#so i have to just get through it and wait for the suffocation to subside

[youredreamingofroo]

I hate how I can sit there, get all sappy and cry and then moments later, just. wipe the tears away and then get,,, mad at myself for feeling like that, or disgusted. why do I do this :T

[sister-lucifer]

Genre: Smut 

Summary: Tim is dazed and confused after wandering through these cursed woods for who knows how long, when he encounters a mysterious figure on the dark waters of the lake. 

Content/Warnings: Male reader, frottage, oral sex, the story is from Tim’s POV, the siren is referred to with it/its pronouns, some mystery/horror/unsettling elements, the siren has a prehensile penis, masturbation, attempted/near drowning, underwater ejaculation, it’s left up to interpretation whether or not this actually happened or was just a hallucination, sort of hypnosis I guess? Not really sure what to call it but use of siren song powers 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out. 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated. 

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors.

Tim isn’t sure how long he’s been walking. It feels like the night has gone on forever, his boots caked in mud from hours of wandering without any vestige of an intended destination. He isn’t sure how long he’s been in these god forsaken woods at all. His frustration and anger have long since melted away to exhaustion, the endless trees silently mocking him as they watch him struggle to pull himself towards a freedom he cannot see. This entire plane of existence is a cruel, horridly sentient monster of phantasmagorical insanity built to break the minds of any who enter, and he can feel the cracks starting to grow throughout his tortured psyche like a starving parasite threatening to encompass him fully.

It feels like his body is rotting.

Like the muscle is sloughing off the bone with every move he makes, joints aching and falling apart as he forces himself to keep going. The night air is thick with the heat and humidity of the summer, threatening to suffocate him with every inhale. Sweat clings to his clothes and his body like a heavy blanket that only serves to weigh him down even more. 

He’s not sure how much he has left in him.

Everything looks the same, nothing but trees in all directions for impossible distances. He hasn’t even seen another animal, no sign of life beyond the green. He’s starting to lose his vision, sight blurring and distorting in the kaleidoscope of leaves that the moonlight filters through. 

Finally the burn in his legs forces him to come to a stop. His chest is heaving when he falls to his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t have time to stop.

He’s still for only a second before the raging swill of his thoughts becomes far too loud for his comfort. They scream at him for his foolishness, for his stupidity in getting himself lost this badly, in walking right into the waiting maw of the stalking creature he’s been running from like a lobotomized rabbit to the wolf. Dammit, dammit, dammit. 

The ringing in his ears gradually subsides as his breathing levels out. He pushes down his emotions in favor of keeping himself calm; panic will only doom him further. He has to stay in his right mind if he ever wants to get out of here. 

Then, a sound pierces through his clouded mind like the sharpened point of a needle. A sound, finally, other than the noise of his boots on the grass and his heavy breathing. 

Water. 

The sound of water lapping at the shore. 

He’s managed to wander his way to the lake. 

He stands so quickly he nearly falls over, looking around as he discerns where the sound is coming from. He turns to his left, then to his right, ultimately deciding on the former. His walk quickly turns into a frantic sprint. 

The noise gets louder, calling to him that he’s chosen the right direction. He runs faster. The green is starting to thin, he can see something getting closer, he is so damn close—

It takes everything in him not to collapse under the weight of his insurmountable relief when he emerges from the trees to be greeted with the reflection of the moon on the water.

He rushes to the shore, nearly tripping and tumbling down the bank as he makes a frantic dash for the lake. He stops at the edge, kneeling and pushing his hands beneath the surface, gasping softly when the cool water runs over his hands. 

It’s real. 

He’s not imagining this, it’s real. 

A gravely but triumphant laugh bubbles up from his throat as he basks in his victory. Finally, finally he’s freed himself from the prison of trees, even if he hasn’t found his way back home. He cups the water in his hands and takes a drink, not caring to even consider how dirty the lake might be; that doesn’t matter nearly as much as the cool relief that washes over his dry throat. He splashes a bit of water on his face for good measure, soaking the front of his jacket and granting him some reprieve from the hot, muggy night air. 

For a brief moment he debates taking a swim, but quickly shoots the idea down. The lake is vast and dark, he doesn’t trust it enough to let it engulf him entirely. Not to mention the idea of swimming with such a sore and exhausted body isn’t very appealing. 

He looks up and around, thinking that surely there must be some way to cool off without taking the plunge. His eyes land on a wooden dock some ways away, not too far of a walk. 

…That’ll work. 

He makes his way over to the dock, stepping onto it cautiously to test its strength. It creaks a bit, but gives no real protest as he walks down its length, stopping to sit down at the end. He unlaces his boots and sets them at his side before stowing his socks away inside them. He rolls up the legs of his jeans before allowing his feet to dangle over the side, the water reaching up to soothe his sore calves. He lets his head fall back when he sighs with relief, finally allowing himself to relax. He moves to lay back on the dock, folding his hands over his stomach and taking a deep breath. 

Finally, a fucking break. 

No, it doesn’t solve all his problems—he’s still stuck here, after all—but Goddamn is it nice to finally be able to breathe. 

For just a moment, everything is peaceful. Tim even lets himself forget the hell he’s trapped in at present, focusing instead on the feeling of the water gently cooling his legs. It’s nostalgic, almost—reminds him of when he used to sneak out to the pond behind his house to drink with his high school friends. It’s a fleeting comfort, but an appreciated one nonetheless. 

He lays still there until the frantic thudding of his heart slowly reduces itself to a steady beating, until the ringing in his ears quiets fully and he breathe without a struggle. He feels much lighter now that there’s not so much strain on his muscles and joints. He even lets himself close his eyes, just for a moment, the stars shining on the backs of his lids before fading into the dark. 

He debates going to sleep right here. It’s not a good idea, no, but it’s a tempting one, and much more appealing than sleeping in the dirt. He’s too open here, though, too exposed; he couldn’t hide in a timely manner if the need were the arise. No, no sleep yet, no matter how badly he needs it. Just rest. 

Just enough rest for him to keep going. 

That’s all he can safely grant himself at the moment. 

And for now, that’s okay. 

Just this brief peace is enough after the ordeal he’s been put through. 

He focuses in on his breathing, counting his breaths as he inhales and exhales slowly, keeping the rhythm steady as he takes in the gentle quiet of the surrounding world that, for once, has gone still, relieving him of the heavy burden of survival…

…Only for the sudden sound of something splashing into the lake to jolt him out of his calm. 

His eyes shoot open and he sits up so quick he gets a bit lightheaded. He looks around, frantically trying to find the source of the sound and preparing to grab his boots and make a run for it. He stops when he catches sight of…something that has settled on top of a rock in the middle of the lake.

He pauses, squinting through the fog that has now settled over the water. 

Was the fog always there? 

Could it have moved in that fast? 

Damn, how long has he even been here? 

He pushes the questions away for now, too focused on trying to discern what the hell he’s looking at. 

Then, as if it can feel his eyes, the figure move. Tim can’t see it very well, but he too can feel it staring back just before it dives into the water. 

“…What in the fuck?” he mumbles, unable to conjure any other response. 

What the hell was that thing? 

Couldn’t have been a fish, but it didn’t look like any waterfowl or turtle he’d seen. A gator, maybe? No, unlikely—too fast and too damn tall to be a gator. 

He looks down at his feet, his legs still submerged in the water. 

He really should pull them back out. No telling what that thing was.

He should leave all together, in all honesty, he needs to keep moving…

…So why won’t he? 

He swallows hard, eyes cast down at his still legs. He kicks them in the water a bit, but can’t bring himself to pull them back out. Surely by now he should have enough willpower to pull himself away from this…

He winces a bit as the ringing in his ears suddenly returns with an acute fervor. 

No, wait…not ringing. Some other high pitched noise, something more melodic that starts to melt into the ambience. 

…Music? 

No, it can’t be, but he isn’t able to come up with any other name for it, especially with the fog that’s suddenly thickening in his mind, clouding his thoughts like the mist on the water clouds his vision. He rubs his eyes and looks out over the water again. The figure, that creature is gone, and the rock it was perching on is rapidly fading away into the fog. 

This is bad. He has to get out of here, right now, before something terrible— 

He gasps, nearly jumping out of his skin as something splashes in the water a short distance to his left. He looks over quickly, but all he sees is the ripples on the surface left behind by something diving down into the lake. 

There’s no doubt about it now.

Something is in the lake, and it’s getting closer. 

He tries to make his body move, to get up out of the water and onto the dock, but he’s frozen. The more he tries, the more his mind screams at him to do something, the louder the music gets. echoing in his brain and drowning out any voice of reason. The sound is clearer now, a high pitched vocalization carrying a tune that feels so familiar, like something out of his childhood dripping with a viscous nostalgia that clogs his throat and sticks to the back of his teeth. 

Something splashes again, but with the operatic voice forcing its way into his mind he can’t discern which direction it was. All he knows is it was closer. 

Tim scans the water frantically, but the fog has covered the everything. He can hardly see ten feet in front of him. It feels like the cloudy mist is closing in on him with a purpose, with intent, like this was planned. 

His heart nearly stops when he looks down at his feet, only to see a glowing pair of eyes looking back at him from just beneath the water. 

He flinches, but can’t bring himself to pull back. He’s frozen, like something is holding him in place and forcing him to keep eye contact with this creature. The music is the only thing he can hear. The noise of the crickets and the water and the wind are completely gone, completely overtake by the singing. 

Tim watches, completely mesmerized as the creature slowly rises, breaching the water’s surface with wildly unnatural grace. Tim’s eyes widen in shock and awe as more and more of the creature’s form is revealed, its body revealed to him inch by inch, allowing him to take it in. 

The creatures skin is an unsettling greenish-grey, with pulsating gills that gasp softly on the sides of its torso and neck. Its impossibly long hair, tangled with leafy plants, creates a curtain around its face that hides its visage in shadows and cascades down its shoulders and into the water, as if it goes on forever. Tim’s eyes trail downward towards where the legs should be, but he finds none. Instead, the creatures body fades into iridescent scales that reflect the moonlight in a kaleidoscope of colors that swirl in his brown eyes. Anything beyond the top half is hidden by the dark water, but he can imagine what those scales become below the surface.

He should be running.

He should’ve been far, far away by now. 

He’s not as afraid as he should be. 

Why isn’t he afraid? 

He doesn’t have time consider the question before the echo of the singing starts to quiet down. It doesn’t go away, no, but it’s morphing into something else…

Tim watches as the creature swims closer, webbed hands reaching out to grasp his thighs with an unexpected gentleness. He sucks in a breath at the creature’s cold touch, the water on its palms soaking through his rolled up jeans. He realizes now that it’s closer that it’s humming, the soft sound buzzing in its throat with the same tune as the echo of the singing before it. 

The humming is far more soothing than it has any right to be. Tim should be fighting this thing off, pushing it away as it leans in to hum right into his ear, its scent of lake water and fresh plants filling his nose, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

The creature’s skin is cool and soft against his own, wetting his cheek with the water clinging to its hair and face. Its chest brushes his for a moment, and he shudders, though not with disgust. His mind is swimming, completely melted into a useless sludge that refuses to form a thought. He knows he shouldbe terrified right now, he should be running for his life, but it’s getting harder and harder to articulate why. 

He breaths deeply, inhaling the creature’s earthy scent as its ghostly voice seeps into the deepest recesses of his brain. 

Oh, God… 

That feels good. 

He can feel the creature, the siren slowly stripping him of his defenses, peeling the armor off of his carefully guarded psyche piece by piece, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He’s not sure he wants to stop it. The sensation of his will being broken down, chipped away at by a skilled hand with a chisel of forged steel that leaves no room for argument; it’s almost comforting. 

Tim has spent so long fighting…

…Why shouldn’t he just give in this once? 

The thought rattles around his skull and echoes in such a way that he’s aware it wasn’t entirely his idea, but he doesn’t care. It’s a beautiful epiphany. 

His vision is starting to blur. Most of his senses, in fact, are dulling at what should be an alarming rate. The only thing left in tact, maybe even amplified, is his ability to feel. 

The siren’s touch is intoxicating. 

He’s starting to lose himself. 

Tim shudders as something warm and wet slides over his neck, moving in a manner that is far too articulated. The siren pulls back, licking its lips, and for a moment Tim thinks he can see it mouth the word ‘delicious.’ 

The siren leans in again, this time for a slow kiss on the lips. Tim is stunned at the gesture, but can’t stop himself from kissing back. It’s almost a subconscious action, a base instinct activated by the siren song buzzing in his head. 

The kiss is far from brief, but it doesn’t last nearly long enough to satisfy Tim. He leans forward to try and follow the siren as it pulls away, but it pushes him back with a gentle hand and a cheeky grin. It playfully wags a finger, silently scolding him with only a look from those piercing eyes. 

The siren starts to move lower, and for a moment Tim is afraid it’s about to dive back into the lake, never to be seen again, but instead it stops once it’s at eye level with his groin. Tim sucks in a breath, which only makes the siren’s grin grow wider. Tim catches a split second glance of the shiny teeth that are kept behind its upturned lips. 

The siren’s webbed hands slide inward from where they rest on Tim’s thighs, lazily meandering to the buckle of his belt. The siren’s humming doesn’t cease for even a moment as its nimble fingers slip his belt from the buckle and then from the loops of his jeans with an unnatural grace. It sets the belt to the side on the dock, right next to his boots, making it clear that Tim won’t be needing it anymore. 

Tim’s breath hitches when the siren pulls his zipper down, moving slowly but with intent. It’s teasing him, he realizes in a fleeting moment of clarity, making him wait for whatever it is it knows he wants. His eyes trail down as the siren tugs his jeans down just a bit, enough to expose his half hard cock as it pushes against his boxers. He didn’t even realized how turned on he was. 

Tim bites his lip as the siren’s agile tongue unfurls from its mouth to lick over the bulge in his boxers. He shivers, barely biting back a moan. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come; there’s only a brief stammer before his lips close again, the eyes of the siren drawing him into silent submission. It hasn’t looked away from his face this entire time, refusing to release his gaze. It holds eye contact even as it leans in again, this time latching onto Tim’s hardening bulge with its lips and suckling it through the fabric of his boxers. 

This time Tim can’t stop the noise that falls from his mouth, a choked sound of pleasure that would surely be humiliating if he had any sense left. Right now all he can think about is how badly he wants more. 

The siren’s hands move again, upwards this time, towards the waistband of his boxers. It hooks its claws beneath the fabric and pulls downward slowly, just enough to release Tim’s now throbbing, needy erection from its confines. He sighs with relief at the feeling. He didn’t realize until now how badly he needed that. 

The siren wastes no time wrapping its tongue around Tim’s length, and this time there’s no stopping the shuddering moan that crawls up his throat. The siren’s tongue is impossibly long, moving with complete control as though it were another limb; it leaves no spot of Tim’s cock untouched, coating every bump and vein with the siren’s cool, thick saliva. Tim’s thighs tremble as he watches the creature pleasure him shamelessly, its tongue coiling around his twitching member and sliding up and down the entirety of his length with intent.

The siren has stopped humming, unable to do so with its mouth occupied, but its song still echoes in the trees around them, keeping Tim docile and needy. 

Hesitantly he reaches up, his hand shaking like a leaf in the wind as he moves it towards the siren. For just a moment a look of intrigue flashes in the creature’s eyes, but it quickly morphs into smug satisfaction as Tim’s fingers find themselves nestled into the siren’s hair. 

The siren’s tongue retracts suddenly. Tim’s eyes widen as a question begins to form in his mind as to why, but it’s promptly stamped out when the siren wraps its lips around his cock and sinks its mouth down on him without hesitation. Tim nearly screams, crying out in shock and pleasure before choking on his own voice. The gills on the siren’s neck flex and breathe as his cock is pushed down its slick, invitingly warm throat. The cavity welcomes him happily, as though it was molded to fit his cock perfectly. 

Tim’s fingers twitch as his grip tightens on the siren’s hair, silently begging for more. The creature complies, running its tongue up and down his length without so much as coming up for air. It uses every part its mouth and throat to stimulate his length with a sharp focus. 

One of the siren’s hands slides off of its resting place on Tim’s thigh. It trails down his leg before leaving his body completely, dipping down into the water. Tim follows it with his eyes curiously, watching as the siren reaches down to lightly rub at a spot on the front of its tail. Tim quirks a brow, but quickly realizes what’s happening as the scales part to reveal a fleshy slit, a sheath from which what Tim can only assume is some kind of inhuman cock slides out. It’s visibly slick, almost slimy, and moves much like the siren’s tongue. He can feel the creature let out a soft noise around his cock as it wraps its hand around its length. It’s pleasuring itself, Tim thinks, pleasuring itself to him. 

The siren’s free hand grasps onto his jacket for balance, keeping it upright as it floats in the water. It’s found a steady rhythm in the way it bobs its head up and down on Tim’s length, slowly pulling back and pushing forward just as the water laps at the shore in a lazy but constant manner. 

Tim’s head falls back as a sudden wave of pleasure washes over him, making his entire body shiver with chills. He wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. 

As if sensing his impending release, the siren’s pace increases. It doesn’t become vigorous or messy, only faster, swifter and even more calculated. The siren seems hyper aware of every move it makes, every muscle it flexes in its mouth and throat to make sure Tim never feels less than the utmost sense of bliss. 

Tim can’t hold back his voice anymore. The soft mewls and desperate moans spill from his lips like a waterfall of debauchery that only seems to fuel the siren’s passion. Tim can’t see it with his head thrown back, but he can hear the splashing of the water getting louder and faster as the siren pumps its own cock with more fervor. 

Tim’s back arches, pushing his cock into the siren’s mouth. The creature takes him so deeply its nose brushes his stomach, but it makes it seem so effortless. It knows exactly what it’s doing, and it’s working far too well. Tim doesn’t have much longer. 

“I’m…I-I’m about to—“ he stammers, struggling to get the words out or even put together a coherent sentence. 

The warning is a trigger for the siren. It pauses suddenly, processing the words for only a moment before it pulls off of Tim’s cock so quickly it almost hurts. Tim jumps and gasps, but doesn’t have even a split second to react before the siren grabs onto his shoulders and pulls him down into the water with it. 

He thrashes in the creature’s hold, but the siren’s tail wraps around his ankles and squeezes tightly. He tries to cry out, but his efforts are punished with a mouthful of lake water that firmly halts any attempt at screaming. The lake around them is nothing more but a dark, merciless void of water without any sign of life. The only light is the dim shine of the moon that pierces the surface of the water and the glowing eyes of the siren. 

Tim pushes against the creature’s hold, but it doesn’t budge. It leans in for another kiss, a rougher one that Tim fights this time, but not for long. 

It’s an odd sensation, the feeling of air being forcefully pumped into his lungs from the siren’s mouth, but it lets him breathe. He can’t complain about that. 

In the next instant the siren’s cock has wrapped around Tim’s, picking up right where it had left off on the dock. Little time was lost, and before Tim knows it he’s already nearing dangerously close to his release once more. He doesn’t dare pull aware from the siren’s lips to warn it, though. Surely it knows. 

Just as he’d figured the siren’s length is slimy, almost tentacle like, sticking to Tim’s own cock as it writhes in coils around it. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, making him whimper into the kiss with a need so great it’s overwhelming. The siren isn’t immune to the pleasure either; its gills and scales ripple with its impending climax. 

The siren wraps its arms around Tim, gripping at his hair and the back of his jacket as it holds him in place. It’s so desperate to keep him against it. 

Tim cries out into the kiss one last time before his body tenses, his climax hitting him like a truck as his cock twitches and spurts into the water. The siren lets out an odd noise, almost like a dolphin’s chitter before it follows suit, its length pulsing around Tim’s before releasing as well, the iridescent liquid hovering in the water before fading away into the darkness below them. 

The siren’s cock quickly retracts, unwrapping from Tim’s softening length and pulling back into its sheath. It’s as if it were never there, the parted scales moving back to hide the slit once again. 

The siren slowly pulls away, looking down at Tim with an odd expression. It’s not quite a smile, but it carries a sense of self satisfaction and mischief. 

Tim expects to be let go, even kicking his legs a bit to loosen the grip the siren’s tail has on them, but the hold only tightens. Tim kicks again, trying to pull away, but this only earns him more restraint yet again. The siren pulls him into a deadly hug, slotting his body against its own and wrapping itself around Tim. 

Suddenly its touch is no longer soft and welcoming. Its claws dig onto Tim’s back and shoulders through his jacket, which only serves to amplify his panic. The siren squeezes him, forcing the gifted air out of his lungs. He can only watch it escape to the surface as bubbles, unable to retrieve it. 

His thrashing increases tenfold, but he’s tiring fast. The lack of air combined with his exhaustion and now the siren’s humming in his ear once again is disorienting him. He needs to fight, but his body is rapidly losing the will to do so. He’s only a man, and a man has limits. 

He resists the urge to gasp as water starts to leak into his mouth. He’s losing strength by the second, not only from his body straining but also from the siren’s song draining his energy. His panic turns to pure terror as the black spots start to fill his vision. 

The siren won’t let go.

He can’t fight anymore. 

This was a trap. 

This was all a trap. 

He’s going to die here. 

No, no, no— 

The water is filling his lungs rapidly now as his fear overrides his rationality. He’s screaming as much as he can beneath the surface of the lake, using the last of his strength to fight, but he knows it’s pointless. It’s only bringing more water in. His vision is darkening fast, and soon the little sliver of moonlight he had is gone. All he can do is listen to the sound of the siren’s humming, but then that is starting to fade out. 

No, no, no, no! 

Please, God, no…

But God doesn’t come to help, and the siren’s song is barely audible as Tim’s body stills and goes limp. 

This is it. 

He’s sinking into something dark, now, something beyond his consciousness. It’s an indescribable feeling, but an absolute one, one that speaks of eternity and a horrible permanency. 

For a moment he’s aware of his own fate, his own death… 

…And then he’s coughing up water onto the sand, the bright morning sun burning his eyes. 

He turns over into his side, getting onto his hands and knees as he forcefully hacks up the lake water in his lungs. 

The fresh air is a godsend, quickly pushing the water out and taking its place. Tim can finally take a deep breath without drowning. 

He’s back on dry land, and alive… 

…but how?

He’s still dizzy, he doesn’t dare stand up yet, but he does look around in confusion. The sun has finally risen, that much is obvious; it’s warm and bright on his face, almost jarringly so. He can even hear birds chirping in the trees above him. The woods have suddenly come to life, but what feels like only an hour ago it was completely devoid of anything living. 

Did all of that…really happen? 

He has no idea.  

He looks down at himself and realizes he’s still missing his shoes, socks, and belt. His jeans are still rolled up to his knees, and his clothes and hair are completely soaked, as evidenced by the water that drips down his forehead, legs and hands. The zipper of his pants is still down, exposing the black fabric of his boxers.

His missing clothes are nowhere to be found next to him on the shore. 

Slowly his eyes trail down the lake to the dock. He squints as he looks closely, searching for the proof that that thing was real… 

…And there they are. His boots, socks still rolled up inside, and his belt, sitting at the edge of the dock.

Right where he’d left them. 

He stumbles to his bare feet, trudging down to the dock to retrieve his things. His boots and socks are shockingly dry, but that’s certainly not a bad thing. It’s a small comfort that he more than deserves.

He slips them back on, they looks down at his belt. For some reason, he hesitates to pick it up. He makes himself lean down to grab it, though, and takes a moment to inspect the leather in his hands.

It’s untouched. No sign of damage or wear and tear at all. 

He sighs as he zips his jeans back up and pulls the belt through the loops, fastening it back in place around his waist. 

He’s going to chock this up to this goddamned forest screwing with him. He has to if he wants to keep his mind from breaking in two. It’s the safest, least insane explanation he can give to himself. It’s the only thing he’s prepared to hear. 

The ache in his legs returns as a dull thrum as he resigns himself to continuing his journey. It’s painful to leave behind the solace of the lake, to walk away from the soft sound of the water, but with the day’s light he’ll surely be able to find his way out of here. 

He takes in a deep breath, internally psyching himself up before he dives back into the endless trees. 

Only, this time, they don’t seem all that endless. 

Almost instantly the sound of grass beneath Tim’s boots turns into the crunching of a rocky path. He looks down in confusion, eyes landing on beige, rocky dirt that definitely isn’t a natural formation. 

The trail.

He’s found his way back to the trail. 

His eyes widen as he follows the path into the trees as far as his eyes can see. 

Finally, his endless effort is being rewarded. 

He eagerly starts onto the trail, resisting the urge to run until he collapses. He has time, he reminds himself. The trail is a loop; he’ll get back home sooner or later. 

Finally, he’s free from the terror of these woods. Whatever entity that was keeping him trapped has released him, and he’s not going to question it. 

When he gets home he’ll flop down onto his bed, not even considering changing out of his filthy clothes before he does so. He’ll stare up at the ceiling with teary eyes as he thinks about how happy he is to be back home, back where it’s safe and comfortable. 

Inevitably his thoughts will wander back to the creature he encountered, or perhaps imagined; it’s not exactly something one easily forgets, after all. 

But for now, he’s going home. 

And that’s all that matters. 

mdni & reblog banners by cafekitsune

[peachesofteal]

please.. i beg for one ounce of happiness. zombie au was just cruel

Alternative to this, and inspired by this, what if you had been in Simon's place? 18+ MDNI / angst, killing, zombies - dead disco au / this is a little fucked up but it's also cute-ish? Maybe?

They had only let you out of their sight for a few moments.

Your skill with the hunting knife had grown, considerably, impressing both of them, allowing them to relax bit by bit, taking comfort in knowing that if something were to happen, you'd have a fighting chance.

You hated how they hovered all the time, anyway.

"I can do things on my own, you know. Look for berries, mushrooms. I can contribute."

Johnny was more keen to let you wander during the day, to let you exercise some freedom. He didn't want you to feel like they were keeping you on a leash, even though Simon couldn't stand to let you get more than a few feet away, always trying to keep you crowded between him and Johnny, snuggled between a protective barrier, holding you close. Even during travel, he walked in front, Johnny walked behind, and you stayed in the middle, backpack hiked up on your hips, knife cinched in your belt.

At night, they tucked you between their bodies, just like at home, making sure your sleeping bag was zipped tight to ward off a chill... or a wandering set of teeth.

They needed to keep you safe. Protect you. They clung to it, your softness, your gentle spirit. This world was not made for you, but they would be damned if they let it take you away from them.

But they couldn't suffocate you. They both knew that. Johnny knew, you needed room to let your emotions breathe.

So, he didn't protest too much when you wanted to go forage for mushrooms. He made sure you had your knife, pressed his lips to your forehead and told you be careful, to stay close. Keep an eye out.

He wishes he had said no instead.

Johnny's blood turned to ice when he heard you scream. It rang out through the forest like a siren, both he and Simon taking off into a sprint towards you, crashing through the brush without caring how loud it was. You were crying, shouting, getting louder and louder until they came across where you were pinned beneath a runner, blade jammed into it's face, your body shaking beneath its weight.

"Shhh." He hushed your hysterical cries as Simon rolled the zombie away from you, both of them frantically checking you over for their worst fear.

A bite.

"Breathe, darling. Just breathe." Simon coached you, pulling up your shirt where it was torn to check your belly, big hand smoothing over your skin slowly, feeling for something, anything that would indicate you'd been infected. "We're here. Right here."

"M-my neck." You sobbed, and Johnny's stomach flipped, terror ricocheting through his bones, fingers tracing over the torn skin beneath your jaw.

"No." He croaked. "No- no, oh god no... please." You cried harder, reality sinking in, realization sharp across the three of them.

"It's alright, shhh." Simon soothed you, one of his hands clamping down on Johnny's shoulder. He was shaking, looking at Johnny with a command in his eyes.

Get it together. Stay calm. For her.

"It's not that deep, darling. Not that deep. Ye'll be alright." It was a lie, a bold faced one, but Simon nodded in encouragement, looking back down to you with a tense smile.

"Let's get you back to camp and cleaned up."

They held you that night through your cries, assuring you that everything was going to be alright, that you were going to be okay, that they would always take care of you. Love you. Forever. They clutched you to them tightly as your body temperature rose, and your crying subsided, eyes slipping shut with sleep even as they stayed awake, watching you with vigilance. Watching for any changes, waiting for it to begin.

By the morning, they had made a decision.

They would stay true to their vow to you, their promise. They would take care of you, would love you, protect you. They would keep you safe, keep you with them, for as long as they were alive.

This world wasn't sane anymore, why should they be?

The first few days were the hardest. You were still lucid, in some ways. Still knew who you were, still knew them. You would cry uncontrollably if they left your sight for a moment, the outbursts ensuring one of them was with you at all times, soothing you, keeping you calm. You couldn't speak to them, only able to slur a few words here and there, but they didn't need your words to understand you. They knew your moods, your base line, your needs. Time passed, and those things didn't change. Even as your mind slipped away, they still believed you recognized them. They felt as if you did know them.

And you did things that solidified that belief. You would scent them, sniffing them at night, pressing your nose into their skin, snorting against them like their smell pleased you. When they spoke to you, you would stare at them, like you were hanging on every word. If they separated, you would groan, staggering in their direction, confused, distressed about splitting up. You would whine like an animal if either of them got too far away during travel.

You let Johnny fix your hair, let them both wipe you clean with water from the river. You'd grunt and grumble if he tugged a little too tight, but you still responded to his soothing, letting him gentle you when you got too worked up.

"Shhh, darling. 's alright." He'd coo as he fixed the makeshift mask up over your jaw and mouth, securing it tight so that you couldn't bite either of them in their sleep.

At night, they zipped you into your sleeping bag, arms down by your sides so you couldn't crawl out, and then tucked you alongside of their bodies, snuggled between them just as they always did.

They still knew you. You still knew them.

And they knew you were hungry.

It was the one thing that Johnny did not want to do, was hunt for you. He opted to stay behind, let Simon procure your meals instead, waited for his return when he would fetch you and bring you to the woods, keeping your line long so that when you came across your food, you'd have enough of a lead you could easily eat without him getting too close.

Simon didn't mind hunting living people for you, bringing them back and tying them up so they would be an easy meal. He couldn't risk them harming you, after all.

They would cry and beg him to let them go, ask him why he was doing this- didn't they understand?

He had to take care of you.

They'd do anything for you. Besides, it was only for a little while, you'd be back to normal once they caught up to Price and started towards the secure site, where they were sure there would be a cure.

They'd fix you, they had no doubt. You would be okay, just as soon as they got there.

Price was gobsmacked. Kyle was staring at them like they lost their damn minds.

"Boys, you- you can't-"

"She cannae bite, captain." Johnny protested, motioning to where your mouth had been covered with a mask, something tough they had fashioned out of velcro and a piece of his tac vest. "She's harmless." His hand clenched around the rope that had been tied around your waist, looped around your wrists. Your head lolled on your neck for a moment, before snapping upwards, nose in the air.

You had become accustomed to their scents, but not Price or Kyle's, and your eyes gleamed with hunger.

"Bloody hell." Gaz whispered.

"She's not in there anymore, son. You've got a zombie on a leash!" He spat, incredulous.

He didn't understand. You were still in there, still their darling, still with them. You were just sick.

You groaned, and Kyle flinched, staring at you in horror, and disgust. Johnny moved instinctively to block you from sight, protecting you from their terrified eyes, body vibrating with tension.

Simon took his hand, giving a squeeze, and a long look.

If they wouldn't accept you, they'd just find a way on their own.

[danger-noodle-uwu]

Trigger warning [mentions of killing/arguments/death/break-ups/cheating/etc]

Satan

Wrath is vengeful, wrath is destruction however this never bothered you or got in the way of dating Satan, The Avatar of wrath himself.

But as one could say, the true nature of a being could never remain under the covers. There was vengeance peering above the surface, and destruction awaiting at an unknown's doors, you did not knew.

Satan had great many contacts and to keep that up, he need to do few favors but not every favor was not-so-bloody. And lost in such an expectations of others did he forget an important day like today.

As always the day started as chaos, which couldn't have been helped either way and the blond had grown sick of that, unknown to the cause of chaos and decided to act upon the list he had, completely overlooking your smile, or the stunning outfit complimenting your figure or the day itself.

Upon this ignorance of his, you really wished face-palm. His demeanor was rather annoying, which only fueled you more to smack him. Really hard.

Today was well-planned, at least that's what you thought before dragging him away from his target and scolding him for leaving you on your own in a place crawling with demons.

Satan being the literal embodiment of wrath yet also your lover said "Get off me. I have things to do. And stop being so damn clingy." "Hey, it's your fault for leaving me on my special day!plus, there's sooo many things I wanna do toda–"

"Please shut up for once in your goddamn life!!" His sharp scream cut you off as his eyes bore into yours; eyes full of hatred and disgust as if you were a wretched grotesque placed before him.

Those words accompanied by his harsh glares was enough to make your heart shatter and knifes to be jabbed in your chest while eyes stung with tears that you pathetically hid by averting them as you asked "what did I do wrong..?"

Who knew that one sentence was enough to make those unshed tears flow and litter your rosy cheeks that he'd usually squish and fawn over but alas, all that comforted you was his back.

"Your whole being is the most ugliest!" Lies. Lies. He knew his tongue spat venom at you with words that could never be true because you're his world but the blinding rage doesn't allow him to say so and thus instead, his hand runs through golden locks out of pure frustration as he finally turned to face you.

There was something terrifying about him that very moment which made you mumble out a small "...I'm sorry..." before running off; the sharp pain in your heart only grew with him staring at you like that. It was all just too much. His wrath was suffocating you but to ruin your birthday without even remembering it.

You did didn't care for how bad your muscles ached as you ran further away from him. All that you wanted is to be alone and cry your heart out in hopes that this agony would subside yet part of you hoped that he cared and would come after you or stop you. Which never happened.

Satan has always been so...uncooperative and complicated towards everyone that it almost made him unreachable at times especially when it comes to Lucifer however today, it became different.

His face was scrunched and tense as Lucifer advised him to give you space before talking things out and perhaps getting you a gift as well for both an apology and your birthday; his body pacing back and forth in his room reconsidering things he's spoke until now, not even bothered to consider this as a special day while his elder patiently waited for him to calm down. They both how much you mean to Satan despite him hurting you and making you feel unwanted.

And would anyone look at the avatar of wrath while he's on his knees; practically begging to set things write and for you to accept his apology. However much like always, you don't fail at surprising him when your lips clumsily crash against his.

That he moment he knew how truly beautiful you are in every sense. From physical appearance to your dream-like soul. Every inch was perfect.

Asmodeus

'Touchy and irresponsible as always' you sighed looking over and frowning at Asmodeus who was so clearly lost in the seemingly endless attention they give him as their hands roam his body while he's biting his lip. He was enjoying this, wasn't he?

The thought of him being touched by somebody else made your stomach churn and eyes sting with hurt and envy; he was the avatar of lust, true but couldn't he not do this on your birthday at least and pay attention to you.

You could bet as to how pathetic you were looking drinking demonus with tears in your eyes and surrounded by demons who could just swallow you whole without your lover even batting an eye. Afterall, he'd rather be someone's bed warmer than your boyfriend.

"Hey...are you okay?" Honestly, you didn't know this stranger's name or anything about him but he still had some concern for your well-being; way more than your beloved however made you self-conscious as how pathetic you may have appeared and let your emotions get the best of you in front of unknown people.

"Yea..." you replied flushed from embarrassment and the crimson liquid that rested in your glass. It was really humiliating and made you feel awfully shy at the same time.

"If you say so, but don't hesitate to tell me if there's anything bothering you or if—" He leans closer to whisper in your ear before continuing "—someone's bothering you..." His voice was authoritative yet gentle much akin to a soft breeze from the human world despite being a demon.

"Oh! And I'm Ethan..." a blush ghosted over his cheeks as he realized that he hadn't even introduced himself while you told him yours as he gave you his number offering to help you just in case.

Truth be told, you were smiling to yourself glancing on the tissue that he wrote his number on and the fact that he even wrote happy to help made you grin wider. It was such a sweet gesture.

However unknownst to you, Asmo seemed to have noticed the whole interaction and was fuming with envy; so jealous that he could put Levi to shame. His face burned with heat and beads of sweat rolled down. He hated how that putrid demon had the audacity to flirt and blush at you yet his anger only stirred further when you smiled at him.

The avatar of lust stormed over to you and dragging you out of the fall, harsh grip on your wrist that would probably leave a bruise and then slammed you against the cold wall in the alleyway.

"What are you—!!" You were muffled by his lips smashing against yours; hands roaming your body as desire burned in your veins. Lips synced and danced against each other into a steamy make-out session however he pulled away.

"Why were you flirting with that guy?! You know that demons can hurt you then why my darling must you do this?!" It was irritating as to how he interrogated you but didn't even consider his own actions and the way he neglected you.

Did he even remember your birthday..?

"You say this as if YOU weren't smothering some random people in front of your girlfriend on OUR date!!" And finally, he realized what he's been doing all day. He was avoiding and ignoring you, too busy and consumed by his own...thoughts while you constantly tried to spend quality time with him.

"Baby...I'm sorry..." He coos gently holding your face and cradling you as tears cascaded your face. You looked so miserable because him and he made an internal promise to treat you better and not neglect your emotions.

"Y-you even forgot my birthday..." you sobbed into his soft hands as his eyes widened before he kissed you again. This time much gently and lovingly; full of adoration and affection but desperate for you.

You knew he meant it but forgiving is easier said than done. Even if you would accept him, it'd much later as for now, you wanted him to show is emotions; his real self that was vulnerable and loving; one that was guilty of hurting you. One that loved you beyond his own sin.

You would be lying if you said your heart wasn't melting for him as his hand intertwined with yours while the other rested around your waist and blush littered his face; all for you.

All of him softened just for you; all those emotions showered upon you because all of his love was meant for you.

Beelzebub

Gluttony is like a venom that spreads in your body; turning one into a hungry beast ready to devour his prey and another into a starved being—but for somebody who personified the sin in itself would be beyond a monster or an other horrendous creature imaginable.

Thus, can you really blame Beelzebub for ingesting the whole food supply of house of lamentation alongside of some cutlery after a seemingly intense workout as well 7 hours of helping satan shift his books in order to clean the empty space.

He was salivating at the sight of everything before as his vision molded it into something edible...delicious and well; in front of him were you, standing there awkwardly as his eyes hovered over you however not in a lustful but more like a locking the meat of your bones manner.

"B-beel, you alright..?" His intense gaze made you feel uncomfortable as you shifted in your place yet he didn't blink once as if his hunger overtook him...making him forget who you were.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't move an inch without him lunging at you with those eyes full of hunger for anything to satiate the emptiness within his stomach including you. However, Luck was on your side since it was your own birthday as Asmodeus happened to pass by the scene hoisting his phone up taking selfish before rushing towards you.

"Darling, Beel, what are you guys... doing?" By the end of his question, he knew what was coming. He is well aquaintated with Beel's endless hunger that violently shook the atmosphere in the whole house.

As you stood unblinking staring back at the avatar of gluttony trembling with fear whilst his ragged breaths were heard in the silence of the hall. The very next second he pounced at you transforming into his demon form; claws beared as if he was readily about to rip your heart out.

Yet somehow you were alive; alive and thrown over like a sack of potatoes on Asmo's shoulder as he sprinted towards his room with an echoing sound of certain rumbling in the background that made shiver in dread.

"Honey, you're alright. You're safe, okay? Phew!" He collapsed next to you on the floor next to you after ensuring the door was properly locked, clearly out of breath while still attempting to comfort your troubled form.

Despite knowing he cannot control his hunger, you couldn't help but tighten your throat or fall victim to the ache plastered within your chest. He loves you, you know it but this...hurt more than expected.

The clutches of gluttony were like shackles that bound him and drove him to try to...the thought alone makes you want throw up or is it because his twin succeeded at a similar task.

"Hey...Mc, don't cry, darling. It'll all be okay, I promise! Forget everything it's your birthday, isn't it?" The blond cradled you in his arms trying to shush away your tears meanwhile you sobbed and cried; planned everything, got up early to bake for him and even got the tickets to a movie he was excited about.

"It's so unfair! So unfair, Asmo!!" Why did this have to happen when all you did was try your best? Why are you doomed to fail at every given task? Was this all your fault?

Such thoughts consumed you wholly as your sobs turned into more cries that dragged Asmo's poor heart along with it; it hurt him so much to see someone he considered family be hurt so much. To be broken that they're reduced to a teary mess on the floor.

In the hallway, Lucifer and Satan towered upon Beelzebub who finally calmed down, happily chomping the food he was given; almost uncaring of his twin that laid kissing the ground with a large bruise forming on his forehead.

"W-where *chomp* is cupcake?" He muttered with a mouthful, thinking you must be hungry and not even remembering what he did as he was a puppet under the control of his sin.

"In Asmodues's room..." Lucifer sighed while Satan raged at the sight of the havoc wrecked upon his book—cursed ones, collector's edition, etc. They were everywhere torn into half or bites into and discarded afterwards.

"They must be sobbing since you were ever so nice to them on their birthday!" Satan mocked knowing how badly his brother fucked up while the orange head gushed the memories right into his eyes. Each moment he made a decision worse than the other.

"Oh my poor Mc, sleep well..." you didn't realize how exhausted you were from the whole event that you passed out between Asmo's arms who later tucked you within the comforting confines of your own bed.

But peace never really lasted long as you woke up, only to be greeted by a decorated room, a cake with several other snacks littered on the table and Beelzebub by your side with apologetic eyes as a melody played accompanied by the voices belonging to the remaining brothers.

"I'm sorry, cupcake...I didn't mean to scare you or hurt you, I just don't know what's wrong with me but please forgive me...I love you..." His eyes bore guilt as he was reminded of an older time, an older mistake before his hands caged yours affectionately before kissing them lovingly.

The orange headed demon never wished to be more than your protector, that gives away his life to save yours but also a lover that wants to build a family with you; one that he loves dearer than himself.

Belphegor

Does fate really hate you? If not, why must it be you who suffers with people misunderstanding you or blaming you for actions not performed by you?

"Come on, it's not that bad...just a stupid nightmare!" You hopped onto your feet before changing into your outfit for the day; one that made you feel good about yourself unlike the haunting nightmares that weren't leaving you alone.

As you left your room trying your best to force a smile out, there was a voice that felt familiar as it belonged to a certain great demon who bestowed the wishes of having the best birthday.

"Happy birthday, h-human!" He spoke loudly as if reminding the others of the day despite the whole hall being empty. The gesture in itself was funny, his hand putting your head like a puppy except for the part he himself looked like one.

"Thanks, mammon." And there it was your signature smile that could possibly make anybody melt, though how could you believe it; a rose can never see its reflection.

Reaching the dining hall, the atmosphere felt tense as if everyone was on edge, all but one person. He was missing entirely. Belphegor wasn't there. Was he still asleep?

Before you could ask, Lucifer announced "Belphegor will not be joining us today." And continued to finish his breakfast with what seemed to be a bothered expression.

"Hey beel, what happened?" You couldn't help wonder what did your boyfriend did this time to piss of the eldest and if so, why wasn't satan assisting the crime. "Belphi, h-he said some really mean things..." beelzebub was feeling guilty fill up his stomach, his appetite dying or perhaps killed by someone else.

"Okay..." you knew that the orange headed demon was hiding something, swallowing his own words however why you just couldn't decipher. His voice was strained that it made you feel very uneasy about what really conspired when you were asleep.

"Levi, can you tell me what really happened? Please!!" You pleaded with puppy eyes as soon as the remaining brothers had dispersed from the dining hall; to avoid the extra ears and overly exaggerated explanations.

"Normie, first off promise me you won't tell anybody that i told you this!" He whisper-yelled as you nodded your head vigorously. "Okay--fine, so belphi woke up in a super sour mood and since lucifer decided to call him to the dining hall himself...he said a lot of mean things..."

Leviathan felt a bitter taste in his mouth knowing his next words would most likely ruin your birthday and put you into doubt of your own relationship and partner.

"He spoke a lot of nonsense about lucifer, you know normie...And he--um, he said you weren't that great and just kinda wasted his time w-which is like total bullshit, right? Like normie, you're like Henry 3.0, totally cool and awesome!" He tried his best to soothe the wound he had to give you in order for the truth to be told.

But there it was, a sound of your own heart being crushed and sensation of wet tears dripping down your cheeks. It hurt you so much to hear that your lover spoke of you behind your back that you couldn't take it anymore and sprinted all the way back to your room; leaving Leviathan to only his worry and concern in the dining hall.

Especially on your birthday, that in itself felt like a cheap move being played on you as you felt needles pricking through your chest, and it hurt so much. It felt like the nightmares were true when they played the same scenario where he used you; he used you like a pawn.

Meanwhile, in the twins' room, Belphegor laid in bed with a weird feeling filling him; one that felt so heavy that he couldn't sleep it off. But why? He just couldn't pinpoint.

"Belphi, have spoken with Mc yet? It's their birthday...you should really go to see them..." the avatar of gluttony had his head lowered as he pouted; visibly hungry but at a lack of food.

"WHAT!" "Yea its their birthday, belphi..?" Belphegor panicked for at least 5 minutes before gathering himself and rushing to the kitchen to make something--a cake, should it be okay but what if you're craving ramen instead..? Or something salty? SHIT

He's never been so frantic and panicked; he felt like a single mother raising 6 children...wait why does that sound familiar? ANYWAYS, no time for that.

It took about 2 hours for the whole thing to be prepared; while he had tasked satan to buy your favorite snacks. In the end, he was drenched in sweat from the whole last minute preparation that he did.

On the other hand, you were passed out on your bed; tears dried up on your face and slightly puffy lips and very gracelessly flopped onto your bed.

Belphegor's heart ached at the sight of you, he knew his words have been heard by someone who didn't deserve them. Who deserved love and not such cruel things.

"Love, wake up...c'mon its your birthday..." He voice was gentle as if a one wrong word could shatter you like glass and his hands caressed your cheeks; before kissing you passionately.

You rubbed your eyes as your boyfriend kissed your forehead and pulled you off of the bed. He was smothering you with kisses somewhat lazily; letting eachone feel feather like on your skin.

"Happy birthday my star, I'm sorry for what is said earlier...I promise you that I never meant any of it...I just--lost myself to anger, I'm sorry." He's efforts were visible in both his voice and your room; the blanket Fort certainly seemed impressive and most likely he had your favorite movie paused.

"It's not okay to speak such things about you're partner belphi on any day let alone their birthday. Yet I am much kinder than you think...I forgive you." You pouted with fake anger evident in your voice; playing pretend was fun as hr fell for your words in the beginning but definitely caught up in the end.

And as the day came to a close, you both were snuggled into each other's warmth and cuddling; the harsh words and hot tears forgotten or perhaps changed into smiles of contentment.

Afterall, belphegor was your dark sky and you were his star; without one the other would feel empty and out of place. He was the one who wanted to drown into the depths with you or burn with the passion he held for you...And both remain a pleasure to him...

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

A/n; I had no ideas for belphi and was abt to write he slept that it off like he was in a coma xD

• Masterlist

• Back to navigation

Anyways,

ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕪

[dollediary]

Glimpse of Us

PART ONE

pairings🎐: jungwon x fem!reader

genre🎐: angst

warnings🎐: none

word count🎐: 1.3k

point of view 🎐: third person omniscient

synopsis🎐: a breakup with your first love, jungwon.

author’s note: i’m dissatisfied with this, but here you go. i decided not to make it a series because it just doesn’t resonate with me. i will be making another series instead! anyways requests are open, send em in!!

the room was silent besides the soft beeping sounds coming from the game jungwon was playing. y/n, as usual, sat behind him on the bed, playing with her hands quietly while he remained focused on the screen in front of him.

it was always like this. he’d be so busy with extracurricular activities at school to the point where she’d feel forgotten, then he’d always end up inviting her over to his place with the promise that he’d make it up to her, only to give in to his friends’ request to play video games instead. and just like the other times, he notices her silence. even if it’d be hours after it originally occurred, he’d always notice it. not turning from the active screen in front of him, he nudges her with his elbow making her move further back on the bed as a result.

eyebrows scrunching in confusion, he asks, “what’s wrong?”. she lets out a silent breath and shrugs her shoulders despite him not being able to see it. “nothing,” she tells him after he doesn’t respond to the unseen gesture, and he doesn’t know why, but it annoys him. obviously something was wrong otherwise the air wouldn’t be suffocating him with the tension in the room. he almost pauses the game just to rub his temples, but instead he just begins hitting the keys rougher to get out the frustration he was already beginning to build up.

“can you just spit it out, y/n?” he makes an effort to slowly turn his head back and look at her while he asks the question. and even though she’d been burning a hole through the back of his head since she started being quiet, his words caused for her to avert eye contact. she stays quiet, making him roll his eyes. he gets up and turns the game console off and throws the controller on the carpeted floor. with a sigh, he lets his body fall backwards to lay on his back. "tell me while i still care,” his tone was cold, nearly emotionless if his annoyance didn’t slip out.

she then puts her hands on her lap and turns to him suddenly making him look right at her. “why do you say things like that? you’re just rude for no reason.” he cocks an eyebrow. “because it’s the only thing that works with you. and it shouldn’t matter how i approach you if i mean well.”

she lets out a dissatisfied sigh and looks away once again, crossing her arms as she goes back to giving him the cold shoulder, not saying anything in response. he hums. “why do you give m silent treatment thing when it’s obvious you want to talk about an issue that you have? i don’t understand why you contradict yourself.”

“because it’s not in my heart to fight with you. that’s the only thing that comes out of expressing my feelings at this point,” her words are hushed as though she were afraid of that sentence alone making him angry with her. he only stays silent as a result leaving her in disbelief, almost scared to speak, but it was already too late to turn back.

“honestly, what do you think of our relationship?” she asks, her heart beating fast as her hands start shaking. she plays with her fingers as she waits for his confusion to subside. “uh, i guess it’s fine. there’s nothing i can really complain about now that we’ve been together this long. why?

“jungwon,” y/n sighs as she looks away still unsure if she was ready to have this conversation with him, despite it being the only constant thought in her head for the past few weeks that they’d grown accustomed in this mentally exhausting routine. “i’m at the point where i don’t even feel like your girlfriend anymore, you neglect me and ignore me all the time. and now, you’ve made yourself more than comfortable being rude to me whenever i have an issue.”

he gets up from where he was laying down to look at her. “y/n what the hell are you talking about? i neglect you? how? we’re together all the time. that doesn’t even make sense. i literally ditch my friends to be with you ALL the time, i couldn’t even tell you the last time i’ve seen them in person, outside of school, because i spend all the free time i have with you,” he pauses and lets out a deep breath to recompose himself otherwise his emotions would start to say things that he didn’t really mean. “you know, you’re not being fair to me.”

“i have never forced you to be around me instead of your friends nor have i ever asked you to. and what good is it being with you so much if i can’t even get more than a two minute conversation out of you when im with you for hours everyday after school before i even think of going home. why is it always me being unfair, jungwon? why am i always the blame for everything? i don’t even ask you for a lot,” wiping away the tears that began spilling, she glares at him even though all she wanted to do was frown. she never felt any anger when it had anything to do with jungwon. he didn’t bring those emotions out of her. but she didn’t want to look weak, so hiding her sadness behind anger felt like it would protect her heart from anything that could go down.

“you are so insufferable, you know that?” his words seem to slap her across the face, leaving a bad sting in her heart that would only hurt more with each breath she took. Insufferable. “we were doing so good lately. why do you always have to find a reason to be mad at me or get upset?”

the words numb her for a second and for the first time in the dreadful longevity of their relationship so far, she finally felt like this wasn’t worth it. she gets up from the bed and turns to him “no, i’m not insufferable, i’m miserable being with you. i deserve to be happy without feeling guilt for pursuing that.” her lack of emotions scared him, but he refused show it. he never did.

“let’s break up, jungwon.” the world felt a weird sense of calm and quiet, and jungwon was sure it stopped spinning too. his eyes widen then soften as his eyebrows pull down with a frown. it hurts was the only thing he could think as his eyes glistened ever so slightly. he wanted to scream. he wanted to get on his knees and look at her with pleading eyes and beg for her to stay. to tell her he’s sorry and would fix everything, or that he’d change, but, he was only a man. and as a man he refused to let her know that he didn’t want this. it just wasn’t the kind of person he was.

“fine,” his words break the uncomfortable silence, replacing it with heartache as he barely looked her in the eyes instead looking past her body to further show that he had a lack of regard. “do what you want.” her heart breaks from his inability to put up a fight, but she only nods as she bites the inside of her cheek. that was the sign she needed. she knew for certain that it was really over this time. “now get out of my house. i’m tired of looking at you already,” his tone held a coldness that almost froze her over, she blinked away a few more silent tears with small sniffles as she left without a word, and he knew she was crying by the sound of her sobs disappearing the further she got away from his room, but he only silently laid back down, closing his eyes. it wasn’t his problem to worry about anymore.

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

[wylanslcve]

to the bone ━━━ a six of crows one-shot.

spoiler warning: this is not a safe space for fans who have only watched the show and do not want to have wylan's story spoiled for them in case we get the spin-off. this one-shot is based off a scene that is referenced in six of crows, and contains heavy spoilers for wylan's backstory which hasn't yet been explored in the showverse (I say "yet" because I'm holding onto hope that we'll get that spin-off asdfghjkl).

summary: ever since jan van eck had hired him for the mission at the ice court, kaz intended to use wylan as leverage against his father. but wylan had known from the start, from the moment that kaz had told him that he'd be excellent at hostage, that that wouldn't be effective. not when he'd been nothing but a disappointment to his father. not when van eck was hellbent on forgetting that he ever had a son. wylan couldn't keep it hidden anymore. kaz needed to know the truth. (or: the scene where wylan tells kaz about his disability.)

author's note: this work is a submission for grishaverse disability pride day by @gvdisabledpride that will also be available on ao3, so if you also see this work there... that's why :)

content warning: descriptions of ableism, mentions of past child abuse, ptsd

ABOARD THE FEROLIND after the battle at the Djerholm harbour, Wylan lay curled up in his cot below deck, waiting for the moment the sway of the ship would lull him to sleep.

Except he knew it probably wouldn't. He'd been lying in his cot for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, desperately trying to silence his racing thoughts and just fall asleep. He tried to focus on the sound of the sea muffled by the hull of the Ferolind, on the sway of the ship as it journeyed closer and closer to Ketterdam — but the freezing cold wasn't doing him any favours, and neither was that anxious gnawing in his gut.

The mission had been, considerably, a success: they'd escaped the Ice Court in one piece, with Kuwei Yul-Bo stashed away in one of the other cabins and the promise of thirty million kruge awaiting them back in Ketterdam. Wylan would get his share and leave this life behind. He'd journey somewhere far away, never having to speak the name Van Eck again.

Van Eck…

Wylan swallowed the bile rising up inside him. Kaz had intended to use him as leverage against his father, lest the plan go awry and Van Eck was suddenly uncooperative. “Wylan isn’t just good with the flint and fuss,” he'd announced that first day on the Ferolind, right before he'd revealed Wylan's true identity to the rest of the crew. “He's our insurance.” 

Wylan shut his eyes, curled up tighter in his cot. His heart was starting to beat a little faster, a hummingbird trapped inside a cage, and he forced his breath slowly through his chest — a deep breath through his nose, shattering the silence that had thickened around him. Kaz had kept him close to use him as leverage against Van Eck, but one thing the older boy wasn't aware of was that Wylan couldn't be their insurance. Not when his father wanted him to disappear. Not when he was attempting to forget he ever had a son. Not when his new wife, Alys, was bearing the heir of the Van Eck empire — a proper hier, not the defective one he’d received in Wylan. Not the one who’d turn the Van Eck name into a laughingstock.

I have to tell Kaz.

Instinctively, his fingers reached up to touch his neck. He could still feel Prior's meaty hands clasped tightly around it, his grip firm and relentless as Wylan grew dizzy and black spots slowly filled his vision. He sat up, hoping the feeling would subside if he got up and let more air fill his lungs — and yet, the feeling of his throat constricting persisted, and a suffocating, uncontrollable panic welled up in him.

He hugged his knees to his chest and slowly rocked himself back and forth with his head buried in his arms, horrified by how his breath was coming out in short, shallow whimpers as the memories came flooding back, by how the tears prickled the corners of his eyes as his father's voice echoed in his ears.

A child half your age can effortlessly do what you cannot.

I've tried everything I possibly could. I've tried tutors, specialists, I've tried forcing that stubbornness out of you and yet you refuse to be taught.

You can't be sent anywhere because your defect might be revealed.

“Get out of my head,” Wylan whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he continued to rock himself back and forth. “Get out of my head.”

Once you reveal yourself to be defective, they'll turn your back on you. They'll leave you as you were: the wayward son of one of the richest men in Ketterdam.

“Get… Get out of my head.”

But the voice was persistent, unwelcome. You worthless fool. You soft-pated idiot.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, blinking back the tears that formed a painful lump in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it down to no avail, and a fresh flare of panic swelled within him. Someone could walk into his cabin at any moment and see him in this state: rocking back and forth with his head in his hands, chest shuddering over and over as he gasped for air, begging the voice in his head to lapse into silence. And yet, there was nothing he could do about it. He felt detached from his own body, as though he were watching himself from the perspective of an outsider, helpless against the wave of shame overcoming him.

He stayed like that until the jittery feeling coursing through him had subsided enough for him to think rationally again. Above that irrefutable voice in the back of his mind, he once again thought about revealing his greatest shame to Kaz. What would happen if he just stayed there on his cot, if he never told Kaz that he couldn't be used as leverage against his father? And what would happen if Van Eck double-crossed them, and there wasn't any good enough insurance to ensure that the six of them would get their money? Their efforts would have been futile, and none of them would get what they'd initially sought — and it might as well be his fault.

His body starting to tremble, Wylan forced himself to stand up from his cot. Just do one thing at a time. Just like his tutor had taught him in order to stop him from getting overwhelmed by the page. Stand up. He slid off the edge of the cot, straightened as his feet touched the ground. Take a deep breath. He closed his eyes, took another deep breath through his nose. Open your eyes. He opened his eyes and forced himself to walk. Go find Kaz. He assumed Kaz would be in his own cabin, scheming away, concocting backup plans for their backup plans in case anything went wrong.

He quietly left his cabin, making his way down the Ferolind's lower deck to find Kaz. He found the older boy sitting on the cot in his own cabin, staring intently at the floor with one hand gripping the crow head of his cane.

“Kaz?” Wylan swallowed frantically, his skin burning hot as he fought the words to come through. “I… I won't be leverage enough against my father. I know I'm supposed to be your… insurance, but I can't be. It won't be enough.”

Kaz sat up straighter, his free hand curling over the head of his cane as he looked up at Wylan. “And why is that?”

Something about Kaz's cold glare, his rock-salt rasp as he asked the question, sent a chill rippling over every inch of Wylan's skin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bolt back to his cabin, hide beneath the paper-thin covers until he vanished completely. He wanted the floor to open up beneath him, to be dragged by the rolling waves into the depths of the sea. He wanted to disappear, just like his father wanted him to.

I have to tell him.

“I…” The roar of blood in his ears was deafening, drowning out the murmur of the waves outside the Ferolind's hull. That shameful helplessness was taut in his belly, a knot incapable of coming unravelled.

You just have to say it. You just have to say you can't read.

His father's taunts reverberated in his mind. Defective. Imbecile. Worthless. Broken. Disgraceful. Idiot. Useless. He was choking on them. They pressed against his throat like Prior's iron grip closing around it all those months ago, dirty fingernails digging into the skin of his neck. His cheeks burnt with shame despite the cold sweat that had broken out over every part of his body. His heart was a war drum beneath his ribs, his chest too tight, his breath too short and shallow. Take a deep breath. He couldn't. His clothes felt tight around his body — too tight, as though they stuck to him.

“I… I have an affliction.” Uttering those words aloud was enough to send a violent roil through Wylan's stomach, and he had to stop himself from throwing up. This was it. There was no taking back those words: he was halfway there.

Kaz merely sat there, looking rather impatient with his gloved hands folded over the crow's head of his cane. Wylan couldn't imagine what he looked like in this moment: red-faced, a trembling hand near his lips as if he were about to bite his nails, his eyes not meeting Kaz's.

It felt like the walls of the cabin were closing in on him, Prior's hands tightening around his throat as the latter half of his confession choked him. The waters he'd leapt into all those months ago were rising around him, filling his lungs and numbing his limbs with its icy grasp. He tried to fight against it, but the water was weighing him down, his limbs useless against the tide as he drowned in the murky waters of the Ketterdam harbour.

He drew another deep, shuddering breath.

Spit it out.

“I… I can't read,” he finally gasped, and the water receded.

There. He'd said it. He'd revealed his shame to Kaz, his voice barely above a whisper lest the sea around them carry his shame across its rolling waves and let the whole world know about Jan Van Eck's defective child.

Kaz's piercing glare was still on him, as if expecting him to say more. His expression remained as cold and calculating as ever — had he known about this too, just as he'd known about Wylan's true identity? Did Wylan have any tells that gave away his shame — his face growing pale at the sight of the tangled scrawl of words across a page, staring at it for too long hoping that he'd recognise the shapes of the words? Or had Kaz been surprised? Had this been the one thing he hadn't seen coming? His gaze was piercing and unreadable, but Wylan sucked in another breath and continued, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It's not that no one tried to teach me, lots of people did. But I just can't do it. It's like something in me refuses to do it.” That was what his father used to drill into him throughout his childhood, and the memory filled him with a sickening dread.

“I'm…” Wylan moistened his lips thoughtfully, trying to phrase his next words carefully without having the entire shameful story out in the open. The story of his father sending him away, supposedly to study music in Belendt. Of his Miggson and Prior trying to kill him, of him leaping into the murky canal with nothing but his satchel, fake enrolment papers and a soaked-through stash of kruge. “To him, I'm not worth losing. You can't use me as leverage if I'm not good enough insurance. There has to be another way around this, because this won't work. I know it won't.”

Kaz averted his gaze thoughtfully, then shrugged before standing up, leaning on his cane. That was his only response — a shrug. Had Wylan not been so afraid, so shaken by that shameful helplessness, he would have burst out laughing: he'd just revealed his defect to Kaz Brekker — the Bastard of the Barrel, the boy they called Dirtyhands in the grimy streets of the Barrel — and he'd merely shrugged. Shouldn't he be concerned with what to do with Wylan, now that he'd found out that his demolitions expert was just a useless fool evicted from his father's home?

“We'll have to work around that, then,” Kaz responded in that low, raspy voice. His eyes met Wylan's, boring into him as though searching for some semblance of worth within him, something that would compensate for his other failings. A pinprick of discomfort shot up Wylan's spine at the prolonged eye contact, but Kaz's eyes left his as he scanned Wylan from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes and back up again.

Wylan just stood there, completely stunned. He'd expected Kaz to sneer at him, or laugh at his affliction and refuse to give him his share of their reward once they'd reached Ketterdam. He'd expected the knot in his stomach to tighten, the shame growing, but he felt it loosen ever so slightly with the odd sense of relief and liberation that came with revealing his condition to Kaz.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Wylan asked, his voice a low croak. “What other leverage could we possibly use?” 

Kaz looked towards the door of his cabin, then back at Wylan. Kaz Brekker saw the world as though it were a puzzle, and he studied Wylan like he was a piece of that puzzle that didn't fit where he'd thought it would — but now, it seemed, he'd found another place he could slot that piece into without having to tear the entire project apart. “Lest Van Eck double-crosses us, we'll have to stop him from getting what he wants.”

Wylan's brow furrowed. “And how, exactly, would we do that?”

“Nina's a passable Tailor at best — but, under the influence of parem, she could achieve something that shouldn't be possible. Not even in the hands of the most gifted Tailor.” Wylan swallowed thickly as Kaz continued. “We'll have her tailor you to look like Kuwei, and hand you off to your father.”

Wylan's heart stuttered at that. He was no stranger to Kaz's elaborate and unbelievable schemes — after all, they'd stolen a tank from a high-security prison — but this was different. This was absurd. Wylan agreeing to be tailored to look like Kuwei was a death wish: the Shu boy was valuable, certainly with large bounties on his head. He held the secret to the world's greatest threat, one that could wreak havoc if it fell into the wrong hands. Wylan could have refused — he should have refused, if he wanted to make it back to Ketterdam alive. Instead, he cleared his throat and responded with an assertive, “I'll do it.”

For a split second, a surprised look flashed in Kaz's eyes, but disappeared as quickly as it came. He expected me to refuse, Wylan thought as his cheeks heated with embarrassment once again.

“It may be permanent,” Kaz warned him.

Wylan shook his head. “I need to know. Once and for all, I need to know what my father really thinks of me.”

Kaz cast him an almost pitying look. “Surely Van Eck would have some qualms about ending your life—”

“He wouldn't,” Wylan asserted, picking at the skin of his lip, that ill feeling returning as the reality dawned on him. Van Eck had tried to kill him once, what would stop him from trying again? “I'll bet you that.”

“How much?”

“Ten kruge.”

Kaz's lip curled in a grin. “Surely your father wouldn't be so callous.”

Wylan shrugged. “You'd be surprised.”

“Nothing surprises me, merchling. That's why I'm still alive.” Kaz walked past Wylan and made his way to the cabin's entrance. “I'm going to fill Nina in on the plan. Go to her cabin within the hour.”

Wylan nodded as Kaz left the cabin, leaving Wylan alone with nothing but his own racing thoughts. When he'd finally gotten himself to move, he walked back to his own cabin and propped himself down on his cot, his body still trembling with the aftermath of confessing his greatest shame to Kaz. His fingers itched the way they always did whenever he yearned to play his flute or the piano in the music room of his father's house. Ghezen and his works, he wanted nothing more than to snatch his satchel up from the foot of his cot and grab his flute. He wanted to close his eyes and bring the instrument to his lips, letting the world disappear around him as the notes wrapped him in his own story — one free of the shame and fear he'd carried for so long, one that made his heart flutter with joy as the music flooded a soothing warmth through him. But he couldn't bring himself to even glance in the direction of his satchel.

He thought back to Kaz's unchanged expression at his admission, the light, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. The shame still gnawed at Wylan, but there was also the strange relief of getting something off his chest despite it, as though telling Kaz had freed something in him — something that had been encased in the chains of his father's contempt for as long as he could remember.

It's not too late to decline, pressed that voice in the back of his mind.

He shook his head assertively — if this is what had to be done to ensure the crew got their money, then so be it. And yet… he was terrified and horribly anxious.

He looked down at his hands, his eyes tracing over the creases of his slender fingers, the little scars with no clear origin along his skin, the crescent outlines on his palms from digging his nails into them. Within the hour, they weren't going to be his hands anymore — they'd be Kuwei's. Slowly, he buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply as his fingers raked through the tufts of hair that brushed his forehead. The face in his hands wouldn't be his anymore, and neither would the hair between his fingers. With Nina's power, he'd soon become the most valuable person in the world. He was terrified, but that wouldn't stop him from doing what he needed to. From ensuring that he and the rest of this crew got their money.

From finally learning what his father truly thought of him.

Van Eck had made it clear as Wylan grew up that there was no space for his son in his household. He'd made it clear that he wanted Wylan disappear for as long as it took him to forget that he ever had a son. And yet, a part of him hoped that maybe he'd misunderstood everything. That his father did indeed love him unconditionally just as any father loved his child.

Wylan lifted his head from his hands and started gnawing at his thumbnail. He wouldn't know for certain until the rest of Kaz's plan was carried out, when his face and name were no longer his.

[bonobonoyaatheart]

Scared of you - Bang Chan

Summary: You are a secret police agent but you haven't told chan due to his trauma. But it is exposed all out of sudden.

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Non idol Bang chan x gn agent Reader

Word count: 818

In the dimly lit movie theater, you and Chan were engrossed in a thrilling action film. The sound of gunfire and explosions filled the room, and you were careful not to glance at Chan during intense scenes, knowing the trauma it might evoke. As the credits rolled, you walked out of the theater, and Chan, still wrapped up in the movie's adrenaline, casually wrapped his arm around you.

The scent of popcorn and the remnants of on-screen excitement lingered in the air as you strolled side by side, your steps syncing like two puzzle pieces. Chan's warmth and touch brought comfort and familiarity. But suddenly, his fingers grazed against something cold and metallic beneath your coat. A shiver ran down his spine, and his heart pounded erratically.

His grip around your waist tightened, and his breath hitched. "Y-Y/N, what's that?" he stammered, fear creeping into his voice.

You froze, your heart sinking as you realized what he had felt—the concealed weapon holstered against your side. Panic coursed through you as you tried to find the right words to reassure him, but they seemed to escape you in that critical moment.

"Chan, I… I didn't want to worry you. I'm a secret police agent, and sometimes I have to carry a gun for my job," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes widened, and you could see the panic taking hold of him. He stepped back, his whole body trembling. "You're… you're an agent? With a gun? How could you not tell me?" His voice quivered with disbelief and hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Chan. I should have told you, but I was afraid it would scare you," you admitted, tears forming in your own eyes.

Chan's breaths came in short gasps, and he clutched at his chest as if trying to steady his pounding heart. "I can't… I can't breathe," he choked out, his fear suffocating him.

Fear mixed with guilt flooded through you as you saw the impact of your secret on him. You reached out, gently cupping his cheeks, your touch tender and soothing.

"I-I'm scared of you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "All this time, I never knew… I thought you were just an ordinary person. But you carry a gun, you kill people…"

"No, Chan, please listen," you pleaded, your own voice breaking. "It's not like that. I'm not a killer. I carry a gun for protection and to do my job, but I never want to hurt anyone. I never want to hurt you."

He was unable to look at you, his fear overwhelming any semblance of reason. "I can't stay with you. It's too dangerous. I can't be with someone who could hurt me," he cried, tears streaming down his face.

Pain stabbed at your heart as you saw the magnitude of his fear. You pulled him into a tight embrace, your arms encircling him protectively.

"I promise you, Chan, I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe," you whispered against his hair, your voice laden with emotion. "I love you more than anything, and the last thing I want is to see you hurt."

Chan's grip on you tightened, and he clung to you as if he never wanted to let go. "I don't know if I can trust you anymore. The fear is just too strong, and I can't get it out of my mind."

You pressed your forehead against his, your eyes locked with his, pouring all the love you felt into that intense gaze. "I understand, Chan. Take the time you need, but know that I'll be here, waiting for you. I won't give up on us because I believe in our love. And when you're ready, we'll face this fear together."

Chan's breathing started to steady, the intensity of his fear slowly subsiding as he felt your unwavering love and support. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted, his voice filled with vulnerability.

"You won't," you assured him, your fingers gently wiping away his tears. "I'll be right here, by your side, guiding you through this darkness until we find the light together."

As the fear began to loosen its grip on Chan, you felt the moment was right. You leaned in, pressing a soft and tender kiss on his trembling lips, pouring all your love into that fleeting connection.

"I love you, Chan," you whispered against his lips. "You're my angel, and I'll do anything and everything to protect you, now and forever."

With your words, Chan's trembling eased, and his body relaxed in your arms. In that embrace, you both knew that love had prevailed, weaving a thread of strength that would carry you through any challenge. As you looked into each other's eyes, the future stretched ahead, filled with hope, healing, and a love that could conquer any fear that life threw your way.

A/N: Reblog and share if you like, and let me know what you think about this!

[maternity-morningstar]

Ahhh, I hope angel can pull through his emotions the baby isn't Val she's so small and helpless my heart hurts 😭😭

Angel retreats to one of the empty rooms, shutting the door behind him. He collapses onto the bed, curling up into a tight ball as his mind races. The panic hasn’t fully subsided, and he feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of it all. His breathing is shallow, his body trembling with each shaky breath. Everything feels wrong—too wrong to handle. The image of the moth demon girl haunts him, reminding him of Valentino, of everything he’s been trying to forget.

After what feels like an eternity, there’s a soft knock on the door. Angel ignores it, hoping whoever it is will go away. But the knock comes again, more insistent this time.

Lucifer: *gently from the other side of the door* Angel, it’s me, Lucifer. Can I come in?

Angel doesn’t respond, but after a few moments, the door creaks open, and Lucifer steps inside. He closes the door behind him, taking in the sight of Angel huddled on the bed, looking smaller and more fragile than he’s ever seen him.

Lucifer: *softly* Angel… I’m worried about you. Can we talk?

Angel remains silent, his back still to him. Lucifer approaches the bed slowly, sitting down at the edge, careful not to invade his space. He waits, giving Angel time to process his presence.

Lucifer: *after a pause* I heard what happened. I know you’re scared. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. But you’re not alone, Angel. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.

Angel’s shoulders shake with silent sobs, but he still doesn’t look at him. Lucifer takes a deep breath, knowing he needs to tread carefully.

Lucifer: *gently* I know that baby reminds you of Valentino. I know he hurt you, in ways that no one should ever be hurt. And seeing her, it’s like all those memories are flooding back, isn’t it?

At this, Angel finally reacts, his grip on the sheets tightening as a fresh wave of tears spill down his face.

Lucifer: *continuing* But she’s not Valentino, Angel. She’s just a baby—a baby who needs love and care. And I know it’s terrifying to think of being a parent, especially when you didn’t ask for this. But you have so much love to give, and that baby is a part of you too.

Angel finally turns to face him, his eyes red and swollen from crying. His voice is small, broken.

Angel: *whispering* I’m so scared, Lucifer… I don’t know if I can do this. Every time I look at her, all I see is him. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t know how to be what she needs…

Lucifer’s heart aches for Angel. He scoots closer, reaching out to take Angel’s hand in his.

Lucifer: Angel, what you’re feeling is valid. You’ve been through so much, and it’s okay to be scared. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve survived things that would have broken most people. And I believe that you can be the parent that baby needs—you just have to give yourself a chance.

Angel squeezes his hand, trying to steady his breathing. Lucifer’s words bring a small measure of comfort, but the fear is still there, gnawing at him.

Angel: *voice trembling* What if I mess up? What if I can’t love her the way she deserves?

Lucifer: *gently* You’re already worried about doing right by her, which shows how much you care. Love doesn’t always come easy, especially when there’s trauma involved. But you can take it one step at a time. You don’t have to be perfect; you just have to be there.

Angel nods slowly, trying to take his words to heart. The terror hasn’t completely gone away, but he feels a little less alone in facing it.

Lucifer: *softly* You don’t have to do this alone, Angel. We’re all here for you—for both of you. And if it gets too hard, if you need help, just ask. There’s no shame in that.

Angel looks at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. It’s enough to make him believe, just a little, that maybe he can do this.

Angel: *whispering* I’ll try… I don’t know how, but I’ll try.

Lucifer: *smiling softly* That’s all anyone can ask for, Angel. And I know you’ll do your best.

[hateswifi]

Twice Fated: Chapter Four

Marinette has a tough time and Damian has emotions!?

Master List and Twice Fated: Master List

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

Unfortunately not long after that dinner Jagged’s tour moved on. Nonna decided to stay with Marinette and help get her more settled and just like the boys had proudly proclaimed she’s their sister now, meaning they helped her move in. They offered input for her penthouse (their advice wasn’t really used though), apparently an eye for fashion also somewhat translated over to interior design and not too long after Jagged left, Marinette was happy to call this penthouse a temporary home.

She turned one of the two guest rooms into a sewing room and decided to only dedicate a little corner of her room to baby stuff. She still has hopes to move back to Paris before the babies are actually welcomed to the world. She wants to be surrounded by familiar comforts like her family, scenery, friends, and memories.

Once everything was settled in her apartment and everyone who helped her were thoroughly fed, she bid everyone good night and was left alone in her new home. (It’s not actually home though, it’s big suffocating place trying to fill a hole it was never meant to fill)

She couldn’t stop the tears once they started. She slunk and let the tears rack her body “God damnit! I can’t believe I miss him! I wish I could go back to six months ago before I knew he was cheating or that I’m pregnant with his children. I wish I never left Paris. I wish Alya were here. I miss Mama, Papa. I wish Tikki was never taken from me,” she sobs into her knees. All her wishes could not be answered though, her sobs subside with her hope for comfort. She fully lays down and just stares at the ceiling and she wonders how she can change her future and separate herself and her kids from the past.

When she wakes up, it's to the aching of her back and to a ringing over the com, letting her know that someone wanted to enter. Marinette stumbles to her feet regretting her decision to sleep on the floor. She slumps her way into the main living area and presses the button to receive the call. “This is Marinette,” she greets with a cringe as she realizes how raspy her voice was.

“It’s Damian” comes the staticy response.

“Ok? What’s up?”

“Just let me up so we can speak” Marinette just sighs and buzzes him in. As he comes up the elevator Marinette heads back to her room to try and make herself have a semblance of togetherness. She takes out her pony tail and runs a brush through it before deciding that's all she has the time and motivation to do before Damian is at her door waiting to be let in.

When the knock rings around the area she inwardly groans before allowing him to enter. Damian stops in the doorway and gives her a side eye. “You look like shit” Damian comments.

“Wow, eloquently put. Private school really paid off, huh?” Marinette sighs, closing the door behind him.

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren't true,” Damian responds with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Are you going to deny how you currently look?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s nice to point it out,” she says quietly and quickly wipes away any forming tears with the heel of her hand. She looks up and gives a wobbly smile before waving off any potential worries Damian could have. “Sorry, sorry, its the pregnancy hormones.”

“I doubt that you’re an awful liar.” Damian says, putting a hand on her shoulder blade. He leads her to the couch and prompts her to sit. He grabs a blanket off the nearby chair before leaning over and tucking the blanket around her while saying “If something matters, I’m not the best at helping but you have people willing to help. So for now get comfy and think a bit less about what's bothering you.” Those niceties cause a new round of tears to spring to her eyes. Domain quirks an eyebrow at her before stepping away to the kitchen and out of sight of Marinette. She releases a wet laugh and clarifies “Don’t worry actually pregnancy hormones this time.”

Marinette just sits in silence, staring out the window until a mug enters her line of vision. “What is…?” she asks, inspecting the warm mug not occupying her grasp.

“Tea,” he supplies, taking a seat in the chair that had previously housed the blanket. “I may not be the best at emotional stuff, but Alfred made sure we all know how to make a good English cup of tea.” Marinette nods along with the sentiment while taking little sips. They sit in a comfortable silence bathed in the afternoon sun leaking in through the balcony’s windows. Once her tea is finished, she places the now empty mug on the coffee table. “Would you like me to contact one of my family members so you can have emotional support?” is the question that breaks the silence. She tears her gaze away from the cityline to where Damian is still sipping his tea.

“I’m fine like this,” Marinette hums, turning her gaze back to the cityline. She doesn’t feel the heaviness of her eyelids and the next thing she knows is she's waking up in her dark room and her comfy bed. She groans and stretches before rubbing the sleep from eyes. She looks around the room and decides to see if Damian had stayed.

She quietly scampers out of the room, not bothering to close the door before looking around the living area. Damian is sitting at the island in the kitchen. He’s half hunched over some papers. She gets within a couple of feet of him when their gaze meets. “Thank you for bringing me to bed.” Damian nods in acknowledgement. He takes a moment and studies her, allowing his gaze to falter on her face before continuing his inspection. He hums in approval and turns back to his papers.

“Please let me make you dinner as a thanks. Your family has probably already eaten. I’d feel bad making you go hungry,” Marinette continues. She rounds the island and opens the fridge, luckily her Nonna had stocked her fridge well due to her nutritional needs being more extensive since she’s pregnant with twins. “That’s not needed, I’m an adult I can feed myself,” Damain responds, not looking up from his work.

“I know you’re an adult, but I’d like to show my appreciation to you because you didn't have to come here, you didn't have to make me tea or bring me to my bed. You could’ve left after you put me in my room but you didn’t and that means a lot to me,” Marinette says now standing across from him, their eyes are once again locked. “Please let me show you my appreciation.” There’s a silence and the statement hangs in the air and for some reason it feels like this moment is important, like it holds a lot of weight.

“Ok, but let me help.”

The following week there’s typically someone hanging around her in some capacity and everyone is thankful that no one had seen Marinette in the state that Damian had disclosed begrudgingly after too much badgering since he had to miss patrol to stay with her. Luckily, that little revelation led to everyone surrounding Marinette fully in love (or as well as each person can). That leaves him. Damian doesn’t understand Marinette. Since she had first interacted with his family it’s like they’ve been wrapped around her finger. Jason stepping in isn’t like him at, when Damian had pressed him later on the matter all he had was shrug and said some lame line about being pulled toward her. Then there was the incident with Tim. Yes, Damian realizes that coffee is a sure fire way to get in wills with the man, but really? Coffee guardian? Bruce put his trust in an imbecile. Was Marinette truly that nice that she’d buy a coffee for a stranger? He can excuse Jason’s first interaction with her because it was not her initiating the interaction (and Damian is pretty sure he was reminded of his mother, who had been in a similar situation at one point) but the coffee shop? Then when he’d shown up at the penthouse to inform her of his family wanting her present at the manor. She’d look like she had walked through the red zone and survived. She had obviously been crying and later when he had put her to bed he could tell it was unslept in (yes, again he realizes she could’ve made it but logically if she were to answer the door she’d prefer to make herself presentable over making her bed, which is something a guest typically wouldn’t see).

Was the dinner offer just common courtesy? If not, why?

“What’s on your mind?” Damian looks up and sighs at the sight of his so-called ‘best friend’. “Nothing that concerns you,” he huffs, looking back down at the papers sitting uselessly on the desk in front of him.

“Oh it’s definitely something, if it’s nothing why are you pouting?” Jon dodges the projectile thrown at him. “You know if that was anyone else that would’ve hit me.” Damian hums in acknowledgement. “Nah but seriously what's got you in a tizzy” Damian glares. “Fine sorry, not tizzy. Umm mood?”

“The new person my family has been around, she seems off but I can’t put my finger on it?” Damian relents, the sooner he leaves him alone the better.

“Well tell me about them and what's bothering you,” Jon says. He’s ‘lying’ in the air as if he's lounging.

He rolls his eyes before laying out each individual interaction that Marinette had with his family and the reasoning behind why he believes what he does. Thankfully Jon doesn't interrupt, he just floats and nods along to Damain’s explanations. When Damian is satisfied he got his point across he lets out a breath before turning back to his work. Jon takes a minute and paces in his own sort of way which lets Damian know that Jon is taking the time to process the interactions and concerns to do with this mystery girl. Once the pacing comes to a stop Damian looks up from his work waiting for Jon’s conclusion.

“I’d be interested in meeting because I could give you a better judgment but from what you're telling me I genuinely think she's a good person. Did anything come up for you when dug into her background?” Jon asks.

“Nothing noteworthy beyond accomplishments to do with her career,” Damian admits with a sigh, unfortunately for him Jon knows him and his tendency especially when it comes to the safety and integrity of his family.

“That’s good, I realize it’s hard to trust people especially with your family’s reputation and your history. I think you should be cautious but give her a chance to prove you wrong, you may be surprised,” Jon says softly.

“I hope so because like I previously stated my family has taken quite the shine to her. I mean her grandma is friends with Alfred and he’s the best sense of character. If she has his approval it may just be not doing well with new people. I don’t say this often to people beside Alfred, but thank you for listening. It means a lot,” Damain responds before huffing and facing his desk again. “Now get out, you've overstayed your welcome and I have work to do.”

“Jokes on you, I cant overstay a welcome I never had,” Jon laughs before leaving Damian to his work. Once left to his own devices he couldn’t help but think what emotion was festering within him and why did Marinette have the power to cause this reaction.

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

As many of you may have realized I haven't posted a fic in literal years lol but like that motivation hits ig lmk if you want to be added/removed from the tag list (i completely understand if you want to be removed lol)

Both:

@wannajointhecrabcult @screwthisshit111 @rebecarojas07 @mystery-5-5 @animegirlweeb @moonystars14 @starlightshield @moonlightstar64 @novicevoice @user00000003 @kuroko26 @spyofthenightcourt @gingerdaile @miracleofadisaster @galla02006

Salt:

@aestheticnpoetic @mom-geans @pale-lady-dreamer @miraculouslymiraculous @chii29090 @sassakitty @blackmagicforever @certifiedbidisaster @lil-1254s-blog @iloontjeboontje @chocolatecatstheron @chaosace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @fandom-trapped-03 @meme991001

[multi-fandom-oneshots]

What Souls Are Made Of (Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis Soulmate AU)

A/N: Not betta’d, not proof read. 

Soulmate Identifying Marks: the first words your soulmate speaks to you are tattooed on your skin. 

Darcy frequented coffee shops almost every day. She always ordered an iced coffee, no matter the weather. In the 100 degree New Mexico heat or in the middle of a New York blizzard, never did she order a hot coffee. The reason for this quirk of hers? She didn’t want to scald her soulmate when she inevitably spilt coffee on them.  Her soulmark, black script under her left clavicle, written with a penmanship that Darcy was awed over were the words “It’s okay Sweetheart, I didn’t like this suit anyways.” She wasn’t one hundred percent sure that she’d meet her soulmate at a coffee shop, but that was the only logical explanation for how Darcy would ruin someone’s outfit, so she kept her fingers crossed and set aside an astronomical coffee allowance each month. When Darcy moved into the tower, Jane always teased her for bothering to walk the six blocks to the nearest coffee shop when Avengers Tower had it’s own coffee place only a few floors below them. She just always stuck out her tongue out at her best friend/boss on the way out the door.  

Bucky didn’t have a soulmate back in the 40s. He was a blank, just like Steve, it was one of the reasons he and the punk bonded the way they did; they only had each other.  Throughout his time as The Asset, he couldn’t remember ever realizing he had a mark. When your brain is being frozen and thawed over and over, memories turn into a haze of confusion. When he finally had come back to himself, falling from the Triskelion he filed it away for later, not wanting to think about the fact that he had a soulmate. Finally when his running was over, when he had obliterated every hidden Hydra base he had memory of, he found a safe house in the middle of nowhere and tried to put the pieces of his soul back together. His soulmark scared him, it rocked him to his core. Their placement wasn’t lost on him, words scrawled down his right forearm, his dominant hand, the hand he always shot with “You’re covered in blood”. He was terrified that somehow Hydra would find him, turn him back into their weapon, that the Soldier would meet his mate first, and he had no doubt of what the Soldier would do. Their inky black letters were the only reassurance Bucky had that he hadn’t already met them. That his soulmate was out there somewhere, alive and well. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in, hoping he’d never meet them. 

—

Bucky hated going to his therapy sessions, he hated having to go meet with a government appointed shrink who he knew was more worried about cataloging every detail about his time with Hydra than they were helping him heal. But it was a requirement of his freedom, that he meet with a shrink once a month, to prove he was making progress, that he was no longer the monster he once was. He scoffed sardonically at the thought, he knew better. He would always be the monster they made him, it was always lurking in the back of his mind, waiting. But he pretended, he put on the black suit in his closet, showed up and told them what they wanted to hear, that he was cured, no longer the weapon he had been, trying to believe the lies himself. This day was no different, he was leaving Dr. Adam’s office blocks away from the tower and trying to calm himself. He counted to 10, breathing in and out slowly, trying to make the anger boiling up in him subside. He was tired of jumping through hoops, putting on the stupid government monkey suit, sitting through an interrogation every month. He still wasn’t free, not really, he had just traded one handler for another, no matter how Dr. Adams had tried to spin it. His head was spinning, he had to get away from the crowds and the noise on the street. He ducked into an alley, one he often used it to cut through to Stark’s gaudy building, ripping off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. He couldn’t breathe, he was suffocating. He started muttering to himself, repeating the grounding words Sam had taught him over and over again like a mantra. Bucky finally came back to himself, not knowing how much time had passed. His panic attacks always felt like they went on forever but usually they only lasted for a few minutes. They became shorter the more he used the techniques Sam had been teaching him. He ran his flesh hand over his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had appeared. Taking a deep breath he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket, glancing at the time, 2:08, he was late. He and Steve had planned to meet in the gym at 2:00. Working out and talking things out with Steve always helped after his therapy sessions. He cursed unlocking his phone to shoot Steve a text letting him know he was okay just running behind, when he heard a scream. 

——

Darcy knew a petite woman probably shouldn’t be cutting through alleys alone by themselves in New York City. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the afternoon, nothing ever good happened in dark alleyways, even in downtown Manhattan. But she was running late, her favorite coffee place always closed at 2:30 for the afternoon, reopening around 5:00 pm for the after work crowd. She normally wouldn’t have cut it so close, but she and Jane had to catch a flight to New Mexico at 4:30, planning to observe a meteor shower in the middle of the desert, and she couldn’t miss it. According to Jane this shower only occurred once every 200 years, so she knew that if she was late Jane would kill her. Any sane person would just skip their coffee run, shrugging it off and go back tomorrow, but Darcy was not sane. What if today was the day she’d meet them? What if she didn’t go today and that was when fate had decided that it was time, and if she missed them what if she never got another chance? Meeting your soulmate was never a guarantee and Darcy was not taking any chances. So she prayed to Thor, shooting up a glance at the sky hoping Heimdall was watching and ducked into the alley. 

Darcy wasn’t stupid, she kept her head on a swivel, she was halfway through the alley. It was long, cutting her commute by two blocks but she had never had any issues before so she hoped she wouldn’t today.  She spotted the man sitting at the bottom of the fire escape before he saw her. He had a bottle of liquor in his hand, muttering to himself and then taking a deep swig from the bottle. She debated turning back, but something was nagging her to keep going. She stood up straighter, digging her hand into her messenger bag. She admonished herself when she realized in her haste leaving the lab that she had forgotten to make sure she had her taser. That would be the last time she let Stark tinker with her toys, her science bro hadn’t put it back in her bag like she had asked him to. But Darcy wouldn’t let herself panic, nothing had happened, she would just confidently walk past the man and be on her way. She suppressed her cringe when he noticed her walk by and catcalled her. She ignored him, head held high and increased her pace minutely. 

“I was talking to you, bitch!” The man yelled, getting up from the fire escape. 

Darcy knew she should’ve just kept walking, ignoring her indignation and keep her mouth shut, that would be the smart thing to do; but Darcy never considered herself smart. 

She turned back, outraged at the audacity at this man. “And I was ignoring you, bitch!”

“The fuck you just say to me?” The man yelled walking towards her before bracing himself on the railing of the fire escape, clearly drunk. 

“You heard me.” She said, turning and storming off, muttering about sexist repugnant assholes and their lack of respect. It was then when she was shoved from behind, slamming into the brick wall on her left. She let out a shout, she hadn’t heard the man come up behind her. She turned, laying a solid right hook into her assailant, she had been aiming for his jaw but she had underestimated how tall he was. The punch landed on his shoulder, making the man stagger back but it didn’t give her the advantage she needed. 

She was shoved again hard against the brick, her head slamming back into the brick with a crack. The man was right on top of her, pressing her against the wall. 

“You should watch your mouth Bitch. Wouldn’t want to piss off the wrong guy, never know what might happen. .” He sneered, pressing something cold into her abdomen, if she had to bet it was the end of a gun. 

She wanted to scream, to panic, to blindly lash out at her attacker but a voice sounding strangely like a certain red headed Russian she knew told her to be calm, to take stock of her position, analyze what assets she had to her advantage. Her arms weren’t pinned to her sides but there wasn’t anything within arms reach. She knew she didn’t have the strength to fight him off outright, so she decided that running was her only option. If she could get in a good strike or two and  then run, she should be able to escape and get help. She’d have to take him by surprise, but she could do it. 

“You’re right.” She spoke softly, slowly raising her hands to her sides in surrender. 

The man smiled “damn right, pretty girl like you shouldn’t talk like that, especially to a man.” He raised one hand to her face. 

Darcy tried not to flinch away, focusing on how the movement exposed his face to her. Now was her chance. Natasha always told her that the eyes were a weakness, that when cornered she should use any weakness her attacker had to her advantage. So she struck, using her sharp nails to her advantage, gouging at her assailants eyes. He screamed, automatically reaching up to protect his eyes. The sudden movement made her vision swim, she definitely had a concussion. She shoved him then, trying to get him off of her enough so she could escape but his weight mixed with her incoordination from her head injury made it so he didn’t move very much. He pushed her against the wall again, and Darcy fought, panic finally taking over. She kicked out blindly, hoping to knock him off balance so she could escape. 

She heard the gun go off before she registered the pain in her side. She slid down the wall, hands automatically going to where the bullet had lodge in her stomach. She watched her attacker run away, having enough energy to push the panic button hidden on her necklace as her vision grew black. 

— 

Bucky was running before he realized it, he was so focused on the man running out of the alley that he almost ran past her. She was slumped against the brick wall, one hand clutching her side, the other holding on a pendant around her neck. She seemed vaguely familiar but he was unsure where he had seen her before, if he actually knew her or if she was just a random face in the crowd. He shook his head, as if he could shake the feeling that he knew the woman bleeding in front of him. He knelt, laying her body flat, leaning over her to check for a pulse. She was breathing thankfully. He placed pressure on the wound with his metal hand and grabbed his phone out of his pocket with the other, dialing Steve and putting the phone up to his ear before applying pressure with the other hand. 

“Buck you’re—.” Steve answered but Bucky cut him off. 

“Track my location, I need medical, one civilian, gunshot wound to the lower left abdomen, I’m not far from the tower. 

Steve was gone, the voice of the Captain replacing him “Okay Bucky, they’re on the way, I’m headed your way too, ETA 2 minutes.” 

Bucky straightened his head where it had been cradling the phone, letting it fall to the ground. He didn’t know the woman bleeding underneath him, but he would save her, he needed to save her. 

—

An extreme jolt of pain brought Darcy back to consciousness. She moaned and opened her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. There was a man above her, she panicked momentarily before she realized it wasn’t the same man that attacked her. He was on the phone, she heard him talking frantically, calling someone for help. She studied the man before her, the figure was blurry but she could make out some of his features. He was handsome, striking blue eyes and beautiful brown hair that was tied back into a man bun. She didn’t normally like longer hair on men but he pulled it off. His hair style was a contrast against his outfit, he was wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt. It was a shame he was covered in blood, why was he bleeding?

“You’re covered in blood.” Darcy spoke, raising a weak hand to poke the man on the chest. Another wave of pain radiated from her side and that’s when she looked down, noticing the man had both hands pressed to her side. She frowned then, she was bleeding, why was she bleeding? She ruined this man’s nice outfit. Tears sprang to her eyes then, she hadn’t meant to ruin his suit. A part of her knew that the last thing she should be worried about was this man’s clothes, she was literally bleeding to death, but the blood loss was getting to her and clearly making her brain a little insane. 

“I ruined you outfit.” She said as she ran her hand down the mans front, as if she could wipe away the blood. 

““It’s okay Sweetheart, I didn’t like this suit anyways.” The man replied in a soothing tone. She hummed and blinked hard, trying to fight off the darkness. He had a nice voice, she thought as the world around her started to fade. It was warm and she was so very cold. 

—

Bucky was counting the seconds that went by since he talked to Steve. Two minutes, who knew 120 seconds could go by so slowly. At 51 seconds he pressed harder on the woman’s side, hoping he wasn’t pressing too hard but the blood was seeping past his palms. He heard the woman groan then, the excessive pressure and pain rousing her from her unconscious state. She was frowning up at him, a confused look painted on her face. She licked her lips and Bucky tried not to notice how nice her lips were, or that they were painted the same color of the warm liquid leaking between his fingers. His eyes were torn away from her face and to his chest where her small hand nudged his chest. 

“You’re covered in blood” she spoke, the words sounding as if she was confused as to why that was. 

Bucky inhaled sharply, her words setting off alarm bells in his mind. This injured woman bleeding out beneath him was his soulmate. She was his, and she was dying. He leaned on his army training to keep his fear at bay. His panic would not help either one of them, and he would help her, she would not die today, he wouldn’t allow it. He was roused from his thoughts as her her hand traveled the length of his chest. 

“I ruined your outfit.” 

She was crying, tears silently falling from the biggest blue eyes Bucky had ever seen. She was scared, he could see it in those aegean eyes. She was scared and yet here she was worried about how her blood had ruined his suit. 

“It’s okay Sweetheart, I didn’t like this suit anyways.” he spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice. He wanted to ease her worries, if she only knew how much he hated this suit. He hated it even more now that it was covered in his soulmates blood. She smiled up at him as her eyes began to close again. 

“Come on doll, you gotta stay awake okay? Help is coming.” Bucky urged her. He wanted to pat her face, to rouse her but he could’t remove his hands from the oozing wound. How many seconds had It been? Surely it had been two minutes. The panic was setting in, this wasn’t what Bucky had planned, this wasn’t how their meeting was supposed to go. 

“Please, please doll, just stay with me. Stay with me, please, please.” That’s how Steve found him, begging his soulmate to stay with him. Bucky didn’t even realize help had arrived until he was being shoved aside by Stark’s medics. Steve had to forcibly drag him from his soulmates side. 

“Buck, they got her. They’re helping her, she’s gonna be okay Bucky.” His best friend was in front of him now, grasping his shoulders shaking him. “You okay Buck?” Steve questioned, concern lacing his voice. 

“It’s her Steve. It’s her and she lost so much blood and I couldn’t—” Bucky choked on the words “—I couldn’t stop the bleeding. She wasn’t supposed to be the one bleeding. It wasn’t supposed to be hers.” It was then that Bucky felt the tears, tracks of wetness falling down his cheeks. He went to wipe them away but stopped short, catching the sight of his soulmates blood on his hands. 

The sound of Iron Man’s repulsors drew both he and Steve’s attention. “Where is Darcy? She activated her panic button.” Stark questioned anxiously. 

“Who?” Steve questioned as Bucky pointed towards the medical team.

“Darcy!” Tony rushed over to the woman surrounded by medics. “I have a medical team ready back at the tower, she stable enough to be moved?” Stark asked worriedly 

“Times not on her side, sir. We were able to temporarily cauterize the bleed but it’s not a permanent fix, any jostle and the bleeding will start back up. She’s lost a lot of blood.” 

“FRIDAY notify medical, we’re gonna need an OR right now. I’m bringing Darcy in through the the Penthouse.You guys get her ready to move, I’m taking her back, quickest way to get her to medical.” Tony demanded turning back to face Bucky and Steve. 

“Did you do this? Did you lose control? If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” Tony pointed accusingly towards Bucky his voice laced with malice. 

Steve opened his mouth to object at Stark’s accusations but Bucky spoke up first. Unsurprisingly Stark had suspected he was behind the bloodshed. He knew what it looked like and he knew what Tony thought of him. “I was at the opposite end of the alley, heard her scream, came running. The person who attacked her ran, couldn’t chase after him and keep her from bleeding out. Don’t know what he looked like. Tell the doctor’s she’s got a head injury, she wasn’t making much sense when she was awake.” 

Stark nodded once in comprehension, not even apologizing for his assumptions before he turned, bundled the brunette in his arms and took off. 

“Steve, please, I gotta…” Bucky’s voice trailed off, turning back towards the tower. 

“I know Buck, go. I’ll meet you in medical once we’re done here.” 

Bucky took off running, sprinting as fast as he could, his thoughts racing faster than his feet. Darcy…his soulmates name is Darcy. His soulmate was Darcy and she would live. She must live. 

[noamuth]

The High Forest

[Continued from this story]

An exit to the World Above.

It may as well be a portal to another plane, sunlight on stone creating a white frame through which he glimpses an alien green world. The light is far more intense than any bioluminescence, torch or lamplight, and he squints his eyes against the radiance. It is painful to look at.

Roars from the Quaggoths are quick to seize his attention once more. They chip at the edges of the crevice Dalamus had escaped through, using their stone tools as crude chisels and hammers. One barks an order in a language that could be considered Undercommon, if only just: "Around!" A pair of footsteps rush off to find another entrance to Dalamus' tunnel. His time to make a decision is running out.

A shock of pain stabs at his lower back after only a few steps, forcing a surprised shout from him and threatening to send him to his knees to recover, but he does not have the time. With smaller but no less hurried steps, he makes his way to the short climb out of the Underdark, drawing his hood to protect himself from the light which floods the World Above. Its magic seems to wane and flicker in the sunlight.

Reaching over his head, Dalamus finds handholds sturdy enough to hold his weight, and he begins hauling himself upwards. The tug of gravity on his lower half sends another shock through him, and leaves a burning sensation in its wake. His back, his legs, feel weak and exhausted, but he is so close. He can barely get a leg up to plant his foot in a foothold, but sets his jaw and forces his body through the pain. Another good pull and heave, with a shout of exertion for good measure, and he is thrust into the world of the light, and immediately blinded.

He kneels in the dirt and grass, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught, further covering them with a hand. Even from under the hood of his piwafwi everything is too bright. Afterimages color the backs of his eyelids, as if he has stared into the heart of a fireplace for too long. Not only that, but it is warm, hot even, a dramatic shift from the relatively stable coolness of the shadows underground. Stifling. Suffocating. There is a reason Surface Raids take place at night.

He has to move. Without a shirt to shield his skin, every inch not concealed by the piwafwi is subject to the sun's rays, and they are quickly becoming uncomfortable. Dalamus slowly lifts his hand from his squinted eyes, and attempts to take in his surroundings.

The openness is dizzying, almost nauseating. No cavern walls in sight, just openness, occasionally interrupted by trees or a distant building or mountains even further off. Anything could come from any side, at any time. Exposed. Vulnerable. He looks up and immediately regrets the decision--not only is the sky too bright, but what he glimpses before having to shut his eyes causes an immediate, intense vertigo to wash over him. No ceiling. He bows his head again and grips at the ground, the only stable surface to hold onto, and waits until he no longer feels as though he will fall upwards.

As the dizziness starts to subside, Dalamus lifts his squinted gaze towards the shaded forest before him, and begins pushing himself onto his feet. Every bend of his back, every too-quick movement, any step that hits the ground with too much force lights a spark of pain in his lower spine. Even when he adjusts his movement, there is tingling, like static ready to zap when the right contact is made. He manages to shuffle his way into the forest past a couple trees, slowly sliding himself into a sitting position with his back against a sturdy trunk. Dappled light still peeks through gaps in the leaves, but most of him is in the shade.

As the adrenaline wears off, and as his vision recovers, every bump, bruise, and injury he has obtained over the past several hours begins begging for his attention. The whip wounds are no longer bleeding, but his face and neck ache. Slight swelling in the left side of his face indicates the beginnings of a black eye although the eye, itself, is not injured. His right shoulder burns and bleeds from the Quaggoth's claws. Dalamus reaches under his cloak to gingerly prod at his back where he had been thrown onto the stalagmites, finding only a small cut where a blunt edge of stone had split his skin even through his piwafwi. It bleeds slightly, but most of the damage is underneath, out of his reach.

Aches creep into every part of his body, seeping into every muscle, every limb, like too-cold water soaking into his bones. His throat burns, and he regrets not drinking from the Bullywugs while he had been making his healing salve--if it can even be called that. The grass, paper thin blades protruding from the ground, are dry, unlike the moss which carpeted patches of the ground in the Underdark. There will be no squeezing anything drinkable from it.

Dalamus reaches into his pockets and pouches to assess his inventory. The crushed remains of fungus are less than useless, and he pours them out of their pouch onto the ground if only to free up more space. Various coins and loose cabochons may be able to buy him a meal, or perhaps a shirt, whenever he finds a town. If he finds a town.

He rests during the day and travels at night, keeping the forest on his right side as he follows its edge. The hope is that, by observing the native fauna, he will learn which plants are edible. Unfortunately, even hidden from direct exposure, his piwafwi's magic has depleted under the dappled sunlight and moonlight after only a few hours, and animals are quick to avoid his line of sight. Were he not so afraid to move, he would hunt. Instead, he is relegated to what berries he can find, or what animals leave behind when fleeing.

Travel is not as quick as he hoped it would be. His soreness only grows as bruises bloom across his body, making him feel like an overripe Luurden fruit, like if someone touched him, his flesh would yield. The pain forces him to rest frequently, yet no position is comfortable. The morning after his escape from the Underdark, it is all he can do to keep quiet as a muscle spasm wracks his lower back, immobilized in the shade of a trunk as he waits for it, and the day, to pass.

As he attempts to minimize his writhing, he spots the largest creatures he has seen since arriving on the surface. It is drider-like, but rather than its lower half being that of a spider, the elven torso is fused to the body of a hoofed creature, something more athletic than a rothé. The legs are long and slender, with a barrel-like body to house large lungs. Built for powerful speed. There is a large one and a small one, presumably an adult and child. Dalamus wonders which god they have displeased to be turned into such unappealing creatures.

Without his piwafwi's magic to hide him, Dalamus remains low so as to not draw unwanted attention. If they are even a fraction as aggressive as driders, being spotted while unable to move quickly will put his life in peril. The creatures are unaware at first. They seem to be foraging, harvesting plants from the forest, until the small one turns in his direction and freezes at the sight of him. It then begins trotting towards him.

Dalamus feels his heart beating at his rib cage like a drum as he attempts to stand, but he moves too fast, pain stabbing at his back and forcing him to the ground again. He pulls out a dagger and aims it at the smallish hoofed creature, burning with shame at being so weak, so cowardly. But it works. The creature, the girl, stops in her tracks, aware of his hostility and distrust, yet does not move away.

She stands at over half his height, taller than the age she looks thanks to the long legs beneath her. Her hair is brown and plaited, long enough to sit over her shoulder and show the weaved flowers in front. Her skin is fair, much like the coat of her animal body, and she wears a fur vest over her Elven torso. Her concerned brown eyes scan him with some horror. He must somehow look even worse than he feels.

"Hello?" she calls out from several paces away, which Dalamus knows she could leap in an instant with those legs. Her voice is small, befitting her childlike stature, and she speaks in Elvish with an accent he has not heard before. "You look really hurt. Can I help?"

"No," Dalamus answers with his thick Drowic accent. "Leave me be and I will do the same."

The girl seems hurt by his words for some reason. He does not understand. She has no reason to help him, and he has no reason to trust her. And yet, despite his insistence, the hoofed girl reaches into a pouch at her side and pulls out a handful of red berries wrapped in wide leaves. Dalamus recognizes them as edible.

"Here, you can have these. There's lots more over in the bushes over there if you want them." She places the berries on the ground on their plate of leaves, warily watching his dagger. The girl fidgets with her fingers a moment. "Maybe the people at the inn can help you. If you keep going North, you'll see it!" She points in the direction he has been headed. So that is North.

Dalamus says nothing, keeping his dagger trained on her, trying to hide his labored breathing. There is nothing to say. He does not know if she is correct, or telling the truth. He did not ask for this information. He will be heading that direction either way, and will discover for himself the truth.

There is a call from the adult creature deeper into the forest, calling the child's name. Elara. She calls back, informing him of her imminent return, then glances back at Dalamus. He is unsure what to make of her expression. Sadness? Concern? Pity? A spark of anger simmers in him, being looked at like a kicked pet.

"I hope you feel better soon," she says. "Sabbas!"

And with that, she is gone as quickly as she appeared, her hoof beats slowly trailing off as she disappears back into the forest. Dalamus lowers his dagger and sheathes it with a sigh of relief, leaning against the trunk of the tree with a groan. Straightening his spine does nothing to ease the cramping in his back. His muscles squeeze relentlessly, refusing to relax.

Attempts to Trance are fruitless, too distracted by his aching. Instead, he watches the sun set, and notices for the first time the changing of the sky's colors. Thinking about the infinity above him still makes him feel physically ill, and he keeps one hand on the tree's rough trunk to ground himself while he admires the soft warm colors.

Pinks and oranges blend into one another in combinations he has only seen in art, as seamless as a master painter's brushstrokes. Colors of such softness that do not often appear in the Underdark are crystal clear here on the surface. He does not want to look away. Light rims the clouds in silver, then gold, like gossamer before lamplight. The hue deepens to red, like the purest ruby, yet gentle, as the sun dips below the horizon, leaving purples and dark blues splotching the darkening sky.

Blackness envelops the land, and Dalamus finally feels a sense of familiarity mix with the awe. A coolness settles over everything, relief from the light and heat, and he can see again, breathe again. Between the dark expanses created by the clouds, stars glimmer with a silver light, reminding him of glowing insects on a cavern ceiling, but brighter.

An ache begins in his throat, and a tightness squeezes his chest. His eyes sting as he thinks of Menzoberranzan, the people he had met, the trade he enjoyed, his gemcutting which has been his life for decades, his consortship which he had just earned. The food, the art, the architecture. All beyond his reach now.

Just then, a moth gently descends from above, as if one of the stars has come to greet him. It is silver, with a faint glow--the same kind which he saw in the tunnels. Had he not followed them, he might have been set on the Quaggoth's dinner table with his rib cage cracked open like that of a boar.

Dalamus reaches for it out of curiosity, and it lands itself on his outstretched hand, perching delicately on a finger. He brings it close for inspection. Spiders were of Lolth, not moths. Is it merely coincidence that he sees the same insect twice so soon, after having never seen this species before?

His thoughts calm. He will return to Menzoberranzan soon, he tells himself. He just needs to heal and prepare to brave the perilous journey through the Underdark again. That is all. It should not take long. He just has to survive. He has survived up until this point, what is a few more weeks?

The moth picks its head up after cleaning its fuzzy antennae, and with a few tiny wingbeats, lifts itself from Dalamus' finger and flutters North.

As the moon rises, so does he, forcing himself to stand despite every limb begging him not to move, using the tree as support. Just before stepping away, Dalamus spares a glance at the berries the drider-like girl had offered. He searches one of his pouches and finds two similar cabochons to use as payment, one for the berries, the other for the information about the inn, and sets them on the bed of leaves after gathering the berries in his other hand to eat as he walks North. Debt repaid, now he can move on.

He must move on so that he may return. It is what he tells himself, but it does not ease the ache of his heart.

[To be continued]

[treehousesinfrance]

Love Leaves Traces - Chapter 5

“Sirius.” 

“Sirius, come on. Wake up.”

Sirius sat up with a jolt, running a hand over his sweaty forehead. He was in the dorm room, his warm blankets suffocating around him.

“Nightmare?” James edged toward him carefully, reaching out for his shaking hands.

His voice came out choked, “Yeah, I think so”, he shook his head, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about me”, James said, squeezing his hand. He really did love James. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sirius shook his head. He needed sleep. An actual restful sleep but he couldn’t seem to ever since the thunderstorm. The memory of the sharp pain invaded his mind, blinding and hot. He winced at the thought.

James looked concerned. He had been worried about him since he had confided in him about his mother but the past two nights of nightmares seemed to get to him, even if he wasn’t the one having them.

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”

“Of course, James. Thanks - I think I just need some sleep.”

Exhausted and finally relaxed, Sirius melted into his pillow and was snoring before James even let go of his hand.

He was on the cold stone floor of the cave, shuddering and helpless. His nerves were alight, sending jolts through his body and all he could do was wait it out. He remembered this pain, and now he knew what it was. Crucio. His mother had somehow found him. Struck him. Deep in the cave where no one could hear his screams.

He squeezed his eyes shut and could feel the familiar taste of blood on his tongue. Warm and thick and metallic dripping down his face splattering grotesquely on the ground.

Distantly he could hear the shouts of Peter and James, hardly recognisable over the sound of his ripping flesh.

He screamed out, but it came out less of a scream and more of a howl. His throat burned with the new sensation and he could feel hot tears behind his eyes.

It felt like hours before the agony subsided and he regained awareness. His mother wasn’t there, but he wasn’t sure he was entirely there either.

James was lifting his head, urging him to look into his eyes. 

“Hey mate. How are we?”

James was so tall and had tears staining his cheeks and Sirius had the sudden urge to lick them off his face, to make him feel okay. So he did.

Suddenly everything became more clear. The cave. The potion. The incantation. In theory, he should be an animagus. He looked to his friends who were now towering above him with what looked like an array of emotions on their faces. Joy. Concern?

He tried to ask them what happened, but a bark escaped his lips. Embarrassed, he closed his mouth and looked at the ground, but his friends were laughing. Genuine incredible laughter and he realised what that meant. 

He registered his body. Dark shaggy fur covering his arms and legs. He took a couple of shaky steps forward and James applauded, beaming.

“Come here doggy! Come here! Yes, that's it. You’re such a good boy.”

He rolled onto his back gratefully accepting belly rubs from anyone who would offer them.

Changing back to his human form was relatively easy.

Watching his friends in pain was not. 

Writhing in agony he knew too well. The pain he could not protect them from. It made him feel sick.

Emily Bronte was a genius. Remus was a genius. A dark handsome stranger. A love story. Sirius was so invested in the book, interested in the muggle quirks. Their lives were controlled by their limitations. If only they had magic, all their problems would be solved. In a universe so foreign to him, everything seemed so simple.

He was sitting on his bed, perched up against his pillow, totally absorbed in his book in a not un-Remus-like manner. If he could see himself, he might laugh.

My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff!

Sirius took a pencil from behind his ear and underlined the quote. Remus would murder him if he saw him defacing a book like this. The quote reminded him of Remus. His friends. His undying and unconditional love for them. 

Next to the quote, he scribbled  ‘Rem’ , and added a heart just to be safe. It was about love after all, and it was Remus’ favourite book. 

He could almost understand why he was so obsessed with books actually, but he couldn’t do this all of the time. He was too emotionally invested, it was draining, and he was using the book as a distraction from the storm and the upcoming moon.

Fuck. The moon.

He dropped  Wuthering Heights  onto his chest with a huff, only to make eye contact with one Remus Lupin.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, long enough to see you go all lovey-dovey over a book”, Remus had a smug sort of smile on his stupid lovely face, “When did you get into reading?”

Sirius protectively shut the book, after dog tagging his page. Remus winced.

“Is that my copy?” He looked like he was in pain at the thought of Sirius ruining his book. Please, he valued his life.

Sirius shook his head quickly, “No no. I bought it last Hogsmeade trip”

Remus didn’t look convinced.

“No, really. The lady in the store saw me looking at the Muggle Literature section and I told her about you.” He was rambling, “J'ai pensé que c'était peut-être votre préféré car je vous ai beaucoup vu le lire et je voulais savoir de quoi il s'agissait. Quel livre pourrait être si spécial pour captiver quelqu'un comme vous ?”

Out of breath, he glanced up at Remus who looked a little startled. Sirius shoved the book under his pillow before walking over to meet him.

“I promise I would never take one of your books without asking and ruin it with markings and creases.”

He looked relieved.

“Only your jumpers.” It was only then that Remus seemed to realise that Sirius was wearing one currently. Floppy over his arms and swimming on his smaller form.

Remus trailed his eyes up and down and Sirius felt oddly exposed. 

“You can keep that one. You look cute.” Remus stopped breathing for a second.

“I look cute? Why, thank you, Rem.” He would normally play complements off with some witty comment, but this time he had nothing. There was a light blush creeping in behind Remus’ freckles. 

“You look cute too.”

The blush was more intense now and Sirius felt very proud that he had put it there, choosing to ignore what it meant. For now, he could smile at his friend and think of him as he read love stories and it was completely normal and so so lovely. 

“Rem, look.” He glanced up at him nervously, “we have to talk.”

Remus’ gaze turned from startled to hopeful confusion. “… about what?”

“Well um.” Spit it out Sirius, “Well, I think it’s best if we do it all together. The four of us.”

“Right er, ok then. Is everything ok?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s fine. We just have to talk”

Remus, undoubtedly flustered and confused, took a second. “Ok. Well, it might have to wait till tomorrow whatever it is. I have to pay a visit to my Mum later.”

Sirius grimaced, guilt twisting inside him. “No. No, I don’t think it can wait actually. It’s kind of about that.”

Remus looked taken aback. “About my mother?”

“No. Well, yes. But no. I need to find the others. Stay here.”

Sirius ducked out the door, before poking his head back through to make sure Remus did in fact stay. Here. 

It took finding James, who was for some reason in the library studying to find the map, to find Peter, who was walking toward a suspiciously empty hallway with Beatrice. 

Dragging them from their respective tasks, James came more willingly, and into the dorm room, Sirius realised he left Remus to work himself into a right state. 

He swung his head around as they walked in, eyes wide with panic. 

“Guys. You’re back.” Remus leaned against his bed in what could be interpreted as feigned nonchalance but really made him look wonky and out of place.

“Remus.” James walked over and touched his shoulder gently. “We need to talk.”

Remus crumpled in on himself, and to everyone’s surprise, started to cry. 

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Sirius skidded over to meet him and wrapped him up in his arms. He was such a large boy but nestled in Sirius’ lap, he seemed so small. 

“You said it was about tonight, right?” Remus lifted his head to take a look at his friends. Their guilty and knowing expressions confirmed his worst fears. 

He pulled away from Sirius, cursing quietly. 

“Right well, obviously I’ll be off tonight, but I can come back in the morning and clear out my shit.” He has still curled up awkwardly but had also braced his arms for an attack. 

“I just want you all to know that even though this has obviously ended rather badly and I’ve been keeping secrets from you, you three are my favourite people in the world and - fuck, I’m so so sorry.”

This was not the way this was meant to go. Like at all. Silence hung through the air, all prickly and static. James broke it. 

“Remus. We don't want you to go anywhere.”

Remus scoffed. “Right.”

“Truly. We didn’t ask to talk because we were kicking you out of our lives. We would never do that to you.”

Ever. Sirius thought, but didn’t say. 

“And for the record”, Peter said, “You’re our favourite person too.” He emphasised the word ‘person’ a little too heavily but the sentiment was sweet. Remus almost smiled. 

He looked up at Sirius, who suddenly realised he hadn’t said any of the lovely reassuring things he had planned. He also realised he had forgotten all of those lovely reassuring things and said the first thing that came to mind. 

“We love you, Rem. So bloody much. So so bloody fucking much. In fact, if I could lasso the moon and politely tell it to fuck off I would do that, but after extensive research that’s not possible without killing everyone else on the planet including you so that seemed a bit counterproductive, so we’ve tried to do the next best thing, which by the way - I’ll tell you… in a second. The moral of the story, you’re not going anywhere, because we’re not bloody letting you go.”

The message was sort of lost in the anger, but Remus was staring at him with a different sort of tear in his eyes. Shock, but also joy? 

“How long…” His voice came out soft and quivery and Sirius wanted to hold him again. “How long have you known?”

“Couple months.” James said, “Sirius figured it out last term.”

Sirius felt horrible. He’d been lying to his best friend for  months . He should have spoken to him the moment he found out, but he wanted to be certain. Wanted to prove that it wouldn’t change anything, that he would help him in any way he could. 

Remus opened his mouth, looking like he was about to apologise again, which just would not do. 

“Rem. I’m sorry.” Sirius was trying consciously not to ramble. “I should’ve told you as soon as I found out, I was just - well I—“

“You were scared. I get it.”

“Fuck, Remus. Of course, I wasn’t scared. I’ve seen you plastered drunk, half-naked using Peter’s boxers for a hat. I wanted to talk, for all of us to talk together once we had figured it all out.”

Remus was still looking conflicted. “Any questions you had, you could have asked me. I’m sort of an expert.”

Peter patted him awkwardly on the head. “Of course you are. You’re an expert at most things, but I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

James was getting fidgety with excitement and Remus evidently could tell the shift in the room. 

“What exactly are you talking about then?”

Sirius nodded to James, who had the most detailed knowledge of the whole process after doing the most extensive research. Remus sat, slack-jawed as James explained their theory: that since werewolves attack wizards and not animals, if a wizard were to become an animagus, they should, in theory, be able to accompany the werewolf during the full moon. 

“That’s very advanced and might I add illegal magic. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“That is exactly why we didn’t tell you about it before”, Sirius said. 

Recognition dawned on Remus. “You didn’t…”

Peter hopped excitedly and scrunched his face in concentration before disappearing beneath his robes, emerging a soft, brown rat. He scuttled over to Remus, settling himself on his shoulder. 

Remus looked like he might cry again. He slumped in relief and scratched Peter absentmindedly on the head. “How on earth…”

Sirius ducked over to his trunk and pulled out a pile of slightly crumpled parchment, each covered in notes from research, potions ingredients, incantations and working out. He struggled to hold them all in his arms but waddled back over to his friends, dumping them on the ground ungracefully.

“I thought you might want to know, so here is all our research. Despite what you may think Remus, we’re actually quite clever.”

Remus was gawping at the pile, then at Sirius. 

“I… Thank you. This-” 

Sirius gave in to whatever emotion it was that was urging him to pull Remus close. 

“We bloody love you ok? Don’t go getting any silly ideas like us wanting you to go.” Remus shifted into him slightly and Sirius could feel him nodding. They stayed like that for a while, before Sirius had to reluctantly untangle himself to present to Remus his animagus form, which was inclined to curl back into Remus, revelling in the feeling of his hands in his fur. A tall stag towered over them, proud and with one of the research papers somehow speared through his antlers.

So there sat Remus Lupin, a very bewildered boy and his animal menagerie, just hours before the moon rise with a feeling that could only be described as hope.

[misskesh44]

Tantra is not love.

I think we can get caught up in thinking breath and eye gazing and touch with presence equates a deep level of love. Science tells us that repeating these actions (specifically eye gazing) literally creates a sensation of falling in love over time. But something is missing. Energetic sex and orgasm that is felt in every part of the body are beautiful, but do not promise that love is present.

I think that is why there can be a deep core loneliness that is hard to quell in us who regularly practice tantra or sacred sex with many partners: tantra does not prepare us for lasting love. It creates sensation, and hunger, it wakes us up, connects us to our animal and soul. It fuels creativity and energy. But does not necessarily teach us how to be all in and let someone be all in for us.

At the end of the day sacred sex is just part of the puzzle. It is not the puzzle in itself.

I think we are feeding a void with more void when we turn to sacred sex to get all of our needs met. Letting it be the solution to our desire to be radically loved.

Tantra is a way to communicate love, but it is also a smoke screen. It is a way to deepen a connection between lovers and it can also be a way to distract us. Like all good things can do.

I am not impressed by sex that can last for 8 hours. Or sex that connects me to myself. Or sex that results in a high for days. I am more impressed by how lovers take care of each other after the hit of brain chemicals subsides, the community that is built with love, the vulnerability of sharing deep needs and fears, the owning and cleaning up of messes made, the inquiry into eachothers’ passions, the creating of connection and letting a relationship change when sex no longer feels appropriate.

I am shortchanging myself if I let those things slide and instead focus on the sex alone.

I think communicating needs and boundaries around sex is important, but a focus there without remembering the depth of a human outside of the bedroom can limit and even suffocate intimacy. Can put pressure on both people to perform a role instead of show up fully as themselves.

The moments in my life that breathe life into my sex are the words and conversation shared outside of sex.

Listening to a lover talk about his father and feeling his heart, laughing with my husband right before he enters me, giving my love permission to not impress me with sex and just be with me. These are the moments that I carry. The things I am truly proud of. One might argue that they are all intricate parts to sacred sex or tantra, yet building actual relationship seems to be missing from the empowered conversation about sex we are having.

I know what a lover is and I can do that. But to hold the heart of a man, to be given that honor, that demands a fullness of my being that I must deepen everyday. Demands that my words match my actions so I need to know who I am. Demands I see with my soul, speak my truth, touch with my heart. Be willing to crawl through the depths of someone’s dark alongside of them until they remember again who they are.

This love, when I really feel it, makes me feel undone and messy. I am not a seductress here adding to my numbers of lovers on the daily, I am not impressive or sexy declaring the perfect formula to make me orgasm. I am on my knees. Waiting to be met in being this undone and rejoicing over the moments that my soul truly sees the soul of another.

May we not just have lovers but create partners that will laugh with us as our bodies fall apart. Who will take care of us when we are sick. Who we are damn proud to declare loudly that we love and are loved by. Let that be what fuels us. That is really the only thing that makes us alive anyway.

[mrpenguinpants]

Xiao: Fainting HCS

FUCK. I FORGOT TO POST THIS EARLIER. AHHHH. I HAVE WORK IN LIKE 2 MINUTES SO I’LL BE BACK TO REPLY TO EVERYONE. 

Hey anon! So sorry it took me forever to finish writing this but good luck if you’re planning on pulling Xiao. I really wanted to finish writing this fic as an offering to the gacha gods that c1 xiao wants to bless me (even tho that’s not gonna happen). But good luck to everyone rolling today^^.

Disclaimer: I have not watch anything about Xiao because my hype can only take so much. This was written before 1.3. So if I get anything wrong or I’m missing something. That’s why.

---

Can I just say how far Xiao has come in my writing since the first part of the semi series? Sniff, feel like we’re making character development for a character that’s not even out yet. I can’t wait for mihoyo to take my HCS and rip them apart.

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ]

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

​  @hanniejji​@mikeysbike​​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @sunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​ @nonniechan​​ @snowy224 @mayumintsu​ @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​ @legionqueensav​ @eva-0403 @youaskedfurret​ 

Xiao: Fainting HCS

Instant panic mode engaged. If you’ve ever doubted his adepti power of swiftness you’re about to be mistaken. He’s noticed that you seem a bit out of it but brushed it off as you being tired from your recent journey. If there was anything bothering you, you would tell him. But as he turned around to greet you back, it seems like time is slowing down for him. He sees how your eyes glazed over and become unfocused. The muscles in your body snap and you drop to the ground. He can feel his blood run cold as past memories that have been waiting to jump at him suddenly claw at him but he doesn’t even register them. He’s already running towards you.

He’s already caught you in his arms before you can even meet the wooden floor. His brain is racing as he quickly checks your pulse to make sure you didn’t suffer from a heart attack or a curse. He makes a quick search over your body to check for any injuries, he can already feel the red hot iron of anger fill his system at the thought of someone trying to take advantage of you or threaten you. He’s usually logical in these types of situations, even the death of Rex Lapis didn’t shock him this much, but he’s been battling his conflicting feelings ever since he met you. But now that he’s finally accepted you and himself, he wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you. His mind flashes to Guizhong before he shakes away the thought.

It doesn’t occur to him that you might be sick as he tries to shake you awake. Whatever teachings Guizhong and Morax have taught him fly out the window as he holds you so close to his chest, he’s pretty sure his grip on you is bruising. He knew mortal souls weren’t as strong as adepti and staying around one might cause sickness or even worse- death. Was this his fault? He can feel the drop in his stomach as he tries to reign in his emotions and powers, not here.

Verr almost screams when Xiao breaks the wooden ceilings and lands in front of her. She’s scared that there was a monster outbreak or something was wrong with Xiao before she notices your passed out form in his arms. As much as she likes to joke around and thinks your relationship with Xiao is cute, she knows that if anything came to seriously harm you she wouldn’t able to calm Xiao before he goes on a rampage. You mean so much to him and he hasn’t opened his heart to anyone except you.

She can tell he’s nearly past his breaking point as he looks at her with dilated eyes as he asks, no commands, her to help you. It’s such whiplash to her. Xiao’s always been polite and reserved that she almost forgets he used to be a demon slaying Yaksha, but this isn’t the time for her to worry about that. She quickly leads him to the backroom since there’s no way Xiao wouldn’t bite any hand that comes near you. Bless Verr’s heart since this isn’t the first time she’s had to handle Xiao’s outbreaks that she manages to save face and contact a doctor that was staying at the inn to look at you. She does feel a bit bad for the doctor who looks like he’s about to piss himself in fear as Xiao growls and watches the doctors every move with piercing yellow eyes.

Xiao is still wary when the doctor and Verr try to calm him down and examine you more closely, always flinching back whenever their hands get too close to you, letting out a dangerous hiss whenever there’s the slightest twitch of discomfort in your face when the doctor feels your heated forehead. As soon as the doctor concludes that you’ve been sick for the past few days and your body just needs to heal itself and recharge, the tension on Xiao’s shoulder loosens and the suffocating aura that’s been filling the room slowly filters out. Verr can’t help but sigh in relief but can’t bring herself to scold Xiao for breaking the inns roof as she watches him look over your form with worried eyes as he softly nudges your cheek. He’s still holding you but his grip has loosen slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. He breathes a sigh of relief as he rubs small circles in your hand. Xiao’s never been the most affectionate or shown to be the most caring but you’ve seriously scared him. She quietly leaves him be and closes the door as she begins to prepare to fix the damages.

Xiao never leaves your side as he waits for you to wake up. He can’t help but berate himself for not confronting you. The doctor said you would be fine but he can’t but imagine your body falling in a more violent scene. He quickly shakes those thoughts away as he paces around the room, sits besides you, then goes back to pacing. Usually he would go on a walk or beat his aggression out but he doesn’t want to leave you alone should you awake early.

Xiao doesn’t ramble about his day while you’re asleep, instead he just observes your features and the small movements you make to remind him that you’re okay. How your chest moves up and down as you breath or how your eyes sometimes scrunch in sleep. You’ve made him almost trip when you did it the first time since he thought you were waking up. He can’t help but think back to his fellow Yaksha’s and what they would say if they saw the way he was acting now.

Since his panic attack has mostly subsided he’s found himself growing more curious. He’s still worried about you but he’s managed to reason with himself that you’re okay, just sick which he’s going to scold you a bit for when you awake, so he softly brushes his fingers across your face. Before snatching his hand away in embarrassment. What the hell is he doing? Guizhong would slap him sideways if she saw him now. He huffs at himself as he deflates a little and rests his head on the bed beside your head. He’s patient. He will wait when your ready to wake up.

When you suddenly gain consciousness, it feels as if the entire world is weighing you down. You slowly blink open your eyes to see a worried Xiao hovering over you, his hands awkwardly in the air since he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you.

“How are you feeling?” Xiao asks as his eyes dart all over the place before resting on your face. You’re still a bit out of it but you can tell he must have been really worried. You try to give him a small smile but with how scuffy you feel you can bet it’s not a pretty picture.

“Like I got slammed with one of Zhongli’s meteors,” you tried to laughed before coughing as Xiao quickly pressed a cup of water to your lips. Slowly letting you drink and calm down. 

“If you have time to make jokes then you’re alright” Xiao sighs before his features change slightly. His eyes glaze over in concern as a small frown appears. He really does look like a kicked kitten as he slumps over as the stress finally lifts as he feels your hand softly run through his hair.

“Sorry,” you say, he must have been so stressed out while you were passed out for him to look so exhausted. He simply nudges into your hand before turning his face to kiss your palm,

“There’s no need for apologies. I’m...just glad you’re okay,” Xiao mumbles before he’s back to pressing his head into your stomach. You can’t help but smile delicately as you reach over and bring Xiao up with you until he’s lying over you as you hug him gently. There’s a bit of shuffling before you’re able to spoon him as he let’s himself relax after the two day panic attack he just went through.

---

When you’ve fully recovered Xiao seems to hover around you a bit more. Well not a bit, a lot more, but no one has the heart to tell him that. It’s actually kind of adorable seeing the aloof and reserved adepti seem to follow you around like a loss duckling. Making sure you’re okay and you’re not overworking yourself. He still keeps his tough demeanor but you seriously gave him a big scare.

When Zhongli and Childe come over for their weekly visits of tea, they were aware that Xiao had locked himself in a room to watch over you and anyone that even stepped near the door would be skewered with a spear - and Verr would make them pay for the damages (Zhongli) and whatever consequences Xiao saw fit (Childe) - but they are happy to see you’re okay. You all fall back into your usual rhythm of conversation or Childe trying to get a rise out of Xiao while you and Zhongli talk about how lovely the weather’s been.

Zhongli let’s you in on some details that Xiao or Verr never mentioned while Childe and Xiao are fighting about who knows what. How Xiao wouldn’t leave your side or that he resembled a kicked kitten as he nudged your hand when he thought no one was looking. He offers you some medicine herbs to help with exhaustion and to take care of yourself. Likewise, to give Xiao some pain medication on his behalf. You’re one of the few good things in Xiao’s life and he doesn’t want anything bad happening to you.

---

Hmm. I didn’t mean to but I totally believe in the dad zhongli train and I think Zhongli basically just gave you his blessing? Maybe I’m thinking too hard on this haha.

Maybe this is better? Trying to figure out writing styles are hard. Either way, I’m never gonna end up kicking my paragraph HCS habit haha. If you couldn’t tell, I really like feral protective but lowkey vulnerable types (coughrazorcough). Xiao is so OOC at this point I don’t even know how to fix it. Please come home Xiao. 

(Edit: FUCK YEAH HE CAME HOME WITH DILUC. WE 90ED THIS BITCH AND IM ABOUT TO MAX HIS TALENTS. ILL SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL (since people have been asking) WHEN I GET BACK FROM WORK)

[inkedtae]

a lover’s howl ⇾ kth. [M]

⟶ inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle and part of The Ghibli Series

⌁ pairing; howl!taehyung x reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; studio ghibli au, howl’s moving castle au, smut, a dash of fluff, a bit of angst, 18+

⌁ summary; an unforsaken spell blesses you with his presence again

⌁ word count; 4.1k

⌁ warnings; howl!taehyung, blonde!taehyung, bigdicc!taehyung, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, body worshipping, basically a moving amount of filth~ 

⚘ happy birthday juno ♡ (@onherwings​)~ 

⚘ a huge thanks to my beta readers, @kkulmoon​, @nottodayjjk​ and @uhgood-dooghu​, for taking the time to read this over and fix it up for me. it means a lot and i don’t think i will ever be able to thank you enough. also a special thanks @yeoldontknow​ for letting me talk at her, giving me ideas and always supporting me. I owe this fic being finished on time to you. 

The rumble of the train trembles the walls of your workshop. Black fumes cloud the moonlight. Your candles flicker atop your desk, threatening to diminish and leave you sewing in the dark. Weaving feathers in and out of a black hat, you’re too preoccupied with thoughts of him to be fazed by the sound. He writes often, enclosing a black feather with every letter, but doesn’t visit as much. You’re not sure what of this “important business” is so dangerous that you can’t come along as well. You have survived much worse, witnessed his near death and helped him rebuild his castle afterall. And though you told yourself countless times that there’s no good dwelling on the past, you can’t seem to stop wondering what exactly changed his mind. 

A prick of your thumb stings you out of your thoughts. In a jolt, you drop the needle and hat to shoot out of your seat with a hiss. You lick the wound before it bleeds then press your fingertip upon it. You hope the pressure subsides the wound long enough for you to fetch a bandage from the first aid kit. 

Now, where did Taehyung say it was? Something about a library... or was it a living room? You make your way up to the attic, hoping he did in fact mention the library. All you can really remember from that conversation was how handsome he looked in that pink coat you stitched up for him. It just frames his broad shoulder so well only to narrow around his thin waist. And then there was that knowing look in his eyes that told you he knew just how much you weren’t listening at all. 

“Baby,” he had whispered, cupping your chin. “Are you listening?” And once you had found the mental capacity to resist the urge to kiss him and slowly nod, he had smirked and repeated, “The kit is in-”

The library flickers to life when you enter. Dust settles upon every inch and you begin to wonder why he had forbade you from entering before as you scan the shelves for the kit. Leather bound books and tightly rolled scrolls reside on every surface. Trinkets of his journey clutter around as well. You had thought you talked to him about the importance of organization, but it seems that he prefers this mess best. 

Your attention settles on the desk, sitting in front of a large window. Presuming it’s probably in one of the desk drawers, you make your way over with the intention of rifling through them and nothing more. You’ve learned from past experience that it’s best to never tinker with his things. However, once you stand before it, a red, leather bound book catches your eye. The imprinted title is written in an unreadable script and seems to be floating off the cover. How could that dance off the surface like that? Against your better judgement, curiosity hovers your fingers over the font.

Slamming open, the book flips and flicks through various pages only to suddenly stop. Rose coloured font apperates into view in that unreadable script again. You furrow your brows, attempting to read it anyways, until the strokes of ink shift around the pages. They rearrange themselves into a script you can decipher. 

A Lover’s Howl. 

Yearning of heart and 

Tethers of soul.

I wish to end my misery

And the distance apart

Together unruly and-

The tremors of the train erupt every wall of the attic, pulling you out of your thoughts. Startled, you glance out the window to find that it is not the train at all you owe this rukkus to, but the upset clouds. Flashes of lightning burn the sky alight as rain beats down the busy street. 

You turn back to the desk and shut the book. That’s enough snooping for a night. You still have that first aid kit to find. Rummage through the drawers, you finally find a little tin of bandages under a box of rose and emerald ink pots. Teeth between the thin paper, you rip open the little bandage and wrap it around your thumb. However, it seems like once one wound is taken care of, another flames. 

Aching, your heart sits heavy in your chest. You take a deep breath, hands too shaky to return the kit back beneath the ink pots. The action seems to push the numb pain to your gut. A little whimper escapes you. You lean on the edge of the desk, inhaling sharply. You’re still breathing, you try to remind yourself. And that should be a comforting fact if your pussy didn’t begin aching as well. With a shaky gasp, you press your thighs together and wonder why the thought of being bent over this very desk seems to be unfathomably appealing right now. 

Your fingers hover over the pearl buttons of your dress; it suddenly seems awfully tight in this hot room. Wait- when did the room get so ho- “Agh,” you whine as another pang of pain makes you needier. 

The newfound heat suffocates skin, hands moving fast to push that blue dress off your shoulders. It doesn’t hit the ground before you start to discard your bra and panties as well. Still, your body burns with a desire to be overtaken. It’s as if you’ve been edged all day, left half finished and ready to finally unravel. Desperate to feel just that, you slide a hand down to your aching pussy. It clenches emptily, yearning for Taehyung's huge cock. God, it’s been too long since he last stretched you out. Nothing can ever quite compare to his size, your fingers and vibrator a weak excuse for anything besides clitoral pleasure.

Rubbing at your clit, you try to soothe the craving for him now. However, the pain only seems to intensify. It’s as if your body knows it’s not your own hand you crave, but Taehyung’s. And where is he now to graze your folds between his fingers and tease with little praises? You can just see him peeking up from between your legs, tongue poking out of his lips and breath fanning over your heat. And you’d push yourself up into him. So, he’d smirk and chuckle, and tell you to be patient or he won’t do anything at all. You can even hear him now, taunting at your desperate, half-naked state in the very section of the house he told you to never enter. 

“What did I say about looking through my things?” 

Hand cupping your heat, your attention snaps to the door. Taehyung leans against the doorframe, the candlelight sculpting his features sharply. His name leaves you in a whisper as you begin to wonder how desperate you are to have resorted to hallucinations? Maybe you should really call him if your mind’s gone this far. But, as you attempt to move around the desk, another shot of pain holds you back. You gasp a quiet cry and harshly rub circles around your clit. 

Concern colours Taehyung’s features. “Sweetheart,” he calls, rushing over to you. You’re about to pride your mind on such a vivid and accurate imagination when you feel his large hands settle on your arms. Soft and cold, he holds you tight and guides your hunched over frame onto the desk. Shrugging his coat off, he drapes it over your shoulders and asks, “What’ve you done to yourself?” 

“You’re here?” 

“I’m here,” he smiles. 

A breathless chuckle bubbles out of you as your hands wrap around his neck. Your arousal slicked hands stain his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, pulling you into a tighter hug. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he mutters between peppering little kisses in the crook of your neck. 

His vanilla cedar scent coddles your heart and aches your bones. You whimper into his shoulder at how quickly the pain intensifies from a single whiff. Taehyung pulls half an inch away, concerned and confused. With his forehead resting against yours, he licks his lips and you can’t think of a better use for that tongue if not to lick at your pussy. The pain shoots at you again just as your thoughts become interesting. You swallow your whimpers as he brushes your hair out of your face.

His gaze falls to your bare chest before lingering around your pussy. Suddenly aware of your nakedness, you shyly press your thighs together. Every inch of you just wants to beg him for his cock already, no matter if you're bent on his desk or pressed against the window. You just need him on you, in you, touching every part of you. 

The courage to ask for what you want finally presents itself when he shifts his gaze to something behind you. You sneak a glance over your shoulder to find that open book. A little sigh escapes him and he returns his attention to you with a little smirk. “You missed me this much,” he teases, caressing your cheek, “that you just had to cast a mating spell, hmm?” 

Is that what that was? You weren’t even sure you could read it before it rearranged. You’re about to apologize when the pain cinches your words in your throat. Doubling over, you rest your head against his shoulder and whine, “Ah, Tae!” 

He wraps his arms around you, further engulfing you in his scent and you don’t think you can take much more of this. Whatever this mating spell is, you’re sure it’s not supposed to be tearing you apart. Clutching on the collar of his shirt, you mumble, “I need you, Tae. I need your mouth and fingers and- I just need you so bad.” 

You wish you can say you hate the way his eyes glisten with power. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he knew exactly how you were feeling and was just waiting for you to say it. He’s told you before that the sight of you so needy always awakes something dark within him. He loves to watch you whine and quiver. 

His hold on your face tightens as his fingers dig into your skin. You swallow thickly, another whine escaping from the mere thought of those fingers deep in you. He licks his lips before asking, “What do you need me to do so bad, sweetheart?” 

He trails his fingers down your neck, past your collarbone and the valley of your breasts; waiting, watching. When all you can muster is his name in a little mewl, he whispers, peppermint breath fanning over your face, “Do you want to start on your knees?” 

“Anything,” you gasp, tugging on his shirt. You just need him close, need him now. “We can do it anyway you want, just please fuck me already.” 

Surprise alights his eyes for a moment. Never have you spoken this crassly, without his cock already deep in you that is. He chuckles, on the verge of teasing you about it when another pained whimper escapes you. Taehyung settles his large hands on your thighs. Leaning in, he brushes his nose against yours then places a soft kiss upon the corner of your lips. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I can’t do much if you don’t tell me exactly what you want.” 

You pause for a moment, wondering how much clearer you could be. Usually, a declaration to be riled is enough to set him off. You’re never the one guiding him as he always insists on guiding you. He says it's because he loves how obedient you suddenly become when his dick is involved. And though you have tried to fight him on it in the past, there’s not much you can deny now. So, you bite back a whine until you have enough strength to order just above a whisper, “I need your mouth, Tae. You’re fingers too. Honestly, anything will do just as long as you're tasting me.” 

He bites back a chuckle as he lowers himself to his knees. Spreading your legs, he urges you to lean back a bit. The gesture pushes a variety of books and pens to the floor. Neither of you can be too bothered, however, with his face inches away from your pussy. 

Holding your gaze, Taehyung dives in. You expect him to lick a long strip up your pussy to start, as he always does, only to have him suction his lips around your clit. Either way, you’re sure the pain withers away. A relieved gasp echoes in the small room as you throw your head back. You can barely even feel the previous ache when he releases your clit to lap up your wetness. All you can focus on is how you missed his warm tongue. 

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. Your hips roll up to meet his tongue, body craving more of him. 

“Keep talking to me, baby,” he mutters around a mouthful of pussy. “How fast do you want it?”

You run a hand through his hair and hold on tight. “Fast!” Taehyung groans against you, making your heart flutter enough for you to forget what more you wanted to say. Until a small ache pokes at your gut again. With a whine, you reply, “I need your fingers. I need you to shove them in me and lick me and make me cum. Fuck, Tae, just please make me cum.” 

Taehyung circles two fingers around your tight, little hole, muttering, “About time you remembered your manners.” 

Not much strength lives in you to tell him that you’ll remember your manners when he finally lets you come along with him to whatever “important business” that’s taken him this long. And even if you could speak, all you can really think about is how you missed his fucking fingers. So long and slender, they slide into you so far and curl just right.The pain dissipates and you throw your head back with a loud moan. You’re not sure what this spell was, but you’re thankful for it if it means bringing Taehyung back home. 

You attempt to ride his face again only to have him remove his lips. He smirks up at you, amused gaze peeking through his blonde bangs. His fingers quicken and bash just where you need them.

“Taehyung,” you sigh. Voice breathless, strained with the return of that painful, greedy desire to unravel, you whine, “I need your mouth.” 

He chuckles. You shudder. Has he been gone so long that you’ve genuinely forgotten just how much you adored that laugh? You’ve never been able to process the duality of it, the cheerful tone sounding so deep and dark.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” 

Oh, right. The spell. It only seems to let him follow your orders. You make a mental note to tease him about it later, the gnawing ache of your gut begging to be eased. Still, under your breath, you mumble, “Must I hold your hand through this?”

Taehyung clenches his jaw. His eyes blink cold, hard and darken into vexation. If he could, he’d smack your pussy, bend you over for a spanking only to edge you thrice before finally letting you cum. At least, that’s what he did the last time you talked back. Instead, he resorts to glares and little reminders to “behave” since “the spell will break before the night is over.” 

You shiver with every moan as you sit up. A few more scrolls roll to the ground from the shift of your position, but you pay them no mind. As the thunder roars beyond the little library, you cup Taehyung’s wet smeared chin and guide him back onto his feet. 

“All I can ever think about,” you start, attempting to speak through your moans, “is all the time lost not getting fucked in that moving castle.” 

“It’s d-”

“Dangerous,” you finish. “More dangerous than a mating spell? Than this stupid libr- fuck, I think I’m close.” You fall forward to rest your head against his shoulders. Taehyung scoffs and you don’t need to glance at his handsome face to know he’s smirking. You can hear it. 

Hand shooting to his wrist, you stop his fingers mid-thrust. The spell’s pain lingers around your pussy, tightening your walls around him. It threatens its return as your orgasm slowly disappears. He whispers your name, but you only meet his gaze when you’ve bitten every needy whine back long enough to say, “I just want you to fuck me like you want me.” 

“What makes you think I don’t want you?”

A little whine slips past your lips. Taehyung’s expression softens and he shifts in place, likely feeling helpless when you don’t allow him to ease the ache. “You left, Tae,” you sigh. “You left me here. I want you to fuck me like you never did. I want you to replace your fingers with your cock and touch me like you love me.”

Taehyung pauses. “You think I don’t love you?” 

Though the answer is on the tip of your tongue, you know better than to tell him it now. Taehyung is no fun to fuck when he’s genuinealy upset. And if you are going to be rid of this unforsaken curse, you know that you’ll need to keep the rest of your thoughts to yourself. So you let go of his wrist and the spell compels his actions once more. 

Taehyung removes his fingers then rids himself of his clothes. You can’t seem to keep your hands from wandering over his chest and clutching onto his shoulders. He smiles at you and, though it’s small, that smile of his makes you wonder if perhaps you’ve ruined the entire mood and now he’ll only fuck you because he wants simply to help. 

Then he seizes your hips. You’re pulled forward until the length of his cock presses between your folds. He strokes his nose along your cheek, wet lips whispering, “I think the real issue is how you have trouble following orders.” Rolling his hips against yours, Taehyung groans into the crook of your neck. “It looks like I have to show you how it’s done.” 

You lose your fingers in his hair, clutching onto his bicep with your other hand. You missed how much he loved to tease. Lips biting into your collarbone, Taehyung reaches a hand between your bodies to align himself. A gentle push in and you’re exchanging praises. He’s definitely been gone too long if you’ve forgotten just how big he is. His mere tip stretches you enough to lose all words, incoherent affirmations taking their place instead. Eyes rolling back, you thrust up to try meeting his hips halfway, but Taehyung grounds you in place. 

A specific speed never left your lips and you just now realized that fast is in fact Taehyung’s default setting when it comes to fucking you into submission. All the pain you thought was returning feels as though it never arrived at all. You’re about to tell him to thrust harder when he clutches onto your neck. 

He stares into your desperate eyes, his own looking needier than usual - a fact he has never enjoyed admitting. “Do you know how many times I almost used this fucking spell?” he hisses as his thrusts become harsher. “Every night, I stare at that fucking page and think about how pretty you’d look when you’re full of my cock.” He growls a curse under his breath. The hand around your neck tightens just to let go. As it trails down your body to cup one of your bouncing breasts, he groans, “You look even more beautiful when you’re desperate for it. Did you know that?”

You let out a shaky moan. Hands sweaty, you try to maintain your grip on his shoulders as he plays with your body like a passtime. He thumbs your nipple, gazing down at how you arch your back and push yourself further against him. Breathless from the sheer sight, he picks up his pace. The desk scratches at the floor with every thrust. Your moans drown its sharp creaks as Taehyung buries his face between your breasts. Licking and biting, he feasts on you like he never left, like he does this every night and still can’t believe he has you. 

Cradling his head closer, you feel that once painful ache in your gut tighten, twist and slowly begin to beg for a chance to release. And you know he can feel you inching closer as well, little praises pouring out of him between his appreciation of your chest. 

“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “Taking my cock so well.” 

True, you’re annoyed it took a fucking spell to bring him back, but you’d be lying if his insistence of you being such a good girl didn’t just replace all your anger with affection. “Taehyung!” you cry. 

You’re about to ask for permission when you recall the fickle detail that you are the one calling the shots this time. Even still, you try to subside your urge to cum long enough to ask, “I-it’s okay to cum, right?” 

Taehyung laughs against your skin. He trails quick kisses back up to your lips, only to mutter moments later, much to your constant whining, “You don’t need to ask this time, sweetheart.” 

Like being doused with cold water, you allow yourself to come undone. Fingers digging into his skin, eyes rolling back, you scream out his name over and over again with the rhythm of his hips. Every new thrust adds to the quaking of your body. It breaks in your voice as you cry out for him. 

“Does that feel better?” he teases, voice husky and strained. If that isn’t enough indication that he’s close, the little twitch of his cock gives it away. “Is my dick enough or do you want me to cum too?” 

Nails imprinting into his skin, you try to meet his gaze. “If you don’t cum in me right now,” you start, breathless and desperate, “I swear I’ll cry.” 

Taehyung nudges his nose against yours before pressing his lips to yours. He lets you swallow all his moans as he pulls you close by your ass and holds you tight. Then, he bites your lip and fills you until you’re stuffed with more than just his giant cock.

A few more rushed kisses and sloppy thrusts are offered before Taehyung ceases all movement. He rests his head on your shoulder, fingers still sunk into the curves of your ass. Sweaty, heaving exhaustion overwhelms your senses. Pussy pulsing, you find that the longer Taehyung remains in you, the more twinges of that pain return. You know you should tell him that, only you’re worried that he’d go the moment he pulls out. He has served the purpose of the spell after all. 

Taehyung stands straighter now that his breath has returned to him. He shifts his hands from your ass to your hips and gently pulls out. A hiss escapes him. You feel empty all over again. 

Crossing your legs, you softly push his hands off your hips. It might just be best to make this easier on both of you, you wonder, and give him a chance to go. Maybe that way it won’t feel as though he’s abandoning you. 

“I guess you have to get back then,” you say as you hop off the desk. 

You both know he can sense your discomfort. “I can stay for a little while.”

Grabbing your dress off the ground, you ignore the emotion in his words. “Lucky me,” you mutter, turning back to find him inches away. 

Eyes locked, Taehyung maintains his sincerity. He tentatively wraps his arms around your waist and, when you don’t interject, presses you against his chest. “I’m- I-” he stutters for a moment before the words come together once more. “I thought leaving alone would be the safest. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

You shake your head. He’s missing the point. It shouldn’t take a spell to compel him to return. He shouldn’t have left you alone. “It shouldn’t matter how long it takes. I should always be there.” 

Taehyung falls silent. Guilt flashes in his eyes as he reverts them to the floor. Swallowing thickly, he meets your gaze again to mutter, “I just can’t risk losing you again.” 

“Then don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. 

Taehyung pulls you into a warm hug. A tearful apology is mumbled into your shoulder. You’re not very interested in it though. All you want is him; with or without a lover’s howl. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.