#the first of them taken by the wilderness

[cinnabooonn]

“SHATTERED„

ft. kaji ren | kaji is in the middle of a fight, that is until he stops because you made an appearance, disappointment hiding behind your eyes.

gn!reader | cw: swearing (once), bl00d, hurt (no comfort), reader is scared of ren, reader asks for a break, crying (both), arguments ; angst | note. i don't know where this came from. thought someone might be in the mood for a little cry 😔 (might do a part 2, w/ comfort part, only if you want though) , wc. 1.2k ; m.list

reblogs are very appreciated!!

ren kaji stepped forward, feet marching slowly and constantly, while planting seeds of fear in his opponents, already down, who looked up at him like some tremendous monster. his scattered headphones lay on the ground, probably fallen after a previous involuntary impact.

something in his brain seemed to have switched off, leaving his mind into bleak darkness as he readied both of his fists to calm the storm and rage that overwashed him.

he joined one pair of the multiple enemies, like some soldier on a bloodied battlefield, looking down on them like insignificant pests.

his eyes couldn’t see past the blood, there was no reason that dictated his action. everything followed instincts, like a beast in the wild.

the sucker he’d always have in his mouth, a kind reminder not to go overboard and to somehow placate the anger, seemed to have been discarded somewhere irredeemable.

“stop… stop there! i-i give up!” a boy said, taking in his towering angry silhouette and trying to shield his face with his arms, a useless attempt to soften the upcoming blow, his body cowering in fear.

ren didn’t see those details, or maybe he didn’t care at all. to him, all enemies had to be taken down, even at the price of his own life. 

first punch.

second punch.

one kick.

his breath quickened, chest rising and falling as the rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to run wilder because of the exertion. his two opponents were now two bloody messes, faces so battered and bloodstained one could barely recognise their features. 

all this time, ren had always kept his gaze to the ground, seeing nothing but the bodies he had to take care of.

so it was a surprise to see your shocked pale face from across the field, a hand raised to attempt to cover your mouth agape, eyes widened at the horror splattered in front of you.

you’d known for forever what your boyfriend was involved in. but perhaps, it had never really sunk in, not until now at least. 

something in your heart seemed to twitch, fall and shatter completely at the scene before your eyes.

you’d noticed ren’s gaze. if before it looked empty, only there to see blood and destruction, now it was full of fear and anxiety.

ren’s feelings quickly took a turn around. it was unexpected. your presence there was unexpected. you didn’t have to see him that way. he’d made sure to only let you see the good sides of him, only telling you the bare minimum when it came to his occupation.

you, on the other hand, felt betrayed. surely, you could have imagined beforehand what fighting people actually means. but there’s a great barrier that separates imagination from reality, and at that moment, that barrier wasn’t just overcome, but unrecognisably broken through, destroyed.

you noticed ren, your boyfriend, what you thought to be your soulmate, walk slowly closer to you. you wanted to run, you would have if not for your paralyzed legs.

“[name], i-” he tried to say, but you didn’t give him the time.

“stop! not a single step,” you warned him, feeling only then the warm tears slowly burn at the brims of your eyes and slide down your cheeks, turning you into a sobbing mess.

“wait, baby i- i can explain, i-” he said, taking wide steps until he was right in front of you, as you stretched an arm to keep him in place.

“i said not a step closer, or you and i will be done,” you warned a second time, this time with a decisive and hardened tone. 

“just what… what is… this? what is happening? tell me, what-” you were interrupted by an uncontrollable sob that shook you from within, as you struggled to even find the right words to describe it.

ren was just there, looking at you in defeat, resignation veiling his orbs as his heart ripped apart at the sight of your crying self. he wished to wrap his arms around your body, calm your cries, end your suffering, kiss you until the pain was gone. but he didn’t want to risk it. you’d never threatened to end things with him, so he knew it was no joke.

he looked at his hands, knuckles busted and palms sticky with blood. yes, those hands couldn’t possibly wish to hold your pristine body, couldn’t caress your candid cheeks. no, they couldn’t possibly touch you. 

he let them fall to his sides, body frozen in place as he awaited for your sobs to diminish and the tears to stop.

“[name], i know i might seem like a monster, i do, but- agh fuck,” he couldn’t explain himself, he couldn’t give you the answer you wanted. 

you were hoping he’d tell you that it was for a just cause, you were hoping he’d tell you that those guys did something that couldn’t be forgiven. he would have told you, but he knew that he did go overboard. he transgressed some rules that had to be respected, he lowered himself until, of his soul remained nothing but the spirit of a beast. 

it was at this time that ren felt despair. he could almost foretell the words you’d tell him at any given moment.

“i- i don’t know if i can accept this, i- i think it’s better if we each keep our distance,” you muttered, your body crouching to the ground as the rain made its appearance like a true paid actor.

your legs felt weak, perhaps sympathizing with the bodies that lay on the ground, none of them giving any signal of waking up anytime soon.

kaji stretched an arm towards you, as if to erase what your mouth had just spoken, “[name], wait, we can talk this through, i can-”

“i said what i had to say, ren,” you whispered, a sad smile curving your lips, his name rolling off your tongue like a plea of some sort. “please,” you said again, now fully looking at him.

ren closed his eyes, his mouth incapable of uttering a single sound, tears now rolling down his face.

“i… i understand,” he let out in the end, hands closed in fists at the sides of his form as the rain poured the sky’s anger on you two. 

you didn’t know what you were expecting, but perhaps you’d hoped he’d insist a little more, instead of having it your way, like he always did.

you got up and quickly turned around, refusing to look at him any longer and risking to regret your decision, before storming off, struggling to breathe and heavily panting at each running step. 

you’d left a piece of your heart behind. you didn’t know if you’d be able to live with it.

on the other side, ren looked at his bloodied hands again, now getting washed by the rain water, cursing his inability to control himself, cursing the fact that you had to see his sorry state. 

ren slowly raised his head to face the direction where you were headed, not being able to spot you anymore.

if on his heart there was just a crack at the beginning of the argument, now it was completely shattered, unable to put back together each of the million pieces it got divided into.

ren kaji was heartbroken and he had only himself to blame.

© cinnabooonn — 2024 / this work strictly belongs to its owner, you are prohibited from plagiarising, copying, translating on any other platform.

[francesminos-tt]

Late Summer Snow

What is this then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?

Notes: A little rearrange of the scenes plus manipulation of the order of things happened, ending up in more or less a character study of the couple. Hope you enjoy!

Jacaerys had not know cold until he visited Winterfell. He was a southerner, born in the temperate climate of King’s Landing and raised in the howling winds of Dragonstone. He was a Targaryen. He was made for the scorching heat of dragons, not the bone-chilling cold of the North, barren, deserted and full of death.

“What lies beyond this?” Jacaerys asked, his eyes fixed on the snow covered land beyond the wall.

“I can’t tell for sure, my prince. The tales passing down by my ancestors is too hard to believe, even for me.” Lord Cregan Stark replied in his heavy northern accent, “What I can tell you is that this wall is the only thing separating life and death.”

“My house rides dragons, Lord Stark.” Jacaerys said with a chuckle, “I don’t think any magical tales can surprise me.”

Cregan fell silent, his dark eyes observing Jacaerys carefully and curiously. Since he arrived in the snowy world of the North, Jacaerys had learned that the Lord of Winterfell was not a man for words. Cregan Stark was usually silent, opting to observe rather than speak, like a direwolf waiting patiently for its prey to show weakness first. Cregan was by no means rude, though. Instead, he was polite and respectful, even chivalrous. He received Jacaerys and gave the prince all the honor and respect a prince deserved. When Jacaerys told him about the coming war, Cregan stayed silent for a long moment before restating the oath his father had taken to Jace’s mother and inviting the prince to stay for a few days. Jacaerys had a feeling that Cregan was testing him somehow, to see if Jacaerys was worth the loyalty of the North. Jacaerys needed to be in his best princely behavior, demonstrating that the oath between their houses was worth carrying on.

“Queen Alyssane visited this very place a long time ago.” Cregan spoke, finally breaking eye contact as he looked out to the snow, “She wanted to see what was there herself, but her dragon refused to fly over the wall.”

Jacaerys suddenly became agitated. He could say the same thing about Vermax. He could tell his dragon did not like the cold weather at all, but Jacaerys couldn’t let this weakness show. Was Cregan implying that the Targaryens were too coward to face whatever roamed in the wilderness beyond the wall?

“Dragons are creatures of fire, my lord. I presume the coldness doesn’t treat them well.” Jacaerys said, carefully choosing his words, “I am glad Queen Alyssane was able to grant more lands to your house even though she did not have the chance to fly over them.”

“Queen Alyssane was very generous, yes.” Cregan nodded, his voice almost carried away by the unforgiving wind, “I wonder if all Targaryen Queens can be like her.”

There. Finally. Jacaerys thought. He had been waiting for Cregan to bring up the deal for days. He was not naive enough to believe the North would send troops to fight for his mother without asking something for return. Jacaerys would do the same thing if he were in Cregan’s shoes. A lord needed to act to the best interest of his house first before carrying out his loyalty to the throne. It was the way of survival, and Jacaerys could understand that.

“The Queen values the oath between our houses, Lord Stark. I, as her delegate, will ensure this honorable bond continues.” Jacaerys said as sincerely as he could manage, “The war is inevitable, my lord. The Queen needs the North’s support to fight against her usurpers.”

“My eyes need to focus on the South as well as the North.” Cregan replied, “Do you think my ancestors built this wall only to fend off wild animals and savages?”

“There will be nothing left to protect if the war is lost.” Jacaerys argued, his breaths turning into a small fog around his face.

“No, the lands will always be there. The throne and its master, however, are subject to change.” Cregan turned his eyes back to Jacaerys, “My house has watched over this wall for thousands of years, long before the conqueror and your dragons.”

Jacaerys was lost for words. He knew this argument was lost as soon as he let his emotion took over. Cregan was right. House Targaryen was nothing but a dynasty ruling over the seven kingdoms now. There had been kings and queens before them, and most likely, there would also be kings and queens after. The usurpation might mean a lot to Jace, but to a lord like Cregan, it could only mean little skirmishes in the South. Jacaerys should have known better than pushing the lord so hard.

“My lord,” Jacaerys tried, but his speech was interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Winter is coming, my prince. I need to stay here to ensure my people get through it.” Cregan said, his voice and expression softening, “But I understand the dire situation you are facing too.”

Jacaerys swallowed; the strong wind almost sweeping him off the ground, but the warm weight of Cregan’s hand served as an anchor to hold him there.

“Walk with me, my prince.” Cregan offered, “There is much for you to see.”

Jacaerys had no choice but to follow. They walked down the creaking path made of wood high up the wall, the heavy snow making it hard to see around. Jacaerys stumbled several times over a misplaced log or a pile of wet snow. He would have fallen unceremoniously to the ground if not for Cregan’s firm grip on his shoulder. Cregan led him to a lone watching point farthest down the path that looked out to the wilderness.

“What is it that you want to show me, Lord Stark?” Jacaerys asked, trying to figure out what the lord was thinking through the raging snow flakes.

“Look down, my prince.” Cregan gently urged Jacaerys to look down at the foot of the wall, where a group of men were walking past the gate to the wilderness beyond.

“Who are they? Are they not walking to their deaths?” Jacaerys asked, surprised, and confused.

“They are men who have seen too many winters. Greybeards, as we call them.” Cregan explained, “They will not see another winter beyond this one by any means, so they decide to leave the chance to others.”

“They are walking to their deaths so others can live?” Jacaerys was shocked to draw this conclusion, but it was clearly what Cregan implied.

“Tis the way of the North, my prince.” Cregan said in cruel indifference, “Resources are limited here. We need to utilize them carefully, which means making sure the young and strong survives. I have 2000 of the those greybeards, all battle hardened men. I can send them south, since they are all considered dead anyway.”

In his teachings to be the heir, Jacaerys had always been taught to be merciful, kind, and generous. Never to be another Maegor. What Cregan had just said was against all Jacaerys had learned so far. However, Cregan didn’t seem to be a tyrant, did he? Jacaerys couldn’t find any evidence that he was. Cregan’s men respected and feared him, in a way that Jacaerys could only dream of. Cregan was the kind of leader that Jacaerys had spent his whole life trying to become.

“So they are old?” Jacaerys joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Cregan’s gaze was too intense to handle.

“They can fight. It’s better to die on the battlefields than in the wild woods.” Cregan took a small step towards Jacaerys, their shoulders almost touching, “They fight hard. Like Northerners.”

It took all Jacaerys’s self control not to back down. How could a northern lord like Cregan emit such heat? Jacaerys was almost burned by Cregan’s body heat over layers of clothes even though they weren’t actually touching.

“Then the Queen will have them.” Jacaerys cleared his throat before speaking again, “I appreciate your contribution, Lord Stark. I am sure the Queen will be pleased as well.”

The snow had grown so heavy that Jacaerys’s view was now completely blocked. He could no longer see the people at the foot of the wall, or the crows standing guard along the way they came. No dragon could fly in such bad weather. Without his dragon, Jacaerys had nothing to show his royal blood. He didn’t have silver hair and violet eyes. He only had Vermax.

“Let’s go back.” Cregan’s voice came through the whiteness, “You are shivering, my prince.”

“The snow is too heavy.” Jacaerys said, more like a lame excuse for his show of weakness, “I have never experienced something like this.”

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince.” Cregan put his hand on Jacaerys’s shoulder again to lead the prince back, “The North has seen worse.”

“I have no idea how you survived.” Jacaerys murmured.

“I suggest closing your eyes, my prince, or you could risk losing your eyesight. The snow is blinding.”

Jacaerys closed his eyes obediently. He shouldn’t have, to be honest. He was in foreign territory, led by a stranger who he had met only a few days ago. He would be completely defenseless if Cregan wanted to do him harm. Cregan could push him off the wall if the lord wanted. Jacaerys shouldn’t be so trusting. He really shouldn’t, but why was his instinct saying otherwise?

Cregan led them back to the lift. Jacaerys kept his eyes closed the entire way, but strangely, he didn’t stumble on anything like he had done before. Cregan must have avoided all the misplaced logs and slippery surfaces, so that Jacaerys could walk back safely.

“There is a hot spring near Winterfell that Queen Alyssane once used. Perhaps you should too.” Cregan suggested as they walked in the lift, “It helps to relieve the cold.”

“You are too kind, my lord.” Jacaerys rubbed his face to get rid of the melting snow, “But I can’t stay long. I need to get the message back as soon as possible.”

“It is wise to wait out the storm than deliberately walking into one.” Cregan reached his hand up to wipe off the snow flakes in Jacaerys’s hair, “You and your dragon both need a good rest, Prince Jacaerys.”

The lord’s gesture was too intimate, but Jacaerys found himself unable to protest. On the contrary, he enjoyed Cregan’s proximity, like a shivering man looking for warmth. Jacaerys could only hope he was not blushing right now.

“You are very convincing, Lord Stark.” Jacaerys said as the lift slowly went down.

Cregan laughed good heartedly. He looked more like a man his age than ever before.

“Will my prince give the honor, then?”

“I will, since the Lord of the North insisted.”

“Very well.” Cregan’s laugh slowly turned into a gentle smile as they reached the foot of the wall. He held the lift door for Jacaerys, like a chivalrous knight treating a noble lady.

Cregan Stark was a complicated and curious character indeed, Jacaerys thought.

Jacaerys sighed contentedly as the steaming hot water immersed him. The hot spring was tucked behind a few lush bushes, facing the unforgiving forest northeast of Winterfell. It surprised Jacaerys that the Northern lands were not as barren as he had imagined. There were vegetations covering the snowy terrain, with roots deep into the ground, fearless and enduring. Like the Northerners.

Cregan had showed him warm hospitality so far. Jacaerys was invited to dine in the hall of Winterfell and offered the best and warmest room in the castle. Cregan accompanied him wherever he went, as if protecting him from possible harm. Or perhaps the lord merely wanted to keep an eye on this southern prince with a dragon. They dined together, hunted together, and visited the wall together. Jacaerys had learned more about the North in the past few days than he had ever done in his life. Jacaerys never knew he could be so free without the burden of the throne on his shoulder. He didn’t need to be perfect all the time. Most importantly, no one threw bastard allegations at him up in the north.

“Is this place to your liking, my prince?”

A deep and resonating voice jolted Jacaerys out of his thoughts. His fight or run instinct kicked in immediately as he reached for the pile of clothes he had left on the side for weapons. Shit. How could he let his guard down like that? He was completely naked, and with no weapon, an easy target for assassins.

“No need to panic, my prince. I mean no harm.”

“Lord Stark?” Jacaerys’s eyes widened in surprise as the familiar figure of Cregan Stark emerged from the steam. Cregan was as naked as Jacaerys, the usual black leather jacket and fur cloak gone, revealing his well-built body underneath. Cregan’s shoulders were the broadest Jacaerys had ever seen even without all the layers of fur and leather. There were numerous old scars on Cregan’s body, telling the story of all the hardness the lord had endured. This was a body forged in the cruelest environment one could imagine. Jacaerys suddenly felt self-conscious about his own smooth skin and slender build, humbled by Cregan’s proud show of valor and glory.

“Forgive me for my intrusion, my prince.” Cregan said as he walked into the steaming water, but he didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“I didn’t know your hospitality extends to this.” Jacaerys said, moving ever so slightly away from the lord.

“You are an honored guest here, my prince. As the lord of the castle, it is my duty to make sure all your needs are met.” Cregan replied in the calm tone Jacaerys had gotten so familiar with, as if there was nothing abnormal about having a conversation naked in a hot spring, “Alaric Stark did the same thing to Queen Alyssane when her grace visited Winterfell. I am merely following my ancestor’s footsteps.”

“I am sure Lord Alaric didn’t join Queen Alyssane in the hot spring.” Jacaerys rolled his eyes.

Cregan chuckled and let the topic go. He sat down and immersed himself in the steaming water, his stern face softening into a subtle smile. He looked relaxed, too relaxed, as if being naked did not bother him at all.

Jacaerys, however, did not share the lord’s relaxation. He was stiff and self-conscious, like a prey in the face of the predator.

“What is it, my prince? You seem restless.” Cregan asked, brushing his dark hair all back.

“I am not used to being stared at while taking a bath.”

“Are you? I thought you would have dozens of servants helping you bathe.” Cregan’s lips curled up into a teasing smile, “Would it please my prince if I close my eyes?”

If Jacaerys said yes, it only proved Cregan’s implication that he was a spoiled prince. He couldn’t let the northern lord look down upon him, not when he represented his mother’s authority.

“There is no need, my lord.” Jacaerys replied, lowering himself into the hot water as well, “I guess I must respect the Northern customs since I am in the North.”

“There is no customs requiring we share a bath.” Cregan told the prince as he moved closer, their body now only an arm’s length apart, “I only joined you because I wanted to.”

“But you said you are making sure I am okay-“ Jacaerys’s words were cut short by Cregan’s tall figure looming over him, the lord’s shadow was more than enough to hide Jacaerys completely.

Jacaerys swallowed. He could tell something was coming. Cregan didn’t seem to be his normal polite and distant self. His icy cold eyes had come to life now, burning with something so fierce that Jacaerys feared to name. Jacaerys’s instinct told him to run, but his body was paralyzed by Cregan’s intense gaze.

“You won’t get away with killing me here.” Jacaerys said, though he wasn’t as confident as he appeared.

“It is not your life that I want.” Cregan slowly brought his large and calloused palm up to touch Jacaerys’s burning cheek.

“Then what do you want from me?” Jacaerys dared to ask.

Cregan answered his question by running a wet thumb over Jacaerys’s lips. The gesture was intimate and tender, almost loving, a sharp contrast to the stern and serious lord Jacaerys had come to know. Cregan slowly lowered his head, bringing their face closer and closer while maintaining eye contact with Jacaerys, until their lips met in hot steams of the spring.

Jacaerys had kissed someone before. He had sneaked a kiss or two with his betrothed, Baela, in the empty halls of Dragonstone. Jacaerys liked and respected Baela, to the extent that he was prepared to spend the rest of his days with her. Kisses with Baela were loving and tender, never overwhelming like the kiss he was experiencing now. Cregan pressed on Jacaerys’s lips gently but firmly, his unique musky scent invading Jacaerys’s senses. The lord ran his tongue over Jacaerys’s lips again and again, sending a tingling sensation down Jacaerys’s spine. Cregan was scorchingly warm, his lips, his touch, his body, warmer than the steaming water around them. Jacaerys was almost burned by Cregan’s kiss and the lord’s large hand sliding down his side.

“I didn’t expect this when I agreed to use the hot spring.” Jacaerys managed to blurt out when Cregan broke the kiss for them to breathe.

“I did.” Cregan admitted without shame, “I have been expecting this ever since you landed your dragon outside my castle.”

“I never knew Lord of the North likes men.” Jacaerys commented.

“We don’t put names on our feelings here in the North.” Cregan replied, “We follow our heart’s desire.”

“So you desire me?” The kiss and the stifling steam must have messed up Jacaerys’s mind for him to ask so boldly.

“Yes.” Cregan brushed some wet curls from Jacaerys’s face, “You enchanted me, my prince. I’ve never felt so drawn to someone before.”

“You had a wife.” Jacaerys had no idea why he brought this up. He must sound like a jealous lover, but it was too late to retrieve his words now.

“And you have a betrothed.” Cregan raised an eyebrow, “Do not worry, my prince. My duty to my house always comes before my personal interest. That’s why I cannot fight along your side no matter how much I want to do so.”

“So you are saying you don’t plan to fight for my hand?” Somehow, Jacaerys found his nervousness starting to fade away, to the extent that he was able to tell jokes now.

Cregan laughed; Jacaerys could feel the vibration from the lord’s chest with their proximity.

“Better to enjoy what we have now, rather than worrying about what might happen in the future.” Cregan said, his palm cradling Jacaerys’s cheek.

“You sound very wise, my lord.”

Cregan’s lips curled up again as he gently pushed Jacaerys back, until the prince’s back hit the edge of the pool. The rock had been washed over by hot water constantly, making its surface smooth like marble, so it wouldn’t cut Jacaerys’s back. Cregan kissed him again and thrusted his hips forward, crushing their groins together under the water.

Jacaerys felt something hot and hard against his own throbbing cock. He didn’t even realize he was so aroused until now. Perhaps he had been as soon as he saw Cregan’s naked body. Jacaerys was not unfamiliar with men having a go at men. In fact, as far as he knew, his father, Ser Laenor, was among those who preferred the company of men. It seemed an apple never fell far from the tree.

Jacaerys closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Cregan’s neck, bring their body even more closer. Now their chests were pressed tightly against each other, their racing heartbeat forming a symphony of desire and lust.

Cregan pushed his knee between Jacaerys’s legs to part them, his hand sneaking down to grab their throbbing cocks together. Jacaerys let out a muffled moan and rolled his hips, grinding down on Cregan’s hand.

“Harder.” Jacaerys demanded between kisses, his breath hot on Cregan’s skin.

Cregan’s eyes darkened, clouded by waves of lust. He broke the kiss and put both his strong arms under Jacaerys’s knee to lift the prince out of water. Jacaerys wrapped his legs around Cregan’s torso instinctively, hanging desperately to the only thing that kept him from falling.

Cregan kissed Jacaerys’s collar bones before making his way down the prince’s chest, nibbling on the pink buds that had become been standing. He began to pump Jacaerys’s cock with his large and calloused hand, hard, like the prince demanded.

Jacaerys felt a rush of warmth down his lower belly, threatening to set him on fire. Cregan’s hand was raw, rough, merciless, and Jacaerys loved it. He didn’t think he could hold out for long like this.

Cregan sucked hard on Jacaerys’s nipple, taking the small bud between his teeth and teasing it with his talented tongue. He played with Jacaerys’s nipples like an enthusiastic boy playing his favorite toy. He kept pumping Jacaerys’s cock in rhythm with his tongue, pleasuring the prince as best as he could.

“Cregan,” Jacaerys breathed out, his nails digging deep into the lord’s shoulder, “keep going. It feels so good.”

“As you command, my prince.” Cregan licked off beads of sweat from Jacaerys’s chest, his hand pumping harder and faster. He could feel Jacaerys was nearing his climax, the cock in his hand so hard and scorching, like dragon fire. With a long sigh and a desperate rock of his hips, Jacaerys came, spilling his seeds all over Cregan’s chest and stomach. Jacaerys’s seeds felt even hotter than the steaming water of the spring.

Jacaerys panted heavily for a long while before regaining his bearing. Cregan was kind enough to wait for him to calm down, but the lord’s patience could only stretch so far. He flipped Jacaerys over as soon as the prince stopped shaking, his cock pressing on Jacaerys’s tailbone, just above the prince’s butt.

“You look even more beautiful than I imagined.” Cregan covered Jacaerys’s body with his own, wrapping his arms around the prince’s tiny waist as he began to thrust. They didn’t have the luxury of oil lubrications, and Cregan didn’t want to stress the prince with anal intercourse, so he opted for the next best thing. He forced Jacaerys’s legs tightly together and thrusted his cock between them, brushing his length against the smooth skin of Jacaerys’s inner thighs. It almost felt as good as the real thing.

Jacaerys gripped the edge of the hot spring so tight that his knuckles turned white. He had just came down from his climax, his body still shaking and overly sensitive to stimulation. The snow had started falling at some point, the delicate flakes melting away immediately as they touched Jacaerys’s skin. Jacaerys shivered even though he was surround by hot water and Cregan’s equally hot body. He was weak to cold. The gentlest snow was able to chill his bones.

“I wish I could accompany you back, my prince. I’d love to see how the South treats me.” Cregan whispered in Jacaerys’s ear, his hands now kneading the prince’s cute butt.

“You will be pleasantly surprised, my lord.” Jacaerys half turned and brought their lips together, “I wish I could show you the warmest hospitality of the South.”

“I will make sure to attend your mother’s coronation.” Cregan said, “Or maybe yours.”

Jacaerys shivered again, but his smile was genuine and bright, his cheeks pink from the hot spring and Cregan’s cock between his legs.

“That’s a promise then.” Jacaerys whispered, his soft voice carried away by the snow.

“Yes, it is.” Cregan nodded, picking up his pace.

Jacaerys moaned loudly and closed his eyes again, his lips curling up contentedly. For the first time, he allowed himself to forget about his duty as the heir for once, laying himself completely bare in front of Cregan, for he knew the lord would not let harm come to him.

Little did Jacaerys know that Cregan could shield him from the late summer snow, but not the bad news carried by the ominous raven.

[antler-queens]

Jackie is the ghost that haunts the narrative and her death is a turning point (the turning point?) for the team, but Laura Lee’s rescue attempt and death was the catalyst for everything

[locuas642]

The thing about Katara is that she was angry.

She was angry that the Fire Nation killed her mother.

She was angry that her father left them.

She was angry that she was the only Waterbender left in the south pole.

She was angry that the only person her age was her brother, who constantly disregarded her interests and her role in the tribe.

She was angry that what little waterbending she knew, had to be self-taught and how she struggled with that.

she was angry that a twelve year old instantly picked up what had taken her a long time to learn.

she was also angry that her tribe wanted to kick that twelve year old into the wilderness over a mistake.

she was angry over the earth-benders the fire nation had captured and put into a metal box.

she was angry.

And she knew she was angry.

Because she knew her own anger, she was the first to empathize with Aang when he got angry.

And it was because of it she could tell Aang forcing himself to lock his emotions up was not the answer.

Because she knew her own anger, she kept herself under control in the dessert, when everyone else was a mess.

Her anger empowered her. where anger was a tool of self-destruction for firebenders, for her it was what helped her push forward.

It was her anger that freed Aang.

It was her anger that helped her stand to Pakku.

Her anger was her strenght.

She was angry. And this was neither a mistake, nor a writing flaw.

[nostalgebraist]

Honestly I'm pretty tired of supporting nostalgebraist-autoresponder. Going to wind down the project some time before the end of this year.

Posting this mainly to get the idea out there, I guess.

This project has taken an immense amount of effort from me over the years, and still does, even when it's just in maintenance mode.

Today some mysterious system update (or something) made the model no longer fit on the GPU I normally use for it, despite all the same code and settings on my end.

This exact kind of thing happened once before this year, and I eventually figured it out, but I haven't figured this one out yet. This problem consumed several hours of what was meant to be a relaxing Sunday. Based on past experience, getting to the bottom of the issue would take many more hours.

My options in the short term are to

A. spend (even) more money per unit time, by renting a more powerful GPU to do the same damn thing I know the less powerful one can do (it was doing it this morning!), or

B. silently reduce the context window length by a large amount (and thus the "smartness" of the output, to some degree) to allow the model to fit on the old GPU.

Things like this happen all the time, behind the scenes.

I don't want to be doing this for another year, much less several years. I don't want to be doing it at all.

----

In 2019 and 2020, it was fun to make a GPT-2 autoresponder bot.

[EDIT: I've seen several people misread the previous line and infer that nostalgebraist-autoresponder is still using GPT-2. She isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Her latest model is a finetuned LLaMA-13B.]

Hardly anyone else was doing anything like it. I wasn't the most qualified person in the world to do it, and I didn't do the best possible job, but who cares? I learned a lot, and the really competent tech bros of 2019 were off doing something else.

And it was fun to watch the bot "pretend to be me" while interacting (mostly) with my actual group of tumblr mutuals.

In 2023, everyone and their grandmother is making some kind of "gen AI" app. They are helped along by a dizzying array of tools, cranked out by hyper-competent tech bros with apparently infinite reserves of free time.

There are so many of these tools and demos. Every week it seems like there are a hundred more; it feels like every day I wake up and am expected to be familiar with a hundred more vaguely nostalgebraist-autoresponder-shaped things.

And every one of them is vastly better-engineered than my own hacky efforts. They build on each other, and reap the accelerating returns.

I've tended to do everything first, ahead of the curve, in my own way. This is what I like doing. Going out into unexplored wilderness, not really knowing what I'm doing, without any maps.

Later, hundreds of others with go to the same place. They'll make maps, and share them. They'll go there again and again, learning to make the expeditions systematically. They'll make an optimized industrial process of it. Meanwhile, I'll be locked in to my own cottage-industry mode of production.

Being the first to do something means you end up eventually being the worst.

----

I had a GPT chatbot in 2019, before GPT-3 existed. I don't think Huggingface Transformers existed, either. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

I had a denoising diffusion image generator in 2021, before DALLE-2 or Stable Diffusion or Huggingface Diffusers. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

Earlier this year, I was (probably) one the first people to finetune LLaMA. I manually strapped LoRA and 8-bit quantization onto the original codebase, figuring out everything the hard way. It was fun.

Just a few months later, and your grandmother is probably running LLaMA on her toaster as we speak. My homegrown methods look hopelessly antiquated. I think everyone's doing 4-bit quantization now?

(Are they? I can't keep track anymore -- the hyper-competent tech bros are too damn fast. A few months from now the thing will be probably be quantized to -1 bits, somehow. It'll be running in your phone's browser. And it'll be using RLHF, except no, it'll be using some successor to RLHF that everyone's hyping up at the time...)

"You have a GPT chatbot?" someone will ask me. "I assume you're using AutoLangGPTLayerPrompt?"

No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to debug obscure CUDA issues on a Sunday so my bot can carry on talking to a thousand strangers, every one of whom is asking it something like "PENIS PENIS PENIS."

Only I am capable of unplugging the blockage and giving the "PENIS PENIS PENIS" askers the responses they crave. ("Which is ... what, exactly?", one might justly wonder.) No one else would fully understand the nature of the bug. It is special to my own bizarre, antiquated, homegrown system.

I must have one of the longest-running GPT chatbots in existence, by now. Possibly the longest-running one?

I like doing new things. I like hacking through uncharted wilderness. The world of GPT chatbots has long since ceased to provide this kind of value to me.

I want to cede this ground to the LLaMA techbros and the prompt engineers. It is not my wilderness anymore.

I miss wilderness. Maybe I will find a new patch of it, in some new place, that no one cares about yet.

----

Even in 2023, there isn't really anything else out there quite like Frank. But there could be.

If you want to develop some sort of Frank-like thing, there has never been a better time than now. Everyone and their grandmother is doing it.

"But -- but how, exactly?"

Don't ask me. I don't know. This isn't my area anymore.

There has never been a better time to make a GPT chatbot -- for everyone except me, that is.

Ask the techbros, the prompt engineers, the grandmas running OpenChatGPT on their ironing boards. They are doing what I did, faster and easier and better, in their sleep. Ask them.

[eeldritchblast]

30 Questions for your Tav

These questions can be used as an Ask Game or just answering them all for fun character development!

(Dark Urge edition here)

What was your Tav’s place of birth and raising like?

What relationship did your Tav have with their family/guardian(s) growing up? Has that changed with age?

Did your Tav receive any formal or informal education? If yes, how well did they learn? If no, why not?

What hobbies does your Tav have? How did they acquire these interests?

Did your Tav have any formal or informal employment? If yes, what was their job? If no, how did they make ends meet? How did they feel about it?

What is your Tav’s favourite childhood memory?

What circumstances led to your Tav becoming their Class/Subclass?

Did your Tav have any romantic and/or sexual relationships prior to their illithid adventure? If yes, who was it with and what was it like? If no, how did they feel about being single?

What was your Tav doing when they were taken by the mind flayers?

What would your Tav consider to be their greatest skill? Is this accurate?

What would your Tav consider to be their greatest flaw? Is this accurate?

What opinion does your Tav have about the Gods?

How does your Tav feel about the wilderness?

How does your Tav feel about the city?

What motivates your Tav to either embrace or resist the tadpole?

How does your Tav feel about killing?

How good of a liar is your Tav? How do they feel about lying?

What is your Tav’s greatest fear?

What is your Tav’s greatest desire?

What is your Tav’s greatest regret?

How does your Tav feel about love?

Has your Tav become particularly close to anyone romantically and/or platonically in their journey? If so, who, and what is the relationship like? If no, why not?

What are 2-3 songs that your Tav would relate to?

What first impression does your Tav give off to strangers?

How does your Tav feel about what others think of them?

Does your Tav have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

How does your Tav feel about giving and receiving orders?

How well does your Tav function under pressure?

What advice would you give to your Tav?

What are your Tav’s intentions/goals after the end of the game?

[igotanidea]

Haircut: Jason Todd x reader

Inspired by the post from @pop-culturereference about what Jason's fans really want from DC (link here)

***

„AH!!”

An involuntary scream left her mouth the second she came home. Jason was not used to his girlfriend being so expressive, but protective instinct kicked in as he jumped off the couch he was reading a book on and immediately rushed to her side.

“Y/N! Love, what happened?” his hands found hers, squeezing them gently, trying to ground her in reality and assure her that whatever scared her so much was no match for him.

“What happened to you?” she sobbed, not even trying to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

“Huh?” Jason frowned “Look, I know I’m not exactly model handsome, but—”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” she wailed as if someone was tearing her heart out or squeezing her lungs.

“What are you--?” he tried again, quite taken aback by the intensity of her emotions. She wasn’t ever crying this much when he came home bloodied and bruised. She never let a single muscle on her face twitch while  patching him up. But when he was okay, just chilling and for once – not getting into trouble she got into a waterfall mode. “Y/n? Look at me. Look at me!” he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes on him.

“I AM!”

“Then you can see I’m all good. It’s all good! Come on baby, whatever fear took over your brain, you have to wake up from this!”

“Your hair!” she broke into crying fit again

“My hair?” he instinctively ran his fingers through his strands. “What about them?”

“WHERE IS IT?”

Oh.

Oh, so finally they were getting to the bottom of the problem.

He cut his hair shorter than she was used to and clearly she didn’t like it.

“Look, I just thought-“

“Was it Roy? I’m sure it was Roy. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him! How is it that I leave you guys for a few hours and you always end up causing trouble.”

“It was not—”

“Then who was it? Dick?”

“Ugh! As if I would ever let him anywhere near my head!”

“Then who helped you did this atrocity?” she pressed, taking a look at his inch-long strands.

“I did it myself.” He responded, almost sounding proud.

“You-you-yourself…?” Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she stuttered. Her bag was dropped to the ground with a concerning sound of rattling, but neither of them care about the possibility of something being crashed. They had more urgent matters at the moment. The sense of betrayal slowly started creeping inside her heart.

“It’s just hair—”

“Just hair?! Are you insane?” she snapped at him “You should have asked me what I think first!”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me, Jason! You’re my boyfriend! It is not just about what you like! You can’t just act on whims without finding out my approach to the matter!”

“It’s just hair—” once more, the poor attempt at reaching her reason failed.

“How am I supposed to run my fingers through it now? And how am I supposed to live without your mop tickling me when we cuddle?”

“Y/n…” he smiled softly, cupping her cheek, meeting her eyes

“I liked them longer… I’m sorry if that hits your insecurities, but—”

“It does make me a little unsure, not gonna lie.” He chuckled. “But only a little. Cause what I’m hearing now, is that you liked my wilder look. For example when I was taking the hood off and have my hair all ruffled? Or when I was –”

“I see what you are trying to do here, Mr. Todd and I’m not falling for it.” Y/N read right through his intentions to invoke an innuendo and tried to step back.

“Come on, baby.” Jason quickly grabbed her waist, circling arms around her like two snakes, preventing her from backing out. “Admit it. You liked the bad boy image I had. It turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Well it doesn’t anymore—“

“Guess that only means, I’ll have to try twice as hard… Cause too bad for you, sunshine, my hair is gonna stay like that for a while. So you have to like it. “

“Oh really-?”

“Most definitely. In fact, I think I’m gonna ditch the longer hair for good. This kind of haircut is so much more practical, you know. No strands sticking to my forehead when we get sweaty. None of them in my eyes when I fight only in the domino mask, no tangles and all that stuff-“

“You’re terrible!”

“Yeah, yeah I am, and what are you going to do about it baby?” he smirked and leaned forward, giving her a teasing look “you love me either way, we both know it.”

“Well maybe I should cut my hair too.” Her eyes glistened with mischief “you know- to match your new style.”

“What?” Jason turned a little pale. His princess was going to get rid of her perfect locks?! Over his dead body! (Even if that meant dying again.) “You are not!”

“Too bad for you I already made that decision. In fact I’m gonna go to the hairdresser first thing tomorrow—”

“I won’t let you out of here! You can’t just make such important decisions without talking to me first!”

“But I just told you.” She fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

“And the answer is no!”

“It was not a question.”

“You are not cutting your hair. It is not only yours! It’s mine too! We’re a couple, practically like one being!”

“Well maybe if we attach some of mine to your head we can both have what we want?”

“I got a better idea. I’ll keep you trapped here for as long as mine grow back, how about that?”

“And what shall we do for so many months Mr Todd?” she hummed with a glint in her eyes.”

“Duh! I’ll make sure to convince you that the length of my hair is not the one that should be of your concern, baby…” Jason smirked letting his hoarse tone reveal what was on his mind.

Was he acting like a hypocrite? Yes.

Did she care? No.

Cause one thing that was absolutely sure about Jason Todd that there was only one like him in the world. Capable of twisting the words in a way that always turned the situation a little less serious. And whatever hairstyle he was sporting, she was not going to change him for anyone else.

[sprout-fics]

Silver Fox

(Nikolai x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Wordcount: 5k Tags: Character study, Age gap, Light Dom/Sub, Fluff, Slowburn, Smut, Dominant Nikolai, Soft Nikolai, Aftercare, Orgasm delay/denial, Light BDSM dynamics, Cuddling, Corruption kink, Brat Taming, Overstimulation, Dirty talk in Russian, Power dynamics, A dose of manipulation but everything is consensual Warnings: Brief mention of capture and torture A/N: This is my first and most likely not my last attempt to write for Nikolai. I really like this dynamic and welcome requests for more

When Nik first meets you, you try to rob him.

You’d been younger then. Wilder, scared of a world you struggled to survive in. With hardly a roof over your head, always an empty belly, chased by ghosts of a past you struggled to leave behind. You were desperate, constantly looking for a way out, clawing and scrambling at the stone alleyways in hopes you could one day see the sky.

He finds you like that- as a dirty, fierce little stray. In a grimy jacket, eyes wild, dirt smeared across your face, you hold up a knife to him and demand his wallet. Stupid, you know, but shivering, scared of the world that was destined to eat you alive, choosing a target far bigger than yourself.

Cute, he’d admitted later.

It takes little effort from him to twist the knife from your hand, examining it as you froze in a shock that only seems to multiply when he asks you if you want a warm meal. The offer is too tempting to ignore to your growling stomach, but in reality it’s the barest hint of softness behind his eyes that has you follow him like a kicked stray out of the cold.

Little did you know, behind that softness lay his own hunger. A deep, prowling thing that circled you beyond your sight.

He takes you to a quiet little eatery, out of the way, only three tables in what amounted to a shed. One of his favorites, he tells you with a smirk. The cook gives you both a look, suspicious of the man who had escorted in a woman much younger than him, dirty and nervous as you are. Nik lets you order, smirking still as you nervously pick something small, cheap, and he instead orders something large and warm for you. He watches you scarf down the entirety of your meal, gazing at him suspiciously all the while. He’s quiet- appraising you later realized.

You know of men like him. Gangsters, thugs, men who work alongside the mafia or even worse. Men from the underbelly of Russian society who walk in plainclothes and hold dark secrets. You know the danger of accepting favors from men like him. Be it your body, your servitude, or a debt paid in blood, men like those you feared would come to collect in due course, would bleed you dry and leave you ruined given the chance. The only charity they offered served their own interests, the cause they flew their flag for.

It became clear as time grew that Nikolai was not much different, that he had taken one look at you and had seen the thing you never saw in yourself:

Potential.

In the end he tells you if you ever need work to come find him, and find him you do.

You’d been foolish, you think back, if only because you’d been so young, naive without the lessons he would soon teach you.

It’s simple things at first. Taking packages and dropping them off at seemingly random locations, picking up things from shady characters who’d let their eyes rake down your form. In exchange Nikolai offers you a warm place to sleep, a roof over your head, hot meals and shelter from the ghosts that chase you. Distant, professional, but there all the same. Steadfast, waiting for your skittishness to shed itself before he comes closer. Waiting. Expectant.

Curious, you’d watch as he tinkers on his helicopter, cleans his cache of weapons, fixes the aging appliances in his house outside Saratov where the remains of the Soviet legacy lay etched between the old manors of the дворянство.

You observe, quiet at a distance, and ask him about the life he led, to which he was vague.

“I fix things.” He tells you simply, snapping a cartridge back into place with practiced efficiency.

You wondered then, if he was trying to fix you too.

He welcomes your interests in his work, skittish though you are, ready to dart back to a safe distance at a moment’s notice. You peer over his shoulder as he works at his tool bench in the hangar, assist him as he tightens screws on his helicopter, pass him ingredients as he cooks dinner for you both on his stove. Rather than answer any questions you pose, Nik elects to show you himself, putting his hands over yours and allowing them to guide you with ease in his tasks.

His protege, he introduces you as to those that ask. The younger woman he had taken under his tutelage. You’d almost resented it at the time, still suspicious, ready to flee at the first instance of betrayal. Yet inside you knew it was too late. In the same way that wolves became dogs, you found yourself near the fire of him, resting your weary bones as he offered you a place to stay.

Even if he held a leash behind his back.

Nik is careful, stern as a teacher but tender as a friend. In moments of learning his voice is whip-sharp to correct any mistakes, but in the quiet evenings he is almost soft, blunted at the edges in a way that betrays his indulgence in you. Each time he gets close, you try to ignore the way his touch lingers, holding back, greedy but restrained as your heart flutters inside your chest. Purposeful, careful not to spook you lest it ruin the things he’s predestined for you.

You try not to miss him when he leaves you behind for work, reminding yourself this is only temporary, to not let your guard down lest he burn you. He will someday stop having a use for you, and you will once again walk into the wild seeking shelter under a different name.

When he returns, you try to ignore the relief that bubbles inside your chest, the desperate hunger of a lonely thing looking for warmth.

You don’t see the glittering silver collar he envisions in his mind.

The teaching moments are constant. It’s not long before Nikolai begins taking you on assignments rather than leaving you at the house alone. You become familiar with the inside of the chopper, and learn to doze in the co-pilot seat when you are allowed. You help him catalog his ammo and supplies, listen over your headset as he explains piloting to you. In meetings with suppliers and clients he tells you quietly to stay inside the chopper behind him, and you peek out to see the eyes of his ‘friends’ flicking towards you. Curious, even as Nik stood as a stalwart wall between you and them.

In the passenger seat of his truck you learn to carefully balance his chosen rifle on your lap, feeling the stiffness ease from your shoulders as he lays a heavy hand across your nape. On long drives he stops at sunset to admire the view, and you hover close to his side as he smokes long drags of cigars. When he encourages you to try you cough on the smoke, and he thumps you between your back gently, chuckling even when you shoot him a glare. The next morning finds you somewhere new, and the lessons resume.

All the while his careful guidance reminds you to keep your eyes up, to stay alert, focused, to heed his warnings and obey his orders when given.

Nik is an endless wealth of knowledge when it comes to his profession. He’s deliberate in the things he teaches you: how to calculate the distance of a target 100 meters away, what the warning lights on the helicopter console meant, how to handle the kickback of a machine gun, where the major organs of the body were located and how to slice them open in deadly fashion. You take to the lessons easily as predators take to the snap of bone between jaws, and can’t help but preen with every accomplishment, every feat you manage to show him.

“Good girl.” He offers when you finish the task assigned to you, noticing the way you stiffen, a shiver racing down your spine at the praise. Testing the waters, quietly moving goalposts in his mind as he maps your future before you.

When you fell ill during that first winter he nurses you, sits your sluggish form up in bed against his chest and watches as you finish what little food you could stomach. When you insist on drinking with him one evening, pass beyond your tolerance, he smooths a hand over your back as you bend over the toilet bowl and whispers soothing reassurances in your ear. When you cut your palm on the edge of a tool bench in his helicopter hangar he lets you squeeze his hand as he pours alcohol over the gash, reminding you the wound would make you stronger. When you take a swig of the vodka to settle your nerves after your first mission with him he hums happily, murmuring an ounce of praise that settles low in your veins like warm liquor.

You let him, suspicious though you are, so desperate for a place to belong, to be taken care of, to have somewhere in which to shelter the storm. Nikolai is your mentor, yes, but more than that Nik shapes himself into your ally, into someone you can turn to, to a man you look to and seek praise from like turning your face to the sun.

Teaching you to eat from the palm of his hand.

You trail behind him at a distance, eyes softening and heart weary, seeking a soft place in which to rest itself. Nikolai is not a soft man, you remind yourself. Tender as he can be, his true heart remains a shadowed thing like all the men and women he keeps close. Even so you cling fast to that same shadow, hovering at his side as he makes a place for you there.

He’d plucked you from the wilds, had taken you like a starved, injured, feral animal into his care. You’d growled and snapped at him, unsure, suspicious of the twinkle behind his eyes that betrayed intentions you couldn’t quite discern. It was as if he knew the things you were capable of before even you could see them, the way he shaped you slowly under his care.

You stay there when he introduces you to his allies, to Price who looks at your skittish, suspicious nature and to Nik with a disapproving but knowing stare. You hear the meaning to it later as you creep downstairs to listen to them smoke outside.

“I won’t say anything.” Price tells him gruffly. “God knows I have my own vices. Just don’t ruin her, Nik.”

Nikolai takes a long, purposeful pause as he considers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”

Price chuffs, but comments no further.

Slowly, Nik begins to move closer to you, getting you used to his touch. It seems incidental at first. Squeezing too close behind you in the kitchen and offering a chuckling apology as you feel his hips press against your spine; leaning over you to inspect your work, rubbing a hand between your shoulders after a hard day and relishing the tiniest little sigh you offer in return.

In his teachings he is deliberate, gauging your progress under a keen eye, offering life lessons just as he purrs little doses of praise at your progress. He knows you wouldn’t leave now, you’ve become too accustomed to a life under his care. So slowly, Nik begins to test the boundaries of your trust in him, pushing a little farther each time and leaving you dizzy in the wake of him.

In the hot days of summer he works with his shirt off, the broad span of his back glistening with sweat. You tell yourself it is just the warmth of the sun that lays upon your cheeks, but even then you find your eyes straying, catching his own knowing gaze at a distance. Teasing, waiting, expectant.

“Smells good.” He hums over your shoulder as you made breakfast one morning, bacon simmering in the pan. “You’d make a good wife.”

When you feel heat rise to your face, stammering and scandalized, Nik only laughs.

“Шучу.” He grins. “Just kidding.”

It doesn’t seem to be that much of a joke, not with the way Nik is so comfortable around you these days, easing into your personal space just enough to make your heart race, dangerous thoughts of the ‘what if?’ lingering even after he’s pulled away.

On longer jobs he puts a cot in the back of the chopper to sleep on. Normally he likes to sleep in the pilot seat- vigilant and ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Yet sometimes he complains about his aging back and squeezes in behind you, tucking you against the wall and arranging you so you both share what little space there is. You can’t really find it in yourself to complain, taking in the warm, musky scent of his and letting it lull you into dreams.

Slowly, you come to him. You ease into his touch, to the way his hand rubs across your shoulders in greeting, the way he holds your hand as you stiffened during client negotiations. In the evenings he sometimes watches terrible knock-off action movies, rolls his eyes at the impossible stunts as you nod off on his shoulder. Comfortable, you curl into him- seeking the place you belonged, and Nik quietly smiles at the wild creature that has made a home in his heart.

On the odd stretches of time where there are few assignments to follow through from his strange clientele, Nik takes you on his version of a holiday. He brings you to places you’ve never been, restaurants in cities you didn’t know existed.

“Try this.” He tells you in that smirk of his, lifting an oyster from the Caspian Sea to your lips, loaded with butter and spices. You make a face as you swallow, lips closing around his fingers, and don’t notice the way Nik’s eyes flick to the bob of your throat, distracted. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a shiver up your spine, alighting inside you with the need to please him- this man who has taken you in, sheltered you, is teaching you everything he knows.

You don’t realize the danger you’re in when you realize you’ve gotten too comfortable.

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning when you’re taken.

Being the pretty, feral thing at Nik’s side comes with a fair bit of attention. People begin to notice the beautiful vixen at his side. Whispers of your skills echo in the halls of underground bunkers and private airliners. Nik is known to work alone, so to see you with him as his protege, his partner, his co-pilot that he trusts as much as he mentors, means that you’re a target.

You pop out for groceries on his old Soviet era moped, having pestered Nikolai for pirozhkis for dinner- to which he told you only if you fetched the ingredients yourself. You ignore the small gaggle of men smoking near the corner store, common as they were in your neighborhood. It’s only when you come out with your arms full that they spring on you.

Your head cracks against a stone wall. The world goes dark.

When you come to, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. barely lucid, head pounding, they try and ask you questions about him you can’t answer. There’s things Nik keeps secret from you for your own safety, and the things they want to know are among them. The blows come, knock you from your chair, and you’re left alone in the cellar, trying to understand how the nightmare you dreaded before you met him could have come true after all.

The difference is- now they’ve made a mistake. They took you after he’d taught you how to survive.

The men who took you are stupid. They underestimate you, tying the ropes too loose for your frame. You manage to get your hands free first as Nik has taught you, then your feet. In the corner of the cellar a sliver of light peeks through broken slats, and despite your battered limbs and bruised hands, you peel the plank off quietly so it reveals the underbelly of the house. Like digging a den, you crawl your way into the earth, beyond the foundation, and stumble into the night before your captors even decide to check on you.

Escaping the snare, as wild things do.

It’s early in the morning when you manage to stumble to the back gate of the house. You trip over a loose rock in the soil, collapse in a heap of bruised limbs and fatigue just beyond the back step. The door swings open, and you close your eyes before you can see the sight of Nikolai with a rifle in his hands, ready to fend off intruders.

“лисёнок.” He murmurs hoarsely as he gathers you in his arms, cooing his name for you as you whimper into his chest. Injured, broken, limping back to him. Only him. “What did they do to you?”

You don’t tell him, too exhausted to form words, slumping against him and letting the crash of adrenaline pull you blissfully under.

When you wake up, you’re in his bed. Bandaged, tucked in tightly. He’s washing blood off his hands in the sink.

You don’t realize until later it isn’t yours.

You never ask him what he did to those men while you were asleep, maiming them, killing them for the offense of hurting you, only to come home and haul your figure close to him with whispered reassurances that they’d never touch you again.

Things...change after that.

It wasn’t as if Nik wasn’t affectionate before- he was. Nik’s fondness of you was intertwined with his mentorship. Yet there was always a sort of distance involved. Teasing, playful, interested but careful not to push too far lest he spook you away too soon.

Now, as you cling to him in the aftermath of your capture, shiver and feel your bandaged fingers grip at his shirt, Nik is indulgent.

He lets you sniffle into his chest, rubs his hand along the knot of your spine and rumbles low, soothing words in Russian. He hauls you to him, calls you quiet pet names, cuddles you close and reminds you you’re safe.

In your recovery Nik spoils you, allows you to take all the time you need. You sleep until noon, a rare luxury under his tutelage, and find him cooking your favorite meals when you wake. When you call for him, he’s there, helping you ascend the stairs with your mending knee. He sets you on the couch in warm blankets so you watch movies of your choice until you doze off, to which he carries you upstairs and tucks you quietly, sweetly, back into bed.

All this and more, as Nikolai silently declares to himself that he is never letting you go.

When you recover, the gentleness doesn’t seem to stop. Yet with it comes a sternness, a demand to yield to his promise to care for you, to keep you safe. The hole of want inside you yawns open for him, looking to his care, his guidance, seeking ways to please him. You’re softer now, no less deadly, but the softness in the aftermath has you brushing against him, yearning for his embrace, which Nik offers readily.

With his nose buried in your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist, Nik smiles at the silver snare he’s circled around your throat.

and, silently, he begins to pull.

“Behave.” He tells you when you snarl at a supplier who tries to upcharge him, and Nik lays a heavy hand on your nap that somehow feels like a warning. It settles low in your stomach, warm and liquid with a want you don’t understand yet but need all the same.

“That’s my girl.” He hisses as you stitch a gash on his arm after close contact when you were flying out of a hot zone. He takes another swig of his vodka and groans just as a drip of red oozes down your fingers. You shudder at the sound, feeling something pull taut below your belly, trying to echo the praise quietly in your thoughts.

“Pretty thing.” He smiles as he offers you one of his spare shirts on mission. You swore you had packed more, but the scent of him clings to your skin and it distracts you enough to not question it. You warm under his words, curl up beside him when he gestures. Obedient, wanting.

You think he’s gone from the chopper that night, tucked on the cot and sneaking a hand under your panties to rub idly at yourself- thinking of him. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, swaddled by a phantom of his warmth, and imagining what it would feel like to have his fingers inside you, stroking, coaxing wetness to trickle down the breadth of them. What would it be like, you wonder, for him to hold you like that, to whisper those filthy praises in your ear so you clench down on him?

Footsteps, boots on the metal grate, and a low chuckle.

You yank your hand free, but it’s too late.

“Don’t stop on my account, Дорогая.” He murmurs, and you back against the wall with a shuddering little gasp, skin on fire as Nikolai couches over you, ready to eat you whole. “I was only gone for a few minutes- did you miss me that much?”

The utter confidence in his voice, the knowledge that you were thinking of him, has wetness ooze between your thighs as you try to find your voice. It’s no use, because Nik swoops down against your lips, humming in satisfaction as you ease against him with a little whine, slowly reaching for him until you drag him down onto the cot with you. Surrendering at last.

Hours later, his seed dripping between your thighs, you doze on his chest while he smokes. Exhausted, entirely worn out from the number of orgasms he’s wrung from you, lulled to sleep by his calming heartbeat under your ear.

It’s the first night of many. Like a dam collapsed, Nik releases the full tidal wave of his desire onto you, never missing a chance to haul you to him, to bend you over, to sit you on his cock as you groan and leak around the stretch of him inside you. You realize far too late just how much Nik has been holding back, his hunger for you as boundless as your desire to please him, to stay.

He has you there in the chopper on the cot that can barely hold the weight of his thrusts, back in his bedroom where you collapse face first into the pillows. He eats you out slow and luxurious with you balanced on the kitchen counter, has you brace on his tool bench as he drapes himself against your spine and ruts into you from behind.

“Taking me so well, little fox.” He purrs in your ear, nimble fingers working at your clit as you hiccup and mewl for it. “So tight. Made for my cock, hm? Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Fuck.”

Nik is an unstoppable force, with stamina you struggle to match. He keeps you in his bed as long as he is able, staving off his orgasm if only to prolong yours, trying to draw as many as he can from you even when your hand smacks at the headboard, trying to tap out. 

“Just one more.” He growls as he tries to fuck you through the mattress, glued to your back so the heat of his frame, the swell of his cock inside you is the only thing you can feel. You’re teary eyed, gasping, the lewd squeal as he thrusts into you filling the quiet of the bedroom. Your eyes roll back just as he nails that perfect bundle of serves inside you, voice caught on a choked sort of whimper. “Just one more and then we can take a break, darling.”

You sprawl against the sheets, exhausted as he lounges bare by the window, a whisp of smoke curling from his cigarette before returning to you once more, spooning you and slipping back inside the sloppy mess of your well-used cunt.

“Good girl.” He tells you again when you moan breathlessly, hand cupping your jaw and turning you to him so he can kiss the gasp from your parted lips. You clench down on him at the words, and he hisses a sound of pleasure against the corner of your mouth. “All mine. My girl.”

“Yours.” You whisper hoarsely, as if there were any other answer.

In the come-down he gathers you to him, kisses the tears of overwhelm from your eyes and holds you as you shiver in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling worn to the bone in only the best of ways. Cum splatters the inside of your thighs, and Nik idly scoops it onto his fingers and back inside, purring endearments between presses of his lips to your face.

Comforting, gentle when you need it, but demanding, forcing you to surpass beyond what you think yourself capable of if only to see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. When you fail, deliverance is swift as it’s always been, but now it’s different.

“I told you no touching.” He growls, forcing you to look at him as his thumb circles roughly over your clit. He’d caught you masturbating in your room, thinking the house was empty, that he wouldn’t catch you. “You want to touch yourself, you come to me, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you, I always do, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes-” You pant, bucking your hips, desperate, aching without the fullness of him, but Nik pulls away. “Wait. P-please-”

“Need to learn your lesson, little fox.” He soothes, pressing a kiss into your hair even as you whine, trying to buck up and grind against him in a vain search for friction. “Make sure it sticks, Да?”

Yet even as you obey, keep your hands to yourself just as you promised, Nik delights in working you up and pulling away at the last minute. He corners you, slips his hand beneath your waistband and soaks his fingers in your leaking cunt until you moan and mewl for him, then withdraws if only to smirk and suck the taste from them. For days he teases you, edges you until a hiccup threatens in your throat, makes sure you’ve learned your lesson that you are his, and then pulls away to let the reminder sink in. You can’t stand it, go mad with need, find yourself close to humping his knee if only to get some sort of relief.

When he finally does let you come days later, you howl into his flesh, biting down into his skin until he shudders, groans against you and spills inside your clenching cunt.

“My sweet girl.” He murmurs, stroking your face as he cuddles you afterwards. “Я не могу без тебя жить.”

You smile, nuzzle into the warmth of him, knowing he has you, he always will. You can’t forget, not with the things he growls against you as he makes love to you, reminding you that you belong to him. Soft in his room, you lay with him, fold into him as a beacon of safety and trust, know that he will never hurt you, will keep you safe, that this will always be your home.

In front of others you’re his partner, his accomplice, the apprentice he found like a diamond in the rough and had polished into a perfect blade. Deadly, clever, keen-eyed and watchful of all threats. Nik tells Price you don’t play well with others when Price tries to introduce his own protege, and when Gaz offers his hand in greeting you make no motion to return it until Nik grazes a thumb against the side of your throat as if tugging an invisible collar there.

“Careful.” He warns the sergeant. “She bites.”

In private he calls you all his endearments in purring Russian. Ангел, Прелесть, Огонёк. Angel, precious, little fire, the object of his desire. You're his girl, his sweet, fierce little sweetheart, the thing he taught to eat out of the palm of his hand while keeping your wild, dangerous nature.

You're his only family, his beloved little fox he managed to domesticate, the thing that still will bite him given the chance, but likes to curl up in his lap and yawn like a housecat. You're his obsession, his partner, his apprentice. If anything else, you're his weakness.

“Я тебя никому не отдам.” He swears to you, voice a low, deep rumble as he strokes your face, feeling your sleeping breaths fan across his palm.

“I will never give you to someone else.”

You dream of the first day you met him. Feral, scared, hungry and starved and inside- looking so desperately for somewhere safe to call home.

Now, years later, you know. Generous though Nik was, it was this that he had hoped for in the beginning- with you as his partner, his protege, but at the end of the day sleeping in his bed, worn and exhausted from the effects of his desire. Dangerous, feral, useful, but in the end tamed just as he’d envisioned.

And you, younger than him by years and foolish as you were, had gone blindly into the snare.

Nik had never given you any reason to regret it.

Russian Translations (Native Russian speakers feel free to leave a comment of correction)

Дворянство -  Russian nobility

Шучу - I’m joking

Лисёнок. - Little fox

Дорогая - Darling

Твоё тело сводит меня с ума - Your body drives me crazy

Да - Yes

Я не могу без тебя жить - I can’t live without you

[thrumbolt]

Top 5 most annoying Tamlin scene misinterpretations

1. ''There is no such thing as a high lady'' I hate this one, because it is always taken as some sort of proof that Tamlin is a raging misogynist who doesn't want an equal woman by his side or some similar type of nonsense. I don't know where this is coming from. Tamlin never wanted to be a high lord. He would probably welcome for someone to take over most of the work so he could just keep running through the woods. He also has absolutely no issues with taking advice from women in power (Ianthe? Hello??). His first reaction to the high lady question is literally this:

“Is everyone just going to call me ‘Tamlin’s wife’? Do I get a … title?” He lifted his head long enough to look at me. “Do you want a title?”

And let's not forget that Feyre's first reply is ''No, I don’t know if I can handle them calling me High Lady”. To which he then answers that she doesn't have to worry about that, since ''there is no such thing as a high lady'' because the magic choses the title and it keeps chosing males. Also this whole scene happens while he eats her out. Not that it's relevant or anything, just saying...

2. ''Tamlin killed Rhys' family'' No. Tamlin's dad killed Rhys' family. I have no idea how Tamlin doing it is ever the takeaway from that whole story. Let's just quote the actual scene:

“Tamlin’s father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin—from me—where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn’t. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.”

Yeah okay, Tamlin gave the information (supposedly) and was there (supposedly) sure, but it's highly unlikely that he was so willingly. Let's not forget that it's established that Tamlin was afraid of his father, that Tamlin's father is worse than Beron (who, I might remind you, tortures his sons) and that Tamlin was friends with Rhys at the time - which neither family approved of. Even Rhys doesn't actually believe Tamlin did anything besides being spineless:

''I didn’t care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he’d come to kill me because he didn’t want to risk standing against them.''

In the end we don't know the details. Tamlin could've been tortured and tied up or whatever. Making him watch could've been a cruel form of punishment for being friends with Rhys. We don't really know until SJM graces us with Tamlin's side of the story.

3. ''It's really Tamlin's own fault that the spring court fell'' Alternatively also phrased as: 'Feyre just opened everyone's eyes to Tamlin's incompetence' and....honestly? This low key makes me question the reading comprehension of people.

Yes, Tamlin made a deal with Hybern, which was extremely risky, but the war was coming regardless (as we learn from Rhys in the first half of ACOMAF) and the spring court would be the main target because of its location next to the wall. Inviting Hybern into his lands in a trade is actually a pretty smart way to avoid a lot of death on Tamlin's part - plus he needed help to rescue Feyre and get her out of the deal she had with Rhysand (people forget that Tamlin didn't know Feyre didn't actually need rescuing from the guy that was abusing her in front of him in ACOTAR).

So yeah anyway, Feyre did several things to make the spring court fall: 1. She manipulated the solstice ceremony to make herself seem cauldron-blessed in the eyes of the people, 2. She made a sentry accuse Ianthe (who WAS doing sneaky shit) which essentially did nothing except putting Tamlin on the spot in front of Hybern, so he was kind of forced to throw the sentry under the bus. Good job Feyre, you got a poor sod whipped! But it also built resentment within the soldiers, which was her plan all along and 3. before leaving, she did this (let's just quote the whole thing):

''I had a people who had lost faith in their High Priestess. I had sentries who were beginning to rebel against their High Lord. And as a result of those things, I had Hybern royals doubting the strength of their allies here. I’d primed this court to fall. Not from outside forces—but its own internal warring. And I had to be clear of it before it happened. Before the last sliver of my plan fell into place. The party would return without me. And to maintain that illusion of strength, Tamlin and Ianthe would lie about it—where I’d gone. And perhaps a day or two after that, one of these sentries would reveal the news, a carefully sprung trap that I’d coiled into his mind like one of my snares. I’d fled for my life—after being nearly killed by the Hybern prince and princess. I’d planted images in his head of my brutalized body, the markings consistent with what Dagdan and Brannagh had already revealed to be their style. He’d describe them in detail—describe how he helped me get away before it was too late. How I ran for my life when Tamlin and Ianthe refused to intervene, to risk their alliance with Hybern. And when the sentry revealed the truth, no longer able to stomach keeping quiet when he saw how my sorry fate was concealed by Tamlin and Ianthe, just as Tamlin had sided with Ianthe the day he’d flogged that sentry …When he described what Hybern had done to me, their Cursebreaker, their newly anointed Cauldron-blessed, before I’d fled for my life … There would be no further alliance. For there would be no sentry or denizen of this court who would stand with Tamlin or Ianthe after this. After me.''

So, the sentries left Tamlin because of a lie. A fake story. Without sentries, Hybern decided to take over rather than just be guests and had a prime spot to attack the summer court in turn. Which is also why Tarquin is extremely pissed at Feyre - not Tamlin. So no, Tamlin wasn't a bad high lord. His only real mistake was ever trusting Feyre.

Sure, some argue that Feyre thought Tamlin genuinely sided with Hybern and might be a threat to the rest of Prythian, so taking him down would make sense for her even outside of petty revenge. But there's just one problem with that: Feyre is a mind reader. She could have just.....checked. lol

4. ''Tamlin didn't do anything Under the Mountain'' This one really gets my goat because it's not really true? Things Tamlin did to help Feyre: 1. He sent her away to the human realm. (People forget this, but he basically doomed his court to protect her ass - it's not his fault she came back!) 2. He made Lucien check up on her. (Yes Lucien was Feyre's friend but he still acted under Tamlin's orders!) 3. He ignored Feyre as to not rile Amarantha up even more (Come on, have you seen Amarantha? It totally makes sense) 4. He tries to get to Feyre, begging Amarantha to stop even as he is tied up, bleeding out from a stab wound to his chest that he can't heal because he has no powers - like what do you want him to do??? 4. He literally kills Amarantha the second he is able to

Also personal conspiracy detour: That music that Rhysand supposedly sent to Feyre was SO originally supposed to be Tamlin, you can't convince me otherwise. I will never not believe that this wasn't just a lazily done quick change when SJM rewrote book 1 and 2 to account for the boyfriend switcheroo. Attributing the music to Rhys makes absolutely zero sense. He's not a musical boy at all, come on! Music themes never come up with him again either! Meanwhile Tamlin played for Feyre before, is generally a musical guy COME ON! /conspiracy detour over

5. ''It's Tamlin's fault that Nesta and Elaine got turned to fae'' No. No it's not. He knew nothing about this. Ianthe did this on her own accord because Feyre told her where her sister's lived. Tamlin actually attacks (!) the King of Hybern over it (to no avail, but still).

Some people blame Tamlin for keeping Ianthe around afterwards, despite of what she did. Those people I want to refer to point number 3 in this list. Ianthe was working with Hybern. Tamlin tried to be buddies with Hybern for reasons. No, he can't just throw out Ianthe.

[ofallthingsnasty]

Idk if your still doing yandere monsters

But a big strong tall orc who seen the horrors of war and is seen as heartless by his people finds chubby reader lost in the woods after her husband abdoned her and grows obsessed soon they go from being scared in the woods to being scared as a orc bigger and stronger in everyway carries them everywhere and constantly showing them off and making sure his captive is dressed in the finest pelts and spoiled but constantly punished to make sure their a perfect little soft mate

your brain, anon.... i want it... this is so juicy 🤤 i really want to write a little one-shot for this and i will!! one day haha -- until then, have some rambles

tags: yandere, heavy dubcon, exhibitionism, minors dni, kind of kidnapping?, f!reader word count: 0.8k

That thought is so cute... Just this is big, burly and scary orc treating you like his most prized possession (well, you kind of are), both gentle and patronizing. To go from being absolutely distraught and scared, all alone in the wilderness, to being saved and cared for by this huge man who looks like he has taken more than dozen lives yet cooes down at you as though you’re a little lap dog - how dizzying that must be. Your poor little head will spin during these first few days, for sure. He is so patient at first, as well - listens to your tearful words and decides then and there that that poor excuse of a human being didn’t deserve you in the first place, that you are way too precious to be treated with so little respect. He’s getting in on the years, craves a little stability, someone to hold - and you are just so cute and helpless, perfect to keep. (And he deserves this, he thinks. He found you out there and saved your life, it’s what you owe him.) He’s never mean but he can get quite stern with you. If you request to be let go, to go back to your family to lick your wounds, he’ll explain to you that he basically owns you now - and that it’d be terribly ungrateful to run from your savior like that. He doesn’t force you to do things you don’t want to do - he can wait to split you open on his cock, he doesn’t mind. You still need to recover from that terrible injustice your former husband did to you - but he’ll make sure to fuck you on his fingers, to have you ride his strong thighs until you cum, again and again. He enjoys seeing your face contort into absolute bliss, to feel how you let go.  And when you finally let him fuck you, it’s all the sweeter. He’s gentle with you at first, knows how big he is compared to you but he’ll train you to take him fully and without any trouble in no time. He loves to just pound into you, to watch your helpless little face and your tits bounce with every thrust, loves to show you that he owns you now. 

He isn’t afraid to do it in public, either. You better lose all of your inhibitions quickly because he’ll have you on his lap during nights with his friends, bends you over the table during lunch. No one will even bat an eye when you suddenly cum right in front of them or when he empties himself in you. The nights he spends with his friends will become more than just treasured memories when you cockwarm him, yelping and sputtering at every jolt of laughter that runs through him. He isn’t the type to take out his anger on you, ever - but you will get punished when the need arrises. He’ll keep it short and simple. Often a spanking is sufficient for him, especially when he gets to make sure your skin runs hot from the hits and you get all teary-eyed and stuttery. It’s just too precious to him, his little wife weepy and apologetic - and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fuck you afterwards, mouth full of condescending praise and proclamations of love. He needs to keep you in check but it’s all part of the fun for him - so if you’re a little feisty, he’ll enjoy that, too. It just means that he gets to laugh at your sharp words and useless slaps against his chest - and then make you eat your actions with the palm of his hand. You’ll never want for anything - as condescending as he can be, he acknowledges you’re your own person, that you have interests and needs. Whatever it is you like to do, you’ll get all the supplies for it and then some. He loves the way your eyes light up when he presents you with an expensive gift, the way you bite your lip shyly while accepting it. He loves to drape you in jewelry, as well. Seeing you wear nothing but delicately crafted necklaces and rings and bracelets appeals to something deep within him that wants to provide for you, that preens at the thought of him being able to dress you in luxurious items - he’s your husband now and he loves to spoil you.

All in all, he may not be the easiest to be with because he keeps treating you like a pet but it’s simple to figure him out and satisfy. Never sadistic, too - when you’re good, you’re good - but a little on the rougher side. You’ll be provided for for the rest of your life - at the teeny, tiny cost of being fucked raw every single day and cooed at like some lap dog.

[mellowumbra]

~Beautiful edges~

An alpha!Abbywerewolf! x afab!omega!reader

SMUT SMIT SMUT MDNI

will have smut, like prolly gon be nasty need holy water smut. plot! slowish burn. alpha, only female alpha you've ever met. Smut is not under the cut but will be expressed!

⚠️ warnings: porn with plot!! dom!sub dynamic, breeding(r!receiving), vulgar words, VULGARITY, descriptions of genitalia, breeding kink, werewolfheat/rut! overstimulation (r!receiving) power and strength kink

Shummary: meeting an alpha was easy. Trying not to fall in love with one? Harder than it looks.

Here is to ALL YALL freaky sob's that just want to see Abby as a werewolf,,,, I love y'all so much

Also I'm SO SORRY THIS TOOK MY MONTHS FORGIVE ME

~~~~

Relocating to the WLF had taken some time to feel somewhat normal and you owed your life to them. You were accepted as one of them, when you were first alone and near death. Omega's in the wilderness alone was a death sentence, but you managed to make your life here wonderfully enjoyable. As close as normal got, it all flew straight out the window when you met Abby Anderson.

Was it strange to meet a female alpha with unbridled power, skill, and rage? Absolutely. Did she scare the ever loving shit out of you? Absolutely. But that didn't stop you from perking your ears to listen every time her name was mentioned.

Abby was a force of nature, she commanded respect without needing to utter a single word. Six feet of muscle and piercing blue eyes that glowed gold and opulent when her wolf appeared. Everyone in the WLF knew about Abby, and were either terrified, infatuated, or a little bit of both. She worked for Isaac, as she was trained and worked like a dog in combat. She led the most dangerous of patrols under Isaac, the man who allowed the WLF to keep you safe, who sent her out to do his worst work.

Being an unmated alpha made it even more..interesting...

As soon as her name entered your airspace, words passed around about the alpha's skills during her rut. You could not stop the onslaught of other companions dishing tidbits during these conversations. Hell you couldn't go anywhere in the past two weeks and not hear about Abby Anderson, the most "skilled" alpha in the entire WLF. You were even more curious to why a female inherited an alpha title. You wondered why you hadn't heard her name sooner, and you soon figured out why. Abby had been in a relationship, and a serious one at that. But, that was over, from what the other omegas in your rounds gossiped about. You were surprised to hear that Abby had been dating a male, a one of almost equal rank as her. Her most recent "pursuits" were women.

You rolled your eyes at Arya's gossip and finished suturing a deep abdomen wound from your most recent patient. The man smiled at you, thanking you for the dressings and ointment. "Hey y/n," Arya says, your other medical assistant and friend catches your attention.

"Yeah? Whatcha need," you ask, wiping down your med tray and discarding a dirty needle.

Arya then asks you if you need to stay longer or if you need to head out. You reply no, you've got nowhere to be. Arya quickly discards her medical garb and ducks out, the sun already set. You sigh and work on seeing if anyone other WLF member needs to be attended to.

Something overpowering and strange enters your sense just after. It makes you stop, startled by the sudden thick air. A strong scent, almost hypnotizing. Abby Anderson is sitting on the bed across from you, blue eyes fixed on your figure. You start, now taken aback at how she appeared almost soundlessly.

"Jesus Anderson you scared the shit out of me," you swore, walking over to inspect a large shoulder wound running from her shoulder to mid bicep. Her muscles glisten with sweat, a now failing stitch job visible against her skin. Her honey hair in a signature loose braid, freckles dotting her neck and shoulders, clad in a gray tank top that exposes her skin to the blistering sun. "Sorry, is' just a habit," she breathes, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Her smile is dizzying but wanton, skin too white. She's in pain.

"It's alright, what are we looking at huh? A mighty alpha needing some help?" You tease, lifting her arm to assess her shitty patch job. Abby hissing at the pain or the figurative jab, you weren't sure.

You smile quietly, adding in a few words of "Alright gimme a second, I can fix you up."

"Thank you y/n, if I tell Manny that his stitch job was shit he'd take it personally," she chuckles dryly to avoid the grimace of you cleaning her wound with alcohol.

The stench almost clears your nostrils of her overpowering scent, almost. With a steady hand, you begin to swiftly move a needle through her flesh. The skin gave way easy to the needle, signalling she must've avoided coming here for a few hours, at least.

"You avoided coming in here, at least since before dinner," you say brazenly.

Abby puffs a quick breath through her nose, unhappy with the answer you've settled on.

"Maybe I did."

You can feel her eyes on you, this whole time. She follows the movements of your fingers, you can hear her nose purposefully inhale quickly at least once, and your cheeks heat at the sudden interest she's taken in you. Her scent is making your mind do flips, alphaalphaalphaalpha repeating in your head by your unhelpful wolf. Your hands almost shaky by the end, Abby rolls her shoulder with the new bandage applied.

"Keep that one for at least the next 2 days, or until you've noticed its leaked through your bandage. Keep it as dry and clean as possible," you instruct.

Abby just flashes you a blinding smile. "You do a good job, I feel better already. Thanks doll," she flashes a wink at you, smirk in her eyes.

That wink makes your ears turn red, palms suddenly sweaty. You roll your eyes to act nonchalant, placing a narcotic in her hand.

"Take these no less than 12 hours apart with food, and I mean it Anderson, with food," you say, fingers brushing one another's as you close her fingers around the pills. A resounding shock zaps through your fingers as fast as lightning, snapping her head up at you. Her eyes flash red just as fast, replaced by their usual blue.

Your eyes are wide, hand zinging from some unseen energy. Abby thanks you silently with a nod, hands stuffed in her pockets, and rushes off.

-------

Ever since that day in the infirmary, Abby is never out of your sight. During inventory rounds with your other med students, led my Abby's surgeon father, Dr. Anderson. She's always just looming. Your friends start to ask questions when the blonde walks into the infirmary one day, looking as healthy as ever.

You stare curiously as catch her eye, when she throws another wink at you. All your other friends blush and try to look busy.

"You don't look in pain Anderson?" You question, raising an eyebrow.

"No," she chuckles, "but I do want to ask if you had any extra isopropyl alcohol on you? One of my buddies managed to get blood all over a cell, and we need a cleanup," she says, so casually.

You start, but manage to stutter out a response.

"Um y-yeah we have some but it's not here yet, I can bring it to you in an hour or so?" You question, to which she just nods and winks at you.

"Find me in the FOB on the first floor sugar!" She calls out, leaving you a blushing mess.

----

Some time later, alcohol in hand, you make your way to the FOB, when a sharp pain in your abdomen makes you lean against a wall in a back hallway. You shake your head, trying to clear your head as your wolf has taken over, screaming for help. Panic ensues. You know any willing male werewolf will hear you, and you sink into a corner.

Someone rounds the corner, and you can't see who it is as your vision is blurry with tears. You turn your head away to ease the embarrassment. The same overpowering scent you remember from two weeks ago invades your mind, and your wolf goes nuts. It's Abby, and she knows exactly what's happening.

SMUT I REPEAT SMUT

"I'm so sorry please don't come closer pleaseAbby," you beg through near tears, your heat blinding and painful. Quick breaths through your nose accompanied with full body shakes makes Abby growl lowly. She knew you needed to be claimed, the pain unbearable for her future mate to endure. A rumble in her throat makes you tilt your head towards the ceiling, breaths coming in faster. That growl is pure power, pure dominance. The fear in your heart of her power comes through your eyes and Abby realizes your fear, and it hurts. Your intoxicating scent fills her nose like a fog, your fight against a need to be taken care of slowly failing. Your heat and scent flies down to Abby's pelvis, unable to stop the whirlwind of arousal she feels.

"Hey, hey look at me," she commands, power still in her voice. She's knelt to your eye level. Don't be sorry baby. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise y/n, I promise. Please, let me take you somewhere safer," Abby begs. Alphas don't beg, they command. Her beg, plea has you staring in her eyes, desperate to believe her.

You pant, fear still swirling in your eyes. Abby just offers her hands, warm and calloused. After not saying anything, she slowly lifts you into her arms. Eyes lidded, mouth slightly parted, your heat addled brain screams at the feeling of power and protection. You can't help but inhale deeply at her scent, your core aching for more. Abby slips you into her room.

"Y/n, please," Abby begs. "I want to help you." Her eyes are a tinge of gold, showing her alpha side. She puts her forehead gently to yours. "I know you have feelings for me," she breathes. "But I won't do a thing unless you say it's okay."

Tears streaming down your cheeks, your eyes widen in surprise. You're lucid for just a second. "Oh god Abby, I-I don't know what to say," you groan, embarrassed. Your heat is blinding, a near total body and mind need to just be taken care of.

"I won't do anything you don't want baby," she cooes, her pet name undoing your resolve.

You take a deep breath and swallow, knowing that all you've wanted is for Abby to make you hers. And only hers.

"I want to be yours. I want to be only yours," you admit, cheeks darkening. "Please tell me you feel this as strongly as I do," you rush out, fully vulnerable.

Abby's turn to be wide eyed is short lived before she lands her lips on yours, desperate and hungry. "I want nothing more then to make you my mate. I- want- nothing more -than to fuck you into -this bed- for hours," she groans as you moan into her mouth. Her lips are warm, your arms reaching out to tangle in her blond hair. Your heat is begging, burning like a fire under your skin. You whine pitifully, Abby now fully aware of your need.

"I know darling, I know," she whispers. Abby lays you down on her bed, kissing you with a new ferocity that made you tug at her clothes. Feeling her strong abs run over your now bare chest made you bite her lip, a low growl coming from Abby's throat. Her mouth kisses down your neck and reaches the softness of your chest. With lips and tongue, she sucks your nipple between her teeth, licking it as it grows in need. Moaning at this was music to your alpha's ears. Your breasts are damp with spit and raised pink nipples fall in her mouth as she attends to one after the other.

She pulls your pants off, letting your heat racked body shiver at the sudden coolness. Her eyes flash a deep gold now, looking you over, a wanting moan leaving her lips.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to see you like this, how long I've been wanting to do this with you," she groans, the obvious bulge in her cargo pants making your mouth water and brain go fuzzy at her words. Her hands sink into your skin, pulling the flesh as she drags her hands down your stomach and over your thighs. Your cunt is wet, glazed over with slick and need. Pink lips swollen at the want of satiation. She kisses you, hand reaching down to palm you, gathering your wetness along her fingers. Your pants have turned into whimpers, into breathy moans.

"You're so wet for me, my precious mate," she cooes, dominance leaking through her words. "I wonder how wet you'll be when I sink my cock into your wanting pussy," you moan at her words, pulling off her pants. A small gasp leaves your lips as her member springs out of her boxers.

"That is a dick of an alpha for sure," you breathe out, hearing Abby chuckle darkly at your surprise. Its shaft covered in small veins, her pink head leaking precum at the sight of your naked body. Abby leans forward on her elbows, soaking up more of your slick on her cockhead, her kisses to your lips bruising. Your scent is making her drunk, the end goal of this mating lost. Ignoring her own desperation, Abby sinks below your waist and licks a long slow strip up your center, capturing your clit in her mouth to softly suck.

"I'm not fucking you stupid until your come all over my face, my pretty mate" Abby groans.

Her name leaves your lips in a yelp, unfettered moans follow. Her tongue is masterful, her lips covered in your shiny arousal. Up and down she moves her tongue, taking time to let herself tongue fuck you, dipping into your wetness. Latching onto your clit, she sucks soft pressure and swirls her tongue. With nothing to grab onto, you resign to tugging at your alpha's long blonde locks, legs high above your head, resting on her shoulders. The muscles in her back flex and stretch as she fucks you.

"Abby, o-o-oh fuck Abby baby pleaseplease alpha please," you moan and moan, dragging your hands through her hair.

At the mention of her title, Abby growls and picks up her pace. You feel the band in your belly tighten and snap within seconds as your orgasm washes over you in a blissful wave. Your toes curl and back arches off the bed, head thrown back in a long and loud moan. Abby continues to fuck your aching cunt into overstimulation, your legs shaking and breath uneven.

"Baby, baby I can't-can't take it anymore," you whine and moan. Abby doesn't stop but unlatches herself and slaps your pussy lightly with her palm.

"You're going to take what i give you angel, and you're gonna say thank you alpha," she hums and holds your jaw with her hand. "Okay baby?" She asks.

"Yes baby," you say softly, lips puffy as Abby captures them in a deep kiss.

"Thank you alpha," you admit shyly, peeking at her reaction through your lashes. Her breathing is ragged, hair undone and messy. Her eyes are a fierce gold, desire evident.

It didn't even take a minute before she slowly sinks herself into you, squelching sounds accompanied. Snapping up her head to you, she examines your features for any sign of pain. Your eyes are half open, lips parted in an O.

"Are you hurt?" She questions, stilling inside. You slowly shake your head, gripping her shoulders and wrapping your legs around her waist. With that, Abby slowly moves through your now sopping cunt. Her breath is short, focusing on not coming too early. You wrap around her like a vice.

"Fuck-fuck fuck baby you're so wet, so tight so warm you're so perfectfuck you are soperfect," Abby moans.

You moan at her praise, tangling your fingers in her hair, reveling in the closeness of your skin. Held up by her strong arms, the muscles in her biceps flex by your head.

"Hold on tight princes," Abby whispers into your ear, nipping at the skin.

Her thrusts start slow and languid, drawing out loud moans at each bury inside you. Your moans only get louder as her Hips snap back into yours at a near brutal pace, relishing in the wet sound of skin on skin. Abby examines your fucked out state of bouncing breasts, loud breathy moans and profanity.

"Fuck Abby fuck ABBY fuckfuckfuck my alpha fuck my alpha," you moan out, whining at the feeling of her cock stretching your walls to a beautiful feeling.

"Markmemarkmeplease baby breed me please baby please," you whine out, surprising Abby at your vulgar confession.

"Yeah baby? Fuck you'resofuckingwet, you take my cock so good baby you want my pups baby? Want me to breed you like a good puppy?" Abby moans, as the slap of wet skin fills the room.

"I bet you'd like me to breed you, huh baby?" Your fucked out smile gives her the answer she needs. "Yes abby please baby breed me please don't stop," you whine.

"Dirty girl, I knew you'd like that," Abby seethes as she bites your neck, sweat on her brow.

"You wanna be all round and fuckin full for me?"

"please Abby please baby yes yes yes!" you exhale a loud moan from your chest, as she leans forward to kiss you hungrily.

In a fast motion, she flips you on your belly, arching your back and pressing your cheek into the soft mattress. Your ass on display as she spreads you to see the slick drip down your thighs. You shake your ass slowly, all shame gone, wanting to be bred like a bitch in heat.

Her hands find your hips again, fucking into your cunt immediately like the world was ending. Muffled moans and screams come from your lips, Abby moaning at your soaking pussy sucking her in and milking her cock for all it was worth. Listening to your moans go up in pitch and your cunt get tighter and tighter told Abby you were so close to coming.

"You'gon come for me baby? Come all over my cock baby, c'mon you can do it. Cream all over my cock my good puppy," she rushes out, hands pulling you back to bounce on her dick.

"Fuck-ff-fuckfuck Abby I'm gon come 'my god I'm gonna come," your legs shake and let your orgasm push Abby into hers. Abby grabs your stretched out hand and squeezes it, to ground you. White hot pleasure consumes you and the heartbeat between your legs races.

You yell her name and moan a loud FUCK, drool sticking to the side of your cheek.

But abby wasn't done yet, your pleasure just comes first.

Abby's groans grow higher and higher, as your pussy pulses around her. As she feels you completely tighten around her, Abby's orgasm explodes. She feels her cock swell and a euphoric feeling washes over at the feeling of her breeding you completely full.

"Fuck baby, fuck baby ohgod," Abby moans as she collapses against your sweat drenched skin. You moan back weakly, shivering at her slow kisses up your back.

"You're so beautiful baby, gonna be so beautiful for me," Abby whispers, pulling out slowly to your disappointment.

"Fuck princess look at you," the alpha groaned, skilled fingers pulling your puffy pink lips apart to watch her cum drip out of your overstimulated pussy. You whine again, sensitive to her touch.

She coos, kissing the swell of your ass cheek.

"Come here princess let me hold you," Abby coaxes, slowing moving your body to lay between her legs. She softly kneads your back as you lay, breathing in her scent. Soft kisses to your forehead manage to lull you into a dreamlike state.

"Rest my precious mate, I've got you baby," Abby breathes, wrapping her strong arms around your figure.

Maybe falling in love with an alpha isn't hard after all.

[yandere-daydreams]

Thoughts on Childe fucking his darling while in his Foul Legacy transformation as punishment because they tried running?

tw - non//con, monster-fucking, size difference, implied kidnapping, obsessive behavior.

there are many thoughts. none of them are good for the reader, but there are many of them.

calling it a punishment probably gives childe too much credit. when he returns from a spur-of-the-moment hunting trip, when he gets back to the tuck-away cabin he prefers to reside in when his duties as a harbinger don't call him away from your side only to find glass spread across the floor and one of his coats missing from its hanger, 'discipline' isn't exactly the first thing on his mind. foul legacy just seems like a means to an end - a way to track you and hunt you and, most importantly, to tear down anything that threatened to put itself between you and him, to keep you from him for a second longer than absolutely possible. you haven't gotten very far (how could you, when you're trekking through the harsh snezhnayan wilderness, running from a literal monster?), and yet, by the time he reaches you, his breathing is ragged, his thoughts a mess, his body fighting just to hold itself together under the strain of a harbinger's delusion. it's all he can do to remember that he wants to keep you safe, not gut you alive. it's all he can do to remember that he loves you.

and, so, he loves you - there, in the dirt and snow, with one clawed fist wrapped around your neck and his masked face hovering a hair's width above yours. you cry and you scream and you beat your tiny fists against his armored chest, but pain is lost to him in this state, as are most things beyond the searing adrenaline pumping through his veins and the instinctual need to seek out any form of violence he can. curved talons leave raised stripes down your chest and back, a tongue no shorter than your forearm licks cum and blood off of your thighs, and a monstrous cock fucks you open raw - the outline visible against the flesh of your stomach every time he thrusts into you. by the end of it, you're on the brink of unconsciousness, and he barely has the strength to carry you home and get you into a hot bath. he doesn't mind, though, not when it comes to you, not as he watches you sink into the water - safe and taken care of and at his side. he's sure you learned your lesson.

and, if you didn't, he'd be more than happy to teach it to you again, and again, and again. as many times as it takes, until you know who you belong with.

[zapreportsblog]

Can I request platonic Carlisle x child fem witch reader (like 14-15, she ages really slowly), Carlisle saved her from being killed during the Salem Witch Trials? He cares for her so much and since she’s the only one who sleeps in the Cullen clan, he sometimes watches her sleep as if protecting her or something. And he acts somewhat protective of her after finding out she’s Seth’s imprint?

❝the witch hybrid and her companion❞

✭ pairing : father Carlisle Cullen x reader x imprint Seth Clearwater

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) is a young witch who Carlisle had saved from the Salem witch trials, she had been been on the verge of being fully brunt to death when he had grabbed and rescued her, she was fifteen when he had turnt her thus making her the first hybrid of both witch and vampire species.

✭ authors note : this shit so long I gotta make a part 2 because I wasn’t done writing

✭ twilight masterlist

The year was 1692, and the small town of Salem was ablaze with fear and suspicion. The Salem Witch Trials had gripped the community, turning neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend. Whispers of witchcraft echoed through the narrow, winding streets like a curse.

In the midst of this hysteria, a young witch named (Y/N) found herself ensnared in the web of accusations. She was a mere fifteen years old, with (dark/light) (h/c) hair and hypnotizing (e/c) eyes that held the secrets of centuries past. Her magical abilities had manifested early, and she had done her best to hide them, but the fervor of the witch hunt had spared no one.

One fateful evening, as the moon hung low in the darkened sky, the town's fervor reached its peak. (Y/N) was dragged from her humble cottage by an angry mob, her hands bound, and the scent of burning wood filled the air. The townsfolk were determined to put an end to the supposed evil that had plagued their lives.

The makeshift gallows stood tall in the center of town, a grim reminder of the collective madness that had taken hold. A wooden stake awaited (Y/N), and the flames that danced around it cast eerie shadows on her pale, terrified face.

As the crowd jeered and cursed, the flames were lit, and the stake began to smolder. (Y/N) let out a piercing scream as the searing pain coursed through her body. She was on the brink of death, her skin blistering and her vision fading.

But then, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with preternatural grace and speed. Carlisle Cullen, a vampire with a heart that still beat for compassion, could not bear to witness this gruesome spectacle. He had heard rumors of witches in Salem and had come to investigate, hoping to prevent further tragedy.

In an instant, Carlisle reached (Y/N)'s side. With a strength that belied his gentle appearance, he tore the wooden stake from her chest. The townsfolk gasped in shock as they beheld a young man of ethereal beauty and otherworldly strength.

Carlisle cradled the near-lifeless (Y/N) in his arms and vanished into the night, leaving behind the chaos and confusion of the mob. He knew that there was only one way to save her now—to grant her the immortality of a vampire.

As they fled into the wilderness, (Y/N) clung to consciousness, her body burned and broken. She whispered a faint thank you to the stranger who had appeared like a guardian angel in her darkest hour. Little did she know that this mysterious savior would change the course of her life forever.

In the moonlit forest, Carlisle Cullen made a solemn vow. He would teach (Y/N) to control her newfound powers, guide her through the complexities of immortal life, and protect her from the world that had once condemned her. Together, they would find redemption and forge a bond that would withstand the ages.

Carlisle had taken a great risk when he saved (Y/N) from the clutches of death during the Salem Witch Trials. He had severed ties with the Volturi long ago, seeking a life that adhered to his moral compass. His choice to create a vampire out of (Y/N), who still possessed her magical abilities, was a secret he needed to protect at all costs.

The struggles were immediate. (Y/N)'s powers, now amplified by her vampiric nature, were dangerously unpredictable. At times, her emotions would trigger bursts of magic that could send objects flying or set the forest ablaze. Keeping her abilities hidden from both the human world and the vampire authorities became an arduous task.

Carlisle spent countless nights helping (Y/N) gain control over her newfound powers. He was patient, guiding her through the nuances of her magic, teaching her to harness it without drawing attention. Together, they honed her skills in secrecy, for they knew that revealing her true nature could lead to disastrous consequences.

As the years passed, Carlisle and (Y/N) developed a bond that ran deeper than blood. They became a family of two, sharing their eternal existence and the burden of concealing her abilities. It was a lonely existence, but they clung to the hope that they could find others like them, vampires who shared their values and accepted (Y/N) despite her magical nature.

Their quest for companionship led them on a journey across the continent. They followed whispers and rumors, searching for those who might understand their unique situation. It was during this quest that they stumbled upon a coven unlike any other.

In a remote, wooded area, they encountered people on the verge of dying such as Edward, Esme, Rosalie, Jasper, Emmett, and Alice.

Together, they navigated the challenges of their unique existence, supporting each other through the trials of immortality and the constant threat of the Volturi's scrutiny. As they honed their abilities and shared their stories, they discovered the true meaning of family – a bond forged not by blood but by choice and shared values.

Their coven became a sanctuary, a place where each member could be their authentic selves without fear of judgment or persecution. And as they faced the world together, they knew that their unity was their greatest strength, a testament to the power of love, acceptance, and the enduring spirit of those who dared to defy the darkness that sought to consume them.

The year was 2005, and the town of Forks had remained a quiet, secluded haven for the Cullen family. (Y/N), now a hybrid of a witch and vampire, appeared eternally fifteen but was wise beyond her years. Her days were spent in the cozy Cullen home, where Esme provided her with a homeschooling education tailored to her unique needs.

Yet, there was a part of (Y/N) that longed for more than the confines of their home. She yearned for the normalcy of teenage life, for the bustling hallways of a high school, and for the companionship of her siblings. Carlisle remained as protective as ever, reluctant to expose her to the unpredictable world outside, but he couldn't deny her the occasional visits to Forks High School.

One crisp afternoon, (Y/N) stood by the school's parking lot, waiting for her siblings to emerge from their classes. She watched as the students filed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Her heart ached for the chance to experience such simple joys.

Suddenly, a tiny whirlwind of energy appeared before her, and she smiled as Alice materialized in front of her. Alice's golden eyes sparkled with excitement, and she greeted her sister with a grin.

"(Y/N), you won't believe it," Alice chirped, her voice filled with anticipation.

Arching an eyebrow, (Y/N) replied, "Believe what, Alice?"

With a playful twirl, Alice continued, "Life just got even more interesting in Forks High School."

(Y/N) couldn't help but be intrigued. "How so?"

Alice leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "There's a new girl at the school."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Alice's enthusiasm. "A new girl? Why is that so exciting?"

Alice's eyes widened as she explained, "Because, dear sister, this new girl is different. I've seen flashes of her future, and it's...uncertain. There's something extraordinary about her, something that might just shake up our tranquil little town."

(Y/N) considered Alice's words, her curiosity piqued. She had always trusted Alice's visions, and this revelation promised an unexpected twist in their otherwise peaceful existence.

As the rest of their siblings joined them in the parking lot, (Y/N) shared Alice's revelation. They exchanged glances filled with curiosity and anticipation. Life in Forks was about to become more intriguing, and the Cullen family was ready to face whatever challenges the new girl's arrival might bring.

The year was 2005, and the town of Forks had remained a quiet, secluded haven for the Cullen family. (Y/N), now a hybrid of a witch and vampire, appeared eternally fifteen but was wise beyond her years. Her days were spent in the cozy Cullen home, where Esme provided her with a homeschooling education tailored to her unique needs.

Yet, there was a part of (Y/N) that longed for more than the confines of their home. She yearned for the normalcy of teenage life, for the bustling hallways of a high school, and for the companionship of her siblings. Carlisle remained as protective as ever, reluctant to expose her to the unpredictable world outside, but he couldn't deny her the occasional visits to Forks High School.

One crisp afternoon, (Y/N) stood by the school's parking lot, waiting for her siblings to emerge from their classes. She watched as the students filed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Her heart ached for the chance to experience such simple joys.

Suddenly, a tiny whirlwind of energy appeared before her, and she smiled as Alice materialized in front of her. Alice's golden eyes sparkled with excitement, and she greeted her sister with a grin.

"(Y/N), you won't believe it," Alice chirped, her voice filled with anticipation.

Arching an eyebrow, (Y/N) replied, "Believe what, Alice?"

With a playful twirl, Alice continued, "Life just got even more interesting in Forks High School."

(Y/N) couldn't help but be intrigued. "How so?"

Alice leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "There's a new girl at the school."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Alice's enthusiasm. "A new girl? Why is that so exciting?"

Alice's eyes widened as she explained, "Because, dear sister, this new girl is different. I've seen flashes of her future, and it's...uncertain. There's something extraordinary about her, something that might just shake up our tranquil little town."

(Y/N) considered Alice's words, her curiosity piqued. She had always trusted Alice's visions, and this revelation promised an unexpected twist in their otherwise peaceful existence.

As the rest of their siblings joined them in the parking lot, (Y/N) shared Alice's revelation. They exchanged glances filled with curiosity and anticipation. Life in Forks was about to become more intriguing, and the Cullen family was ready to face whatever challenges the new girl's arrival might bring.

Edward had long been intrigued by Bella Swan, the human girl who had captured his heart. He knew the time had come to introduce her to his family, the Cullens. With a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, he arrived at the Cullen residence with Bella by his side.

The Cullen home exuded an air of elegance and tranquility as Edward and Bella entered. Carlisle and Esme, the matriarch and patriarch of the family, stood together, their welcoming smiles putting Bella at ease. Alice, as ever, bounced with enthusiasm, eager to greet the newcomer.

Rosalie, the beautiful but distant blonde, maintained her standoffish demeanor. Emmett, her jovial and easygoing husband, offered a warm and friendly greeting. Jasper, with his polite distance, appeared cordial yet reserved.

As Bella took in the room full of unique and ethereal beings, her nerves were palpable. Edward gently squeezed her hand, offering silent reassurance.

Edward turned to Bella, his arm draped around her, and gestured toward the youngest member of the family. "(Y/N)," he began, "I'd like you to meet Bella Swan."

(Y/N) stepped forward, her emerald eyes twinkling with curiosity and warmth. "Hello, Bella," she greeted with a genuine smile.

Bella returned the smile, though her gaze flickered with surprise as she took in (Y/N)'s youthful appearance. "Hi, (Y/N). Nice to meet you."

Edward, ever the attentive brother, chimed in, "Bella, (Y/N) is homeschooled. She's rather sensitive emotionally, and we want to ensure she's comfortable."

Bella nodded, not questioning the explanation, and (Y/N) added, "It's lovely to meet someone new. I don't often get the chance to make friends outside the family."

As the conversation flowed, Bella and (Y/N) discovered shared interests. They both had a deep love for nature and a passion for ballet. They exchanged stories about their experiences, and (Y/N) found herself drawn to Bella's genuine and kind-hearted nature.

Alice, always eager to foster connections, joined in their conversation with her trademark enthusiasm. Jasper remained observant but distant, his empathic nature making him cautious around newcomers. Rosalie, on the other hand, kept her distance but couldn't help but sneak occasional glances at Bella, her curiosity getting the better of her.

As the evening unfolded, the Cullens' initial uncertainties about Bella began to fade. It was clear that she brought a light into their home, and her connection with (Y/N) was a pleasant surprise.

Though the Cullens were a family of immortal vampires, they had managed to create a sense of belonging and unity. With Bella's arrival, the dynamics shifted once more, adding a new layer of complexity to their existence. Little did they know that this human girl would play a significant role in their future, bringing challenges and joys they could never have anticipated.

The bond between (Y/N) and Bella had grown stronger since their first meeting at the Cullen household. They shared countless hours talking about everything from books to ballet, and their friendship had become an unbreakable connection.

One sunny afternoon, Bella decided to introduce (Y/N) to a friend from her other life in Forks, someone who was quite different from the Cullen family. She took (Y/N) to the nearby La Push reservation, where she introduced her to Jacob Black.

Jacob, a tall and lanky young man with a warm smile, greeted Bella and her new friend with enthusiasm. (Y/N) was immediately struck by his friendly and down-to-earth nature. She found herself drawn to his easygoing demeanor, which contrasted with the graceful elegance of her vampire family.

As they sat in the shade of a towering tree, (Y/N) and Jacob began to chat. She learned that Jacob had a passion for fixing cars and motorcycles, an interest he'd picked up from his father. It was an unusual hobby for a young man on the brink of shifting into a werewolf, but Jacob loved the mechanical world as much as (Y/N) loved ballet and nature.

"(Y/N), you ever work on cars or bikes?" Jacob asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

She shook her head, intrigued by the idea. "No, I've never had the chance, but I'd love to learn."

Jacob grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. "Well, I can teach you if you're interested. We've got an old truck in the garage that's in need of some TLC."

Bella watched as her friend and her new friend connected over a shared interest. It was a heartwarming sight, seeing her worlds collide in such a positive way.

In the days that followed, (Y/N) visited La Push regularly to spend time with Jacob. She learned how to wield wrenches and navigate the inner workings of an engine. She watched with fascination as he effortlessly fixed motorcycles and patiently explained the mechanics behind each repair.

As (Y/N) delved into this new hobby, she couldn't help but notice the parallel between her time with Jacob and the moments she had observed between Rosalie and Emmett as they worked on cars together. She marveled at the beauty of human experiences and how they transcended the boundaries of her immortal life.

Her friendship with Jacob deepened, and she treasured the moments spent working on engines and sharing stories under the open sky. In those moments, (Y/N) realized that bonds could be formed beyond the supernatural world of vampires and werewolves, and that the connections she forged with humans were just as significant and meaningful.

The year had turned to 2006, and the bonds between (Y/N), Bella, and Jacob had grown stronger since (Y/N) started learning about cars and motorcycles with him. However, a shadow had fallen over their friendship.

Jacob had become distant, and Bella couldn't understand why. She was tired of being ignored, and one day, she decided to confront him with (Y/N) by her side.

They arrived at Jacob's house, and the atmosphere was tense. Bella knew something was amiss, and she was determined to get answers. As they approached the house, they heard roughhousing and laughter coming from the backyard.

Bella's frustration was evident as she muttered, "Enough is enough. I need to know what's going on."

(Y/N) nodded in agreement, her concern mirrored in her eyes. They made their way to the backyard, where they were met with an unexpected sight. Paul, Jared, and Sam, all shirtless, were playfully wrestling in the grass.

Bella's patience had run thin, and she spoke up, "Jacob, we need to talk."

The laughter ceased as the three boys turned to look at the girls. Sam, with his wisdom and responsibility as the pack's alpha, stepped forward. "What's this about, Bella?"

Jacob stood nearby, his expression guarded. Bella's frustration boiled over, and she finally confronted him, "You've been avoiding me, Jacob. I want to know why."

Jacob hesitated, his gaze shifting between Bella and his pack members. But it was Paul who decided to speak, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Well, maybe it's because we've got more important things to do than hang out with vampires."

Bella's eyes widened in shock. She had heard the legends, but this was the first time someone from the Quileute tribe had openly referred to the Cullens as vampires.

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by Jared's uneasy cough. Jacob's features hardened as he faced Bella, the truth finally out in the open. "Yes, Bella, we know what your family is. We know they're the cold ones."

(Y/N), who had remained quiet until now, felt the tension rise to a breaking point. Her magical abilities had always been a closely guarded secret, but she couldn't stand by as the situation escalated.

Before anyone could react, Bella, driven by anger and hurt, slapped Paul across the face. It was an instinctive reaction, but the consequences were immediate. Paul's body began to tremble, and within moments, he transformed into a massive, russet-colored wolf.

Chaos erupted as the other wolves reacted, growling and snapping at the sudden threat. Jacob, acting on instinct to protect Bella, shifted into his wolf form and leaped between Paul and the girls.

(Y/N), her magical powers flaring to life, sensed the impending danger. She stepped forward, raising her hands, and a shimmering magical shield sprang into existence, surrounding Bella and Jacob, protecting them from the agitated wolves.

The standoff continued for a tense moment until Sam, as the pack's leader, barked a command, and the wolves reluctantly backed down. (Y/N) slowly lowered the shield, and the tension in the air dissipated.

Bella and Jacob were left staring at each other, the truth now laid bare.

The tension in the forest eased as Sam, the alpha of the Quileute wolf pack, intervened and calmed the agitated wolves. He beckoned everyone to follow him back to his cabin, where they could talk more openly.

Jacob turned to Bella, his expression pained. "Bella, try not to stare at Emily too much."

(Y/N) caught Jacob's words and glanced at Bella with curiosity. She followed Jacob's gaze to a woman named Emily who was standing nearby. Bella's reaction was immediate; she was taken aback by the scars on Emily's face.

As they entered Sam's cabin, Bella couldn't help but ask, "What happened to her?"

Sam, understanding the girls' confusion, began to explain. "Emily's scars are a result of a shifter's transformation gone wrong. It's a risk we face when we shift. Sometimes, accidents happen."

(Y/N) listened intently, and as she looked at Emily, her mind flashed back to her own past. She remembered the pain of the flames, the burns on her body, and the scars she had carried before Carlisle had turned her into a vampire. It was a painful memory she rarely revisited.

Sam continued, "We're not just ordinary humans, Bella. We're shape-shifters. We transform into wolves. We've known about the cold ones, the vampires, for a long time, and there's a history of conflict between our kind."

Bella's eyes widened, realizing that the tension between Jacob's pack and her family was deeply rooted. It was a revelation that left her with more questions than answers.

Then, Sam turned to (Y/N), his gaze intense. "And what about you? You smell human, but not quite."

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before she decided to share her truth. "I'm not just a vampire. I'm also a witch. Carlisle turned me during the Salem Witch Trials to save my life, but I retained my magic."

The room fell silent as Sam processed this revelation. The other members of the pack, including Paul, who had calmed down, overheard the conversation and entered the cabin.

Paul, still uneasy about (Y/N), voiced his concerns. "Sam, she's dangerous. A vampire-witch hybrid? Who knows what she's capable of?"

Sam raised a hand, silencing Paul. He turned back to (Y/N), his eyes steady. "Explain. How do you use your magic?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath and began to recount the story of the Salem Witch Trials, how she had been condemned, and how Carlisle had turned her to save her life. She spoke of the magic she had retained and how she had learned to harness it, to control it.

As her story unfolded, the tension in the room began to ease. Sam and the rest of the pack listened with rapt attention, realizing that (Y/N) was not a threat but someone who had suffered and survived against all odds.

As the conversation in Sam's cabin continued, the atmosphere began to relax, and the tension that had filled the room started to dissipate. The Cullen and the Quileute pack shared stories and experiences, forging a fragile understanding. However, a new presence entered the room, and the dynamics shifted once more.

The door swung open, and Seth Clearwater entered, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry I'm late, everyone. Got caught up in patrol duty."

He started to explain further but stopped abruptly as his eyes locked onto (Y/N)'s. Time seemed to stand still for Seth as he made eye contact with her, and a series of vivid flashes inundated his mind.

He saw himself dating (Y/N), their laughter echoing through the forest as they went on hikes, their hands intertwined. He saw tender moments of them kissing under the moonlight, their love stronger than anything he had ever imagined. He even saw himself undergoing a transformation, becoming immortal through (Y/N)'s magic, so they could live out their lives together.

The sudden influx of images left Seth bewildered, his heart racing. He stumbled over his words, his apology fading into silence. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a future he had never known he wanted.

The room fell silent as everyone turned their attention to Seth. It didn't take long for Sam to realize what had occurred. He approached Seth, his expression knowing. "Seth, you've imprinted."

Seth nodded, still dazed by the overwhelming experience. He couldn't tear his gaze away from (Y/N), who had a bewildered yet sympathetic expression on her face.

Bella, having experienced imprinting with Jacob, understood the gravity of the situation. She leaned over to whisper to (Y/N), "It's a Quileute thing. He can't help it. It's like he's bound to you now."

(Y/N) nodded in understanding, feeling a mix of surprise and sympathy for Seth. She had witnessed how powerful imprinting could be and how it could affect someone's life.

Seth, still recovering from the shock, couldn't help but act like a lovesick puppy around (Y/N). He smiled at her, his gaze lingering, and his actions becoming increasingly attentive. It was clear that his world had shifted, and his focus had become solely centered on her.

The room settled back into conversation, but Seth's newfound devotion to (Y/N) remained evident. He was drawn to her like a magnet, his presence a constant reminder of the complexities of the supernatural world they inhabited.

As the evening wore on, the Cullen and the Quileute pack continued to exchange stories and experiences, but now there was an added layer of understanding and acceptance. The bonds forged between them grew stronger, and they realized that in a world filled with secrets and supernatural forces, connections could form in the most unexpected and profound ways.

Bella and (Y/N) headed back to the Cullens' house, the forest surrounding them bathed in the gentle light of the moon. Bella pulled up to the driveway, and (Y/N) stepped out of the car, her thoughts lingering on the revelations of the evening.

As she watched Bella drive off, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. She had made new friends, but she was aware of the complications that could arise from her interactions with the outside world. Her hybrid nature, a blend of vampire and witch, held secrets that she needed to protect.

Entering the Cullens' home, (Y/N) was immediately surrounded by her family. Carlisle, Esme, Alice, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper all gathered around her, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Where have you been, (Y/N)?" Carlisle's voice held a hint of anger, but also a deep concern. He had always been protective of her, knowing the dangers of the human world and the risks associated with her true nature being exposed.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Carlisle's. "I've been hanging out with Bella and Jacob and some new friends I made."

Carlisle's concern deepened. "New friends? (Y/N), you know the risks. Your true nature, both as a vampire and a witch, could be exposed to humans."

(Y/N) nodded, understanding his worries but also eager to share her experiences. "I know, Carlisle, but I've been careful. And I've learned a lot about the Quileute culture and the challenges they face."

Carlisle couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. He was angry that Bella had taken (Y/N) without informing anyone, concerned about the risks, but also happy that his daughter had made friends outside their family.

However, his world was about to be shaken once more. (Y/N) noticed the change in her father's demeanor and decided it was time to reveal the most significant development of the evening.

"I have something to tell you," she began, her voice tinged with a hint of infatuation. "I've been imprinted on."

Carlisle's eyes widened in shock. "Imprinted? By whom?"

(Y/N) smiled, a lovesick expression in her eyes. "Seth Clearwater."

The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Carlisle realized that his younger daughter had formed a bond that was far deeper and more profound than any ordinary friendship. He knew that an imprint was a powerful connection, one that couldn't be broken.

As (Y/N) continued to share the story of her evening and the imprint, Carlisle's world came crashing down. He had always known that his family's supernatural existence came with complexities, but the idea of his daughter being infatuated with a young shifter left him with a mix of emotions—concern, worry, and a touch of sadness for the challenges that lay ahead.

The Cullens, a family bound by love and acceptance, now faced a new chapter in their extraordinary lives, one that would test their bonds and their ability to navigate the intricate web of supernatural connections.

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

Revenge is a dish best served with love; Spider and So’lek found family

I’ve been bothering @dirtytransmasc about it all day and I can’t stop 😭 there is such a strong potential for a story between these two if they were to ever cross paths!

It could go so many ways, but I see Jake giving Spider away to him as one of the possibilities. He does it under the guise of giving Spider training necessary to keep up with the Na’vi, so he could help out the insurgency but in reality, he bribed So’lek into taking Spider under his wing with the opportunity for revenge. And we know So’lek loves nothing more than revenge.

What better way to make Miles Quaritch himself roll in his grave than to mould his biological son into a sky people killing machine?

So the two set off for the western frontier and Spider begins his lessons in survival, as well as combat. He gets to see the man behind the legend and the truth is — the man is barely there. His mind is always partly consumed by violence; thoughts too dark for the boy to imagine. He also sees that So’lek lacks emotion in anything unrelated to war, and is a man of a few words unless discussing tactics. He’d heard that this Na’vi lost his entire clan in the battle of the tree of souls, but seeing the consequences of that event up close was different from being told about it. Trauma defined him.

They reach the clouded forest, and So’lek begins to teach the boy ways of battle. He is just patient enough for Spider to catch things on the fly but as usual, offers little empathy if he struggles or smalltalk when they’re out of combat.

So’lek’s "hunts" are the worst part. They happen rarely as Socorro is not dubbed to be ready for that yet, but he is often taken along to be taught by example. He gets to watch as something like an unsuspecting convoy of RDA grunts falls victim to what they call, among other things, "blue death". He sees them scream and shake in pure terror of a creature they clearly knew, sees how little of a chance they stand against a seasoned warrior as he moves like a silent shadow and takes the sky people out one by one. Swiftly, yet brutally. He calls those outings "hunts" for a reason.

And the way he speaks of sky people makes something in Spider’s spine shudder. The man speaks of them as game, seemingly forgetting that the student who’s intelligence and strength he often praises is still a sky person himself — not in spirit, but in body.

Socorro isn’t sure about this ordeal anymore. The more he finds out about the legendary warrior…the less he wants to follow in his footsteps. Protecting the people has always been something he wished to be useful in, and he loved the Na’vi, loved Pandora, his one and only home…but he can’t let himself become anything like So’lek. The way he sees it, killing should be performed mindfully. Spider hates the idea that taking a life, no matter what life, maybe become second nature to him. A reflex.

Killing should not ever be so easy.

On the other end of the line is So’lek himself. He never thought that taking in a child, even as just a temporary ward, would be so difficult. For the first time in fifteen years he has to feel again, and he hates it. Socorro makes him feel out of control, makes him feel frustrated, confused, tired, amused, alive.

With how stressed Jake sounded when he offered to give him the boy, So’lek assumed Spider was a danger; a nantang disguised as a harmless yerik, but the longer he waited the more he realised that said nantang was nowhere in sight. Not to say that Spider was a yerik either. If anything, the child strongly resembled a playful syaksyuk (prolemuris).

Spider, as any other kid his age, hungers for adventure, for freedom and fun. Even with all the respect he held for So’lek, he was a difficult boy to reel in and keep in line. He was constantly busy with something, be it a crafting project for their base (which, since he appeared, more and more resembled a home), exploring the wilderness or collecting something. Most often rocks or herbs.

His smile is so bright, So’lek feels blinded by it every time.

…no. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, the man catches himself think. He was supposed to "steer Socorro in the right direction", as Jake had put it yet as weeks passed, his resolve melted into something he haven’t felt for years. Could it be…?

No. So’lek was absolutely not getting attached to the child in his care. He couldn’t. He was a sky person; a son to the demon.

But, he was so different from anything So’lek has encountered. There was fire in his honey eyes, but it burned with desire to protect, not hurt. He had an impressive muscle mass, but used it for climbing and weaving only. He made each kill matter, praying for every fallen thing even as So’lek hurried him to skin the meat before it got shrouded. Everything about nature fascinated, awed him, so he thirsted to learn of this new forest and every creature living within it.

Spider could speak of his home for hours. About the animals, the different plants, the remedies one could craft from them, and eventually, as always, he’d speak of his family. His precious siblings he’d raise hell to protect. He loves them more than anything because they are all he has in this entire world, no parental figure in sight. So’lek fights down the urge to hold a child he sees himself in when he hears it.

Spider…has subverted every possible expectation So’lek had of him. So pure and naive and filled with hope in spite of what he has already lost, and the dangers surrounding him…

And So’lek planned to break him. Take all of it away and turn him into a cold-blooded soldier. No more then a weapon for the Na’vi to wield.

What in Eywa’s name was he thinking?

So’lek wants to return Spider to high camp and forget about the deal, but it’s too late. He felt his wards crumble as the human he thought he needed to fear nestled deep within his heart, and now they were bound. He looked at the tiny thing sleeping in a hammock far too big for him. Then at the walls, now painted with images of animals and insects; painted the Omatikaya way. He then turned to the floors, now covered in mats Socorro weaved in his free time.

He made this place a home. Put so much effort with both his skill and voice. He brought So’lek’s base alive. Brought alive him even. It is only fair that So’lek puts in the effort to make this a home for the boy as well.

Just for fairness sake, he thought, tucking the child in as a smile tugged at his lips.

He wasn’t getting attached.

Not at all.

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared. 

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life. 

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited. 

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Underworld Insomnia | 4 - B.Barnes

Character : Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 ,-

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

"Frosty longed for companionship, but no matter where he drifted, he found himself alone in the icy wilderness," the soothing voice of the story lulled Bucky into drowsiness. Just as he began to succumb to sleep, he heard your urgent cry, "Bucky!"

His body relaxed upon hearing your voice, but his eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion. As he fought to keep them open, he sensed a peculiar sensation—something cool and tingling on his face. With a struggle, he managed to crack his eyes open, greeted by the sight of a small figure with oversized glasses hovering over him.

Bucky rubbed his eyes in confusion. "You... Ahh!!! What is this?" he exclaimed, noticing Conroy holding a tube of toothpaste.

Conroy, ever matter-of-fact, explained, "Because you're not awake. Seems like your body lack of iron."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Conroy, feeling a mix of amusement and irritation at the kid's audacity. "Bah! I'm still in my prime," he retorted, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite the situation's absurdity.

You were in another room when you heard an adult male voice, and you approached them, relieved to find that Bucky was no longer asleep. "You're awake," you remarked, noticing the toothpaste under Bucky's eyes. You knew it must be Conroy's doing.

Moving closer to Bucky, you reached for a cloth to wipe away Conroy's prank. "Conroy, you have to apologize to Bucky," you insisted firmly.

Bucky was taken aback by your actions. First, as the best contract killer in the industry, he could evade guns, knives, poisons, and other threats, but he never expected your voice to act as a lethal weapon. Second, he was surprised by the sudden tenderness in your gesture. He had never experienced such care before.

Conroy put his hands on his hips defiantly. "Why? If it's not because of me, he would still be asleep," he argued.

You clicked your tongue, feeling the need to maintain respect for the homeowner who could also protect you both from the group.

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine," he assured, standing up to put some distance between himself and you. Perhaps it was your perfume that made his heart race. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How long was I asleep?"

You replied, "12 hours."

Bucky closed his mouth in disbelief. Twelve hours? That was a new record.

Concerned for his health, you suggested, "Bucky, do you need to go to the hospital? Perhaps something is wrong with your health?"

Bucky crossed his arms, feeling a bit irritated that both you and Conroy seemed to underestimate his health. He shook his head. "No. I've been there multiple times, and they found nothing wrong with me. Besides..." His conversation was cut short as he received a call.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Where the heck have you been?" the voice on the other end demanded.

"Sleeping," Bucky replied simply.

"What?! I don't even want to know. Just get your ass over here. Our situation is not good in the Caribbean Sea. Pirates tried to steal our client's ship."

Bucky's response was nonchalant, "Sure. Prepare the plane for me."

"But there's nowhere to land," came the urgent reply.

Bucky smirked, unfazed, "Who said the plane has to land?"

***********

At an altitude of 40,000 feet inside the cargo plane, Bucky surveyed the situation below. Miguel, one of his colleagues, filled him in on the mission details, "Our client hired us to rescue his son. Pirates are attempting to capture the vessel because they know our client is wealthy."

As Bucky prepared his parachute bag and checked his guns, Miguel asked him, "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

Bucky nodded confidently. "Yup. It'll be quick. See you later." With a salute, he jumped from the plane, disappearing into the night sky. Watching his fearless departure, Miguel chuckled and shook his head. "Crazy dude," he muttered to himself.

Once airborne, Bucky opened his parachute and descended gracefully toward the pirate-infested ship below. As he landed on the deck, he swiftly drew his weapons and sprang into action. With precise aim and lightning-fast reflexes, he took down each pirate one by one, dodging their gunfire with ease.

In a matter of seconds, the deck was cleared, and Bucky secured the area before moving to rescue the client's son. Amidst the chaos, he located the young man and ensured his safety, escorting him to a secure location on the ship.

The client's son, shaken but unharmed, looked up at Bucky with gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling with relief.

Bucky's work was clean and efficient, a testament to the positive effects of his recent restful sleep. He nodded in acknowledgment as he received praise from his agency's boss. "Great job."

However, when the boss mentioned wanting to introduce him to someone, Bucky politely declined. "No, I need to head back," he explained. He remembered that you and Conroy were relying on emergency food supplies back at the safe house. While Conroy might have a sharp tongue, Bucky couldn't forget that he was still just a 4-year-old kid.

With a sense of responsibility, Bucky prioritized your well-being and Conroy's comfort over any additional meetings or introductions. He needed to ensure that you both had enough to eat and were safe while he was away.

Bucky returned to the safe house to find you and Conroy engaged in making origami, a sight that amused him. It seemed that neither of you found entertainment in TV or movies.

Upon hearing the door open, you looked up and greeted him, "Welcome back."

"Hm," Bucky acknowledged, feeling a warm sensation at being welcomed home for the first time.

Conroy abandoned his Godzilla origami and rushed over to Bucky. "Is that the same chicken I had?" His hand reached out eagerly for the plastic bag, but Bucky raised it just out of reach, prompting Conroy to pause. "Hey."

Bucky raised an eyebrow playfully. "Don't 'hey' me. Ask me nicely."

Conroy's cheeks puffed up with a pout. "Can I have some of the food, please?"

Bucky chuckled, lowering the bag. "It's all yours."

Conroy dashed to the table, exclaiming, "Yes!"

Left alone with you, Bucky expressed his gratitude. "With 12 hours of sleep, I was able to finish my work quickly. Thanks."

You smiled warmly. "I'm glad I could help."

Bucky glanced around the safe house, noticing the origami creations scattered around. "What are you two making?"

You chuckled softly. "Conroy wanted to learn origami, so we've been practicing."

Bucky observed the colorful paper creations with a hint of admiration. "Looks like he's getting pretty good at it."

You nodded proudly. "He's a quick learner."

Just then, Conroy returned to the table, devouring his fried chicken with gusto. Between bites, he grinned at Bucky. "Thank you for the food!"

Bucky ruffled Conroy's hair affectionately. "You're welcome, kiddo."

As the three of you sat together, enjoying the simple pleasure of a shared meal, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging he hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, there was a sense of peace and camaraderie within the walls of the safe house.

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes focused on you with a seriousness that caught your attention. "Do you have a plan to put Conroy into kindergarten?"

You paused, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. "At the moment, no. With everything that's been happening, it hasn't really crossed my mind."

Bucky nodded, considering your words carefully. "If you want, I know of a safe kindergarten that's highly secretive. It's attended by children of parents in similar lines of work, like myself. To ensure Conroy's safety, we could even consider changing his name."

As you listened to Bucky's suggestion, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his concern. Despite his tough exterior, he genuinely cared about your well-being and Conroy's.

After you answered, Conroy interjected excitedly, "I want to go!!!" He hopped down from his chair and dashed over to Bucky, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "I want to join the kindergarten. Please,~"

Bucky chuckled at Conroy's sudden burst of energy, finding his eagerness endearing. "You can, if you behave," he replied with a playful grin.

Conroy puffed out his chest proudly. "I am a good kid," he declared, his determination evident in his stance.

You couldn't help but smile at Conroy's excitement, feeling hopeful for his future despite the challenges you faced. With Bucky's support and the promise of a safe place for Conroy to learn and grow, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

***********

The next day, Bucky continued his day with a brand new energy, grateful for the restful sleep he had gotten. This newfound routine eased his anxiety, allowing him to approach the day with a clearer mind.

He decided to visit the bar, a usual haunt where killers often gathered. As he entered, the dimly lit ambiance greeted him, familiar and somewhat comforting.

To his surprise, his boss approached him, accompanied by a figure clad in a custom suit that exuded an air of mystery and intelligence. The man's demeanor suggested he was no ordinary individual; perhaps a member of the CIA or a special undercover agent. His sharp gaze bore into Bucky, assessing him with keen interest as if dissecting his every move and thought.

The person introduced himself to Bucky with a firm handshake and a confident demeanor. "It's an honor to meet you, Barnes," he began in a voice with authority and a hint of intrigue. "I'm August Walker, and you have something that I want."

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