," the doctor began to explain, a tinge of reluctance evident in his voice, causing you to roll your eyes almost involuntarily.

"That means I can't tell you-" his sentence abruptly ending as Five abruptly interrupted, cutting to the chase.

"Yeah, we know what it means," Five interjected, a touch of impatience lacing his words as he took control of the conversation.

The man, sensing the tense atmosphere, attempted to diffuse the situation with a hesitant smile. "But I'll tell you what I can do," he spoke, his voice softening slightly as he made a half-hearted attempt to reach for the eye.

"I will take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner." His words hung in the air amidst the growing tension between Five and the man.

Five, however, was having none of it. His voice hardened as he blocked the man's attempt to touch the eye, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah, you're not touching this eye," he asserted firmly, drawing a clear line in the sand.

Startled by this bold confrontation, the doctor's initial demeanor faltered. "Now, you listen here, young man," he tried to regain control of the situation, only to be forcefully interrupted as Five grabbed his collar, pulling him down to eye level in a display of intimidating authority.

Witnessing this intense exchange, you instinctively took a step back, your eyes widened and lips pressed into a tight line, feeling the escalating tension in the room.

"No! You listen to me, asshole, I've come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn't even comprehend." Five's voice rose with determination, his words laced with a mixture of defiance and frustration as he directed his unwavering gaze at the man in white.

As you contemplated the unfolding confrontation, briefly considering the option of making a hasty escape from the escalating scene, it became apparent that Five was deeply invested in the situation, his tenacity clear despite your potential desire to slip away unnoticed.

"So just give me the information I need, and we'll be on our merry way," you hear Five say assertively as you cautiously back up towards the elevator, your hand reaching out to push the down button.

"And if you call me 'young man' one more time, I'm gonna put your head through that damn wall," Five threatens in a low, menacing tone while engrossed in the conversation with the doctor, his demeanor exuding a clear warning that he means business.

"Oh, dear," the lady at the reception desk exclaims in a mildly concerned tone, sensing the escalating tension.

"Call security," the doctor requests urgently, prompting the receptionist to comply without hesitation, taking swift action to handle the unfolding situation.

As the elevator doors slide open, you swiftly enter and instinctively press the button for the main floors, anticipating a discreet escape.

A fleeting glance reveals Five turning around, his searching gaze finally locking onto you within the confines of the elevator.

Witnessing his reaction, you see him beginning to stride purposefully in your direction, his head shaking almost paternalistically, a gesture reminiscent of a disappointed father reprimanding a wayward child who has just knocked over a prized possession.

As your eyes widen once more, a surge of impatience rises within you, prompting you to rapidly push the close doors button.

The urgency of the situation escalates with each step closer that Five walks towards you, driving you to press the button with increasing speed, not even bothering to glance up and locate his positioning.

With frustration mounting, you transition from pushing to punching the button, the forceful impacts punctuated by muttered expletives.

"Fucking" - another punch, "Close" - another, as if the intensity of your actions could command the doors to shut faster.

When the doors finally heed your command and begin to close, your gaze involuntarily lifts, revealing an absence where Five once stood in front of you.

Your movements slow as you cautiously turn around, only to find his piercing gaze fixed on you from behind.

His expression conveys a mixture of amusement and disbelief, causing you to deflate with a resigned sigh, your eyes dropping to the ground.

"Nice try," he taunts sarcastically, the knowing glint in his eyes triggering a surge of defiance within you.

Meeting his gaze with a glare, you feel the weight of his words as he remarks, "Really, I expected better from an assassin," teasingly cloaked in mock pity.

"It would be more believable if we went back with a parent," you suggest, cautiously eyeing Five, silently hoping that he grasps your subtle hint.

The elevator doors glide open, and as you step out with Five, making your way back towards the outside of the building, you decide to further emphasize your point.

"Like one of your siblings," you elaborate, carefully choosing your words.

"Do you know if they're busy?" Five asks you, back in his serious mode.

You nod. "Well Luther is going crazy about the moon, Allison is trying to go home, Vanya would cave under pressure, Diego's off playing hero, so that really only leaves one person." you explain swiftly, looking to Five.

"No," he starts, his voice firm and resolute, his brows furrowing ever so slightly in mild frustration.

"But-" you attempt to interject, only to be abruptly cut off by his unwavering tone.

"No, we are not bringing Klaus," Five reiterates, his words laced with a sense of finality as he halts his steps, fixing you with a somber yet determined gaze.

"Well it's either Klaus or the apocalypse. It's your choice," you explain firmly before beginning to turn away.

With a sudden tug at the back of your shirt, Five halts your movement and concedes, "Okay, let's find Klaus." His reluctant acceptance brings a sly smile to your face.

"But if he fucks it up, I'm blaming you." he adds, grasping your wrist and steering you back towards where the car had been parked.

"Get-"

"I know, I know." You comply, sinking into the car seat. "Jeez." you mutter under your breath, following his lead with a hint of exasperation evident in your tone.

~~~

Arriving at the academy alongside Five, you split up to tackle different tasks: he went off to find Klaus, leaving you to explore the kitchen downstairs.

As you idly flipped one of Diegos knives in your hand, your attention was drawn to a loose floorboard. Curious, you skillfully lifted it with the tip of the knife and unveiled your hidden stash concealed beneath.

Among the items nestled there were a few lighters, a pack of cigarettes, and various powders and pills of mysterious origin.

Laying the knife aside, you helped yourself to a red lighter and a small bag of colorful pills, tucking them discreetly into your pockets. After carefully replacing the floorboard, you made your way upstairs in search of Five and Klaus.

Before stepping out of the kitchen, you paused to place the knife back on the counter. Climbing the stairs, you headed towards Klaus' room and caught snippets of a conversation mentioning your name.

Intrigued, you lingered outside the slightly ajar door, eavesdropping to glean insights into the ongoing discussion.

"y/n is one of the 43, you've seen her powers right?" you hear Klaus ask Five inquisitively, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why she looks like me," Five retorts, his tone slightly defensive. "You know why. Don't you?" Five probes sarcastically, a knowing edge to his words.

You hear Klaus stammer, his usual confident demeanor faltering, and you feel your hands get a little sweaty with apprehension. "It's not my story to tell, so what's this about an eye?" Klaus laughs uneasily, diverting the conversation to a seemingly lighter topic.

You notice Five sigh, his footsteps echoing as he paces around the room.

"Can she be trusted?" Five questions Klaus, a touch of wariness in his voice that doesn't escape your attention. you hold your breath, sensing the weight of the pending answer.

"Of course, I've known her for almost 15 years," Klaus responds sincerely, his assurance bringing a sense of relief that washes over you, calming your nerves.

"15 years," Five echoes, his voice tinged with contemplation. "And she hasn't done anything to... hurt you?" Five delves further, his investigation probing deeper.

You shake your head in silent reassurance, a moment of certainty prompting you to open the door and reveal your presence, stepping into the conversation with a sense of resolve.

"No," you start, your voice cutting through the tension in the room and causing the two startled boys, Klaus and Five, to snap their heads towards you with surprise at your sudden appearance.

"I wouldn't hurt Klaus or anybody else, not even if there was a gun pressed against my head," you affirm, fixing Five with a firm glare that conveys your unwavering stance.

"Sparky..?"

"Hm?" you respond as Klaus questions your name, his tone filled with curiosity.

Following his gaze to your hands, you furrow your brows in confusion before you look down, discovering that your fingers are emitting little sparks of blue light, a physical manifestation of your intense anger in that moment.

Realizing the electrical display, you quickly apologize, exclaiming, "Sorry," while vigorously shaking your hands to cease the sparks.

Meanwhile, Five observes you with a complex expression that seems to blend shock, confusion, and a hint of understanding, a mixture of emotions reflecting perhaps his own inner turmoil.

However, before anyone can delve deeper into the situation, the moment is abruptly interrupted, diverting attention away from the unusual occurrence, leaving a lingering sense of tension and curiosity hanging in the air.

"Five? y/n?" you all hear from downstairs. "Are you upstairs?" it was Vanya, you totally forgot about last night.

As Vanya's voice echoed through the house, a sense of unease settled over the room. In a hurried flurry of movement, Five pushed Klaus into the wardrobe, leaving you bewildered and bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

Glancing back at you, Five offered a nonchalant shrug before awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign of his unease, just as the sound of Vanya's approaching footsteps on the staircase became more audible.

"Guys?" she called out, her voice tinged with relief upon finally locating you both. "Oh, thank God- I was worried sick about you two." With genuine concern etched on her features, Vanya scanned the room, her eyes searching for any signs of injury or harm that may have befallen you.

Sensing the tension in the air, Five took the lead in offering an apology on behalf of both of you. "Sorry we left without saying goodbye."

You stood beside him, silently concurring with a subtle nod, your arms involuntarily crossing as a defensive gesture.

"No, look, I'm the one that should be sorry," Vanya began, the words tumbling forth in a rush as she grappled with her own guilt and confusion. Five's eyes darted nervously towards the wardrobe, a silent reminder of the unfinished business lingering in the room.

"Yeah, I was dismissive, and... I... I guess I didn't know how to process what you were saying," Vanya continued, her voice tinged with a mix of regret and uncertainty. "And I still can't, to be honest," she concluded, leaving the weight of unspoken truths hanging in the air.

"It felt real," he finally starts, talking slowly. "And perhaps you were right to be dismissive." He sighs.

"Well like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind," you look at Five with sympathy, even though he couldn't see it, understanding the weight of his words and the uncertain nature of his reality.

It was weird to feel bad for this crazy guy who literally showed up out of nowhere. You don't know all the facts, but you know there's more to the story than what he's already said, a hidden narrative driving his determination to save the world despite his outward appearance of instability and detachment.

"Then maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking to," Vanya says, breaking me from my thoughts, her tone laced with concern and a tinge of regret.

"Look, I used to see someone, a therapist, I-I could give you her information-" she gets cut off, her attempt to offer assistance overshadowed by Five's own internal struggles and desire for solitude.

"Thanks, but... I think I'm just gonna get some rest," Five tells Vanya, then glances at you, his gaze contemplative and weighted with exhaustion. "It's been a long time since I've had a good sleep, and I'm sure y/n wouldn't mind some rest too," Five finishes, acknowledging not only his own weariness but also the potential need for respite shared by those around him.

"Okay," Vanya sighs as she leaves the room, leaving you to stare after her, her departure marking a brief moment of respite in the midst of uncertainty and chaos.

You hear clattering coming from inside the closet, making you look at it with furrowed eyebrows.

"That's so...'' Klaus starts, falling out of the closet in a somewhat undignified manner, then quickly brushing himself off before continuing rather theatrically. "...touching, all that stuff about family and Dad and time. Wow!" Klaus exclaims enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with emotion, which elicits a soft smile from you in response to his genuine sentiment.

"Would you shut up? She'll hear you." Five instructs Klaus sternly, causing you to playfully roll your eyes at their banter, which is a common occurrence between the two.

"I'm moist." Klaus declares to both of you with a mischievous grin on his face, prompting a snort from you, and earning a disapproving look from Five before he redirects his attention back to Klaus, who is clad in an eccentric 'Klaus' ensemble that is a visual representation of his character.

"I told you to put on something professional." Five reminds Klaus, a hint of exasperation evident in his tone, emphasizing the importance of the occasion they are preparing for.

"What?" Klaus defends himself, placing a hand over his heart in a melodramatic gesture. "This is my nicest outfit." Klaus informs him with a touch of resignation in his voice, prompting you to let out a small sigh, understanding Klaus's unique sense of style and his attachment to it.

"I think you look great," you say with a smile as you give Klaus a thumbs up, appreciating the noticeable joy that lights up his face, followed by a small 'yay'.

Five, always the pragmatist, brushes a strand of hair out of his face and playfully warns, "Don't encourage him," nodding towards you before deciding, "We'll raid the old man's closet," as he heads out of the room, with you and Klaus trailing behind.

Klaus, always eager for the next adventure, promptly chimes in, "As long as I get paid," reminding Five of the practical aspect of their plan.

Five assures him, "When the job is done," emphasizing the importance of finishing what they started. Sensing Klaus's need for clarification, Five listens as Klaus begins to inquire, "Okay, but just so we're clear on the finer details, I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?"

"Yeah. Something like that," Five responded with a cryptic smile, raising more questions than answers.

Klaus interrupted the cryptic exchange with a curious inquiry, "What about y/n?" As Klaus gestured towards you, standing next to him, the spotlight inadvertently shifted your way.

Curiosity piqued, you questioned, "Yeah, what about me?" With a playful undertone, you urged Klaus to share his imminent revelation, crossing your arms defensively.

Klaus, ever the drama enthusiast, raised his hands dramatically, leading to a near miss as he almost struck your face. Momentarily taken aback, you shot him a disapproving look.

The trio stood frozen on the verge of the staircase, poised for Klaus's impending declaration. With theatrical flair, Klaus made his bold announcement, "I will be your dad," he targets towards Five, prompting skeptical looks exchanged between you and the boy.

Before the tension could mount further, Klaus dropped the unexpected bombshell, "and y/n will be your girlfriend!" Your reaction was immediate; a crimson flush spread across your cheeks, signaling your internal shock.

Confusion clouded your mind as you grappled with Klaus's unorthodox proposition, whispering a singular question, "Why?"

Klaus, undeterred by your reserve, slyly added, "Because you're not a Hargreeves... yet," his enigmatic tone leaving the group pondering the depth of his cryptic statement.

"That's a dumb reason," Five says to Klaus threateningly, emphasizing his point about the misunderstanding regarding his relationship with you. "She's not my girlfriend."

You attempt to reason with Klaus, explaining, "I don't even know him, I met him literally yesterday." However, before you can finish your explanation, Klaus swiftly grabs you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

As Klaus continues to tease Five about potentially dating you, he squeezes your cheeks playfully. "Who wouldn't want to date her? She's just like a cute little puppy." Despite your discomfort, Klaus seems amused by his comparison, flashing a genuine smile down at you.

Reacting quickly to Klaus's teasing, you deliver a small shock to his ribs, causing him to release his hold on you with a surprised yelp. "Bad Sparky," he mutters in response, acknowledging the unexpected jolt you gave him.

Turning your attention to Five, you notice that he avoids looking directly at you, but you can't help but observe a slight red tint at the tips of his ears, mirroring the color that has tinted your own cheeks in this playful interaction.

'good god-' you say in your head, your thoughts interrupted by Klaus swiftly changing the subject with a lighthearted comment.

"Anywho, what's our cover story?" Klaus queries, causing an air of mischief to settle in the room. As you furrow your brows in confusion, Five's sardonic tone cuts through the tension.

"What? What are you talking about?" Five questions aloud, reverting to his usual acerbic demeanor. Sensing his sharpness, you shift your attention to him, your expression now calm and collected.

"I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, 16?" He speculates, glancing mischievously at Five. "Like, young and-" His voice trails off, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "terribly misguided?" he jests, attempting to lighten the moment.

"Sure," Five responds nonchalantly, signaling his agreement with a subtle nod.

"Your mother, that slut.'' Klaus continues. "Whoever she was. We met at.." he thinks for a moment, you looking at him in disbelief. "the disco!" he chuckles.

"Okay? Remember that." he requests you and Five, reminiscing about the unforgettable encounter with your mother at the disco, punctuated by the jovial chuckle in his tone.

"Oh, my God, the sex was a-maz-ing!" he playfully croons, leading you to involuntarily snort out a laugh while you're already halfway down the stairs, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you.

Five glances at Klaus incredulously, shaking his head.

"What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain," he remarks, chuckling softly to himself, revealing an inkling of fondness beneath his teasing tone.

Klaus, undeterred by Five's comment, fires back playfully, "Don't make me put you both in a time-out," infusing his words with a mischievous glint.

~~~

A/N : oof that took forever, two days actually. y'all are lucky I already have all the chapters written. otherwise you'd be waiting for a loooong time. welcome back!!

word count : 4782

#x reader #reader insert #tua five #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #five x reader #five x y/n #the umbrella academy #spacial sparks

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a-court-of-mischief-and-madness · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight revelations

Part 4------Part 5

Eris vanserra x rhysand sister reader!

Summary: with the mating bond between her and Eris revealed. Rhysand isn't too happy and asks her to use it to get information out of Eris. After being invited to a ball in the Autumn Court she isn't too sure if she wants to do that anymore.

A/n: sorry for the delay guys, this chapter is a bit short coz it was finals week and I did not get any sleep at all. Hopefully you guys enjoy this one!

Warnings: slight romance, mentions of blood! other than that nothing else.

A few weeks later, the tension in the Night Court was palpable. Rhysand received a note from Beron, summoning him to the Autumn Court. Rhysand, ever wary, gathered his inner circle for the meeting. They all knew Beron rarely summoned anyone without ulterior motives, and his intentions were never benign.

When they arrived at the Autumn Court, Beron was waiting for them, his eyes glittering with malicious delight. Eris stood by his father's side, his expression unreadable, though his eyes flickered with a mix of defiance and resignation.

"Rhysand," Beron greeted, his tone deceptively cordial. "I'm glad you could make it. We have much to discuss."

Rhysand's gaze was cold as he responded, "Get to the point, Beron. Why did you summon us?"

Beron's smile widened, a predator baring its teeth. "It's come to my attention that there is a bond of great significance between our courts." He glanced meaningfully at Eris, then back at you. "Eris, it seems, has found his mate."

Gasps echoed around the room. Rhysand's face contorted with fury, and Mor looked utterly betrayed, her eyes flicking between you and Eris with disbelief and hurt.

You shook your head vehemently, your heart pounding in your chest. "I haven't felt anything," you insisted, your voice trembling with the effort to remain calm. But just as the words left your mouth, your eyes locked with Eris's, and a powerful surge of energy rippled through you.

In that instant, the mating bond snapped into place, the golden thread tying your fates together. It was like a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, an undeniable connection that sent shivers down your spine. You felt it as a magnetic pull, an unseen force binding you to Eris with an intensity you couldn't ignore.

As the bond solidified, a strange, tingling sensation spread across your scalp. You reached up, instinctively, to touch your hair, your fingers brushing through the dark strands. Before your eyes, the color began to shift, the deep brown transforming into a vibrant, fiery red that matched Eris's own. The change was mesmerizing and terrifying, each strand shimmering as it took on the new hue.

Gasps echoed around the room, and the entire inner circle watched in stunned disbelief. Rhysand's face contorted with fury, and Mor looked utterly betrayed, her eyes flicking between you and Eris with disbelief and hurt.

"What is happening?" Mor whispered, her voice filled with anguish.

Your heart raced as the realization settled over you. The bond was real, and it was changing you in ways you couldn't have imagined. Your hair, now the same shade as Eris's, was a visible mark of the connection between you, one that couldn't be hidden or denied.

Rhysand's fury was palpable, his power crackling in the air around him. "No," he growled, stepping protectively in front of you. "I won't allow this. She isn't going anywhere."

Beron's smile was triumphant. "You have no choice, Rhysand. According to the laws of Prythian, she must be given the opportunity to meet with her mate. She must visit the Autumn Court every week."

Rhysand clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. "I don't care about your laws, Beron. I won't let you use her for your schemes."

Beron raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking. "This isn't about you, Rhysand. This is about the bond between them. Denying it will only cause them both pain."

You could feel the truth of Beron's words in the depth of your soul, the bond tugging at you, demanding to be acknowledged. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew you couldn't ignore it.

Mor stepped forward, her face pale with a mix of betrayal and concern. "Do you want this?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of your true feelings.

Torn between loyalty to your family and the undeniable pull of the bond, you looked at Eris, his red hair and amber eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and fear. "I don't know," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Beron seized the moment, his tone authoritative. "Then it's settled. According to the ancient laws, she will visit the Autumn Court every week to explore the bond. It's only fair."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with defiance, but he knew the laws were binding. With a heavy heart, he turned to you, his gaze softening with concern. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "I have to," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Beron smirked, victorious. "Very well. We expect her next week."

As you left the Autumn Court, the reality of your situation settled over you. The bond with Eris was undeniable, but the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty. You couldn't help but wonder what the future held and how you would navigate the treacherous waters of both your courts and your heart.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

Returning to the Night Court after Beron's revelation felt like walking into a storm. You had barely stepped into the House of Wind when Rhysand summoned the entire inner circle to the grand hall. The tension was palpable as everyone gathered, their expressions a mix of shock, concern, and anger.

Rhysand paced back and forth, his fury barely contained. "I can't believe this. Eris, of all people."

Feyre stood by his side, trying to calm him. "Rhys, please. Getting angry won't change what's happened. We need to think this through."

You sat on the edge of a plush armchair, your heart pounding. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but it was Rhysand's intense gaze that made you feel the most vulnerable.

"He’s dangerous," Rhysand continued, his voice rising. "And now he’s bound to my sister by the mating bond."

Mor, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly stood up. "Rhys, this isn’t her fault. The mating bond isn’t something anyone can control."

You looked up, surprised by her support. Mor had every reason to be furious, but there was a calm determination in her eyes.

"Mor, how can you defend this?" Rhysand's voice was incredulous.

"Because I know what it feels like to be judged for something out of your control," Mor replied firmly. "And because she’s our family. We need to support her."

Nesta, sitting next to Cassian, nodded in agreement. "Mor's right. This isn’t her fault. Blaming her won’t help."

Cassian crossed his arms, his expression serious. "We need to focus on what’s important. Protecting her and figuring out what Beron might do next."

Azriel, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Eris might be her mate, but that doesn’t mean we trust him. We need to stay vigilant."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the supportive faces around you. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I never wanted this."

Feyre came over and knelt beside you, taking your hands in hers. "We know. And we’re here for you, no matter what."

Rhysand let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I don’t want what happened to Mor to happen to you."

You nodded, understanding his fear. "I don’t either. But I can’t deny what’s happening. The bond is real."

Rhysand's expression softened slightly, the anger giving way to concern. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

Feyre squeezed your hands. "Yes, we will. And no matter what, you’re not alone in this."

Mor stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We’ll get through this. All of us."

Nesta gave you a small, reassuring smile. "And we’ll make sure you’re safe."

As the tension in the room began to ease, you felt a flicker of hope. Rhysand seemed extremely uncomfortable with the events of tonight and you hoped he would calm down before anything else was to happen with the Autumn Court

Later, in the privacy of your room, you examined your reflection in the mirror, the fiery red of your hair a constant reminder of the bond. You knew from ancient lore that this transformation was not just cosmetic. Your hair would remain this vivid shade until the bond was consummated, until you mated with Eris.

The thought sent a shiver through you. The bond demanded recognition, and until it was fully acknowledged, you were marked by it. The vibrant red was a symbol of the passion and desire that tied you to Eris, an intimate and undeniable connection that changed everything.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

The invitation to the ball at the Autumn Court arrived unexpectedly, a beautifully crafted scroll sealed with Beron's crest. Rhysand gathered the inner circle to discuss it, his expression a mix of caution and curiosity.

“We’ve been invited to a ball,” Rhysand announced, holding up the scroll. “Beron wants to finalize the peace treaty.”

Cassian scoffed. “Sounds like a trap.”

“We have to be careful,” Feyre agreed, her eyes scanning the faces around the table.

You sat quietly, your heart pounding at the thought of returning to the Autumn Court. Since the revelation of the mating bond, your interactions with Eris had been fraught with tension and confusion. Rhysand noticed your silence and gave you a concerned look.

“You’ll be coming with us,” Rhysand said, his tone brooking no argument. “But stay close. I don’t trust Beron or his sons.”

The night of the ball arrived, and you found yourself dressed in a stunning silver gown that shimmered with every movement. The fabric was delicate and flowing, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel both powerful and vulnerable. The plunging neckline and open back revealed just enough to be tantalizing without being overtly scandalous, and a high slit ran up one leg, adding an edge of daring to the ensemble.

The grand ballroom of Beron’s palace was a spectacle of opulence and decadence, every inch dripping with gold and crystal. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers and rich perfumes, the music a haunting melody that echoed through the high, vaulted ceilings. You entered the ballroom, feeling the eyes of the Autumn Court upon you, your silver gown flowing around you like liquid crystals. The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the deep neckline and intricate lace detailing drawing more than a few appreciative gazes. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the anxiety of being in such a hostile environment and the anticipation of seeing him.

As the Night Court entourage entered the grand ballroom of the Autumn Court, you were struck by the opulence and the flickering warmth of the firelight reflecting off the gilded decorations. Nobles and courtiers filled the room, their eyes turning towards your group with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Eris was there, standing near the center of the room, his golden eyes locking onto you the moment you entered. He wore a tailored suit in rich autumnal colors, looking every bit the princely heir of the Autumn Court. The bond between you hummed with an almost tangible electricity, drawing you towards him despite your better judgment.

Rhysand kept a protective hand on your shoulder, his gaze wary as he scanned the room. But Eris approached with a confidence that belied the tension between the two courts.

"Dance with me," he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

Rhysand hesitated, his protective instincts warring with the necessity of diplomacy. After a moment, he nodded curtly, releasing you. “Be careful,” he whispered.

You placed your hand in his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. He led you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting to make way for you. The music swelled, a dark and haunting waltz, and you found yourself swept up in his embrace, the world around you blurring as you moved together.

Eris’s hand rested possessively on your lower back, his touch scorching through the fabric of your gown. "You look stunning tonight, red is a good look on you" he murmured, referring to your hair, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "But don’t think I’ve forgotten who you are."

His words were a reminder of the delicate dance you were both engaged in, a game of power and seduction that neither of you could afford to lose. Yet, beneath the barbs and the tension, there was something else—a pull that neither of you could deny.

"Nor I, you," you replied, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Eris twirled you expertly, your gown flaring out around you like a flame, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. The twirl brought you back into his arms, your bodies aligning perfectly, his breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to spin with you, the music and the crowd blurring into a distant echo.

His hand slid lower on your back, his fingers pressing into the curve of your spine with possessive heat. "You think you can manipulate me with this bond?" Eris whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you can use it to get what you want?"

You met his gaze, your eyes burning with defiance. "And what if I am?" you challenged, your voice a seductive whisper.

The air around you crackled with tension, the music and the crowd fading into the background. Eris's grip on you tightened, his eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and desire. "Tell me you don’t feel this," he growled, his voice a raw, dangerous edge.

Your heart raced, the bond between you thrumming with intensity. "I feel it," you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you."

Eris’s eyes blazed with a fierce, possessive light. "Then we are at an impasse," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Because I won’t let you go."

He spun you again, your skirts flaring out, and when he pulled you back, his hand was firmer, more insistent. Your bodies moved as one, each step a seductive dance of defiance and desire. His fingers brushed the bare skin of your back through the cutout of your gown, sending shivers down your spine. The heat from his touch was both thrilling and maddening, his presence consuming.

As the music slowed, Eris’s hand slid down further, his fingers trailing down your bare legs. Your breath hitched, the intimate touch sending a wave of heat through your body. He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. "Look who's excited," he murmured, his voice a teasing caress.

The dance was a battle of wills, each step a carefully calculated move. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of his body overwhelming. Your breaths mingled as you moved, the friction between you a tantalizing promise of what could be. The way he held you, the way his body pressed against yours, it felt as if you were the only two people in the room.

"You’re playing with fire," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, sending another shiver down your spine.

"Maybe I like the heat," you replied, your voice a soft challenge.

His eyes flared with something dark and dangerous, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken. The music reached a crescendo, and with a final, dizzying spin, the dance ended, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

Eris's eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge that left you reeling. "Remember, little bird," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "This game is far from over."

He released you then, stepping back and leaving you standing alone on the dance floor, the heat of his touch lingering on your skin. The crowd around you resumed their revelry, oblivious to the battle that had just played out in their midst. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing with the implications of what had just happened.

As you made your way off the dance floor, you couldn't help but glance back at Eris. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his fiery gaze still locked onto you, a promise of more to come. The game between you was far from over, and you knew that the next move was yours.

-----------------------♧-----------------------------------

Later after the dance, you looked around the ballroom for eris but didn't seem to find him. You found yourself wandering off into Autumn Court, looking for him.

A few hours earlier

The day had come for you to go the Autumn Court for the ball , a place that had become a maze of emotions and conflicts. The knowledge of your newly discovered mating bond with Eris had created a whirlwind within the inner circle. The tension was palpable, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on everyone. As you prepared to leave, Rhysand summoned you to his office.

You stood before your brother, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. Feyre was by his side, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions.

"You know why you need to go tonight," Rhysand said, his voice steady but laced with underlying tension. "But there's more to this visit than just the mating bond."

You frowned, sensing the gravity of his words. "What do you mean?"

Rhysand exchanged a look with Feyre before continuing. "We need Eris to sign the peace treaty. It's crucial for the stability between our courts."

Your heart sank. Convincing Eris of anything, let alone a peace treaty, seemed an insurmountable task given your current situation.

Rhysand seemed to notice and asked with hesitation in his voice "you don't plan on accepting this bond do you sister?"

Your eyes met with his and you firmly said "no, brother I would never betray you or our family that way"

"good, that's what I like to hear" rhysand gave you a warm smile

"And you think I can do this?" you asked, your feet shifting and trying to change the subject, doubt creeping into your voice.

Rhysand's gaze softened. "You are stronger than you think. And you have a unique connection with him now. Use it to our advantage."

Feyre stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "We believe in you. Just remember, you have us backing you every step of the way."

You nodded, drawing strength from their unwavering support. "I'll do my best"

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

The grand ball in the Autumn Court had been a dazzling affair, with the glittering lights and the melodious music setting an enchanting atmosphere. You had danced with Eris, feeling the intensity of the mating bond thrumming between you, even as Rhysand had watched with a guarded expression.

Later that night, after the festivities had wound down, you found yourself wandering through the quiet halls of the Autumn Court palace, seeking out Eris. You knew he was in his study, and despite the tension between you, you needed to speak with him about this, about the treaty, about what was going to happen next.

The heavy oak doors to his study were slightly ajar, and you pushed them open cautiously. Eris was there, sitting behind his desk, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. His face was hard and unreadable as he glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply, his voice tinged with bitterness.

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of his anger and the pull of the mating bond between you. "Eris, we need to talk," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions inside you.

He scoffed, his gaze darkening. "Talk? About what? The mating bond?" He rose from his chair, his movements tense and controlled. "I've made myself clear. This... thing between us changes nothing. You need to stay away from me."

His words stung, but you refused to back down. "Eris you came to me, you started this at the unification ceremony, when i came to visit Lucien, right now at the ball" you gripped your hair strands, frustrated.

He chuckled "Don't you understand? We are all pawns in his game, all that I did was just a game, it didn't mean anything i can promise you that, you didn't seriously think all my gestures meant anything? Did you now?" he responded ruthlessly making your heart swell with sadness and anger

"Eris, I know you're afraid of your father, but I won't let him control us," you said firmly, taking a step closer to him.

He laughed bitterly, a harsh sound that cut through the air. "You have no idea what my father is capable of," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous. ''He wants your wings, and before you ask, no I did not tell him he practically pried his way into my head"

You gasped upon the revelation of the news that you just heard. Your mind raced with thoughts of what Beron wanted to do with your wings and that made you shudder.

The sexual tension between you was palpable, a volatile mix of desire and frustration. You could feel the heat radiating from him, drawing you in even as he pushed you away.

"Eris, I can protect myself," you insisted, your voice softening as you reached out to touch his arm.

He jerked away from your touch, his eyes flashing with a mixture of longing and fear. "Don't," he warned, his voice hoarse. "You don't understand what you're dealing with."

You stood your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "Then help me understand," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion.

For a moment, he looked at you with something akin to despair in his eyes. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your arms firmly. The intensity of his gaze bore into yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"You need to leave," he said roughly, his voice low and urgent. "Before it's too late."

But you couldn't tear your gaze away from his, couldn't deny the pull of the bond that bound you together. "I can't," you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

With that he holds your face, you feel the cold rings on his fingers digging into your skin. He towers over you, his height making you feel small and vulnerable pushing you against the harsh surface of the wall. His elbow leans against the wall, trapping you between his strong body and the unyielding surface behind you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath against your face, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

For a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his lips. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat as anticipation builds between the two of you. But just as quickly as he moved in, he pulls back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You have no idea what you're getting into, we can never be anything more, we are just a game" he whispers, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing with a mix of fear and something else you can't quite name. His proximity is maddening, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. You know you should push him away, to resist the pull he has over you, but your body betrays you, frozen under his gaze.

"I... I need to go," you stammer, trying to break free from his grip.

Eris's smirk widens, his eyes darkening with amusement. "Run away if you must," he says softly, his voice dripping with mockery. "But you'll be back. They always come back."

With that, he releases you and steps back, leaving you breathless and confused, your heart pounding in her chest. You gather yourself and hurry out of the room, Eris's taunting words echoing in your mind.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @sunny1616 @st4r-girl-official @krowiathemythologynerd

#eris vanserra #azriel x reader #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #eris acotar #eris x oc #feyre x rhysand #rhysand sister #eris fic #rhysand #erisxrhysandsister #eris fanfic #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #beron vanserra

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mytaegiheart · 1 month ago

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Double Exposure Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I wonder if I can make a run for it?

That was the question foremost in your thoughts as your friends dragged you to the doors of Pandora's Box that night.

They even made you wear a glitter crown and a sash over your chest that read 'Birthday Girl', like you were the main event at an auction.

You really wanted to be home, snuggled up in your bed, eating ice cream and watching cheesy horror movies.

Did that happen?

Nope.

They dragged you out of bed the moment they saw you. You regret giving your best friend your spare key.

Note to self: get locks changed.

You wanted to wear your most comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt with your favorite leather jacket.

Did that happen?

Nope.

Your friends raided your closet upon arrival to your apartment and found a combination of the shortest top you owned and a skirt that barely covered your ass.

I hate all of you and I hope your pillows are hot every night.

Payback was going to be a bitch when this night was finally over.

You loved your friends, would even die for them, but in that moment – you wanted to murder them.

Maybe they won't let us in.

That was your next thought.

Did that happen?

NOPE!

The minute the door bouncers saw your birthday sash, they immediately let you in.

Maybe if I throw myself to the floor and throw a tantrum they'll kick us out.

Yeah, that probably would last 2 seconds before Yelena knocked you senseless for being an idiot and ruining the night that she had planned for months.

You finally sighed, resigned to your fate.

Your group immediately headed for the bar and you were glad for it. You needed something alcoholic to get through this night.

“Hey, what can I get ya?” one of the bartenders asked upon approach.

“Margarita, no salt, on the rocks.” you immediately replied.

“You got it, beautiful.” he winked at you before starting your drink.

I'm not rolling my eyes. I am not rolling my eyes.

He was back in a hot second with a perfectly made drink and you pulled out your wallet.

“On the house. Birthday girls get free drinks tonight.” he grinned, walking away to serve another patron.

Bonus. Goal: get black out drunk and not have to deal with a private strip show.

As if your friends would let you miss that opportunity.

A few drinks down and a couple of hours later, you were starting to feel pretty good. The stage show had been great and you laughed your ass off when one of your friends in your group got pulled up on the stage with the male strippers and got squashed in the middle.

If you knew what was coming your direction, you probably wouldn't have laughed.

4 hours into your birthday celebration, one of the club attendants approached your table.

“Ms Y/n? Would you come with me please?” he asked politely. You looked up at him, a confused look on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, Ms. But your friends got you a special gift for your birthday and I am to direct you to the appropriate location.”

Your head snapped around to your friends and they were all grinning at you.

“What did you do?” you demanded as you got to your feet.

“You'll find out! Have fun!” Yelena called out as the attendant lead you away.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

#bts #jung hoseok #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #Double Exposure

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doffys-favourite-slut · 8 months ago

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Doflamingo x Defiant!Reader Smut Ch. 3

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Welcome back y'all. What's poppin? Chapter 3 is finally here, and it's a little different from the last few chapters, this time focusing on somnopilia (taking advantage of someone who is asleep [although the literal definition is to be aroused by someone who is asleep, but that's not exactly what's going on here]). There isn't very much dialogue because of that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

☣️WARNINGS: NONCON/RAPE, dubcon, NSFW, MDNI, smut, sexual assault, abuse, violence, aggression

Themes in this chapter: NONCON/RAPE, dubcon, forced submission, forced creampie, breeding, inflation, slight degradation and humiliation, manipulation, somnophilia, false affection.

Notes: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THERE IS NONCON/RAPE THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE FANFICTION. THIS FANFICTION IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY BE TRIGGERING, UPSETTING, OR DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

P.S. I'm sorry if I forgot to change any pronouns/names/etc. ;-; I'm still trying, aight. I do update these after I've reread them and gone through them a couple times, but there may still be some things I miss.

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

[Chapter 3]

Doflamingo picked you up off the bed and held you, the blood from your welts was a stark reminder of what he was capable of, and a warning of what was yet to come. You shook with anxiety in his arms, the trauma settling in. "Remember," he began, his voice soft and gentle, "there is no escape from me. This is your new life now. You're mine to do with as I please. Now that I've broken you, even if it may be in the slightest bit, it's time to build you back up to the person I want you to be." Your submission was a necessity, a requirement for your continued existence under his rule.

Carrying you to the bathroom, Doflamingo started a bath, the steam rising, the water bubbling. As he lowered you into the bath, the warm water enveloping your battered body, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope, a distant, faint whisper that perhaps, one day, you'd find a way to escape his twisted, sadistic grasp.

Doflamingo stepped into the bath with you, his presence looming, dominating the small space. The water rippled around you both, a stark contrast to the tension that filled the air.

Your mind raced with thoughts of 'what ifs', a constant, nagging fear that he would try to drown you, to end your life in this very moment. The idea filled you with a deep, primal terror, a fear that gripped your heart and squeezed, making it hard to breathe.

But in the back of your mind, a small, rational voice whispered, "he won't kill me. Not now, not when he needs me, when your body was a vessel for his twisted desires and his future offspring."

The thought of death, of the sweet release it would bring, was tempting, a siren's call, promising an escape from the pain, the humiliation, and the constant fear. But you knew, deep down, that death would not come easily, that Doflamingo would not grant you such a mercy.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Doflamingo's hand reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm, a touch that was both gentle and threatening, a reminder of the power he held over you.

"Shh, no more thoughts of escaping, my dear." His voice was a low, menacing purr, a snake's hiss, full of venom and promise. "You're mine now, and mine you shall remain."

The words were a brand, a mark of ownership, a seal of your fate. You were his, body and soul, a plaything for his twisted desires, a slave to his unyielding, sadistic rule.

As he pulled you close, your body pressed against his, the water lapping at your skin, you knew that this was your life now, a never-ending cycle of pain and pleasure, of submission and degradation, of a love that was anything but loving, anything but pure.

You sighed, a resigned acceptance of your fate, and simply let Doflamingo do whatever he wanted. Your body continued to shake, a physical manifestation of your fear and trauma, but your eyes were dry, the tears spent, a well of sadness that had run dry.

In the very darkest corners of your mind, a tiny, insidious thought began to take shape. Arousal, a desire for this twisted fantasy to continue, a part of you that reveled in the humiliation, the degradation, the pain. It was a voice that whispered promises of pleasure, of submission, of a perverse, masochistic love that twisted your body into knots of yearning.

But you knew better than to give it any attention. You refused to accept it, to let it grow, to let it become a part of you. This was Doflamingo's doing, the result of his sadistic pleasure, not a part of you that he had awakened.

As Doflamingo's hands roamed your body, his touch a mixture of gentle care and brutal ownership, you couldn't help but feel your body respond, your nipples hardening beneath his fingers, your skin flushing with arousal, betraying your mind's rejection.

Your body was a battleground, a constant struggle between mind and flesh, between the woman you were and the creature Doflamingo was molding you into, and whether your mind accepted it or not, your body was already beginning to embrace its new role, a submissive, willing vessel for his twisted desires, a part of you that craved the pain, the pleasure, the attention, the violation that he offered.

Doflamingo's fingers traced patterns on your skin, a promise of more to come, a reminder that you were nothing more than a plaything in his hands, a pawn in his grand game, a slave to his will.

Doflamingo's grabbed some soap and gently began cleansing your skin, the soap creating a lather, washing away the blood, dirt, and sweat. But as he cleaned your welts, you couldn't help but cry out in pain, your body arching, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"Shh, my dear, the pain is necessary. It reminds you of your place, of who you belong to." Doflamingo's voice was a soothing whisper, a cruel lullaby, his words a balm to your battered soul.

His hands continued their ministrations, his fingers exploring every inch of your body, tracing the curves, the dips, the planes of your flesh. "Your skin is so soft, so delicate. It's like the finest silk, waiting to be torn, to be marked, to be claimed." His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, dipped into your cleavage, teasing your nipples into hardness.

"And these breasts, so full, so perfect. They were made to be worshipped, used, and abused." His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them roughly, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your body.

Your mind began to dissociate once again, a desperate attempt to escape the present, to flee the horror that was your reality. But the memory of what happened last time brought you crashing back to consciousness, a sharp reminder that your escape had been short-lived, that there was no escape from Doflamingo's insidious grasp.

He finished cleaning you, rinsing off the soap, the water running clear. He lifted you both out of the tub, the water draining away, the evidence of his cruelty and your suffering disappearing down the drain, only to be replaced by a new, more twisted chapter in your story.

Back in your room, the sheets changed, he placed you on the bed. The exhaustion that engulfed you was a suffocating blanket, a weight that threatened to crush you under its oppressive force.

Your mind and body were spent, your will broken, and all you wanted was to sleep, to escape into the dreamless void of unconsciousness, to forget, if only for a moment, the reality of your new life.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body close to yours, his fingers trailing along your arm, a whisper of a touch that still held the weight of his dominance, the promise of more to come.

"Sleep, my dear." His voice was a soft command, a directive that you couldn't refuse, a demand that you obey. "Tomorrow, we start your new life."

A new life, a life you never asked for, a life that was a constant struggle between your mind and your body, between what you wanted and what you needed, between what you were and what Doflamingo was forging you into.

And as you closed your eyes, as your body succumbed to the sweet oblivion of sleep, you knew that when you awoke, you would be different, a part of you having died, a part of Doflamingo's creation reborn, ready to serve his twisted desires, ready to embrace your role as his submissive, willing pawn, in his grand game of power and control.

As you drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you, Doflamingo watched over you, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. In the dim light of the room, his gaze was intense, a predator watching its prey, a possessor admiring his new possession.

But as the minutes ticked by, and your breathing evened out, Doflamingo felt a weariness of his own, a fatigue that he couldn't shake.

With a sigh, he reached up and removed his sunglasses, setting them carefully on the nightstand next to the bed. He crawled into bed next to you, his body wrapping around yours, his arms pulling you close against his chest. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the coldness of his heart, a reminder that his affection was nothing more than a means to an end, a tool to keep you compliant, to break you further.

As he held you, his eyes drifted closed, his own exhaustion overtaking him. In sleep, his grip on you loosened, his hold on your body and your mind relaxed, if only for a moment. But even in sleep, you could feel his presence, the weight of his body against yours, the heat of his skin, the scent of his cologne.

As you slept, your mind tried to process the events of the day, the horror of your new reality, the fear of what the future held. But sleep was a merciful release, a momentary escape from the pain, the fear, the despair that consumed your waking hours.

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

Doflamingo stirred awake in the dead of night, his eyes snapping open, his senses immediately attuned to his surroundings. A glance at the clock revealed the time - 3:23 AM.

His hand, still wrapped around you, slid lower, his fingers caressing the swell of your abdomen. The feel of your flesh beneath his touch, the knowledge that he had put it there, that he had claimed you, filled him with a sense of primal satisfaction, a dark arousal that coursed through his veins.

His fingers traced the curves of your body, mapping the landscape of your flesh. He could feel the heat emanating from your skin, the softness of your curves, the way your body yielded to his touch, even in sleep.

His arousal grew, pressing against your ass, a physical manifestation of his desire, his need. He wanted you, needed you; he craved the feeling of your body beneath his and the sounds of your cries.

A low, dark chuckle escaped his lips as he realized that your body was his to command, to use as he saw fit, regardless of your mental state. It was a power that intoxicated him, a control that he relished, a dominance that he would never relinquish.

His fingers found your clit, the sensitive nub already swollen with arousal, begging for his touch. He circled it, teased it, his touch feather-light, a tantalizing promise of pleasure to come.

His fingers slid through your slick folds, feeling the heat, tightness, and readiness of your body. He couldn't resist the urge to plunge a finger inside, to feel your walls clench around him.

Your body responded eagerly, your hips bucking, your legs parting, inviting him in, even as your mind remained lost in the depths of sleep. It was a sight that filled Doflamingo with a dark, twisted arousal. His fingers pumped in and out, curling to hit that sensitive spot deep within, coaxing your body to new heights of pleasure, even as your mind remained blissfully unaware.

When he could resist no longer, he removed his fingers and flipped you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. He could feel the heat of your core, the slickness of your arousal, the invitation of your body.

With a swift thrust, he entered you, his member sliding into your tight, wet cunt, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips at the exquisite sensation. He began to move, his hips rocking, his cock sliding in and out, driven by the primal urge to claim, conquer, and possess.

Doflamingo continued his slow, deliberate thrusts, savoring the exquisite feeling of your body, the way it clenched around him, the way it begged for more with each movement, your unconscious moans of pleasure echoing softly in the night. He was in no hurry, content to revel in the moment, to absorb the sensation, to bask in your unconscious submission.

His hands roamed your body, exploring, claiming, as his hips rocked. Each thrust was a statement, a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the power he held over you.

As he moved, his breathing grew heavier, his pace increasing ever so slightly, driven by the insatiable hunger that burned within him. He wanted to claim every inch of you, to fill you with his presence, to leave his mark on your body, to make you his in the most primal, animalistic way possible.

His fingers found your clit once more, his thumb circling it, applying just the right amount of pressure to tease you, to build you towards the edge, to coax your body further into submission.

Doflamingo's fingers danced across your abdomen, undoing the strings around your cervix, your body responded with a surge of pleasure, your orgasm drawing nearer with each passing moment. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of your tight, wet cunt, combined with the delicious pressure on your clit, was too much to bear.

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in deeper, as your body quivered and shook, a cascade of pleasure washing over you. With a piercing moan of pleasure, your fluids gushed out, soaking him, coating him in the evidence of your ecstasy.

Doflamingo's hips continued their relentless rhythm, his cock throbbing inside you, his own release building with each thrust. "I love using you, knowing that your body is mine, that I can take you whenever I want, however I want. And look at you now, cumming for me, even in your sleep. Your cunt knows what it wants."

Doflamingo felt his own climax building, the pressure in his balls growing, his cock twitching and pulsing inside you. With one final thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could, his glans wedged against your cervix, as he erupted, his seed pouring into your waiting womb, filling you, claiming you.

His testicles, heavy and swollen, churned out more of his essence, each pulse of his cock sending another wave of his potent seed into your depths. Your body, already swollen with his previous offerings, began to expand further, your stomach growing taut, a tangible testament to the power he held over you, the control he exerted over your very existence.

Doflamingo's thick, veiny cock, slick with your juices, buried deep inside your tight, wet cunt, his heavy balls pressed against your ass, your pussy stretched and filled to the brim, your stomach swelling with his essence. It was a picture of complete dominance, a physical manifestation of the power he held over you, the control he exerted over your body, your mind, your very soul.

In this moment, as you lay beneath him, your body a vessel for his pleasure, your mind lost in the depths of sleep, Doflamingo knew that he had found his perfect plaything, a woman who would be his, always, in every way, a possession to be used and enjoyed, a pawn in his twisted game of power and domination. He collapsed on top of you, his body spent, his seed still leaking from the tip of his cock into your depths.

Doflamingo's glans slipped from your cervix, the connection between your bodies severed, but the effects of his actions lingered. With a satisfied sigh, he began to sew your cervix back together, his strings weaving through your flesh, knotting and securing it shut. He finished securing your cervix with a final tug and rolled off of you, his spent body collapsing onto the bed beside you.

Your body, exhausted from the day's events, remained lost in the depths of sleep, your mind unable to process the horror, the pleasure, the twisted mix of emotions that coursed through your veins. You were utterly spent, drained of the energy needed to resist, to fight, to escape the dark reality that had become your new life.

But for now, in the stillness of the night, he could revel in his victory, in the knowledge that he had claimed you, that he had made you his, that he would forever hold the key to your pleasure, your pain, your very existence. And as he drifted off to sleep, his arms wrapped possessively around your body, he knew that tomorrow would bring fresh horrors, fresh delights, fresh opportunities to solidify his control, to cement his dominance, to ensure that you would be his, always, in every way, a possession, a plaything, a pawn in his twisted game of power and domination.

#one piece #donquixote doflamingo #doffy #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x reader smut #donquixote family #fem reader #one piece smut #x reader #doflamingo

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macbethsymphony · 1 year ago

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The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 16

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 16: The Government’s Research, Part 1

The atmosphere in the galley grew tense as the argument between the captain and the navigator reached its peak, just as Brook, Zoro, and you entered the room.

Nami's voice cut through the air like a blade, her tone unwavering. "Absolutely not! We are not going there."

Luffy's frustration bubbled to the surface. "But why not? I really want to go!"

You settled into a seat, captivated by the unfolding dispute. Nami and Luffy stood face to face, their gazes locked on the log pose before them.

The navigator's resolve solidified as she jabbed a finger toward the erratic needle. "Because that island is dangerous, Luffy. We shouldn’t risk it."

Luffy's expression soured, his lips forming a pout. "But it looks so interesting, Nami! I'm sure there's an adventure waiting for us!"

The tension hung heavy in the air as neither of them showed signs of backing down.

"We've been at sea for weeks, restocking should take priority over adventure," Nami tried to reason, her voice unwavering.

Usopp chimed in, adding his support to Nami's argument. "That's right, Luffy! We're running low on supplies."

But the rubber man remained adamant. "I refuse. As the captain, I say we're going to this island." He pointed decisively at the flicking needle on the log pose.

Nami's stare narrowed in frustration, but with a resigned sigh, she relented. "Fine."

As the heat of the argument began to dissipate, you couldn't help but ask. "What's going on?" you questioned, eager to understand the cause of the commotion.

All eyes turned towards you, breaking the tension that had gripped the room moments ago. Nami let out a heavy breath, her shoulders slumping slightly as she glanced at you.

"We were just discussing our next destination," she explained, her voice calmer now that the discussion had been settled. "Luffy wants to head to a particularly dangerous island, but I'm not convinced it's worth the risk."

You nodded, understanding the situation. "Is it really that perilous?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

Nami shrugged. "Who knows. Usually, when the needle goes back and forth like that, it means something is happening. We’ll just have to be careful and hope for the best.”

Luffy, however, remained undeterred. "But think of the adventure!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Why the fuck am I stuck with you again?” You growled at the swordsman as you descended into the suspicious trap door hidden in the dense jungle you’d been exploring. Each of your steps on the rungs of the ladder echoed loudly in the tight confined space.

“That’s my line, witch” Zoro retorted, his voice booming below you. He hopped down the ladder as it reached its end slightly above the ground, the sound of his feet meeting cold tiles reverberating against the metal walls of the dark corridor.

“Do you want my fist in your mouth” you hissed your irritation palpable as he easily picked you up by the waist and carefully deposited you on the floor.

“As if you could,” he looked down at you with a sneer.

“Can you guys stop fighting for a second?” Nami snapped as Zoro did the same for her. The navigator’s patience was starting to thin dangerously.

You stubbornly ignored her exasperated plea. The bickering had been unending ever since early that morning, the both of you somehow even more on edge than usual.

“I really don’t like this,” Usopp’s voice quivered as he hopped down.

You disregarded the sniper’s remark, he’d already said so over a hundred times since you’d left the ship.

"Why did you bring Uragiri along?" you demanded of the swordsman as you strode together down the path, your steps matching in rhythm.

"It's none of your business," Zoro shot back, his tone clipped and defensive.

"Are you daft or something? Bringing it here will only complicate things further," you exclaimed, frustration seeping into your voice.

"What did you just say?" Zoro retorted, his pace faltering slightly as he turned to face you, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"I said Uragiri isn't something to be trifled with. You'll only stir up trouble trying to master it here," you reiterated, your tone firm as you met his gaze head-on.

A sharp impact jolted your head forward, followed by the soft thud of fabric hitting the ground. Stooping down, you retrieved the fallen object. An unfamiliar uniform lay in your grasp.

Nami's voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "You two," she began, her eyes flashing with fury. "If you don't stop this incessant bickering, I swear I'll lose it. Get changed. Now!" Her words reverberated down the hallway, echoing in your ears.

Casting a disgruntled glance at the swordsman, you begrudgingly acquiesced to the navigator's command. Despite your annoyance, you decided it was wise to comply.

"What even is this place?" you muttered under your breath as you began to shed your current attire.

She let out an exasperated sigh, irritation evident in every line of her body.

"If you'd bothered to pay attention," she started, her voice laced with frustration, "you would have fucking noticed that this is a marine base."

With a swift motion, you removed your boots, leaving you clad only in stretchy shorts and a sports bra. Usopp turned away as you changed, shocked by your lack of modesty. Zoro's gaze flickered towards you, his eyes lingering shamelessly on your figure. Nami shot him a warning glare, but he merely shrugged, unfazed as he slipped into the jumpsuit she had thrown at him.

"A marine base? This?" you echoed incredulously, disbelief coloring your tone.

You frowned, the realization sinking in as you glanced around the dimly lit corridor. You zipped the jumpsuit and pulled your boots back on. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, a sharp contrast to the humid earthy smell of the jungle you’d been travelling through moments ago.

"Are we even certain this is the place Robin mentioned?" you queried, turning back towards the swordsman as you fastened Yokubari to your hip.

He suddenly averted his gaze from you. You quizzically gave him an up and down, curious at the out-of-place reaction. The jumpsuit uniform he wore was only partially zipped. Your eyes lingered a moment longer than intended on the snugness of the sleeves against his arms, tracing the scar that marred his chest.

"You're wearing it wrong," you scoffed, striding over to the swordsman, your fingers curling around the zipper pull. A faint blush tinged the tips of your ears as you pulled the tab upward, securing the jumpsuit's front up to his neck.

His hand intercepted yours before you could retreat, guiding it downward a few inches. "Did I say I cared?" he retorted, deftly undoing it to its original position. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in your eyes.

“You bastard,” you started, wrenching your hand out of his grip.

Nami let out an audible groan. "Can you two focus for once?" she snapped, her patience wearing thin as she watched your interaction with exasperation.

The chime of the mini den den mushi in Nami's pocket halted the protest that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

"Oh! Robin!" the navigator greeted, her voice a mix of relief and curiosity. "How's everything on your end?" she inquired, already starting to move down the corridor.

"Luffy charged ahead, Sanji went after him to keep him in check," the archeologist's gentle tone filtered through the device, crackling softly. "Brook and I are trailing not too far behind."

"Have you managed to figure out what this place is?" Usopp interjected, leaning over Nami's shoulder to address Robin.

You followed the duo before you, the swordsman's footsteps reverberating distantly behind you as you made your way down the corridor.

“From what I observed,” Robin replied thoughtfully. “It appears to be a research facility. We’ve encountered laboratories and test chambers.”

Your brows furrowed in concern at the revelation. “A marine research facility?” You echoed, exchanging a worried glance with Nami.

You turned back, the passageway behind you suddenly feeling too quiet. The conversation carried on in the background as your eyes tried to find the swordsman unsuccessfully.

“Fuck,” you shouted as you spotted green hair disappearing at an intersection. “Swordsman! Where do you think you’re going?” You ran after him.

Ignoring your protests, Zoro continued to stride forward, his pace rapid despite your calls. You quickened your steps, determined to catch up with him before he vanished completely.

“You fucking moron, wait up!" you called out, the urgency evident in your voice.

As you reached the intersection, you skidded to a stop, scanning the area for any sign of Zoro. The corridor stretched out before you, devoid of any trace of the swordsman.

"Where did he go?" you muttered to yourself, frustration bubbling up inside you.

Just then, a faint rustling sound made its way to your ears from a nearby side passage. Without hesitation, you darted in that direction, your senses on high alert.

As you rounded the corner, you came face to face with Zoro, who was standing with his arms crossed, a contemplative look on his features.

"What do you think you’re doing?" you demanded, your voice tense as you tried to catch your breath. "I fucking swear I should put a leash on you."

Zoro glanced at you, his expression tinged with annoyance. "I thought I heard something," he replied cryptically, gesturing towards a door at the end of the corridor.

Your senses sharpened, straining to discern the source of the faint sounds. Like a beacon in the darkness, the cheerful voices reached your ears, their brightness cutting through the ominous silence of the steel walls. They were drawing closer. Panic surged within you, your eyes darting around frantically. You watched as the swordsman's fingers inched towards his swords, your teeth clenched in frustration. This was supposed to be a covert mission, and Nami would chew you out if you made a commotion.

Without hesitation, your hand grasped Zoro’s collar, dragging him along with you through the nearest door. Your heart pounded in your chest as the door softly clicked shut behind you. The darkness enveloped your form, your eyes struggling to register the contents of the storage closet you'd just entered. Its cramped confines offered little respite from the suffocating anxiety that gripped you as the voices you’d heard grew louder.

“I could have just taken care of them, you know,” Zoro whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, far too close for your liking.

"Don’t whisper behind me like that," you snapped, your voice low but sharp with irritation.

He chuckled softly, the rumbling of his chest against your back sending a thrill down your spine as he leaned nearer. His hand rested against the doorframe, effectively pinning you in place. “It’s not like I have a choice,” he said, his breath tickling your neck.

You stiffened, heat rising to your cheeks as you felt the proximity of his body.

Suppressing a shiver, you made the mistake of turning around, his breath now touching your lips tantalizingly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hissed.

Zoro’s eye gleamed with amusement, his grin widening as he leaned back slightly, giving you a teasing once-over. His other hand went to play with the hair at your nape. “What’s wrong with me?” He asked, voice dripping with playful arrogance.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart raced at the proximity of his body. “I don’t understand the game you’re playing at, swordsman.” You gritted through your teeth.

“Who said anything about games?” He countered, grip tightening slightly.

You couldn’t help but melt into his touch faintly. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, gaze avoiding his.

Zoro's grin only widened at your remark, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eye. "Is that a complaint or a compliment?" he teased, his tone light despite the tension that crackled between you.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let his playful banter distract you from the seriousness of the situation. "Take it however you want," you retorted, your voice laced with frustration.

His hand trailed from your nape to your shoulder, pushing aside the collar of the jumpsuit so his hand touched your skin. He exerted a gentle pressure that pushed you softly against the door. Despite your efforts to resist, the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, sending a tingling sensation flowing to your core. "And yet you seem to put up with me just fine," he murmured, his breath brushing over your ear as he leaned closer.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, a jolt of electricity coursing through you at the intimate proximity. "I really shouldn’t be," you muttered, your resolve faltering ever so slowly.

Drifting back slightly, he studied your face, his eye searching for something you couldn't quite discern. “They’ve been gone for a while,” he observed, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the two of you.

It took your mind an embarrassingly long moment to process his words, eliciting a satisfied chuckle from the swordsman. "We should head back to Nami and Usopp," you suggested, a sudden sense of unease gnawing at your gut.

With a small smile, he released his hold on you and opened the door, allowing you to stumble back into the cold neons of the corridor.

Zoro stepped out of the storage closet, his step lighter than usual as you struggled to find your balance, hitting the metal wall almost painfully. “You bastard,” you started annoyance coloring your voice.

He ignored your outrage. “Lead the way,” he demanded, arms crossed.

It was then that you realized you had no idea which way you’d arrived by.

“Fuck” you said loudly, the situation eerily familiar.

He quirked an amused eyebrow at that.

“Great, just great. This is all your fault, just so you know,” you snapped at him before he could say anything.

But before he could respond, a high-pitched voice shattered the stillness, causing you to stiffen in surprise. Turning, you came face to face with a young marine, his demeanor peculiarly jovial as he approached.

"Are you guys new? You arrived this morning, right?" he chirped, his tone friendly as he passed by, a crate of alcohol in his hands. "You should join us!"

Your heart rate quickened at the unexpected invitation, anxiety clawing at the edges of your mind. You’d been careless, distracted. You shot Zoro a pointed glare, silently pleading for him to follow your lead.

"Maybe later," you stated, the quiver in your voice betraying a hint of apprehension, even as Zoro's response came in stark contrast. "Sure, why not," he chimed in casually, his tone lacking concern as he eyed the bottles in the crate longingly.

With silent daggers shooting from your eyes, you trailed behind the two men, the tension thick enough to slice through the air like a blade. If looks could kill, the swordsman would be rotting in hell.

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Masterlist

#the swordsman and the blacksmith #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #charlou writes

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 2 months ago

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Chapter 15 - The Safety Dance

[Also Available on AO3]

Shadow Dance Masterlist

Summary: With the mission over, its time for the 141 to relax and take a load off before dealing with another threat

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, character with trauma, established relationship, military inaccuracies, medical inaccuracies, author's stupid humor

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV.

This was just a fun little chapter for me to write some TF141 squad banter, mostly just some silly comedy for the author to enjoy by turning my oc into a meme

Next chapter is smut FYI

tagging: @taciturntraveller

November 4, 2022 0255 - Chicago, USA

There were no police, no ambulances, no sirens or swirling lights of red and blue on the streets below to mark the end of the mission like the closing credits of some cheesy eighties action flick where the villain met a fitting end, and the heroes saved the day. Instead, just a few unmarked vehicles slowly drove around the perimeter, the hidden hand of the agencies that kept an eye on the security of the nation held at a distance as soldiers filtered back up to the roof they had descended from. Black birds settled sleekly, tucked away in shadow, away from the prying eyes of civilians while marines and special forces operatives climbed inside. The smooth blades, spinning and slicing, cut through the night as clean up began on Laswell's end. Stories spun, a comforting tale to put the herd at ease — they didn't need to know that they had been minutes away from strife that would have upheaved the entire nation, and the rest of the world. A blackout. A simple enough diversion. The only reason that needed to be given. The simplest lies were often the easiest to get away with.

In one such helicopter the members of Task Force 141 found a moment to catch their breath. A quiet reprieve where one long collective sigh was exhaled in unison. Another job well done, pats on the back all around — though if anyone had tried that on Rory it would have resulted in a proper bollocking considering she'd have been bloody livid with the way her back was feeling.

Ice pack pressed to her lumbar while a penlight was shone back and forth in her eyes by one of the medics checking her for a concussion, the burning, bright light pricked at her pupils and she squinted, mashing up her face at the intrusion of her vision that she was all too glad to have back at near full strength. Her body ached, locked up and tight, limbs like leaden weights. A pounding headache and sore sinuses were an uncomfortable leftover from the explosion and the cherry on top of a body that felt like it was ready to fall apart at the seams.Ruffling her fingers through sweat dampened waves, Rory sat hunched forward in her seat and brought a palm of pain pills to her mouth to pop. Well, she thought, at least it wasn't the shoulder this time. She chuckled quietly to herself, worn out, but at least she could keep a smile on her face — How else was she going to handle it after all?

Across from her, John sat back in his seat, cigar chomped between his teeth, looking more cantankerous than ever. The red low-lights in the cabin, ones that painted him in shades of horror and added to the monstrous effect of the glowing cherry that burned in the reflection of his irises, switched to a warm incandescent yellow at the medic's request but did nothing to soften the sight of John scowling daggers throughout his in-flight surgery. Stitches were slipped through the tough hide of the Captain's shoulder while another medic worked on removing the bullet from his thigh, both professionals resigning themselves to a fate of having to wave away the thick plumes of smoke dampening their vision, neither daring to say a word considering the hard, unforgiving stare of the man being patched up.

"A right bloody pair you two make," Gaz said, nodding towards Price before grinning at Rory, the boyish glint in his eye returning.

"Shut it, sergeant," Price muttered from around his cigar, exhaling smoke from his nostrils in a stream.

"Now is that anyway to thank the man who pulled you both from danger?" The younger man's smirk was devilish, pushing his luck with the surly bear sat across from him, seeing just how far he could push before the inevitable snap and snarl of the Captain occurred at his ribbing.

Rolling her eyes, Rory sucked her teeth. "Not going to let us forget that one anytime soon, are you?" she said dryly.

"Definitely not."

She couldn't fight back the laugh that rose up through her or the smile the curled her lips. Glancing over at Price, Villa Clara in hand, the earthy scent of tobacco smoke filling the small space and wafting over towards her, Rory casually tried to coax the medic to let her partake in her vice of choice, "Sure I can't just light up a ciggy?" Hoping to get a little leeway, she was only met by a shake of the head. "Bloody bullshit preferential treatment, that is…"

"It's only cause Price 'll tear their balls off if someone says otherwise," Ghost remarked, his usual coarse, grating laugh following after, amused by his own joke.

"Speakin' o' pullin' someone' from danger, shoulda seen LT and 'ow he handled Hassan. Steamin' bloody Jesus! What a fuckin' shot," Soap said, pushing a hand back through his mohawk as he dragged the wet wipe over his face removing the sweat and splattered drops of the Iranian major's blood from his brow.

"Are we really so surprised?" Rory tipped her head in Ghost's directed. "Expert marksman here hardly ever misses a shot, eh?"

"Hardly ever?" Ghost let out a scoff, rankled by her assessment even as he sat stiff as a board in his seat. "Think y' mean 'never', Sinclair."

"We'll see about that, yeah?" Pointing towards Ghost, her arm outstretched from behind Gaz's shoulders. With narrowed eyes she threw the playful challenge down. "We get leave after this? I'm testing that theory with a game of darts."

"Payin' f' my rounds as well?" The emotionless skull mask swiveled to face her, and the way the lights hit the sockets made them look dark, empty. "Then you're on."

"Bloody cheapskate," Rory shot back.

"Oi, Missus! You're the one with golden coffers."

"Rest of us in our bleedin' hovels, and this one has Jeeves at the fuckin' door," Soap added.

"Oh, on your bike!" Her mouth curled into a sour pout, arms crossed over her chest. "I don't have a butler," she muttered under her breath.

"Aye, got Price f' that instead." Soap's shit-eating grin overwhelmed his face, proud as a peacock as he stripped off his vest and grabbed his own ice pack from the med kits on the floor, pressing it to the blooming bruise where his plates had protected him earlier.

"Knock it off, the lot o' ya," Price rumbled hoarsely. A ragged hiss tore from between gritted teeth as forceps twisted to retrieve the bit of buried metal within the meaty thigh. The chime of metal on metal as the bullet tinged against the bottom of the tray it was placed in cutting like a knife through the silence created by John's bark.

Gaz leaned into Rory, his voice lowering to a murmur so as not to be overheard. "Boss' angry. Good luck with that one later."

Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated hum, pressing the half-frozen bag of ice tighter to her back. "I've no doubt I'll need it."

Leaning back in her seat, head pressed to the wall, Rory took a breath, listening to the hum of the helicopter engines, of the clockwork of the mechanical body, and the scrawl of pen on the medical forms being filled out beside her. And then the medics words from across the cabin hit her —

"You'll need to rest…"

Rory's eyes lifted to meet John's, exchanging a knowing look. Good fucking luck with that one, mate. This was the man who even when he was on leave was still following up with upcoming missions, and if not that, kept himself busy around the house, refusing to become indolent for even a moment. His was a mind constantly at work. It was no surprise that even when he finally laid his head down to rest he snored like he was a sawmill working overtime. Hell, their last vacation together had him carrying his work phone with him, promising it was just in case of emergency if Kate needed to get a hold of him — she called bullshit on that all too quickly. No, John just simply wasn't capable of shutting himself down, not unless he decided it was the time and place for it, which he rarely ever did. A hypocrite through and through when he was often the one telling her she didn't make enough time for herself. "Work too hard, gonna burn yourself out" — his usual go-to appeal that he never followed himself.

Her brow lifted, an "are you actually going to listen to that advice" said with just a small shift of her face. His piercing stare narrowing in return. A "probably not" that led her to rub at the lines between her brows. She wasn't surprised in the slightest, shaking her head at the thought of him still brute-forcing his way around while limping through an injured leg. Admittedly, this was the man who had survived a helicopter crash only a day or so before, and Rory could trace the origins of the recent scar tissue on his body back through the missions he had taken part in for the last five years, but there was still that part of her, the one who envisioned a future of growing old together that shuddered at the thought of that not necessarily coming true in their line of work. A thought she never enjoyed lingering on, but had found a little corner in her anxiety-addled brain to settle nonetheless.

The polished glass doors to the lobby of the Chicago Marriott Downtown hotel opened and five sets of heavy footsteps struck the marble floors that reflected the warm, inviting lighting sparkling from the ceiling, echoing throughout the open floor design filled with comfortable seating all wrapped in a bland shade of oatmeal. The walls — just as devoid of life — painted a slightly warmer sandy beige, were adorned by framed acrylic abstract paintings. The type of art that was neither memorable nor offensive, with no discernible subject nor color story, one step removed from something created by a computer with the parameters that it could in no way be challenging. The added layer on top of it all was the quiet jazz that played over the speaker system, clarinet and flute meandering in a tune that was meant to instill calm in the weary travelers who would pass through the luxurious hotel halls.

A procession of bulk dressed in drab, dark colors moved through the otherwise silent lobby towards the front desk. There wasn't another soul in sight except for the night desk clerk who had his face buried in his phone, thumbs dragging over the screen as he scrolled, never bothering to lift his eyes or grant his attention to the guests coming to check-in — his first mistake, and a terrible first impression. Tired, stiff bodies moved with large duffel bags slung over their shoulders like a caravan of knackered pack mules. All dragging feet and slumped shoulders, shambling towards their oasis for the night. Deep set, darkened under eyes were visible on all of them as the group of soldiers crowded the desk and John rested an arm on the counter, leaning his weight against it.

The rough clearing of a throat run ragged from bellowing out orders only hours before shattered the peace, and John tapped his thumb in a steady, frustrated beat. Trying to shift his stance, he winced with a slight hiss when his weight was put momentarily on his bad leg. "'Scuse me. Checkin' in."

"Check in isn't until 11 AM," the desk clerk mumbled, rubbing at his eyes being burned by the screen's blue light as he yawned and tugged at his black button down before the sound of a retweet emitted from his phone.

"Think you'll find we've been given special considerations…" Price leaned in, eyes narrowing, sniffling slightly as a low grumble built in his throat. "Brandon."

The young desk clerk's focus was finally forced from his phone at the low, gravelly, baritone voice bothering to read his name tag aloud. Glancing up and looking between the four shit-brick houses and the petite female among them, his brow lifted and he shifted in his seat, the springs of the desk chair squeaking like a mouse. Clearing his throat, his hands moved to the keyboard. "Name of the reservation?" His voice broke with a crack of a pubescent teenager at the end, a clear sign that John's intimidation had worked.

"Laswell."

Fingers flew across the keyboard; the backspace key being given extra attention as sweaty hands made typing more difficult while under the scrutiny of those who didn't exactly fit the usual image of boomers on vacation or businessmen looking for a somewhat discreet hookup spot with their secretaries.

A nervous chuckle followed in short order. "Found it. And you, uh, yeah. You are correct. Special considerations as you said, Mister…"

"Price."

"Right." The kid ducked his head down and then peeked back over at the others — a strange, motley crew. And then there was the matter of the bags that looked like they were loaded with gear of some sort, he assumed. The odd facial hair on the leader, beefy guys who looked like they spent hours at the gym, and a pretty doe-eyed lady who was already hobbling as she moved led him to a singular conclusion. Clearing his throat once more, his esophagus feeling altogether too parched, the desk clerk worked up his courage. "Listen, I don't judge, but, well, it's uh, company policy that we aren't supposed to let people in with major camera equipment." Brandon rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged. "Aren't there sets for that sorta thing?" he asked the mutton chopped leader with a smirk.

John's brows furrowed, his mouth scrunching into the tight-lipped curl of annoyance, his mustache twitching at the corners as he stared down at the kid with a complete lack of amusement. The silence became pregnant, palpable as the visible state of the desk clerk became progressively more uncomfortable with each second that ticked by.

Birthed from the audible quiet, Soap started to snicker, his face near beet red as he tried to hold it in. The awkward tension breaking, an eggshell cracked and runny yolk spilled forth. Rory glanced over at the sergeant who had pulled out his phone and was showing something to Gaz, who desperately tried to bite his lower lip to stifle his own laughter.

"Cameras?" Rory's tired brain, not so quick on the uptake and still suffering from a holdover of a headache, tried to piece things together.

And then it hit.

Eyes that had been hooded and sore with the dire requirement for sleep rounded, wide and alert, and she dropped her bag on the floor. Storming up to the counter, she shoved John out of the way and nearly dove over the count to get to the clerk, her hands slamming down on the granite counter. "Oi! You cheek! Do I look like I'm some tart? A slapper? You think we're going to make a bloody porno up there?"

"Aye, well t' be fair, ye are walkin' about like ye've just had yer back blown out."

"Cause I bloody have!" Rory snapped, turning to face Soap, only to shoot a look back over at the desk clerk with a scowl and jutting her pointed finger at him. " — Not like that!"

Brandon's hands shot up in a sign of surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. Please don't complain to my boss, I took this job to pay for college."

"Bloody bullshit," Rory mouthed, brushing past John to snatch up her bag and move towards the lifts if only to better ignore the sounds of Soap guffawing out loud at the turn of events. Though the sound of him slapping his knees still carried over to her and only served to ruffle her feathers more.

"It's not that funny, you prick."

"It is," Soap confirmed as he moved to join her after Price had settled things at the desk and carried the key card in his hand.

Seconds felt like hours as they waited for the called lift, and Rory tapped her foot. The semi-circle of floor numbers ticked down with a blinking light. Ding. Ding. Ding. She refused to look over at Soap as he eyed her from his periphery, a giant smirk on his face. It was one thing when she made herself the butt of the joke, transferring her issues, making light of them. It was completely another when through no fault of her own she was made into a living meme.

"Dinna fash over this, Lamb. Besides, you cannae blame the lad."

Lifting his phone for her to see the screen, Rory's eyes darted to it and her tongue instantly found its way into her cheek to burrow its way into the flesh. An exasperated sigh left her at the image of her and the rest of the task force's heads poorly super imposed on top of a picture of a girl sitting on a white couch surrounded by men.

"When the hell did you have time to make that, Soap?"

"You do know there are meme generators online, aye?"

"Delete that, or I toss your mobile out the bloody window when we get to our rooms." Her stare bit with the same malice as one she gave to an enemy that she was about to use her brass knuckles on.

"It's gone. Scout's honour, LT."

The lift doors opened and the five squad members clambered inside, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the confined box that played the same gently serenading jazz music as the lobby.

"What floor are we on?" Gaz's finger floated above the panel of buttons, glancing back at Price who leaned a shoulder against the wall, taking the weight off his injury.

"Top."

"Top?"

"Penthouse," Price confirmed.

"The fucking penthouse?" Rory's brow shot upwards as her head swung to look over at the captain. "What's Laswell playing at?"

"Still on Shepherd's dime, aren't we?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hips with a slight growl. "Might as well burn a hole in his wallet f' the night."

"Well… thank God for the US military-industrial complex then, I suppose."

Floor to ceiling windows showed off the city skyline, the lights reflecting off the mirrored surface of the Chicago river that flowed below. There was a full-blown lounge designed with leather couches set around an enormous widescreen television hung upon the wall. A kitchenette tucked into the corner with granite counter tops and bar stools, and down the hall was a proper bathroom facility with full amenities. This wasn't any simple hotel room with a few beds set up beside one another, this was a proper suite with three separate rooms.

With a keycard tap, the double doors to the penthouse suite opened and five pairs of eyes scanned the room. Normally unfazed by the things they witnessed, tonight however, their mouths fell open with surprise at the spacious interior miles away from any army barracks or safehouse any of them had ever had to call "home" for a night. With sparkling crystal chandeliers and marble floors so polished they could see their own reflections — it was even more decadent and lavish than how Rory had decorated her own home.

"Fuckin' 'ell," Simon drawled, tugging off his balaclava as the door clicked shut behind them. His dark glare scanned over the area as if still assessing the surroundings for danger.

"Bloody plush, this is." Gaz pulled off his cap and rubbed his hand through his hair.

"A tad opulent…" Rory muttered, tipping her head to the side with a little sneer.

"Mini bar!" Soap hollered as he stepped down into the kitchen and opened the door to the fridge that looked even more lilliputian in comparison to him as he hunched beside it. "Don't mind if I do, General," he said as he unscrewed the cap on several tiny bottles of tequila and poured them into one of the glasses waiting on the counter, newly unwrapped from its sanitary paper cocoon.

Lifting his drink, the liquid contents sloshing up to the rim, Soap grinned, toothy and wide. "To another successful mission, and one less crazy bastard t' deal with." He wasted no time in taking a deep draught and swallowed it with a shudder that visibly shook his body right to his mohawk. "Time for a wee celebration, Cap'n?" His bright blue eyes twinkled as he looked over at Price who rubbed at the heavy lines sunk into the brow at his nose bridge.

"Have at it. I'm bloody knackered."

"Suppose you and the missus are takin' the master, eh?" Gaz smirked, giving just a hint of cheek only to be met by the stern glare of the boss.

"Gotta let the ol' man 'ave 'is rest," Ghost added as he made his way to the kitchen to make his own drink, a half grin curling his thin lips.

"Come on, you," Rory said, tugging on John's arm. "Let's get us to bed, yeah? Leave this lot to their own devices."

"We'll be good as gold, boss," Gaz promised.

Looking between his group of soldiers, John didn't seem entirely convinced. But, with a grunt of approval, he let Rory lead him away, down the hall, towards the room with the biggest bed.

They all needed the night to unwind, the next day would bring the inevitable debriefings, having to rewind and go over the mission, and then deal with the new intel that had landed in their laps. Konni, Makarov — they were a looming threat on the horizon, one that would need to be dealt with swiftly, one that had proven to be willing to kick a hornet's nest to stir up trouble. A threat they would need to be ready for. In the meantime, however, they had a day to rest, to restore. A small window where they didn't have to think about the next fight, at least on the surface.

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #tf 141 #skelly writes #fic: shadow dance #chapter 15

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dramioneasks · 6 months ago

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HP FESTS: Nostalgia Fest

Nostalgia Fest 2024:

Just Like Heaven by Dizzle00 - E, one-shot - They lay face-to-face after, kissing, hands brushing hair and skin. No words were spoken because none were necessary. Then suddenly, words became impossible. The sun was no longer streaming in, the light now had a grey tint to it. They shivered, suddenly feeling a cold breeze over them, and both of their brows furrowed in confusion. A clap of thunder, then darkness, and the heavy sound of a downpour. Draco’s teeth chattered. He was so cold.

If You Fall by Dizzle00 - E, one-shot - “I hate it when you ignore me,” he growled into her neck as he kissed across her throat. “You drive me mad.” “You ignored me for five years,” she panted. “I thought of you every day. Every second.” “Why didn't you come back?” “I did.” “Why—oh,” she moaned as he sucked a mark into the spot below her ear, “why did you wait so long?” “I tried to stay away, so you could be happy.” I was only ever happy with you, she wanted to scream.

Like A Little Prayer by SomnophiliaSweetheart - M, 4 chapters - During their Eighth Year at Hogwarts, efforts to promote interhouse unity brought the Slytherins and Gryffindors closer—some in ways that feel like a dream. Draco Malfoy found himself falling head over heels for Hermione Granger, but he's convinced she'd never want him, resigned to let his love be nothing more than a whisper in the dark. Content to stay her best friend, he keeps his secret until Pansy Parkinson threatens to let her know. Draco might find that life is indeed a mystery, but his prayers may finally be answered. Based on 'Like A Prayer' by Madonna (Excessive use of lyrics throughout!)

Who Would've Thought? by ghouls_just_wanna - G, 3 chapters - Hermione's excited about maybe, possibly, hopefully meeting her secret pen pal at the water park. That is, until her day starts taking a turn for the ironic.

10 Things I Maybe Hate About You by Asilynn - E, 4 chapters - Draco Malfoy was anything but approachable. Trying to survive life after the war, the reformed Death Eater and Slytherin bad boy, returned to Hogwarts for his mandatory 8th year. Little did he expect he would end up accepting a bet to ask out Hermione Granger to the Hallows Eve Ball. However, getting her to say yes was more than he bargained for between navigating 80’s music, a muggle record player, and a swoty witch. Loosely based on the movie 10 Things I Hate About You

Hold My Heart by TheLadyMalfoy (RiverOfTheSand) - T, one-shot - Hermione was tired of being the notorious bookworm. She wanted to be seen for herself. To be appreciated. And the 80’s themed, final dance of her Hogwarts years seemed like the perfect time and place to just let go. To let magic and fate take over for one night. But when it leads him to her, she doesn’t want the night to end.

This is ongoing.

#nostalgia fest #fests/exchanges/challenges #dramione

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pxnsneverland · 1 year ago

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Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: Still kind of an introductory/background chapter. But Austin does get introduced in this one :)

Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor

One particularly bleak morning brought more than typical London drizzle; it brought Mr. Henry Cartwright—or 'Rat,' as he was aptly nicknamed—slinking through the narrow, cobbled streets towards their humble abode. His arrival was never without dread; his shadow seemed to cast a pall over whatever it touched, and today, its reach felt more chilling than usual. Violet watched from behind the partially closed door as this man who held her fate in his greasy palms approached. She could see the false smile plastered on his face, a grimace disguised as a greeting.

“Miss Everly,” Henry Cartwright began, his voice smooth like oil, but with an edge that hinted at the impatience beneath. “Your father has failed to meet his obligations again. And here I find myself, contemplating what measures to take to assure his... cooperation.”

Violet’s heart sank. She knew too well what this meant: further debts, more threats, or worse—actualization of those threats. The room felt colder as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud.

“I have no money to give you, Mr. Cartwright,” Violet said quietly, her gaze steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. Her voice carried a defiance born not of hope but of resignation to whatever might come next.

Cartwright chuckled darkly, pacing slowly around the sparse room as if appraising it for valuables that did not exist. "Ah, but my dear," he sneered, eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as he stopped to face her, "it's not your money I'm after. You must understand, the debts of your father have grown too substantial to be ignored any longer."

Violet felt the walls close in, the weight of her impending doom pressing down on her shoulders. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of a horse-drawn cart rattling over cobblestones outside. Henry Cartwright's gaze was like a vise, tightening with every second she remained silent.

"You see, Miss Everly," Rat continued, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper as he leaned closer, "your father's ineptitude has forced my hand. There's a certain... clientele at my club who would pay handsomely for the company of someone as rare and beautiful as you. It would certainly settle his accounts... and maybe even leave some over for your own keep."

Violet recoiled as if struck. The very air around her seemed to thicken with revulsion. Her mind raced, desperate for an escape from this nightmare, but her body felt frozen, ensnared by the horrifying reality of Rat's proposition. Rat's smirk widened as he observed her horror, taking perverse pleasure in the power he wielded over her. Violet's heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage, each beat a drum of panic. Yet, amidst the terror, a spark of her indomitable spirit flickered to life.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible yet loaded with all the conviction she could muster. Rat paused, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then quickly to anger.

"What did you say?" he hissed, stepping closer.

Violet straightened up, her gray eyes hardening like flint. "I said no." Her voice gained strength from somewhere deep within her, a place untouched by fear or despair. "I am not a coin to be traded at your whim."

Rat laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You might think you have a choice in this matter, Miss Everly, but let me assure you — you do not. This is not just your fate but also a solution to your father’s incompetence."

"I would rather die than live at the mercy of your vile desires," Violet retorted, her defiance lighting up her gaunt features.

The amusement on Rat’s face vanished, replaced by a menacing scowl. "Be careful, young lady. You are in no position to issue threats. Remember, I can make your life exceedingly difficult."

Violet's resolve did not falter, though her heart trembled within her chest. She knew the danger of antagonizing a man like Rat, but the thought of subjugation under his control was more terrifying than any threat he could utter.

"Then you shall have to do what you must," Violet said, her voice steady, though inside she felt like a fragile bird in a storm.

Rat's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. "Very well, Miss Everly. Since you choose defiance, expect no mercy from me." With those chilling words, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, each step heavy with menace.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Violet slumped against the wall, her legs weak with relief and fear. Tears threatened to spill over — not merely from fright but also from a deep-seated rage against the injustice of her plight and the depravity of men like Rat. In the silence that followed Rat's departure, the small, dimly lit room felt both sanctuary and prison. Violet's breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the despair that threatened to engulf her. Her father, who had been silent during the entire confrontation, now looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and indifference. His gaze was glazed, numbed by alcohol and years of moral decay.

"Violet, you shouldn't have spoken to him like that," he slurred, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "You've just made things worse for us."

Violet turned to face her father, her expression wrought with a mixture of pain and defiance. "Made things worse? How, Father? By refusing to be sold like property?" Her voice trembled from the intense emotion that churned within her, but her stance was resolute. "No, Father, it is you who have made things worse with your recklessness."

Edward Everly shuffled uncomfortably, his bloodshot eyes avoiding her piercing gaze. "You don't understand, Violet.”

"That does not excuse you from your vices!" Violet's words cut through the dim room like a blade. The very air seemed charged with her fury, an electric tension that made even Edward shift uneasily on his feet.

Edward's gaze shifted again, landing on the grimy window pane as if seeking an escape from Violet’s searing condemnation. “You think it’s easy? Surviving in this godforsaken place?” His voice cracked, an unusual display of emotion from a man she knew more as a figure of stubborn indifference and cruelty.

“Survival does not necessitate the selling of one’s soul,” Violet retorted sharply, her eyes never leaving his face despite the sting of tears that blurred her vision.

A shadow passed over Edward’s face—a flicker of guilt, perhaps, or merely resentment at being challenged. “You don’t know the burdens I carry,” he muttered, turning away from her piercing eyes.

Violet felt a momentary pang of pity for the man who had once been her protector, before quickly steeling her heart against it. "And you, Father, have never understood the burden of your actions on others," she replied softly, yet with a steeliness that surprised even her.

The tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring. Edward stood, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, making him look more monster than man. Abruptly, he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and yanked it on with jerky movements.

"Where are you going?" Violet asked, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"To settle things with Rat," Edward growled, his words slurring together as he struggled to maintain control over his enflamed emotions.

Without waiting for a response, Edward stumbled out of the room, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. Violet watched him go, a whirlwind of emotions churning within her. Fear for what her father might do in his drunken state mixed with fury at his betrayal and sadness for the broken shell of a man he had become.

Left alone, Violet’s thoughts raced as she pondered her next move. The walls of the dank room felt like they were closing in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her eyes as if mocking her plight. She knew that standing up to Rat had probably only bought her a brief reprieve. Men like him did not take defiance lightly, and she had no illusions about the lengths to which he would go to assert his control.

The sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses from down below reminded her of where she was — in the bowels of a club. Rising to her feet, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, refusing to allow them any further claim on her spirit. With quiet steps, she went down the stairs and approached the door that led into the club.

********************

The dimly lit back room of the club was thick with the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke, a miasma that clung to every surface as obstinately as the patrons clung to their vices. Violet's heart hammered in her chest, each beat a loud echo in her ears that seemed to drown out the low murmur of conversation around her. She stood stiffly beside her father, her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her worn skirt. Rat sat behind a cluttered desk covered in papers and empty glasses, his beady eyes appraising Violet like a merchant assessing a piece of merchandise. Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his gaze avoiding hers.

"Ah, the gem of the night," Rat exclaimed with a greasy smile, his voice dripping with feigned delight.

Violet felt a shiver course through her spine at his words, her skin crawling under the weight of his gaze. She remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, as Rat stood and circled around the desk with the predatory grace of a vulture swooping down on its prey. He stopped inches from her, his fetid breath brushing against her face as he leaned in close.

"You'll do nicely," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with unwholesome anticipation. Violet recoiled instinctively, but Rat's hand shot out, gripping her chin with a firmness that made escape impossible.

“Get your hands off of me,” Violet spat struggling to keep her eyes locked on his. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Rat snickered roughly letting go of her chin. “You’ve got fire. I’ll be sure to do something about that quickly.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet raised a brow.

Edward's laugh, a hollow sound devoid of any paternal warmth, grated on her nerves. "Now, now, Violet, be good," he chided, his words slurred slightly as he took another swig from the bottle he had managed to procure upon their arrival.

Rat's chuckle was low and menacing as he turned his attention back to Violet's father. "Edward, you've truly outdone yourself this time," he sneered, eyeing Violet like a hawk regarding its next meal. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for Violet to overhear. "Remember our agreement. She's mine until the debts are squared away."

Violet felt her blood run cold at his words, the finality of her situation crashing down around her like the walls of a decrepit house succumbing to its own decay. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she quashed it quickly, her instinct for survival sharpening her focus. She needed to think, to plan, not simply react.

"Never," she breathed, her voice trembling not from fear, but from a fierce resolve that took even her by surprise. Violet turned sharply to face her father, stepping forward so that they were eye-to-eye, forcing him to confront the reality of what he had done. "How could you?" The accusation was more than a question; it was a denouncement of every moment of neglect and abuse she had suffered under his care.

Edward, his face a mixture of inebriated confusion and dim irritation, tried to formulate a response, a pathetic attempt at justification hanging limply between them. "It's all for the best," he stuttered, his eyes not meeting hers. "You'll have food and—a roof."

Violet's laugh was bitter, laced with incredulity and contempt. "A roof? A cage, more like," she retorted sharply, her anger giving her voice a steely edge. "You barter away your flesh and blood for a few coins to squander on your vices. You are less than a man."

Edward's face reddened, his eyes briefly flashing with something that might have been shame, but it was quickly drowned out by a resurgence of his habitual defiance. "You don't understand the pressures I'm under!" he shouted back, his voice rising over the din of the club.

"I understand perfectly," Violet countered coldly. "I understand that you are a coward, Father. A coward who would sell his daughter to shield himself from his own failures."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony momentarily subdued as patrons turned to witness the spectacle unfolding. Rat, sensing the shift in atmosphere, clapped his hands with mock cheerfulness. "Enough of this family drama," he interjected smoothly, his tone brooking no argument. "Violet, you are now under my care. Edward, you know the terms. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."

With a disdainful glance at her father, Violet pulled her arm free from his grasp and took a step back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, each thud resonating with the resolve that hardened in her eyes. She wouldn't let despair consume her; she would fight, somehow.

“Now, Now, Cartwright,” came a voice that belonged to a hooded figure seated near them at the opposite table. “You should know better than to do your dastardly deeds in the open.” The figure removed his hood revealing a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair that flickered in the candlelight.

Rat sneered. “Lord Butler. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

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whalyrae · 1 year ago

Text

THE OLD GUARD - CHAPTER 4

"We don’t get a say on how it ends, we never have. But we can control how we live."

Summary : You are a powerful witch, cursed and hurt through ages. Owner of your esoteric shop, you were resigned to live this lonely life when the powerful magic of soulmates and fate came to you.

Pairing : poly BTS x reader (she/her)

Genre : soulmate au, demons bts au, witch y/n au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, polyamory relationships

Status : In process

Word Count : 5k

Warnings : eventual smut, angst, mention of depression, death, suicide, past trauma, violence, blood, past (sexual) abuse, past torture, PTSD, scars, self harm, and more.

Tag list : @blackrockshooter780 @babyymeme @starrlo0ver @suckerforv @mushroom-main @m1sss1mp @prettydancingdamzel @i-have-no-life-charlie @avadakadabra93 @veronawrites @kawaiikpoplover268 @didi-9310 @ghostlyworld @carolinexkpop @gooooomz @00ihatesnaku

A/N : After months of struggling with life, health, mental health issues... I can FINALLY POST AGAIN !! This chapter was really hard to write (I cried a little at the end ngl :D), I have constant writer block, constant impostor syndrome... I have the perfectionnism trait but in a toxic way really TT.TT Don't hesitate to like and reblog !! Also don't be afraid to leave a little comment or if you have any questions, here or in anon in my inbox !! they are really really welcomed, I love reading all your impressions and thoughts !!

Also thank you so much !! I was inactive for a very long time and I still got daily alerts with people who liked/kudos the chapters and the story :(( I can't express (yeah i'm an author and i can't express through words LOL) how much i'm grateful :(( ♥♥

ps : ah and sorry if there is any mistakes or anything it's almost 2:30am when I post this and I had an really emotionnal day fgkfdhlfk LOVE YALL MUAH ♥

Playlist link : The Old Guard Playlist

Masterlist | ao3 | wattpad

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

She was wondering whether it would be better to ask Handong to stay with her. She had assured her that she would handle the situation and that Handong could go home. She knew that Gahyeon would need her at their coffee shop.

However, now that she was in the living room of the seven boys, her soulmates’, after bringing one of them in an utterly unconscious state for a reason as unknown to them as it was to her, she was starting to regret this decision.

She couldn't understand what had happened with Jin the moment their eyes met. She couldn't say anything, the words were stuck in her throat as they stared at each other without a word. He parted his lips as if he wanted to say something, but just like her, nothing came out.

He'd known she was his soul mate, of course he could feel it. Just like her. But had he recognized her? Did he know that the two of them were the firsts of their soulmate bond to meet, long before any of the other six were born? She couldn't be sure and didn't have time to find out.

She had seen his features contort in pain, and without a word, he had collapsed. Luckily, Handong, who had seen them, was able to catch him in time, preventing him from falling to the ground and potentially injuring himself.

Thanks to a spell that increased her strength tenfold, she could carry him without Handong’s help and any difficulty to the place where he lived with his mates. But she couldn't stop herself from hurrying, worried sick about him.

And that's where she is now. Jungkook helped her carry Jin to the living room, laying him on the sofa. While Yoongi woke up Taehyung and Namjoon. Jimin and Hoseok hurried to get a damp cloth on Jin's forehead.

Namjoon and Taehyung stormed into the room, not hiding their surprise at seeing her there in total panic.

However, they didn't ask any questions. Yoongi probably had to explain to them what happened and what was going on.

She was standing in front of the sofa where Jin was lying, staring at the unconscious demon, his features distorted by pain. The sight of him was enough to make her stomach twist with soreness.

"Hey, Noona..." Jimin's soft voice startled her. He was standing next to her, a comforting smile on his lips, "Everything’s going to be fine, don't worry..."

She didn't even know what to say. She didn't dare to look him in the eye, or any of the other boys. The guilt she'd been carrying around with her all these centuries was only getting stronger.

She could hear voices behind her, probably the boys talking amongst themselves, or maybe they were trying to talk to her. She didn't know. Nothing around her was clear and precise. Her vision was blurring, her heart rate had been racing for a while and she was getting worse.

She gasped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned round abruptly, facing Namjoon. The other boys were behind him, except for Yoongi who was next to Jin.

"Hey," he greeted her with a gentle smile, "don't worry, everything's going to be fine,” he repeated Jimin’s words, “You're having a panic attack, I'm gonna help you, okay? Look at me."

His voice was soft and reassuring, it had a calming effect on her. His presence and warmth invaded her whole being, despite the anxiety attack she was having.

She raised her eyes to meet him. Slowly, he tells her to take long, deep breaths. The first time, she breathed in and breathed out. Then a second time. And a third.

Finally, her breathing returned to normal and her heart rate calmed. Seeing this, Namjoon gave her another smile, his fingers caressing her shoulder to calm her down.

She had the strange impression that Namjoon probably possessed some kind of power capable of influencing the emotions, feelings, or even bodily reactions of the people he touched. Or maybe it was just the soulmate effect.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes... Thank you..." She replied with a small smile, seeing Hoseok approach her with a glass of water. "Thanks… and sorry, I wish we'd met under different circumstances..."

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm enchanted to meet you."

Hoseok gave her a big, bright smile, which he succeeded in communicating to her.

"I guess you guys have questions... and why did I show up with Jin in this state..."

She turned her attention to Jin. A wave of emotion suddenly washed over her as she realized that yes, he was there, in the same room as her. Her soul mate, the first to cross her way, the one she'd lost so suddenly and brutally centuries ago. A mixture of joy, sadness, guilt, and apprehension.

"Do you know what's going on with him? And why is he in this condition?" Hoseok asked curiously, taking back the glass she'd just drunk in one long sip.

She bit her lower lip nervously. She had to tell them. Jin was their soulmate, just like he was hers.

But where to start?

"Come on, settle down here."

Yoongi straightened up to install her on the sofa, right next to Jin still unconscious. He'd then sat down next to her, while the others had taken seats in front of her, Namjoon and Hoseok on the low table, the maknae on the floor, clinging to each other.

The sight made her smile gently. But quickly the smile disappeared, replaced by apprehension. The words just wouldn't come out of her mouth. She knew that the moment had come, that once she'd told them everything, they'd hate her, reject her, and she’d lose the people she'd waited for all her life.

"Noona... I can smell your fear all the way up here..." murmured Jimin, her eyes landing on him with surprise, "I'm an empath, by the way..." he explained with a shrug.

"You don't have to be an empath to sense the fear radiating from her." chuckled Taehyung, teasing his companion who gave him a nudge on the shoulder, "Oops, sorry sweetie."

"I know that from the moment you will know the whole story, you'll never want to hear from me again and I... argh that's the last thing I want," she admitted with a sad smile. The events of the last few days had paralyzed and overwhelmed her in some ways when it came to making the right decisions, and she was extremely upset with herself about this.

"But I think I need to stop being scared, and selfish like I have been."

"We could never hate you," Hoseok said firmly, the others all giving signs of approval, "no matter what you've done."

"Tell us all the horrible things you ever did, and let us love you anyway."

She recognized Namjoon's words. And she wasn’t surprised that he could quote Edgard Allan Poe, considering the circumstances of their first meeting.

She couldn't deny that his words made her feel a tinge of comfort, because he was sincere, and every one of the other boys thought so.

But they didn't know the whole story yet, so the chances of them thinking differently once they knew the whole truth were pretty high.

"Where to start..." she took a long breath, "Jin... I met him before I even knew I was immortal. That was... uh... it seems like an eternity now, at the beginning of the 15th century."

She expected the exclamations of surprise that followed.

"Wait... you mean you and Jin hyung..." Jungkook fell silent to think.

"Why didn't he ever tell us about you then? And why have we never met you before ?” asked Yoongi skeptically, "You're our soulmate, his soulmate, how could he..."

"It's more complicated than it sounds..." she sighed, scratching the back of her head nervously. "I always knew I was a witch, my mother was a witch herself. I lived in a village in France during the period when the witch hunts began. It was also during this period that the Malleus Maleficarum was written."

"I know this book," Hoseok sighed loudly as he shook his head, visibly annoyed, "this pile of garbage written in the late 15th century, which supposedly explains what a witch is, how to recognize one, interrogate them, and kill them."

"A load of bullshit yeah," Namjoon added with a chuckle, "I rarely waste my time reading books, but this one..."

"Tell me more !" Jimin exclaimed, "I read it too, well, not all of it, it's so... misogynistic and sexist!"

"I... was one of the witches who had to go through all the torture and experimentation to write this... book or whatever it is. And most of the women who suffered all that crap were just ordinary mortals," she admitted with a little restraint.

Horrified exclamations were heard from the maknaes and Hoseok. Yoongi and Namjoon closed their eyes for a few seconds, repressing the anger rising within them.

Talking about these events did not leave her indifferent; these memories were among the worst she had ever known, and she still sometimes had nightmares about them.

She remained silent for a few moments, before finally speaking up.

"That's not the point. Jin is the point. When I met him, he was a merchant passing through the village." A small smile appeared mechanically as she recalled this memory, "It was love at first sight. Of course, it was. He knew I was his soul mate, but I... I didn't even know what a soulmate was. He taught me. He taught me so many things..."

She turned her head towards Jin, still unconscious beside her. Oh, how she'd missed him. He hadn't changed a bit.

"I immediately sensed that he wasn't human, just as he'd guessed that I was a witch. So much better in a way, it made things easier."

Delicately, she let her fingers stroke his forehead, brushing aside a few strands of hair, a tender smile on her face.

"He stayed in the village after that. I had taken over the bakery from my parents who had passed away from an illness a few months before I met him. We weren't the richest, but we were happy.”

The other boys couldn't contain the grins on their faces. Of course, this story was beautiful and worthy of a fairy tale. But they all knew that fairy tales were only fantasy stories. The reality was not nearly as lovely.

"We lived... two years like that before everything went to hell."

She felt her hands tremble as she recalled what she was about to say.

Jimin sensed her nervousness, fear, and sadness. He left Taehyung and Jungkook's embrace to kneel before her, gently taking her hands in his for comfort.

Her gaze met his, and he offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. But she couldn't relax.

"The witch-hunt had begun and was becoming increasingly virulent and violent. The villagers had always thought it was strange that I hadn't suffered the same illness as my parents. I knew the rumors about Jin and I. But until now, we'd managed to keep a discreet, almost unnoticed presence. Until she came along."

Jimin squeezed her hands a little tighter as he felt her anger rising.

"That demoness... came to our village, supposedly a cloth merchant. She fell for Jin. Was it love, or just a physical attraction? I don’t know. She succumbed to his devastating charm, like so many others before her." She chuckled, imitated by Yoongi.

"As you would expect, Jin did nothing but ignore her and rebuff her advances. She didn't appreciate it at all… I learned later that this half-succubus demoness was renowned for finding prey and not letting go until she got what she wanted."

"A real nasty leech..." muttered Jungkook.

She noticed, however, that Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok expressions had changed. They had exchanged glances, seeming to pass a message to each other that she didn't understand. She decided to ignore it for the moment.

"Things got worse after she arrived, after Jin's rejection." She took a long breath. "She's the one who delivered me to the villagers, who exposed me. When we realized her plan, that she was planning to take Jin with her by force, by any means necessary, we wanted to run away. We'd go to Asia, or America, or wherever, to another continent, away from her, away from all of this. But that demoness had planned everything… We were young, unaware, and inexperienced, unlike her. I was barely 25, and he was 23... we just wanted to..."

She paused to calm herself, her heartbeat quickening again. Fortunately, Jimin was able to calm her, just by being here, his soft hands on hers, and she was grateful for that. She thanked him with a small smile, which he returned by stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. How could a demon be so angelic?

"She specialized in memory magic..."

"Oh, I'm getting the hang of it..." muttered Namjoon, clenching his jaw.

"That bitch…" added Yoongi, making her huff.

"The villagers arrived in the middle of the night. We didn't see it coming. The demoness took advantage of this moment to attack Jin and cast a spell to erase me from his memory. The last time I saw Jin was before they put a bag over my head when he was unconscious in her arms."

She lowered her head, and it was only when she felt Jimin's soft hand on her cheek that she noticed a tear had rolled down.

She knew what the demoness had done, she knew that she'd erased Jin's memory, simply because she'd come to see her a few days later in the cell where she was being held captive. She explained everything, adding that she had offered to give her over to the Catholic order of Dominicans who wrote the Malleus Maleficarum. Which happened, the day after she came.

"When I finally escaped... After several months," she continued anyway, her voice trembling, "I looked for him, I... crossed France from top to bottom, and Europe... I looked for him everywhere, for many years... I never found him... until now..."

Jimin's hands gripped hers a little tighter. She looked up at him, then at Yoongi, who had moved a little closer to her. Their shoulders were touching, his way of showing her some comfort.

"So that's what happened..." muttered Namjoon, who had straightened up, his eyebrows furrowed, looking thoughtful.

"I hate humans..." blurted Jungkook as he hugged Taehyung tightly, his companion nodding in agreement.

"And so, you thought we'd hate you, or I don't know what other nonsense might go through your little head when we know the truth?" Yoongi asked, holding back a laugh. “I don’t see why. I mean. It’s genuine, really.”

She arched her eyebrows in confusion. She thought that it seemed logical. She hadn't been able to protect Jin, she’d left him in the clutches of this demoness who'd probably done a thousand and one things to him that she didn't even want to think about. She hated herself for it.

"Hyung." Hoseok sighed, shaking his head, "stop."

"I failed to protect him, he's my soulmate and... I abandoned him and..."

"You didn't do any of that, Y/N."

Namjoon approached her. He took Jimin’s place and knelt down facing her, placing his hands on hers.

"You're both the victims. You've met someone stronger, older, more experienced than you and she took advantage of it. You did everything you could. You did your best. You could never be blamed for that. We could never blame you for that. ."

"And Jin hyung won't blame you either, I'm sure," Hoseok added with a small smile. "When he will regain his memory, when we will give him back what that demoness stole from him, he'll be the happiest man in the world to have you back with him, with us. Believe me."

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to cry, not yet.

Yoongi wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"It's over now," he whispered against her hair, "you're not alone anymore, you won't be. We've found you, you've found us."

She couldn't hold back the few tears that had started to fall. How could she not break down, after all those centuries spent alone, thinking that her soulmates didn't want her, living with the guilt of having abandoned the only soulmate she’d ever known.

They said the same things as her friends when she told them everything a few days ago.

None of them thought for a second that what happened to Jin and her was her fault.

That feeling of being understood, of not being judged, of being accepted despite her past mistakes and scars.

That feeling of being in the presence of her soul-mates.

She hadn't felt so at peace in what seemed like an eternity. Ever since Jin and her were separated.

°°°

"Noona... I have a few questions..."

"Here we go... the kid and his questions. Wait, I'll get you an aspirin and a big glass of water."

Jungkook glared at Yoongi, who had gotten up to go into the kitchen, a sneer on his lips.

Jin still hadn't woken up, but after a simple soothing spell and an herbal ointment she’d carefully placed on his temples, he was calmer, his body more relaxed.

She hadn't wanted to stay, not wanting to risk another attack if Jin woke up again. She learned through Yoongi about the migraine attacks he'd had since the day she met Namjoon.

But the boys convinced her to stay. Namjoon and Hoseok had disappeared into their library, explaining that they were going to rummage through their books after a potential counter-spell. She wanted to go with them, but they insisted she stay with Jin and rest.

It didn't take long to realize that Jin's seizures had a direct link with her.

As her soul mate, and despite his forced amnesia, his subconscious knew who she was. But it wasn't strong enough to bring back the memories the demoness had made disappear. Well, they hadn't disappeared, technically; she'd just hidden them very well somewhere in his psyche.

her scent on the clothes of Namjoon, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook had been the trigger for his subconscious to awaken, for his memories to struggle, to resurface and make Jin realize that yes, he did know her, as his intuition suggested. Yes, the person on the hill was her, yes every memory he thought belonged to someone else was his, and that the blurry person sharing them with him was none other than her.

The migraines, the loss of consciousness... were only signs that his body, mind, and soul were fighting to bring his memories back to where they belonged, to finally give him back what that demoness had stolen from him.

Or at least, that's what she’d come to conclude on hearing Yoongi's explanations.

"Ask me anything Jungkook, don't worry," she replied with a small smile, still sitting next to Jin.

Yoongi had returned with some drinks (no aspirin, to Junkook's great relief) which he gave to the three maknae, still sitting opposite her, and to her, then sat down on the coffee table.

"I was wondering, how did you find out that you were... immortal? I mean, what does that actually mean?"

She'd been expecting this question. Even for demons, immortality was still a rather vague concept. Nobody is immortal. Demons and vampires aged slowly, very much more slowly than human beings. But they weren't really immortal.

"I died for the first time after the Malleus Maleficarum experiments, they sentenced me to be hanged to death, like all the witches at that time."

She heard the exclamations of surprise from the maknaes. Yoongi remained silent, listening to her attentively.

"I actually died that day. Except... except a few seconds after I took my last breath, my heart started beating again, and I came back to life."

None of them could believe their ears. Yoongi couldn't hide his surprise either, and she knew that a thousand questions were forming in their heads.

"The second time was a few days later. At a bonfire." she continued, bowing her head, "The thing is… I feel all the pain, all the way to death. But for some reason, I live again and again. No matter how people try to kill me, no matter how I die, my wounds heal themselves, my organs reform."

"Is it due to a spell?" finally asked Yoongi with his eyebrows furrowed, "or maybe some kind of witch, a hybrid with a phoenix..."

"I think you're going a bit far, hyung..." Taehyung chuckled slightly.

"Hey, every proposition can be plausible, gamin."

She couldn't hold back a smile. It was obvious that they'd known each other for several decades now, that they'd been through a lot together. In a way, she was relieved that at least they hadn't had to go through all that alone.

"I've never known the reason, or why I became like that," she finally continued, scratching the back of her neck, "I just am. Several times I thought I wouldn't get up this time from certain injuries, especially during the wars, but I always got up again. And just like that, more than 600 years have gone by."

"Maybe it's just that fate didn't want you to die before you met your soul mates, who knows." Yoongi chuckled, shrugging.

"If you think the universe and destiny are that kind of romantic..." Jungkook rolled his eyes.

"I'm tempted to believe that theory, it's much sweeter and more romantic than a curse put on you..." added Jimin with a little pout.

"Sometimes things just happen, and they're impossible to explain. Even for creatures like us." she let go with a sigh and an embarrassed smile, "In any case, I've stopped looking and obsessing over it, I've just accepted it."

"Still, it must be painful to die, over and over again..." Jimin cocked his head to the side, feeling a wave of sadness as he thought of all she'd had to go through in her long life. As an empath, his reaction hardly surprised her.

If they knew. She didn't want to dwell on how some humans and even other creatures had taken advantage of her immortality to put her through the many horrors she’d experienced. This wasn't the time to talk about all those things.

“Our pretty soulmate is strong and courageous.” Yoongi finally broke the silence after a few seconds, “She’ll talk about it when she feels ready.”

She bites her lips. She wanted to tell him to not call her pretty, but she felt that it was destined to fail. Yoongi seemed to be stubborn, maybe a little too much.

“Do you guys think Joonie and Hobi will find something ?” Asked Jungkook, looking at Jin with worry.

“For sure they will!” exclaimed Jimin, “Namjoon has books that are centuries old and unique, Hobi and him are the most intelligent demons ever! They’ll find something, surely!”

Jimin was passionate, his trust in his partners was blind and absolute. It was probably the same for all of them, she was sure about it, but Jimin was the one who showed it the most.

“In the worst case…”

“Taehyung don’t start…” mumbled Jungkook, as the others sighed.

“Let me finish! In the worst case, if we don’t find anything for Jin hyung, the solution is simple, very simple. We’ll create new memories, so many new happy memories all together!”

“If something was robbed from you without your consent, I think you'd like to have it back. Don't you think so?" Yoongi asked, his voice softened as he ruffled Taehyung’s hair who nodded with a sad pout.

He was just as worried as the others. There were so many unanswered questions, so many theories without explanations, so many problems without solutions yet.

“Namjoon and Hoseok always find a way to resolve problems, you should be used to it now.”

That voice startled all of them. All five heads turned to the sofa beside Yoongi and her. To everyone's surprise, Jin was staring at them, or rather, at her.

“Jin you’re awake !”

While the younger hurried towards their eldest, their faces racked with worry and relief, she reflexively stepped back.

She couldn't get very far, as her back bumped into a chest. She turned to face Yoongi, who placed his hands gently on her shoulders. He could read the stress and apprehension on her face. He couldn't imagine what she must be feeling right now, coming face to face with the one she'd lost centuries ago.

"Where are you going like this?" he asked at first in a slightly teasing tone, before he leaned towards her and whispered, his voice softening, "Relax, everything's fine."

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She'd spent her whole life looking for Jin and his other soulmates. Now they were all here. They were all in the same house. Everything still seemed so unreal that she didn’t know how to react or what to do.

“Y/N ?”

She froze when she heard her name coming from Jin's lips. The others in the room gave him a surprised, confused look.

"Hyung, do you..."

"Remember her? Us? Unfortunately not, I don’t. But I heard you guys talking earlier, I wasn't totally unconscious. Thanks for the herbs, by the way, they really appeased my headache."

Her eyes widened at his words. Had he heard everything? Did he know the whole story, just like his other soulmates? In a way, she didn't know if she could handle a new explanation, which was a bit of a relief. On the other, she was concerned about his reaction, since he was the one who was affected.

Jin straightened up to sit on the sofa, helped by Jimin. Yoongi was still standing behind her and gave her a gentle nudge, so that she didn't push herself aside.

Jin's eyes landed on her. For a moment, he said nothing, just looked at her. She could feel the stress twisting her stomach, her legs going limp as cotton. She felt weaker than she had ever felt before.

"Can you come a little closer, please?"

Jin's voice was soft; she perceived no anger, no resentment on his side. He had kept his comforting aura, the same one she'd known so long ago, the same one that had reassured her countless times.

She soon faced him and lowered herself slightly to be at the same height as him.

How was someone supposed to react to finding their soulmate and youthful amnesiac love, lost in tragic circumstances centuries ago?

She was torn between tears of joy and relief, but the guilt that consumed her seemed to be the most dominant feeling at the moment.

"Jin I..."

She pursed her lips. Her voice trembled. For sure her body would betray her right now.

Jin offered him a tender smile and shook his head.

"Shht, it's all right." he murmured his words as he gently grasped her hand, "come here."

Without waiting for a response from her, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her.

At first, her eyes widened in surprise. Quickly, she couldn't hold back any longer. Her arms followed and she hugged his waist as if her life depended on it.

"I know what you're thinking," he began, his hand running gently through her hair, "I'm not angry or anything, how could I be? It was never your fault, nor mine." He paused before letting out a small sigh, she could hear all the pain, the sadness in his voice, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry you've had to carry this burden all alone all this time…"

Her whole body was shaking. His voice was shaking, as if he were holding back his own tears. She was fighting inside. She was fighting herself not to break down. But her traitorous body still betrayed her, and she couldn't even control her tears, which had started to flow uncontrollably.

But his words. His words resonated not only in her heart but in her entire soul. She didn't know how much she needed to hear those words from him until now.

"We'll find a way, and everything will go back to normal, it will be even better, I promise."

After all these years, these centuries of living with the weight of guilt, the weight of regret, the feeling that she'd never be able to meet her soul mates... she felt all this weight recede, making way for a quietude and lightness like she'd never known before.

An eternity of torment, torture, and pain was finally over.

It was as if she'd been deprived of oxygen all her life, until now, as if her breathing had been cut off, and now she was finally getting it back.

And even though she was currently crying her heart out in Jin's arms, she could also feel Taehyung's warm, reassuring hand on her back, Jimin's, Jungkook's, and Yoongi's presence in the room, Namjoon's and Hoseok's, even if they weren't in the same room with them.

Her cries were no longer cries of sadness. There was only relief, and it was becoming more of an evacuation from all that time of pain and isolation.

All those smells, all that warmth that invaded her body at that moment, brought her calm and relief she'd never be able to explain, not even in a day, a year, ten years, or even a hundred years.

The reunion with Jin that day, feeling him against her again, as well as having the presence of her soul mates around them, those who were destined for her. After all this time where her heart and soul had been crying out for help, she had finally been heard.

The darkness was finally disappearing, as the clouds and obscurity finally allowed the sun a chance to shine.

And despite her tears, she couldn't help smiling, because at last, she knew that happiness really was within her grasp.

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