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#the violence of devotion. the ache of almost and could have been
vampieteeth · 3 months
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Can you write something about how reader and Finnick have been seperated like Peeta and Katniss in catching fire and reader is with peeta and Johanna when kidnapped by the capital then she gets reunited with him and it’s all angst and fluff? I’m in love with all your finnick fics 😭❤️
thank you sm!!! i’m so glad there are a few people that like my work. you’re so appreciated! please enjoy!
contains: finnick odair x fem! reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, brief mentions of canon typical violence, a theme of anti-catholicism, angst, fluff, mentions of finnick’s canonical suicidal ideation.
finnick doesn’t believe in a god. he thinks it’s pointless. how can he pray with a devoted heart, when he knows it’ll be futile? maybe he could have once, when he believed in fairytales. he was a sweet kid, full of wonder, and then panem ate him alive. stripped him of that kindness, spat him out, licked his bones clean. then they kicked his carcass into the arena, and told him to fight for a life he’d never get to live. sure, he’d made it out. but he was damaged now; breathing, yes, but not really alive. and no god prevented that. no god kept him— or the other twenty-three children he had killed — safe.
when he was young, his grandmother would wear a rosary made from wood. it had been from her mother. she’d say: this got me through the war. then she’d kiss it to her lips, and tell him about how her god kept her very well and very grateful. finnick disregarded it. he thought— god did not protect you, because look how you starved! look at how you were mutilated. his grandmother had lost a leg, and she could no longer swim like how she used to love to do in all the stories she told him. well, he thought she was crazy. that maybe all the hunger had made her not quite right, because what was the point of worshiping a god that let wars surge forth? who let children — as little as twelve — be sacrificed to the barbarism of the wealthy?
now that he’s here, and he can finally want something more than his life, he thinks he understands her a little. she prayed because it gave her hope. and hope— that tantalising, expensive thing— oh it is powerful. to finnick, it is the most awful emotion, stronger than terror or the hatred he has for the capitol. it’s like an anxiety, almost. except it doesn’t debilítate him. it festers in his lungs, squeezes at his throat, claws at his eyes and ears and threatens to crack open his skull— but it also wills him to keep trying. to keep moving, fighting, breathing.
and that’s why it’s dangerous. the longer you live in panem, the worse you bleed when it finally kills you. his grandmother hadn’t seen that. she’d thought of it as a blessing. she kept her hope close to her heart. finnick wishes he could burn it away. send it straight back to the hell he knows it was invented in.
but now he’s— he’s thinking what will he do if that hope is taken from him? if he comes down the corridor and the one thing, the only thing, that he would live for is gone? finnick could die for anything now. he’d die for bread, some fish, a hot bath. a glass of water. dying is easy. one bullet in the head and it’s over. but living is hard, and it’s agonising, and when you’re nearly dead (but not quite) the way he is— the way the other victors are— oh how he wishes it’d end.
but he’s got to. as long there is hope that you survived— that he can have you again, see you again, kiss you. well, he’s got to do it. he can’t leave you behind. he won’t.
so he’s barrelling down the hallway. and he’s not got a fever but he’s sweating profusely. and his body is screaming at him to slow down, stop finnick, right now. it’s so tired, and everything aches. but he’s endured worse. and he’s got to know. if they found you. if they brought you back, with the others. and not just as a body. but the you he loves, the smiling, laughing, stubborn you. peeta and johanna, they’d have kept you close. but neither peeta’s strength or johanna’s wit could do much against the capitol if they wanted to ruin you. not from what he saw of peeta on the broadcasts. not from how he remembers how they tortured him.
but that hope. it says, you’ll find her. you will. and, it’s so cruel. because if he doesn’t, what will he do then? he doesn’t want of think of it. he’s already suffered enough.
he’s never run so fast. not from guns or knives or arrows in the air. he crashes into things, he pushes people out of the way. he’ll be sorry later, he thinks. but right now—
“where is she?” his voice scares him. it’s trembling, cracking like lightening. he sees johanna. she looks awful. just terrible, but he can’t even bring himself to check on her. not yet. not until he knows.
haymitch grabs him by the elbow (maybe he looks a bit threatening) and he yanks it out of his grasp. then he shoves, because he feels like haymitch is in the way. “hey, buddy. i think you need to—“
“where is she? where is she? where is she?” and he’s crying but he’s also shouting. he’s never been like this before. perhaps he’s possessed. perhaps he’s been hijacked, like they suspected peeta had been, with venom. and now it’s finally kicking in, and he’s going to kill everyone. he might, if they don’t start talking. he’ll become a monster. a real one. he has no weapons, but he has his hands. his teeth too, if it comes down to it.
this is what hope does to you. makes you a frantic beast, bearing teeth.
and nobody’s answering him, too afraid to approach him, maybe. he’s just asking for you, over and over, calling your name. he’s about to do something drastic. maybe take johanna by the throat and make her tell him. even though it’s not her fault. he knows that. but he’s scared, and all he knows how to do is be violent. that’s what the arena does to you.
“finnick?”
and it’s so quiet, he doesn’t hear it at first. but then, like by magic, you are running to him. and you look like you’ve been taken apart and put back together. you look so thin, and there are bruises under your eyes, your throat, your wrists, and there’s blood nipping on your skin from where you’ve ripped your IV out. they’ve taken some of your hair, too. but he isn’t thinking about any of that. actually, he isn’t thinking at all.
what he does next is instinct. he takes you so tight in his arms and you do not complain. in fact, you squeeze back just as tight, even with your strength depleted. he’s crying even harder now, kissing every inch of your skin. he can’t breathe. he doesn’t care.
he won’t kiss your mouth yet. he’s going to hold you until he feels like it’s safe to let you go. and he’s saying, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” and you’re telling him it’s okay, i’m safe, but he doesn’t hear you. there’s ringing in his ears. he might be going deaf.
but that’s fine, he thinks. you’re here.
finnick doesn’t believe in a god, and he will never pray. what he knows is this: you came back to him. and that— that is enough to believe in.
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atinystraynstay · 18 days
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Checkmate - Park Seonghwa
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Synopsis: Jealously is a dangerous game.
Pairing: Biker Bf!Park Seonghwa x fem reader
Really got inspired by this gif set because when I sent it to a friend, she said that Seonghwa was giving biker bf! vibes and I just have been drooling over that idea ever since.
Genre: Angst, on and off relationship
Contains: mentions of sexual intercourse (use protection babes!), alcohol consumption, vulgar language, attempted spiking of drink (be cautious when you go out, babes - hand your drink to a friend, take it with you. Better to be safe always), description of physical violence
Word Count: 3k
Heartbreak was not in the forecast for this week, but sometimes things changed. Yet, you were familiar with the rollercoaster of emotions so it almost was routine, always expected like those in the Pacific Northwest anticipate rainfall. It was part of your normal.
Deep down, you knew you were in love with your boyfriend, Park Seonghwa. He was someone who added excitement into your life and could be the absolute gentleman. At least when you two weren't arguing.
The arguments between you were not frequent but more explosive. You two often approached situations defensively, almost refusing to see the other's perspective unless the other came in apologizing immediately. You two were stubborn which led to your cycle of being on and off.
Almost everyone in town knew you were Park Seonghwa's girl. Even after the ugliest of arguments, you found your way back to Seonghwa one way or another. Some might say that your souls are carved out of the same material, so you're bound to be together one way or another.
Seonghwa was the type that was fiercely protective of you. To him, you were capable of standing your own ground. He just didn't trust the motives of other people, so he always had a watchful eye over you.
That was ultimately led to the recent argument between the two of you. Seonghwa wasn't suspicious of your best friend's new boyfriend. He was a part of another biker gang in town who didn't quite carry the best reputation. Seonghwa thought he was being reasonable by asking you to limit your interactions with the individual.
However, you took it as Seonghwa didn't want you to see your best friend anymore. You were running on high emotions when you exchanged venomous words you would never use to actually describe your beloved. You called him a monster, self-centered, and insecure.
You were also hurting from the impression it seemed that he couldn't trust you.
Time and time again, you have shown your dedication to Seonghwa. Or at least you thought you had. You were constantly there to take care of any bruised knuckles or black eyes he might obtain from altercations. You poured so much love into him to help him be the confident man he is today.
Hell, you guys have been on and off for three years. Isn't that enough to prove your devotion when you always come back?
Apparently not.
"If you want to be a slut, kitten. I'm not going to stop you," Seonghwa growled at you. "Go on. Go someone else's whore."
His words cut deep. It shattered your heart into a million pieces that no argument had been before. Sure, Seonghwa might call you his slut behind closed doors. The word doesn't bother you as there was often a tone of possession behind it.
Yet, to be called a whore? By the man you love? That just aches.
You had no argument left in you after he said that. Whore. It just repeated in your mind like a broken record.
So you went to the only place you could think of to escape from the ache. Alcohol. You were currently sitting at the bar. You were wearing a black silk skirt that had a slight slit that exposed your knee. It was Seonghwa's favorite on you. He always claimed how angelic yet tempting you looked. You wore a black top that showed off your cleavage nice well.
Might as well fulfill what Seonghwa wants from you, right? He made it clear you were no longer his lover.
"Well isn't it Mrs. Park," a voice called out to you. "We're filing for divorce," you murmured.
While you might not know the particular person speaking to you, you had to make it clear. You were not linked with Seonghwa anymore. He made that very clear, and you were convinced there was no going back this time.
Not when it seemed his view of you was tainted, that he was disgusted by you because you were some common whore to him. You weren't his angel, his lover anymore.
"Can the lady get another drink? Put it on my tab."
Your interest undeniably peaked when the stranger offered to buy you a drink. You found your posture sitting up before turning around to face your suitor.
Your eyes widened. No fucking way. It was your best friend's boyfriend.
"Oh hi! Is y/bff/n here?" For the first time that night, you had a bit of hope in your eyes. Maybe not all is completely lost. You never liked to say you were dependent on Seonghwa, but your whole world was created when you got together with him. Without him, you felt like you had no true direction in life. You could always count on Seonghwa to guide you, to cherish you. But now what? The only remanent from your past life before Seonghwa was your best friend.
Her boyfriend shared an apologetic look before shaking his head. "Oh. I guess she didn't tell you. Um, we broke up last week." "Oh fuck, I'm sorry. She and I were meant to catch up but we both just had let life get in the way. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's okay. Maybe it isn't too bad? I mean, after all, we are people trying to overcome heartache."
As if on cue, the bartender delivered your drink in front of you. You smiled as you exchanged your ice-filled glass for the fresh cocktail. You raised your glass in the air as he followed suit with the beer bottle that accompanied his.
"Cheers to that," you laughed.
Clink!
After taking a proper sip of your drinks, you both set them down on the bar top. You looked out towards the crowd, seeing dancing bodies as the bass from the stereo rattled your bones. It was the perfect opportunity to forget reality.
"So, if you don't mind me asking, what happened? I mean, I don't think Seonghwa is as dumb as I think he is."
In any of your past relationships, you were all on board to bash your exes. Not Seonghwa. He had given you the world, and somehow, you gave him the impression you weren't genuine. Even though you were hurt by his words, you still felt the need to protect him.
"I think I messed things up," you sighed. You tried your best to blink away the tears, taking another sip out of your drink to ease your nerves. "I don't even know at this point. We were just arguing in circles and somehow, I pushed the man I love away and I don't think he's ever going to welcome you back."
Your best friend's ex-boyfriend looked at you sympathetically. You didn't deserve any pity. You were the one that ruined the relationship. There is no way Seonghwa would say such a word if he didn't mean it. You just couldn't calculate how he got that impression you would cheat on you.
"His loss, y/n." His hand rested on your knee comfortingly, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't want to get mixed up with the wrong crowd anyways. Seonghwa and his biker gang are all trouble, you know that."
It felt odd to have another man touch you, even if it wasn't particularly intimate. Seonghwa was the only man you trusted within your bubble because he was yours and you were his. At least, that's how it was until tonight.
Seonghwa initially joined the biker gang when he was 18. He felt lost in this world. There was no traditional career path that sparked any interest, so going to college seemed pointless. Especially when there sometimes can be such a hefty price tag.
Hongjoong, one of his classmates, had talked about the gang. It helped Hongjoong feel important, like he had power in a world that often casted any strays to the side. Seonghwa wanted to do something meaningful in his life, and the bikers allowed him to do that. His gang, in particular, viewed themselves like the Robin Hoods of your town - trying to make wrongs into rights. They were the good guys.
"And what? Your gang has a clean record?" You teased.
He chuckled and put his hands up in defense. "You got me there, pretty girl. But I can still see Seonghwa is a complete jackass for letting you roam free. Never know what can happen," he sighed.
"But at least I'm here with good company," you said. "Unless you hurt my best friend? I mean, she didn't call me crying but still." "Yeah, I know, kitten. That's your girl. Don't worry. Things just fizzled out between us. I think we thought we could give each other what we needed, but I realized it wasn't enough." "Ouch. Not sure what type of heartache is worst." "The type where you feel sorry for yourself."
You nodded, even though you didn't completely agree. You didn't feel sorry for yourself. If anything, you felt guilty for pushing away the best man you've ever met. You really thought eventually, the on-and-off carousel would come to a stop but where you two would get off together. Maybe get married. Have a house in the suburbs. A girl can dream.
"Another drink?" Your friend's ex offered.
You smiled and nodded. If he was paying, why not take him up on it. There seemed to be no strings attached, so who knows. Maybe this is the start of a new friendship, a new chapter, a new life for you.
Although, you couldn't quite shake off Seonghwa's warnings about the individual beside you. Maybe Seonghwa's been overreacting this whole time? I mean, the guy seems harmless even for being in a gang.
Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.
You looked at your phone to see Seonghwa's name pop up. You rolled your eyes and declined it immediately. There were no words to be exchanged between you and Seonghwa. Not when the message was loud and clear from him. He was done with you.
Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.
Seonghwa. Decline.
Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.
That's it. You looked at your new friend and muttered a quick apology. "I'll be quick, ok?" He nodded before turning towards the bartender to order another round.
You grabbed your phone, deciding to hop off to take the conversation outside. At least maybe you could hear him clearly and get all the pent-up emotions off your chest. While you were wishfully thinking that Seonghwa would beg for you to come home, you also had to be realistic.
Seonghwa was a well-known guy in town for the wrong reasons. His gang made grown men quiver in fear. Someone probably saw you were out alone, talking to someone from a rival gang. Specifically, a person whom Seonghwa viewed as public enemy number one. It didn't look good, but how bad could things get for you? Seonghwa wasn't your boyfriend anymore. That fact alone kept you at rock bottom.
Finally, when you were at least in a hallway of the bar, your thumb hit the green accept button.
"Hwa-" "Stay where you are."
Your eyebrows furrowed at his command. It wasn't an ask. His tone was fierce, firm. You knew there was no room for arguing, even though you wanted nothing more than to scream at him for what he said.
"How do you even know where I am, huh?" "I always keep track of my belongings, baby girl."
Your heart fluttered at the pet name. What was going on though?
Before you could question, just to get more details, you heard grunting from his side of the call. The fluttering in your heart came to a quick halt, especially when you heard grunting.
Was he okay? Was he hurt?
You noticed that the music at the bar came to a screeching halt. Quickly, you picked up on the sound of fists flying, grunting, and shouting. Even though you knew better than to stay where Seonghwa told you to, you had to investigate. At least to make sure he was okay.
Cautiously, you emerged from the hallway into the main floor of the bar. Some of the members of Seonghwa's gang were beating up the members of a different gang. The one your best friend's ex belonged to. Most of the bar had cleared out the moment fighting broke out it seems. Either out of fear or not wanting to be present when police arrive.
It was then you noticed where Seonghwa was. With the call still on-going, you noticed his cellphone was on the bar top. Yet, Seonghwa stood over your friend's ex as he remained seated. Seonghwa's fists were gripping onto the collar of the poor guy's shirt. Oh no.
You came rushing over, trying to get Seonghwa to ease up. Jealousy never brought out the best in people.
About to speak up, you found everything came to a halt the moment you heard Seonghwa.
"And you dare try to hurt my girl? My world? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
What was he talking about? Your mind was rushing to the numerous scenarios of what could have played out to lead to this moment. Did someone feed Seonghwa the wrong information? Was someone trying to stir drama.
"Listen, man. I was just following orders!" "And you really are that much of a sick fuck to try to spike someone's drink?"
Your eyes darted to the bar top to look at your drink. It seemed to be okay, the usual light yellow color from the pineapple juice mingling with the clear liquor.
But then you noticed the clear baggy. It was small, and easy to be hidden if the man leaned his arm a certain way. Honestly, you probably would have missed it when you returned to your seat.
Seonghwa was seeing red. He was worried you had taken a sip, only arriving right after you slipped away to accept his call. He was fearing the worst case scenario, and he had asked you to stay back so he could come help you once he handled the creep.
"Hwa? I'm okay, baby."
The harsh breathing from Seonghwa slowed down at the sound of your angelic voice. His grip didn't loosen, but his demeanor softened slightly. Yet, he still remained vigilant in case the punks tried pulling a fast one.
"Kitten, I asked you to stay where you were. I didn't want you to get hurt." "I didn't take a sip, I promise. He ordered a new one for me when I slipped away to take your call," you confessed.
You didn't speak in your normal tone. Seonghwa always admired how confident you are. Even during the worst of fights, he was enamored by how you always stood your ground.
Now, though, your voice was soft. Almost timid. You weren't afraid to speak to him, but clearly overwhelmed by the situation. To go from breaking up with your boyfriend, again, to nearly falling for a trap. All you wanted was to be in his arms, your safe haven.
"Hwa, we can take care of him," Hongjoong announced from behind. His hand was on Hwa's shoulders, to show he was fully capable of taking over dealing with the low life. It helped knowing that San was also there to be a the guy to a pulp after retrieving information, of course.
Revenge would be sought after. But not until he comforted you and made sure you were okay.
Seonghwa nodded, taking a small step away from the guy. However, before he could even think of running off, Seonghwa's knuckles met his face. The guy's head went flying back, so he slumped in the stool. Hongjoong and San took Seonghwa's position, leading the guy out back to handle business.
You didn't even notice the fighting in the bar had come to a halt. The bar was nearly empty besides the few members of Seonghwa's biker gang who checked the perimeter, to ensure that it was safe.
Immediately, Seonghwa rushed over to you. Both of his moved to cup your cheeks, his thumbs caressing over your cheeks. He had a hard exterior, but he was undoubtedly soft for you. It was a privilege of getting to experience this side of him. Your eyes fluttered shut in the comfort of his warm touch but also at your settling heart.
"Are you positive you're okay? He didn't touch you?" "No," you whispered. "He bought me a drink and touched my knee, but that's it, I promise."
Seonghwa's blood boiled slightly, but not enough that made him want to jump and join his two friends outside. What was important to him was taking care of you.
His heart shattered as he noticed the tears slipping from your eyes. He pulled back which caused your eyes to widen, fearing he was about to walk away. All he did was coo in your direction as you watched him shrug off his leather jacket, draping it around your shoulders.
Once he noticed your arms had slipped in through the sleeves, he wrapped his arm around you. He never wanted to admit it, but he loved being physically close to you. He just loved how soft and warm you were. His free hand moved up to tuck strands of your hair behind your ear.
"I never should have said such hateful words. God, I am a fucking idiot, sweet girl," he whispered. His lips moved to plant a lingering kiss on your forehead. "I don't view you like that. Like what I called you. I don't even know why I said it, but it's not a fucking excuse."
This happened every time Seonghwa felt guilty after an argument. When he was consumed by the guilt, he couldn't quite put the words together so they came out at once. He never wanted to let something be unsaid, especially when he was trying to make amends.
And all he wanted was to make things right with you.
"I'm done with the arguing, sweetheart. The way we argue isn't productive because I mean it when I say I'm putting a ring on your finger."
He pulled back, so you two could look at each other. Your eyes slightly widened but a smile was on your face. The tears of anxiety and sadness were replaced with tears of joy. "Really?" You whispered. "That is, if you accept my dumbass back as your boyfriend? And that you allow me to work hard to be the man you deserve, not just who you need."
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archonsabyss · 1 month
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╰─..✶. [ Luminary ]
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❒ pairing: xavier x fem!reader
"I've wandered through galaxies, whispered my hopes to the stars, lived every breath and embraced myriad lives until they blurred into countless chapters — all devoted to you."
❒ genre: romance! angst w comfort!
❒ warnings: content involving vague writings of violence, death, murder, killing, blood! emotional turmoil and breakdowns! heavy plot holes! have mercy and forgive any inaccuracies in my descriptions related to the medical field, idk how that shit actually works!
❒ word count: 5.1k
─❒ authors note: i'm struggling, actually struggling so much with my writing once again so please do forgive the quality of this one 💙
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The heavens mirrored the solemnity of your soul, with dense grey clouds enclosing and condemning the sun to a brief period of isolation— a parallel to the solitude that settled within your heart as grief insidiously made its presence known.
Your gaze ascends to the sky as though peering into a reflection of your past and you struggle to understand how you reached this point in time, unable to comprehend what of your choices and decisions led you to plunge into the depths of despair and desolation as you did.
The realization of untampered darkness within you was not much of a surprise, rather it was the pain that was so well concealed that rendered you motionless and imperturbable. You had almost forgotten the sensation of such sorrow, convinced you had submerged it deep enough to never resurface. Yet, you failed to consider that a drowned body will inevitably float to the surface with consequences trailing in the wake of its demise.
For so long, you've endured with unwavering determination, but the torrents seeping through the cracks in your defences gradually began to erode all that kept it under control.
How pitiful it is to feel your heart wail in agony as a knife wielded by your own hand carves it in half.
As you stand with your shoulders slouched under the weight of the waterlogged fabric, you strive with everything left in you to suppress it back into the abyss of ignorance, but your strength wanes and your body acts autonomously as tears interweave with the gentle showers drumming and streaming down your cheeks until they mercilessly evolve into a downpour, forcing you to confront the stark reality of your choices amid a tumultuous and destructive storm.
You shook your head, sending droplets scattering like tiny diamonds in the air. The biting cold is harsh and unforgiving, relentlessly gnawing at your body and sapping away its warmth. A lump forms in your throat, aching with the desire to release a sob but your resilience staunchly restrains it and you clamp down on your quivering lower lip with hands clenched at your side as you repeat all is okay, that you are entirely fine— believing in your unyielding strength, to prove that nothing could break you as you remain the strongest person you know. It was a good effort but ultimately futile.
You ambled through the streets with your legs carrying you on autopilot while your mind roamed elsewhere. You ended up in a park uncertain if you'd ever been there before. A sudden wave of disorientation swept over you and you stumbled forward with your hands outstretched, but there was no one there to catch you. In search of stability, you staggered toward the nearest support, a tree, and reluctantly leaned against it having no choice but to rely on something to prevent collapsing. There was not a single part of you that remained intact as your knees sunk into the dirt ground and your nails dug into the bark of the tree.
This was not how it was meant to be! This wasn't right! You were not supposed to treat your body and heart the way every other person did, but it unfolded without your awareness and now the price of your ignorance finds you pitying yourself, drenched in the rain and longing to thrust a hand into your chest and silence your beating heart permanently.
You pounded your fists against your thigh disregarding the pain it brought. Sobs wrack your body as your chest rises and falls with each heave. The blood coagulated in your throat and you envisioned yourself hunched over clawing for breath as the air refused to pass through your obstructed airways.
"For how long must I be strong? What more must I give? How many more sacrifices must I make?" Your voice wavers through sudden gasps and sniffles, its timbre quivering with vulnerability as the universe remains silent. It always does, merely standing witness to the tribulations it inflicts upon you. When people hurt you without remorse, you endured it not out of patience or strength but out of fear, and while the universe granted them solace you were left begging for relief from the guilt trapping your soul, feeling it all deeper than before.
Nothing could alleviate the burden of ending their lives not even attempting to justify yourself by claiming they started it, "it was simply a matter of them or me." Ultimately, that decision proved to be the wrong choice as the realization dawned that you had sacrificed your humanity. The absence of integrity was lost in the act of taking their lives and the isolation in this internal struggle felt profoundly misunderstood. This wasn't the person you aspired to become, yet familial ties compelled you down this dark path. Their betrayal became anchors to hell and their animosity unwittingly guided them to their downfall, but at the end of the day even in death, they emerged victorious while you found yourself remaining on the earth burdened by guilt and self-loathing.
You threw your head back and unleashed a primal scream expelling all your pain, its piercing resonance shattering the silence like a jagged shard. The heavens trembled and lightning struck the skies. The rain cascaded in rivulets submerging the earth and soaking your clothes in its tears. The tempest of fury raged on as the winds of destruction tore through the air with force that caused the trees to bend and sway violently, forcing them to submit to the relentless gusts as their branches swayed in a mournful disordered rhythm. The clatter of metal echoed as swings violently swung and collided while bolts creaked as one side of the seesaw rose and fell with a resounding thud.
The once joyful playground had been transformed into a realm of chaos where nightmares lurked. You were far too deeply within the prison of your mind that your instincts dulled and left you unable to grasp the palpable core of those nightmares that suddenly unveiled themselves. Wisps of dark smoke seeped out and the acrid scent of metal and sulphur tainted the air. They coiled around the undulating waves in the crack of the air, and if not for the bellowing screech that accompanied their movement you wouldn't have snapped back to reality in time to hurl yourself out of harm's way— fortunately evading a colossal tentacle speeding towards you with bone-crushing speed.
The scent of burning wood entered your nostrils as the tree split in two, ignited with flames that the rain could not extinguish.
Your head jerked upward and you surveyed your surroundings with swollen eyes and blurred vision. A flick of your wrist conjured a subtle ball of light that spread across your hand, shaping it into a weapon. You gripped the hilt tightly and leaped to your feet assuming a fighting stance as the ground shook.
Your hunter's watch emitted a steady stream of pings, detecting the presence of metaflux. The fluctuations grew erratic as the rain paused, moments before lightning erupted from the rift, branching out in all directions. A wanderer emerged, its claws distending the fabric of time and space as it propelled itself through the opening. It loomed large, its jaw seemingly big enough to fit a dozen people and more.
Your fingers tightened, your eyes struggling to adjust to the haziness after crying and the continuous downpour of rain when it hurled itself at you.
You pushed back on your feet narrowly avoiding it by a split second before regaining your composure and surging after it, only realizing that you miscalculated when your timing was off and he was already in the midst of a secondary attack. Your face collided with the coarse surface of its arm, and you sensed the scales of its armour slicing your cheek and arm as you were hurled across the field, tumbling until you lay sprawled on your back, bones aching. You cough upon impact, requiring a moment to pull yourself up and resume the fight. Usually, in situations like these you maintained a relatively clear mindset, adept at dodging and evading until you identified a weak point but today deviated from the usual, and you found yourself completely off your game.
Hunter's Watch: Warning! Critical injury detected! Immediate attention and medical assistance are strongly advised.
There was deep drilling in your ears that you couldn't shake as you spun on your feet and evaded its attacks. Your vision dimmed with every move until one of its nine tentacles reached out and hit you full force in your stomach. With each movement, your vision began to fade until one of its nine tentacles extended and struck you forcefully in the stomach. The force of the impact made you scream as you went flying backwards, rolling across the ground. Struggling to rise, you found your arms weakened. You glanced down at your weapon to discover your hands coated in blood. Your heart raced and the world started to spin. You staggered back onto your feet, fixated on the abrupt onslaught of pain that ripples up your arm and leg, leaving the monster unattended.
Hunter's Watch: Warning! Blood loss will exceed the maximum threshold.
Hunter's Watch: Please stop the bleeding!
The unfolding events were beyond comprehension with your strength diminishing more rapidly than you could muster the will to escape. As your physical stamina waned, your mental fortitude weakened, allowing the emotions you had suppressed earlier to engulf you. Your body shuddered, unable to bear the burden of guilt and the repercussions ensued as a comet of fire hurtled towards you, its flames transcending scorching temperatures.
Did you wish for survival?
Were you counting on the flames to sear away your pain?
What thoughts raced through your mind as you collapsed— did you believe this was how you were meant to meet your end?
It was too late. As your screams ascended at an excruciating pace, the skin on your bones seemed to melt away and you were resigned to a painful demise with no intention of fighting it, a testament to the fragility of the human mind.
Just then, in the blink of an eye, the cosmic quilt of destiny unravelled, as if a mischievous celestial weaver decided to rethread the threads of fate.
A mosaic of radiant luminaries erupted, painting a new tapestry where the unexpected danced with the stars. Abruptly, you found yourself withdrawn from the blazing inferno and held instead in the embrace of an angel. Your head nestled against his chest while his arms supported you beneath your thighs. His eyes intensified with a hue contrasting his radiance, a darkness that remained steadfast as he gazed immovably at the creature roaring, his fingers tightening around your legs to contain his anger.
"Xavier," You whispered plaintively, an ache welling in your throat as your hand gripped the fabric of his attire. You shut your eyes tightly, surrendering to the overwhelming embarrassment he's caught you in. Xavier only shakes his head, redirecting his focus solely towards you and calming your sobs with a gentle tone, "I'm here."
His voice reverberates in your ears, akin to the soothing hymn of an angel serenading your soul into tranquillity, and he embraces you tightly as if your anguish resonates within him and he can feel the depth of sorrow overtaking you. He wishes nothing more than to hold you in his arms and let your heart unburden itself from the ache, but the wanderer in question remains an untamed and perilous force that demands attention. His hand grips your thighs in a final reassurance before the weight of his body shifts to his feet. With force and agility, he pushes back, executing a nimble jump and safely landing a distance away from the growling monster whose arms stretch open, a red hue engulfing it.
"Xavier"
Xavier has positioned you against a tree, his gaze fixed elsewhere until your voice calls for him and his head snaps in your direction. "I can help."
His hand presses onto your shoulder, preventing you from getting up. He shakes his head, "No"
"You can't handle this alone!"
Xavier grins in response to your concern, gently guiding your hand to rest against his cheek. His eyes gleam with affection as they meet yours and softly, his lips graze your palm leaving behind a tender kiss. "Wait for me" And he vanishes, taking away his comforting touch and the tranquillity it bestowed upon your soul. The weariness weighs heavy as you accept the finality of where you've ended up. Your head tilts backward, cradled against the unforgiving roughness of the tree's bark. The sensation of numbness begins to creep into your limbs, a chilling reminder of the severity of your wounds. Blood trickles steadily from the deep gashes, painting a vivid tableau of agony.
As the crimson stains spread across your body, they weave a tapestry of pain, etching a story of endurance and resilience into the very fabric of your being. In this fleeting moment, contemplation grips your thoughts as you ponder the unfolding sequence of events, and as a subtle longing emerges, you realize maybe─ you would have liked to catch one last glimpse of Xavier's face, just before the impending darkness eclipses your vision and you go under.
🜙˚─ (˚ ⁀💫⋅ • ⋅ ⊰∙∘ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ༓ ⟡‧₊˚
There's an indistinct murmur of muted conversations that fills the air as your senses gradually begin to awaken. Your ears are the first to attune while your eyes wrestle with the heaviness of slumber.
An uneasy tension creases your forehead, driven by the ambiguity of your surroundings and the events that transpired before falling unconscious. It is when your lips part and a raspy groan escapes that a sudden hush descends upon the surroundings as if a pin has delicately pricked the surface of silence. In that stillness, something makes contact with your hand and elicits an instinctual impulse to withdraw, but the gentle caress and the ethereal silkiness of the skin prevent the reflex as it glides up your palm until fingers intertwine with yours, creating an unexpected connection that transcends the quiet moment, leaving you to drift amidst the realms that border consciousness and unconsciousness. Then there's a clear voice that emerges, although the words uttered can't be easily made out, it feels familiar enough to your ears that your body relaxes upon its touch.
"Wake up─ wake up for me" His voice drifts softly along the planes of desperation and urgency, a gentle caress akin to a feather brushing against the surface of your conscious as he urges you to battle the tempting allure of sleep and return to him; accept the hand he extends, to choose him just as he has chosen you. Stay by his side, as faithfully as he has remained at yours, and you try to resist, to rouse yourself, but the injuries persist in their fight to keep you under. You see, the wanderer's attack and the subsequent unconsciousness marked you gravely, but it was the preceding events that truly etched a deeper impression, and making a decision is a battle in itself, attempting to align your subconscious, body, and the longing cries of your heart.
"I can't let you go, not again, not when I finally have you. I won't allow it, do you hear me? You're not allowed to walk away, to give up!"
Why does his voice pull at the threads of your being, urging your soul to life?
Why do you sense the temptation to tread the earth despite the nightmarish ordeal it has become?
"Open your eyes," He called out every so often. Uncertain of the day or time, you just knew it was consistently present after each period of silence. It reverberates in your mind like an elusive itch, persistently beyond reach. It compels you to awaken, each time with a heightened determination.
One evening, as night stretches into the late hours, his voice reemerges. Fatigue colours his tone, yet his presence remains unwavering. He shares with you the stories of his heart, recounting how it has guided him to you in every incarnation of life. Each tale is sewn with threads of longing that span across time and space. As he speaks, you feel the weight of his emotions and the depth of his love like you've never understood before. His voice leads you into a soothing calm and is followed by an unexpected movement, or at least that is what you think.
You're unable to discern if your hand was indeed being lifted, soft lips pressing against your skin in a kiss to your knuckles, or if it's all just an illusion born from the haze of unconsciousness. Your mind, like a distant echo, wills to react to his voice and his touch until finally, it begins to stir, attempting to bridge the gap between dreams and reality.
The room holds its breath and with a final desperate effort, you push against the wall of unconsciousness, breaking free from its suffocating grasp. As you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of his face etched with concern and relief upon your awakening. His hand tightens around yours almost instantly, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips as you blink mindlessly. The world around you fades into oblivion as your gaze fixates solely on him. Suddenly, a surge of overwhelming emotion washes over you and a sob escapes your throat uncontrollably. Xavier swiftly rises from his seat, cupping your face in his hands and tentatively brushing away your tears, his touch carrying a blend of solace and shared melancholy.
"You didn't leave"
His eyes meet yours, reflecting the pain he feels upon witnessing your suffering as if every hurt you endure cuts him deeper. Frantically, you attempt to sit up but he quickly grasps your forearms.
"Why didn't you leave me" You cried.
"Because leaving you was never an option, not when you needed me the most" His answer is resolute, yet delivered with a gentleness that caresses your troubled soul. You peer through lowered lashes and blurred eyes, your voice faltering and your lip trembling.
"Why!"
"You know why"
"But I killed them" Maybe if you said it aloud it would make him see the gravity of your sin, "Doesn't the mere sight of me revolt you? How can you hold these hands stained with blood"
"These hands─" He lifts them to his lips, planting a kiss on each of your knuckles, "Hold my heart. And you forget whose hands hold you"
"I don't know if I can endure this. How do I carry the weight of my actions? I feel overwhelmed by despair and anger, Xavier. I just want to disappear"
The anguish in your voice twists his heart, a perpetual reminder that, no matter his efforts or sacrifices, it's always you bearing the pain through countless eons. In every exchange, Xavier speaks and responds with enduring patience, his words etched with a deep understanding that roots from enduring the same challenges time and time again, but there's a hint of selfishness to his assurance as he responds, "You will endure as you've always done."
You will persevere and triumph over the guilt of taking your parent's lives. They were the ones who wronged you initially. They dared to tear you away from him, and thus, they rightfully deserved to lose their lives. Xavier swore upon his existence, his planet, and the bonds constricting his heart that he would devise a means to inflict pain upon them even in the afterlife. Once he has restored your shattered, grief-stricken heart, he will pursue vengeance relentlessly.
"I'm here, so don't cry anymore"
He cradles your face in his hand, gently lifting your chin to seal his words and emotions in a promise conveyed through the kiss that he draws you into. The warmth of his lips against yours speaks volumes, a silent vow that transcends the boundaries of any known and spoken language.
Even as he pulls away, the taste of him lingers as a reminder that the love you've been running from was patiently waiting for you all along.
It is as he pulls away that you breathe in and question why you solely focus on hating yourself and those who abandoned you, when the one person who constantly remained at your side enduring every torment and hell just to love you and be with you, is holding you right now.
"It will get better" He kissed your forehead.
"Will it really?"
"One day you'll wake up and see you're worth every bit of blood spilled. They weren't parents, not family, but a twisted creation manipulated and created from greed"
"They were the only family I ever knew, even if it was an illusion. It hurts"
"You've been through so much, and I can't fix it, but we'll get through this together"
"What if I can't forget?"
He offers a reassuring smile. "You trust me, don't you?"
You nod.
"You don't need to forget, you only need to accept it. Over time the pain will ease and the guilt will fade away"
"You sound so sure" You whispered faintly.
"Because I am. I'll walk beside you every step of the way until the very end, holding onto hope until you find it"
My life is yours
🜙˚─ (˚ ⁀💫⋅ • ⋅ ⊰∙∘ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ༓ ⟡‧₊˚
As the night wore on and your tears ebbed away, in the quietude of a dimly-lit room basked in the gentle glow of a solitary lamp, you lay in bed, tending to not only physical injuries but also the emotional toll that had settled deep within you. Xavier had moved quietly in, out, and around the room for some time, tending to your well-being with a meticulous touch. His care extended beyond mere physical comforts; he fetched a comforting mug of tea, its warmth a soothing relief to your parched throat. In between his attentiveness, he settled into the chair beside the bed and held your hand. The subtle pressure of his touch reminded you he was present, each gesture a balm for the wounds that couldn't be seen.
Your head finds solace against the plush softness of his pillow as you lean back against the headboard. Your gaze wanders across his bedroom, each detail etching itself into your memory. The overwhelming presence and unsettling hum of medical equipment to your right casts a somber shadow, yet despite the sterile environment the essence of his being surrounds you in every conceivable way. The subtle whiff of scents– a hint of vanilla from the candles that rest on the bedside table, a faint trace of his cologne lingering in the air.
There is a shelf filled with books on one wall to your left; he often has a book in hand, though he tends to doze off before reaching the next chapter and many times, you find yourself picking it up and reading while he peacefully snoozes beside you. A potted plant rests on the windowsill, its dull green leaves reaching toward the moonlit night beyond. It's only then that you glance at the darkened sky outside and realize you've lost track of both the time and the date. You'll have to wait until Xavier comes back to ask him. In the meantime, your gaze carries on and lands on a drawer opposing the bed where a few framed photographs sit. Your heart brims with emotion at the sight of a singular image– just one in particular amongst the rest of the framed canvases of sky, flowers, and a quote. It's a collage preserving the image of both of you beneath the canopy of cherry blossoms. The initial frame freezes a shared moment of joy, your smiles captured by the camera– your teeth gleaming as Xavier's grin is subtle. Then, in the second frame, his gaze lingers on you as you lean in closer, the intimacy between you more pronounced than in the first picture.
You want to get out of bed to fetch it but you're restrained by the array of machines diligently monitoring your vital signs. There's a web of wires connecting you to the heart monitor, electrodes adhered strategically to your chest to pick up every blip and fluctuation of your heartbeat. The pulse oximeter on your finger quietly gauged the oxygen levels in your blood, a small yet crucial device providing insights into your respiratory health. Its rhythmic beeping harmonized with your gentle breaths, a reassuring cadence that mirrored the rise and fall of your chest.
Slowly, frustration begins to creep in, and as if the universe has heard you, Xavier re-enters the room holding a small bag in one hand and his phone in the other. You take a moment to fully observe him and note that he has changed clothes, now wearing a cozy white sweater instead of his hunter's jacket.
He raises his head to meet yours, offering a sweet smile, and as you finally notice the dark rings accentuating his eyes, your lips turn into a frown.
Xavier places the small bag on the side table, casting a glance at the machines tethered to you.
"Feeling better?" He asks, his voice cutting through the hum of medical equipment and you look down, unsure. There's a void where intense emotions once resided, and not even the overwhelming gravity of events that brought you here could stir you.
"How long have I been unconscious?"
Xavier's expression softens, "It's been two weeks"
"Two weeks?" You repeat, disbelief carrying your tone and Xavier nods as he unpacks the food containers from the bag and places them on the bedside table.
"That's why you're here with me instead of the hospital. Convincing them to let me bring you home wasn't easy," He admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "It took a few days, and only when your condition stabilized did they finally agree. Hence, the impromptu hospital setup. According to their assessments, you would have been quite alright under my care as long as I kept a close eye on your condition and arranged for a private doctor to check on you daily"
"Your physical wounds were critical, mainly due to blood loss. I'm surprised you've woken already," Xavier remarked, observing you nibble on the food he brought. He knew that if you were to crave anything, it'd be your favourite takeout. "As for your Hunter's Watch, it was damaged beyond repair, but I'll get it replaced once you're back on your feet."
His words offer a glimmer of hope, reminding you that even amidst the challenges, there are solutions and ways forward. With Xavier by your side, navigating the road to recovery feels a little less daunting. He hands you a bottle of water to wash down the meal, his eyes attentively watching your every move. He fears that if he so much as glances away or blinks, you might vanish.
After you've consumed enough food to quell your hunger, Xavier cleans up and rearranges the pillows behind your back, going the extra mile by placing a hand on your forehead to check your temperature.
"Do you need anything else?" His gaze lingers on the machines monitoring your vitals before they do a once over your body.
You shake your head, and he smiles, although it appears somewhat off in a way you can't quite pinpoint. Leaning in, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead and then your cheek, allowing his lips to linger as he wishes you goodnight.
"Where are you going?" You asked frantically grabbing onto his forearm and holding it tightly when you see him get up as if ready to leave.
Xavier's weary eyes flutter as he swiftly cups your face and quiets you, soothing your distress. He's at a loss for words, lamenting the stars for their impeccable timing. He looks at you and witnesses the battle you wage against the encroaching emptiness, determined to shield your inner light. A surge of intense anger courses through him, directed at everything that subjected you to such hardship. While he's beyond relieved by your awakening, don't get him wrong, he wonders why it had to happen on the very night he had planned to seek answers. He can't openly confess that he's endured days without a proper amount of sleep, at most managing four hours if not merely two due to spending the majority of his time either at your side; resulting in a stiff and aching neck from all the awkward positions he's maintained; or out on the streets gathering information and obliterating anyone who dared to tamper with your mind, subjecting you to this torment, essentially, his intention was to erase every trace of their existence from the fabric of reality. But now that you're awake he has no intention of leaving you. It can wait.
He exhales, and with the gentle huff of air that leaves his mouth, his heart crumbles and the fragments fall into your hands.
His head bows forward, his hair veiling the sorrow in his expression.
His hands press into the mattress and headboard, the pressure causing his knuckles to whiten.
You extend your hand to take hold of his chin, intending to tilt his head back and peer beyond the protective barrier he maintains, but Xavier, proves adept at this charade, swiftly evading a glimpse into his inner turmoil. He offers a dismissive smile which somehow inflicts more pain than when your brother's hand is clasped around your neck in an attempt to strangle you.
"You should get some rest" He murmured, his fingertips delicately mapping the lines of your jaw as he observed the fatigue etched on your face, a testament to the weight of the day and the even longer week you had endured. His words hung in the air, the shared moment laden with unanswered questions and unexpressed emotions on both sides. While his concern begged him to inquire, to unravel the intricacies of the events that had propelled you into this emotional turmoil, he refrained from prying, acutely aware of the fragility of your shaken composure.
"Will you stay?"
"Always"
Xavier cautiously joined you in bed, unsure if it was alright, but when you didn't object and snuggled against his chest, he felt reassured, then as he cradled you in his arms offering support without saying a word. his attention fixed on the gentle beeping of your heartbeat echoing from the monitor until eventually, exhaustion crept in, lulling him into sleep alongside you.
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✧ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!
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azsazz · 10 months
Text
Dead by Dawn (Part 12)
Azriel x Cassian x Reader
Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.
Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism.
Word Count: 2,871
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11)
_________________________________________
Day 194
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
You sleep for longer than you should. By the time Azriel forces his eyes open, dry and gritty from the length of time he’s been asleep, the sun is almost overhead.
He shifts, stretching his aching limbs as he looks around the large living room. You’re still sleeping, face curls up into one of Cassian’s sweatshirts, blocking the bright sun streaming in from the windows. He can hear your soft breathing and for a moment he wishes he could see your face. 
Cassian is asleep on the recliner next to him. Feyre is no longer sprawled on the couch and Rhys is also missing from the pack before he remembers that they’re on watch. 
You’d found multiple bedrooms within the home but the frenetic energy had you all converging in the large room for bed, too used to being piled on top of each other for so long. Everyone was too bone tired to want to drag the mattresses into the room, and Azriel had suggested that it wait until you were all sure that this was going to be the place to stay for awhile.
He rolls onto his back, releasing a long sigh. His shoulder aches from sleeping on it all night, but it’ll surely pass.
Azriel lets himself lie for a few more minutes, and it’s weird. He can hardly remember the last time he’d had a lie in or had been left alone with his thoughts, without the impending end of the world interrupting him. He’s not even sure what to think about.
Head lolling to the side, his gaze wanders your way again. You look much smaller now that you’re all tucked up in on yourself, and he wonders for a brief moment how you’ve actually survived this long. With your less than great luck, stubborn ways, and injured leg. He winces guiltily at the thought. 
But he silently thanks the Mother for sending you and Feyre their way.
It’s nice having the both of you around, not that he’d ever admit it out loud, especially to Feyre. It certainly doesn’t hurt to have someone who knows how to patch up wounds in their group.
All in all, Azriel thinks you’re pretty well off. Cassian with his seeds, being able to give you all a real source of sustainable food once you find a place long enough to stay, even if he’s heard enough about them to make his ears bleed. Rhys, the natural born leader and always had been. He’d learned a lot about politicking from his father and it had come in handy in more circumstances than he’d thought. He would gladly follow his friend into a horde of zombies if he asked.
Feyre, who has found herself in a position of leadership as well, calling the tough shots between the two of you and on a mad chase through the country to find her sisters. Her loyalty had made him bristle at the beginning, but now Azriel sees that she’s a bit more like him than he’d bargained for, devoted to the people she trusts until the very end.
You shuffle, letting out a soft groan that sounds more like a pleased whimper and goes straight to his cock. Azriel squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a shaky breath as he tries to invision zombies with their abdomens sliced open and entrails falling out. 
You push the sweatshirt from your face, readjusting it further under your head as you blink your big eyes open, taking in the sun filled room.
“Morning,” you say, voice scratchy with sleep as you take note of Azriel. 
“Good morning,” Azriel greets, a ghost of a smile lining his lips, like this is a secret good morning made for just the two of you.
You yawn, closing your eyes again. “I don’t want to get up,” you groan, burrowing deeper into the comfortable sweatshirt.
“No one said you have to,” Azriel shrugs, and you look so soft and sleepy that his fingers twitch with the urge to pull you into his arms. “Got nothing to really do today, anyways.”
You hum in agreement, nearly already back asleep.
He allows himself to watch you for a moment, until Cassian rouses from his own slumber. He knows that he doesn’t need to look away but he feels as though he’s been caught, and those few minutes were just for him, as selfish as it sounds.
Azriel slips from his makeshift bed, a blanket he’d found in one of the rooms that wasn’t eaten by moths, and makes his way out the french doors leading onto the back porch. 
It’s where Cassian finds him later.
He’s watching Rhys and Feyre as they walk along the fence. Her head is thrown back in a laugh and Azriel can see Rhys beaming grin from two miles away. It makes his own lips quirk.
“Sleep well?” Cassian asks, joining him. His long hair is tousled with sleep, matted with other things and he needs it cut desperately, but it still makes Azriel want to pull him into a closet and tug at his hair as he forces his head towards his cock. 
He avoids making eye contact with Cassian before he acts on those thoughts. “Better than I have in a while,” he admits.
“Think this could be the place?”
“I don’t know,” Azriel shrugs, and it’s the truth. “You tell me.”
He hasn’t taken it upon himself to scout the property, so he doesn’t know the potential of this spot until he does so himself. Of course he trusts the rest of the group to be able to tell the difference, but for his own peace of mind he’ll need to walk the property and see what you’re all dealing with.
“It’s not too bad,” Cassian starts, grinning and waving to Feyre who is jumping up and down and waving at them like a madwoman. It seems as though everyone has woken up on the right side of the bed this morning but it leaves a weary feeling in Azriel’s gut. You shouldn’t all settle so quickly.
Cassian continues. “There’s a part of the fence that needs repairing, but other than that, it seems like this could really be the place, Az.” He has that glint in his eye, hope, Azriel realizes. Hope that there is actually a future that isn’t just moving around and searching for a safe haven that may not even be out there.
They can just make their own.
“How long do you think it will hold?” Azriel asks.
“Hard to say,” Cassian answers, tapping a finger to his chin as he thinks. They watch Rhys and Feyre begin to make their way back up to the house. “It’ll hold until we can fix it, if we do it soon.”
Azriel nods. “Alright. We should get the van today and look for supplies if we have the time. We’re almost out of water and some more food wouldn’t hurt.”
“Did someone say food?” Feyre asks and she and Rhys near. They’re standing close, arms brushing as they walk and Azriel can see the strain in Rhysands eyes as he wants to twine his fingers with hers. He scowls at Azriel when he catches him looking but the other man only rolls his eyes. “Where’s (Y/N)?”
“She’s still sleeping.”
“No she’s not,” you answer, sliding out of the door. You’re draped in Cassian’s hoodie that you’d been using as a pillow, despite the morning heat. You’re swimming in it and looking much more innocent than they know you to be.
You still look tired, and he’s sure that they all do, but all thoughts eddy from Azriel’s mind as you come to stand right beside him, the sleeve of your sweater brushing his bare one.
He tries not to overthink it.
“What’s the plan for today?” you ask, scanning the backyard like each of them had when they’d come outside. It warms his heart that you’re all picking up on each other’s quirks, his tendency to make sure everything is as safe as possible.
“Going to get the van and do a supply run,” Rhys says, thinking along the same lines Azriel had. The violet eyed man volunteers himself to go.
“I’ll join,” Feyre chimes in, and no one says anything about the look shared between the both of them.
“Me too.”
Azriel makes a face at Cassian but is torn between mentioning his leg and saying nothing. Instead, he and Rhysand meet eyes, and Azriel gives a slight shake of his head. He’d rather volunteer himself to go than let anything happen to Cassian.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to say anything because you’re already answering. “But your leg.”
Cassian sends an overexaggerated, dazzling smile your way. “It’s feeling better today, I promise.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea…” you trail off and Cassian relents.
“Fine, I’ll stay only so you can have your piece of mind playing nurse one last time,” he jokes and you laugh. “And I better get a haircut out of this.”
Your laugh splutters, mouth hanging agape, “What makes you think that I’m any good at cutting hair?!”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•
Hair lines the floor. You don’t know how you’d gotten suckered into playing barber but there’s a comb in one hand and a pair of scissors you’d found in a kitchen drawer in the other. Cassian had been the one to talk you into it, complaining about how long his hair had grown lately. You quite liked the look on him, especially when he pulled it into a knot at the back of his head, but he’d wrangled a chair into the doorway of the small bathroom and all but forced your hand to make the first cut.
“Just a few inches,” he winked and you gave in.
But now Azriel’s sitting in your chair, bullied into it by Cassian, though he didn’t fight the idea as much as you’d thought he would. With the larger man pulling at his dark locks, a teasing grin on his face, the glare Azriel had cut him at the time had made you look away, hiding the smile stretching across your lips at their antics.
What you hadn’t been able to pick up in that golden glare was the electricity that buzzed within them, the way the air between them shifted into something charged, the way Cassian’s gaze flicked suggestively your way and Azriel’s lips quirked.
Your comb slides through his dark, damp hair with ease, knots brushed out by your tender touch. He was more surprised at that than anything. Azriel had seen the way that you’d struck zombies and humans down alike, face set and hands worn with time spent in the end of the world. But with clean hands fingering through his locks he’d realized just how soft you still were. How you hadn’t lost that part of you like so many.
Like him.
“Almost done,” you breathe, snipping at the back of his head. He feels lighter already, and it’s not just from the way you’re massaging his scalp and threading your fingers through his hair. 
You make your way around him, placing your tools down on the counter as you do so, so that your hands are free as they slide into his soft hair once more and pull softly, measuring the length on both sides. Leaning down so that you’re eye level with him, Azriel studies you, fighting the heating of his cheeks every step of the way at the concentration on your face, even if you aren’t even looking at him.
He swallows roughly. He wants to untuck his hands where they’re folded tightly together in his lap, run them up your legs, brush the hair back that’s falling into your face, to do something. 
“It looks pretty even to me,” you murmur, sliding your fingers into the lengths again to double check. It nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head and a groan escape his lips, and this time he does let his hands come to rest on your hips, steadying himself.
Your eyes pierce his, startled at first by the gentle grip he has on you, but a soft smile appears and his head stammers in his chest.
“How does it look?” he breathes, unable to drag his gaze away.
Your fingers itch to twist themselves into his hair, locking them in place. You want to pull at it as his hands draw up your body, touch everywhere they can. The heat of his hands is delicious on your hips and the spark in his golden eyes is like a magnet, drawing you in.
“It looks…” you trail off, taking the time to really take a look at him. He’s devastatingly handsome, straight features and tan skin that you can’t help but want to taste. The downturn of his pink mouth isn’t seen as unhappy, but curiosity as his tongue darts out to wet them. “You look good.”
The hands around your hips tug and you go sprawling into his lap. Your fingers tighten in his dark hair, pulling Azriel to you just as desperately as he’s yanking you towards him. Your mouths meet in a hurry of emotions and an explosion of lust kicks your heart into gear. 
It isn’t anything less than the both of you clinging to each other, a mess of wandering hands clawing at each other, ready for more. He’s so warm, and you can feel his cock stirring with interest as you grind down on his lap, swallowing his groan.
Azriel’s fingers brush up your sides, thumbing over your breasts. You shiver and gasp, and his tongue dips into your mouth for more as he hauls you even closer, chests pressed so close that you can feel his heaving breaths against yours.
His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, pressing flat against your warm skin. You keen. You haven’t felt like this in a long time, didn’t know you were even capable of feeling so good anymore and all you want to do is strip him from his clothes and–
“I seriously love this look on me,” Cassian says, startling you. You rip yourself away from Azriel, mouth dropping in horror as you stare between the two of them. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…
You shove yourself away from the broody man, head spinning a mile a minute. Cassian had just walked in on you making out with his…well, whatever they are. There’s definitely something between them, you’d heard it that night in the van. And not only that, but you’ve also kissed Cassian and here you are, making out with Azriel too.
Azriel’s mouth is swollen from your kisses, hands fallen into his lap like he couldn’t be bothered to move them when you’d dragged yourself away. His golden eyes are dark with shadows but he doesn’t look away from you even when you glance at Cassian, who’s running his fingers through his freshly cut hair with a smirk.
“Oh my Gods,” you breathe, slapping a hand over your mouth as your stomach roils. Tears prick your eyes and you need to get out of here right now. Maybe Feyre and Rhys aren’t too far out yet and you can wallow in your mortification on your way to find them.
“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, trying to shove your way around the towering men. Cassian takes up the entire door frame, smile falling from his mouth as he sees your fretting. He catches you by the waist and tugs you into his body, arms like iron chains around you. You’re unable to get out no matter how much you struggle.
“Calm down,” he murmurs, but you can’t, especially smothered by the warmth of his body. “It’s okay.”
Your eyes are stuck on his, searching for the anger that you won’t find. The hands trying to remove yourself from his grasp curl against his chest as you settle slightly, but his words aren’t enough.
You can hear Azriel shuffling behind you, rising from his spot and kicking the chair away before he’s sidling up behind you. You jolt in shock as he presses himself firmly behind you, his hands joining Cassian’s to keep you held between them both.
“More than,” he whispers his agreement and you shiver.
“But I thought–” you choke, unsure of how to go about whatever is happening right now. They’re nearly smothering you, both so big and tall that there’s no hope for an easy escape. You have to crane your neck back all the way to look up at them, and their heated gazes make your stomach stir. “I thought you two were together.”
Your voice sounds broken, soft, like you don’t want them to hear. You feel stupid, cheeks heating as you all but admit you’ve overheard their conversation in the van but haven’t understood it.
Cassian and Azriel share an amused look, the former craning down to look you in the eyes more fully.
“We are,” he answers, thumb stroking a soothing pattern across the exposed skin of your waist, calming you as if you might bolt away from them. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for one more.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36 @bionic-donut @que-serasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamer @secret-ly-here @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @harrystylesfan2686 @poppyalice2001 @fall-myriad
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thorniest-rose · 7 months
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I’m being completely honest when I say this: I actually think that Prism has changed my life. I don’t want this to turn into a trauma dumping session so I’ll try to keep it short. In 2020-2022 I was in an incredibly abusive relationship, both mentally and physically. My ex manipulated and gaslit me, and made me isolate myself from all of my friends. As I’ve never really had a family, I was completely alone apart from him. Our relationship ended in December last year, when my best friend found out I was still living with my abuser (I had lied, and said I was living with an aunt), and came and helped me get all my things so that I could move into her studio apartment with her. She also gave me the courage and support to finally make a report. The trial was last wednesday, and the verdict came today. Since he admitted to everything, and the evidence was so plentiful, he’s going to prison for almost a year.
I’m telling you this, because I need you to know just how important Prism has been for me. When I first read the warning chapter, I thought I wouldn’t even make it halfway through the first chapter, but your portrayal of abuse is so amazingly accurate that I found myself captivated.
Instead of it being triggering for me, as I was initially scared it would be, Prism has been a story that I’ve been able to see myself in. I’ve found myself audibly reacting to lines about how Steve believes Billy’s abuse will cease if he just gets everything right, if he’s not a burden. It hit hard, like a punch to the gut, but settled into a warm feeling not entirely unlike a post workout ache. I want to thank you for your naked and raw portrayal of abuse, and how victims of abuse often believe themselves deserving of the violence. I read, and I see Steve, but I also see myself at nineteen years old, scared, alone and hurt. Knowing that what’s being done to me is wrong, but still believing it to be deserved. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to process and heal my own traumas through an unconventional (but highly effective (and even endorsed by my therapist!)) way. I look forward to reading future chapters and seeing where Steve ends up, if he gets out similarly to how I did.
Perhaps worth mentioning, as I’m writing this I haven’t yet read the newest chapter, as I wanted to save it for after the trial was completely over to treat myself. Judging from some of your asks talking about a certain bathroom scene, chances are I’ll be giggling and kicking my feet before this night is over, dreaming about my own Prism Eddie sweeping me away (kidding… unless..?)).
THANK YOU again!! Love you💞
— 🐞
Hello darling, first of all I want to apologise and say how sorry I am for taking a few days to answer this, I was on a really busy work trip last week. I got back over the weekend and wanted time to devote some time to answering it, but I want you to know that I read this the moment you sent it in and I cried in my hotel room.
When Az and I started Prism, we joked with each other that only five people would read it because of how different and provocative it is, how painful and unpleasant. And it's far exceeded our expectations, but we said if that was the case and only a handful of people read it, it would be okay because the people who'd read it would love it, and if we could touch just one person with our writing, then it would all be worth it.
So reading everything you put in your ask has deeply touched me, it means so much more than fandom popularity, than writing a fic that everyone is talking about, or writing something flashy and superficial that appeals to a mass audience. Knowing Prism has meant so much to you, and has helped you during such a hard time in your life, will have always made the creation of this fic worth it. And all I can say is thank you. Thank you so much for telling me because I feel like this is the dream of any writer. To know their writing has made a difference in someone's life. It's a blessing to write Prism and for you to have found it, my love.
Secondly, I want you to know how incredibly brave I think you are. Abusive relationships are so consuming and they break you down completely, pulling you into their orbit and destroying everything good in your life. It's probably no surprise that Az and I have imbued elements of abusive relationships we've had in the past into Prism, so I can empathise. Honestly, reading what you've been through pulls at my heart. I'm so, so sorry that you went through all of that, for so long, and that you were hurt and manipulated by the one person who should have looked after you. But for you to have the bravery after all that to leave him? And to make a report? To have the courage to stand up to him and see him put behind bars? God, I'm crying writing this now. I'm just so happy and hopeful for you in this next stage of your life without him, and I might not know who you are but I'm thinking about you, and I think you're incredible. You're beautiful and strong and so completely amazing.
There was part of me that wanted to keep this in my inbox for longer and protect it because it's so special, but I knew you deserved an answer. I hope you see this. If you do please let me know.
Thank you for your ask. Thank you, thank you. You, and people like you, have turned the creation of Prism into such a beautiful and life-changing experience <333
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omg!! tbh i was shy in sending you this because i wasn't sure if you'd like it, hence the anon ask. but yes... I have thoughts and ideas and feelings. hurt/comfort angsty shit is my thing. i think how he'd feel bittersweet of noticing changes in knight reader's behavior as time goes on, mostly in the beginning. and they get more used to it. violence has always been there, so why would they change? there's a difference when you're part of it as a victim and when you're the one responsible for it, he understands. he notices a certain darkness growing in them. stiff shoulders, scars and rougher hands from restless training. how their eyes are heavier, way darker than before, filled with a promise of harm. a silent warning. he'd take these little observations to himself quietly. like tragic events you can only watch and do nothing about because it isn't in your control. Prince Gojo knows the weight of the responsibility they've chosen. Knight reader has become so efficiently good at it, it's strange to him. the day he realizes what they're capable of unforgivable acts. red filling his sight, he could almost believe that the sky had changed colors as well. a warm atmosphere of thick blood that's difficult to breath in, uncomfortable, unnatural. for a second he saw no light in knight's eyes, which he's so fond of. duty. the promise of protection much louder in knight's ear than the scream of the men ahead that'll soon fall to the ground. those changes certainly make his heart ache. specially when knight reader, who's covered in dirt, sweat and blood denies touching him as to not stain his perfectly clean skin and clothes. or when knight reader says that it's too disgusting to touch and smell, so he should stay far from them. but we know Gojo would not care and indulge in his heart desires, in the hunger to comfort and clean them from such events. as if he could steal knight reader from everything and everyone. offer them all of his truly undying love. away from sharp edges. a place where there's nothing but softness and the brightness of gojo's smile.
@softgirlgonehaywire MICKEYYY COME LOOK COME LOOK WE ARE BEING FED
GOSH your brain!!!!!! your beautiful clever brain!!!!!! yes. just yes. u get them so well!!! i agree w literally everything u said……. U WROTE THIS SO BEAUTIFULLY TOO HHH THAT JUST MAKES IT HURT MORE….;;;;;;; T_T
first of all; im sorry to bring satosugu into literally everything (it will happen again) but like. i think what will always break me is the fact that suguru is canonically compared to a setting sun because all gojo could do was helplessly watch him fade away AND THATS JUST…… yeah. the idea of him failing to protect the One person he loves no matter the universe is so soulcrushing to me.
and the idea of him being forced to watch as his knight grows more cynical, as they start to become more and more infected by duty, duty, duty (if i ever finish the knight!sugu fic im cooking up ill definitely dissect this concept more but to me duty is like. almost a Disease in this world. something that corrupts.)… it’d break his heart a bit. he would definitely pull some strings to try and ease their duties and burdens but there’s only so much he can do :( (more motivation for him to become king so he can protect u properly!! tbh i think king!gojo would be twice as protective maybe a little manic… or maybe it would get him to relax a bit more… who knows who knows (<- thinking many thoughts))
but. gosh. the way u phrased this im literally going rabid……… ”violence has always been there, so why would they change?” / ”(…) filled with a promise of harm. a silent warning.” / ”the promise of protection much louder in knight's ear than the scream of the men ahead (…)” <- THIS ONE ESPECIALLY OHHH U GET IT U DO!!! placing satoru’s safety above everything else…. ruining themselves bc of that devotion…….. ur writing is so pretty btw im in awe
AND GODDDDD u know the way to my heart!! the guilt knight!reader feels, not wanting satoru to stain his own hands w the blood on theirs… they just see him as being so far above, like the sun in the sky, and thats also why i think they would feel some sort of urge to keep their distance… they’d rather die than dirty him, literally or figuratively. (but in reality i think prince!gojo is already a bit twisted and dirtied on his own and thats what knight!reader might not completely realize…) its literally just this:
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if u listen closely u can hear the sound of me falling to my knees. both of them are a little sick in the head but they love each other so dearly, not even romantically, just as individuals…. they’re just in love w each other’s existence i think. it’s a very pure kind of love!!!
as if he could steal knight reader from everything and everyone. offer them all of his truly undying love. away from sharp edges. a place where there's nothing but softness and the brightness of gojo's smile.
^ AND FINALLY THISSSSS ohhh u r killing me…. this is exactly it too!!! that desire to just steal them away and make sure theyre safe. he wouldnt do it bc he knows they wouldnt want that, but he rlly does just want them to be happy and safe all the time…. i think gojo is kind and mature enough to realize that hes being selfish and he wouldnt act on those desires but theyre very much there. all he can do is keep smiling for them, trying to get them to realize that its okay to depend on him too 🥺🥺
its so funny bc they rlly do both have a severe hero/savior complex LMAO its like two people-pleasers trying to decide what to have for dinner… nono you choose, you choose, im fine with anything!! you want whatever i want? but i want whatever you want…. silly little geese. i love them!!
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muddshadow · 10 months
Text
find the word —
words courtesy of @isherwoodj and @akindofmagictoo <3 tagging you back and also @faelanvance @pinespittinink @baroquesse @revenancy @the-void-writes @calicoy and anyone else who feels like it <3 to you i bestow the words ASH, ACHE, CLEAR, COLD.
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RAISE // bloodhounds
...she’d been considering a possibility, one that emerged this past year with the slow, solemn recognition that accompanied all dreadful truths, and one that had been sufficiently judged with rejection, reluctance, and compromises. It’s not what I think. It couldn’t be that. It must be something similar. But Neve was raised to untangle puzzles, and how could she ignore the thousand knotted strings that wove together Rowan? She couldn’t. Not when she watched him share stories across the dinner table, not when they surrendered low-toned secrets around a fire-pit or a dawn-crested balcony or in the silent embrace of the pilot’s deck, and certainly not now, as she plucked through the tattered wires of his detached prosthetic. Rowan told a great many truths, and all of them were shadows. Pieces missing, unmentioned, momentous.
Rowan spoke suddenly. “What're you thinking?”
TALL // bloodhounds
Tulan smiled, and it was almost warm. “Look how you’ve grown, Nevelyn.”
When tears burned in her eyes, it felt wrong and overwhelming, and Neve retreated back into her arms. She still didn’t know what to think, but she felt, felt, felt, the bittersweet weight of old memories and a stolen future, the drawn-and-quartered quandary of a man devoted to violence who had loved her like a daughter.
“I never thought you’d end up so tall. That surprised me.”
It hurt to be present, but she had nowhere else to be. Meeting Tulan’s gaze still proved too challenging, so Neve stared at the table and wrangled her thoughts into words.
LOW // the inherited haunting of trystan song
“The universe fucking hates me today,” I say, mostly to myself.
Magdalena still graces me with an answer. “Don’t be rude, Trystan.” She wears a yellow dress and sunhat, coiled hair a black cloud beneath it. A cigarette fits between her fingers, nails perfectly manicured and nighttime blue. They’re always a different color. She bores quickly. I’m hoping I can bore her out of a conversation, since I already have a catastrophe planned.
Magdalena lowers her designer sunglasses and glimpses me over. “You look terrible.”
ROYAL // the inherited haunting of trystan song
“Is that a soda in there?”
“No. It’s a high nutrient fruit juice, made with–”
“Great. Hand it to me.”
He does without looking and continues sifting through the fridge drawers. I don’t catch any of his unintelligible mutters. I don’t try to. I’m already knocking back my first shot of Crown Royal and get straight to work on the second and third. Chasing it with high nutrient fruit juice isn’t as satisfying as Dr. Pepper, but it does make it interesting.
OVER // twice-dead scavengers
The evening before the triplets left, House Finch held a grand celebration. All twenty-seven Finches attended; not counting the married-in spouses and step children, who were never counted, and not counting Tatum, whose presence was no longer expected or desired anywhere near the Finch doorstep. Only special occasions brought the entire esteemed and estranged family together at one table. A special occasion to pry for information, confront old rivalries, and to discreetly glimpse over Grandmother Ruvilka and assess if she was anywhere closer to death.
Tonight, the conclusion didn’t waver from the previous decades. Grandmother remained at the head of the table and deathless.
RUGGED // twice-dead scavengers
Bright pain erupted in her shoulder, scathing and rendering her blind. Geneviere dreaded losing her other arm, released a short, husky shriek at the thought, but the knife was a quick dart and not a rugged hacking. The phantom tore the blade free of her trapezius. Geneviere collapsed forward. Blood wept down her arm, mixing with sweat and ink.
Several strides away, the mist collected into the distinctive shape of a person, hunched on their heels and watching her, this time with a voice.
“You’re the weakest,” the phantom said, tone hushed like dawn and roiled deep by storm, “because the others don’t care about you.”
“Ouch,” Geneviere mumbled. Mostly because of the stab wound.
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foolish-sparrow · 1 year
Text
Strung up in my web
A/N: You can blame countless hours playing cyberpunk 2077 for this one.
Warnings: Blood, pain, violence, innuendos, swearing, mercenaries, guns murder and alcohol
You could feel Siyeon’s warm breath tickling against your lips, the smell of home and devotion caressing your senses and urging your muscles to relax.
Surviving the city was harsh and cruel, but at least you had her by your side.
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Night City, you concluded, was a different type of purgatory.  
Buildings reached high up into the smog-filled sky, the hovering vehicles belonging to med-tech watching over the streets that never slept. Any old-world structures were long since lost to time, only the new could survive here.
“Again, Y/N?” It was more of the slight growl than the words themselves that stole your attention. Siyeon was standing at the entrance, arms crossed, and brow furrowed, her scent bleeding into the room like a low tide.
“Siyeon, hey,” you greeted, wishing away the husky croak that gave way that you hadn’t slept.
Taking steady steps towards your slumped frame, Siyeon could feel her concern bubbling just beneath her skin. No matter her efforts, your stubbornness continued to reign supreme. “How many times must I remind you,” she spoke, gently taking the spanner from your grip, “that you need to take care of yourself.”
Your usually pleasant disposition had been clouded by the stress and pain for a while, to the point where it had embedded itself into the surrounding metal.  Siyeon had to constantly refuse the urge to flinch every time the scent entered her nose.
For several nights now you had been working on the same car.
A Cali, sleek and fast – you had acquired her on one of your gigs. She had just been sitting there, ownerless and for the taking. Rusting away in an abandoned storage container located in some abandoned underground freeway out in the middle of nowhere.
You couldn’t say no, really.
And she was magnificent.
Her engine purred -- a warning shot before a flying bullet -- and she handled smoothly like your favorite devil’s liquor.
You had been like a child during Christmas morning when you got her back home; completely ignoring Siyeon’s interrogation on why you were covered in blood and dirt. Muscles twitched and synapses exploded.
It took a great concoction of bribes and threats from your better half to get you back inside that night.
And now, looking into your lover’s eyes, taking her in, you finally manage to access the page she had been reading all along.
Slumping into yourself with a tired sigh, you let out a groggy, “yeah.” Bringing your palms up to rub against your eyes, “I know.”
Seeing defeat shine in your usually bright eyes was heartbreaking, the desire to reach out and comfort almost second nature. Siyeon’s palm was warm against the back of your own, your hand being guided away so her eyes could look into your own with more clarity.  
“Do you wish to eat first?”
The rare softness of Siyeon’s voice, along with the soothing circles she was drawing against your skin had you fluttering your eyes closed, head leaning forward until it knocked against hers. You could feel Siyeon’s warm breath tickling against your lips, the smell of home and devotion caressing your senses and urging your muscles to relax.
Seeing the tense lines begin to soften, Siyeon began placing small kisses on the side of your head as she waited patiently for your answer. Her thumb continued to massage away any lingering coils formed by bunched muscles.
“No,” you breathed out a while later, the deep ache surrounding your entire frame making you want to do nothing more than rest. To be swept away in the throes of slumber and forget about Night City.
However, the thought of having to move in order to accomplish your goal, well, wasn’t something you were particularly fond of with the state you were in.
Your legs grew shaky upon your accent, knees not being able to make up their mind in which way they would like to go.
For a moment it would seem like your face was about to make fast friends with the hard flooring in your garage; Siyeon’s territorial reflexes being the only thing to hinder the potential for the relationship to be made.
She doesn’t say anything when the implants hidden away in her arms induce a shocking amount of strength in such a short time. Blood rushes to your face once you realize that she is carrying you like a drunken damsel in distress.
Gratitude forms in the way you press a delicate kiss on the side of her neck. Words were never your forte after all.
“Y/N,” Siyeon suddenly warns, trying not to stumble when those presumed innocent kisses travel further upwards to the sensitive skin of her jaw, “stop that.”
Despite feeling as tired as you were, you couldn’t stop the amused hum. Enjoying how the subtle tingles seemed to traverse down Siyeon’s spine.
It used to annoy her, how a simple look from you had her losing any sense of her sanity. How a fleeting touch or flirtatious wink would render her incapable of speech. But that brief annoyance didn’t stay for long, and now she finds herself truly enjoying how her body and her instincts react and change depending on how you are feeling, or how you’re acting. It makes her feel connected in ways she had heard from others but had never once experienced herself.
Not until you.
Deciding to forgo the garage stairs, Siyeon continued to carry you towards the bedroom.
The air was calm, pleasantly so, and you found yourself fighting the ever-losing battle against fatigue. Siyeon’s powerful heartbeat lulling you away, each pulse reverberating from her chest and embedding itself within your very soul.
You had never wondered what it was like to be so committed with someone, to have a connection so deep and strong that you are able to feel what your other half is feeling. In a city where relationships were far and fleeting, finding one out of the masses was your final hand in a game of poker.
All in or busted.
And when you consider that the two of you pretty much tried to kill each other at the beginning, the difference is quite astounding.
It was only when they made it to the threshold door did Siyeon finally relent with her hold, easing you to the ground. She had noticed that from the journey from the garage you seemed to be more mellow than previous, and she wouldn’t be wrong with that assumption.
“Are you coming to bed?” You ask, turning back to gaze into those steel eyes that often reminded her of the sun; both as equally fierce to look at yet held a warmth that couldn’t be contained.
“Yes,” she nodded, “I would like to make sure that you actually get some rest.”
At her words, a lazy smirk slowly etched itself against your features, your head tilting in such a way that drove Siyeon insane.
With a grin of her own, Siyeon reigned in her control, all the while keeping her eyes locked with your own. “You need rest, Y/N.”
“I can always rest later,” you teased back, your fingers reaching up to run up the front of her chest, along her collarbone before fiddling with the medallion that lay in the middle. You could feel the beat of her heart increase its tempo, yet it was the only indication that she had been affected by your ministrations -- the rest of her remaining steadfast.
“Y/N.”
“Ugh, fine,” removing your hands, you turned to enter the room, not even waiting for Siyeon to follow before you began changing into your jammies. When you were sitting on the bed, your fingers reached down to start the process of unbuckling your shoes. Curses falling from your mouth as your fingers continued to fumble.
Seeing the struggle, Siyeon knelt down before your tired frame, her fingers gently removing your own before she began to unbuckle the straps with care.
Watching Siyeon help with something so simple was a sight you would never tire of. Because the look of pure concentration etched into her features proved to you that what you shared was exactly that – shared. It was mutual.
Which was why whenever the label of your relationship was questioned, you would brush it off -- there was no need for one, and you were fine with that.
Doing things like this, having you allow her to do this, filled Siyeon with a pleasant glow of radiant warmth. She knew that you hated feeling useless, and it had been a struggle for her to gain the trust needed in order to help you whenever you needed it.
(Without you protesting at every turn.)
Once undressed, Siyeon began rubbing her fingers into your shoulders, her tongue clicking when she was met with the tense muscle. She already knew that this was going to hurt more than usual, and if your expression was anything to go by, you knew it too.
She tried to keep her movements slow and predictable, but once her thumbs met the boney plating of the shoulder blade, the hisses began to force themselves from your mouth. Eyes immediately clamped shut in an attempt to endure the painful spasms shooting through your nerves.
Siyeon even needed to pause to stop you from biting your tongue any harder, the coppery taste lasting for a slight second.
Doing this, knowing she was putting you in even more pain, always sent sharp daggers into her chest. Even though she knew it was something that needed to be done, and she always made sure to help you through the waves of torture -- pressing kisses against your skin or running her fingers through your hair. It didn’t help with the slight guilt.
But because you hadn’t been taking care of yourself, it ultimately meant that the fire igniting your nerves -- around your implants -- took longer until it passed. Meaning that your already depleted energy struggled even more.
It was only when Siyeon’s fingers met the top of your pyjama bottoms did she stop. Her head tilting upwards until she had it comfortably resting on your shoulder.
You still had her eyes closed, but unlike before it wasn’t due to the pain, your fatigue had finally snapped the little reserves you had left.
It was hard not to chuckle at the sight; you were practically already asleep, and Siyeon couldn’t resist the urge to bring herself closer until it was almost impossible to tell when you began and she ended.
“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered, drawing away when she felt your faint nod.
Newly uncoiled muscles meant that moving became easier than it had been, your legs no longer the stiff hunks of metal they had felt like earlier.
And as soon as you felt the soft linen against your skin, embracing you from the stresses of life, it took everything you had not to clock out there and then. You wished to wait until Siyeon was beside you, taking in her warmth.
Your bleary eyes wandered over the expanse of her back, following the splashes of tattoos, to the broad shoulders and the column of her neck. Watching when she turned her head in order to capture your gaze head-on. Lips crooking upwards at the expression she is met with.
“Is there something that interests you?”
“Hm, that’s certainly one way of putting it,” you smile back, the response earning you a chuckle as Siyeon pulls back the covers to get in beside you. Her scent is like a soothing balm that erodes away the last bits of tension that were clinging to your muscles.
As she settles, Siyeon’s arms find their way around your sides, bringing you in until there was no space inbetween.
“Now,” she hums, keeping her voice low, “rest.”
- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - - 
It had been a call that woke you up the following evening.
Your heavy eyelids didn't want to open at first, but the headache inducing ringtone didn't seem like it was giving up.
"Who the fuck," you grouch, wishing away the blur hindering your eyesight before the name of your Runner comes into fruition.
You're still not happy about it, but you answer anyway.
"Woah," you hear his overly chirpy voice say, "did I catch you at a bad time?"
Ignoring any and all insinuations colouring the way he asks the question, you force out a "what do you want?"
"I've got a job that needs doing," he blessedly cuts to the chase, "a client needs a rat to be exterminated. They're bringing in disease."
You think it over for a second. "When and where?"
"Rose Blue; midnight. Cinderella will meet you at the ball."
Despite yourself a smile cracks at his joke, "I'll be there."
"I knew I could count on you, Y/N. They don't call you the best merc in Night City for a reason."
He hangs up then, and you roll onto your back before stretching your limbs in different directions. Waiting for that delicious pop before chucking the covers away from your body.
Siyeon was sitting on the couch when you find her. She had an arm hanging over the back while she lounged; blonde hair brought back into a short ponytail.
You make your way over, wrapping your arms around her shoulders for your first embrace of the night.
One of her hands reaches up to take hold of your wrist, and she draws her gaze away from the screen until she can kiss your cheek in greeting.
Your head drops until your entire face is hidden into her shoulder, words muffled and barely strung together when you force them passed your lips.
"I've got a job later."
She maneuvers until the arm that was resting can run its fingers through your hair, "what job?"
You turn slightly so you can check the text that had been sent to you right after the call had ended. "Gun for hire."
A hum rumbles deep in her chest; she's not happy.
"Who are you taking out?"
"Some corpo suit," you reply, taking a proper look at the image fixed at the bottom of the page. "Apparently someone has been showing off their work badge expecting a free drink."
Siyeon says nothing on this, but the grip in your hair tightens slightly.
It's more than enough. "Hey," you whisper, taking her free hand into your own, "you know I've done this kind of gig countless times before."
She sighs; a tired, fragile thing. "I know."
That doesn't make you feel better, but you're stuck on how to approach this properly.
After all, the two of you had met while you were on a job. Even worse, she was head security of the person you were trying to take out!
"Siyeon," you begin, walking around the couch so you could sit next to her and properly look her in the eye, "what's the matter? You can't exactly sit there and act like this is a shock for you."
Poor choice of wording, her eyesbrows crease slightly. "I'm not saying it's a shock, I simply don't like that you're putting yourself in danger like this."
At her tone you soften yours, reaching up to cup her cheek, "I know. I know you don't like it. But you need to realise that I grew up in this life, its all I know."
She closes her eyes upon your contact, and you smile along with the tender expression against her features. "Then I'm coming with you."
"Uh. . . What?"
"You heard me," she grins, leaning in to give your dumbfounded face a kiss, "we better get prepared then."
Widened eyes watch as she gets up off the couch before dissapering into the bedroom.
"The fuck just happened?"
- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - - 
When you pull up at Rose Blue later that night, you can't help but feel a slight bit of trepidation.
Gigs like this, in theory, were simple. Get in, find the target, get rid of the target, and get out.
If the client didn't specify whether they wanted it loud or quiet, then the way in which the person could be eliminated was completely up to you.
And it wasn’t like you worked alone all of the time, it's just that this was Siyeon. Her previous job was literally stopping someone from being murdered.
"Show me their face again," she asks from the passenger seat, and you ping over the image.
There wasn't anything special about Rose Blue. It was just another mediocre club placed somewhere within the city streets.
People won't bat an eye, and just to make things less complicated, your target was making a huge fuss towards the bartender.
Almost too easy.
You take a seat hidden away in a corner, watching their every move. From the way they practically snatch their drink to the high-pitched squeak in their voice.
The suit covering their frame is good, pleasant on the eyes. But your trained vision knows it's not tailored -- the shoulders and elbows give it away.
And the perfume? Cologne? You can't quite distinguish it when it wafts into your nose as they pass.
Siyeon keeps quiet as you work. In fact, if you hadn't known her as you do, you would think she was daydreaming.
The gun hidden away in your pocket feels heavy when you make a stand; Siyeon finally averts her attention to you as you make your way over to the bar and order the same drink you had seen the target steal a moment ago.
The contents are neon green, and for a moment you question if this is the toxic waste fuelling the corporations. Shaking your head of those kinds of distracting thoughts before you begin making your way over, attempting the most flirtatious smile you could manage with Siyeon right there.
The target notices your approach, and you don't like the way the completely tense up.
You go to open your mouth, a sly whisper filled with sweet nothings holding ready at the edge of your tongue.
But for whatever reason that comes across as a threat, and before you know it they're screaming out a singular word before someone opens fire.
Heightened reflexes due to your implants mean that you manage to reach cover at rapid speed. Your hand already reaching into your jacket to pull out your gun.
You peer around the corner with your finger against the trigger, eyes darting the entire expanse of the club hoping to see the bright glow of golden hair.
Siyeon is stationed where you left her; having already flipped the table over, she was taking out the assailants one by one with dangerous proficiency.
It actually floors you for a moment, honestly.
Screams echo from innocent bystanders, but they are paid little mind once you try and track the target once more. The smell of their confusing choice of scent leads you to their whereabouts.
It takes one shot for your gig to be closed, and now you can concentrate on getting the fuck out of there alive.
There comes a moment where a break in the gunshots emerges, and you use that opportunity to run over to Siyeon.
"Let's go," you call to her, grabbing onto her arm before making a break for it out of the back entrance.
She shoots as you guide, working in tandem to cover the others' back.
Using the whole length of the bar as cover, you barge passed the cowering man crying there. His eyes are wide and his long limbs shakey as he attempts to get away from you.
You don't look back as you both run, the sound of gunfire right on your heels as you duck and dodge through various different doors. The cool night air is welcomed fleetingly against your skin once you make it to the back alley hidden behind the club.
At the sight of your car you begin to feel like you were going to make it, but the sudden intense heat piercing through your thigh has it all, including you, crumbling to the pavement.
Siyeon skids to a stop when she notices you on the floor, but she can do little more than fire at those giving chase as you force yourself to stand.
"Go!" You yell, making it to your feet and fetching your gun from where it had slid out of your hand upon your fall. "Get the car!"
It is with great difficulty that you force your leg to turn, adrenaline being the only thing from stopping you becoming unconscious.
Siyeon swerves the car to shield you from any more stray bullets, her voice frantic when she yells at you to, "get the fuck in!"
Tires squeal when she slams on the gas, and with each yard passing between you and the club you feel your heart begin to calm.
Your adrenaline too, unfortunately.
You don't notice the worried side glance Siyeon shoots you when you rummage through a compartment within the car, but once you find what you are looking for you breathe out a sigh of relief.
"Just what the doctor ordered," you groan, grabbing the max dock and injecting its medicine into your body.
The healing is almost instant, at least as far as the pain is concerned.
"We need to get you to a hospital," Siyeon states, gripping steel tight on the wheel. "Your leg needs to be checked."
You shake your head immediately, "I'm not going to argue with you, but take me to a ripper doc instead."
The furrow in her brow shows her displease with the idea, but she holds her tongue this time.
- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - - 
The sun has already begun creeping over the horizon once you make it back to your abode.
And if you had thought the night prior had been taxing, then you might as well have been a statue with how stiff every single muscle felt within your body.
Siyeon hasn't said a word since you requested to see a ripper, and her lack of communication is beginning to unnerve you.
"Hey," you call when you find her in the bedroom, "Siye--"
Her kiss is instantaneous and all-encompassing. Desperation fueled every press of her lips.
The grip she has on your clothes is almost enough to tear them from your very back, nails digging into the skin even through the layers.
"Promise me," she whispers upon your equally as sudden departure, "promise me that you're going to be alright, that we're--"
It is your turn to capture her mid-word, your answer pressed into every piece of skin you manage to reach.
You can't promise her, not something like that.
But you can be with her, here, during this moment. And for now, that is enough.
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missywritesfor7 · 7 months
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🌙Moon’s Light | JJK🌙
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Synopsis: Luna is a young paralegal trying to maintain her new found independence and enjoy life. Too bad her job sucks and her boss is the worst. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she encounters a vampire named Jungkook who changes her life in more ways than one.
Jungkook is a shield and protector of the vampire kingdom of Korealis. He’s trained his entire life to block out any and all distractions and focus solely on becoming the strongest. While investigating a potential threat to the kingdom, he encounters Luna who turns out to be more than he could have ever imagined. It becomes his job to protect her, but he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is his devotion to the job or perhaps something deeper.
Secrets are uncovered. Lives are on the line. Hearts are tested.
Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Fem!OC
Warnings: Violence, character death, eventual smut, tragedy, some angst, strong language, MINORS DNI
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|| Ch 26: Challenge Accepted ||
Jungkook barely gets the lock turned on his door before he’s picking Luna up again and laying her down on his bed. He picks up right where he left off, driving his hands up her body. She doesn’t protest at all. She’s drunk on the taste of him and has no desire to stop now.
Their breaths are heavy, and even heavier when Jungkook slides her shirt over her head. His lips move from her mouth to her neck all the way down her chest until he reaches the fabric of her bra. His hands are warm against her skin, sliding all the way up her body then back down taking her bra with them. He flicks his tongue over her right nipple before nearly swallowing it. His hand gently squeezes her other nipple causing a deep breath to escape her throat.
He doesn’t stop, if it were up to him he’d never stop. He slides his tongue down her stomach, pausing right at her bellybutton to give it a soft kiss, then continues to the waistband of her leggings where he curls his fingers under and pulls them down along with her panties.
A chill overcomes her body as she lay there before him completely exposed. He leans back to remove his shirt then stares down at her. This isn’t like the first time. This isn’t a life or death situation. He’s not racing to save her life. He can take his time with her. He can take a moment to appreciate the way she looks laying bare in front of him. He has never been so hungry in his life.
He leans down between her legs and slides a finger between her folds. Another moan escapes her lips and it’s just the fuel he needs to slide his finger inside of her so he can hear her moan more. He’s addicted to the sound of her. He’s addicted to the feel of her. And when he slides his tongue over her aching bud, he gets addicted to the taste of her.
He slides a second long finger into her and begins flicking his tongue across her clit over and over again. His rhythm is almost unbearable.
This isn’t like the first time to her. This isn’t life or death. This isn’t pain being masked by pleasure. This isn’t her trying to focus on how good he feels in order to distract herself from the unbearable pain running through her body. This is all pleasure. This is all him and all her in their raw forms. This is her realizing just how much she enjoys all of him. She can lose herself in the almost overwhelming amount of pressure in her core and makes sure he knows just how good he is to her.
She reaches a hand down to tangle her fingers in his hair while he shows no signs of slowing down. Her moans grow heavier and more desperate as she braces for the release that she’s no longer able to hold back.
“Fuck,” she exhales feeling her orgasm radiate through her body.
The force of her undoing knocks Jungkook back a few feet. She can hardly process what just happened before he’s removing his pants and closing in on her like a predator to his prey. That force that she unleashed just became a challenge for him. If she unleashes her power when she cums then he wants to make her cum so hard he hits the wall on the other side of the room.
He envelopes her body in his and slowly inches himself inside her. Her oxygen is depleted and all she can release is strangled moans as he slowly pulls himself in and out of her. He stops teasing her and himself and picks up speed with each stroke using her voice as his guide to hit the places where she’s most sensitive.
“Don’t stop,” she moans as pressure builds within her again. “Please don’t stop.”
He reaches a hand between them and rubs the pad of his thumb on her clit making her second undoing imminent. His hips don’t miss a beat and he knows she’s nearly about to explode.
“Ah…Jungkook…fuck.” She digs her fingers into his arms and arches her back off of the bed. The force is coming again and she’s powerless to stop it no matter how hard she tries.
“Don’t fight it, baby,” he growls in her ear using every bit of power he has left to bring her to the finish. He knows what will happen. He knows she can’t control it, and after what just happened, he knows he enjoys it. Maybe a little too much. He wants her to hit him with her worst. He wants to challenge himself to hold on. A test of strength in a moment of pleasure.
“Koook,” she moans before her ability to make a sound is stripped away.
Her body is at its limit. The force boils over and hits Jungkook even harder than it did the first time. But this time he was ready for it. She knocked him back only half as far as she did before, but he had to use a lot of strength to stand his ground. He doesn’t let it stop his rhythm though. He quickly swallows Luna’s body with his and inserts her again chasing his own release while she whines and convulses under him on the way down from hers.
Their bodies are molded together and their breaths are heavy. He leaves a few kisses on her shoulder then kisses his way up to her lips. His hardened body goes soft as he pulls out of her and gently rests his head on her chest.
After a moment he lifts himself to give her another kiss then goes into the bathroom for a towel to clean her up with. He gets back in the bed and holds her close to his chest. She rests her cheek on him and she can hear his heart racing.
“Did I hurt you?” She asks breaking the silence.
“Hurt me?” He asks looking down at her. “You could never hurt me.”
“Are you sure? I mean I’m sorry, I really don’t know how to control it.”
“Stop,” he chuckles. “We’ll work on controlling it, but whenever you’re with me,” he lifts her chin with his finger. “I want you to let it all out.”
His voice sends chills through her body. He’s one more raspy sentence away from her putting him on his back and going for another round.
“What if do I hurt you one day?” She asks.
“Then that just means I need to get stronger.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for me to learn to control it so we won’t have to worry about it at all?”
“With more training you’ll learn.”
“Your training did nothing but wear me the fuck out,” she huffs.
“It’s part of the process,” he laughs.
“Bullshit! You’re probably just fucking with me because deep down you don’t want me to have control of my power.”
“Why would you think that?” He smirks.
“Because if I don’t know how to use my power then you can put me in situations that make me lose my shit and knock myself out. Then you can swoop in and play mister hero and save me to boost your ego.”
“You’d think I’d want you to be in harm’s way just so I can boost my ego?”
“Maybe,” she chuckles. “Don’t you like playing the hero?”
“I would much rather you stay out of trouble so I can breathe for once.”
“Well excuse me,” she sasses. “You weren’t forced to look after me.”
“Yes I was,” he snaps. “I was forced by the highest order.”
“Oh yeah? Who is that, Jin? Or the King?”
“No. My heart.” He looks at her staring blankly at him.
“That was so cheesy!” She shouts erupting into laughter. “You really know how to win the ladies over with those smooth lines,” she jokes.
“Yeah, it worked on you, now didn’t it?” He laughs.
“Pffft no,” she scoffs. “I’m here because I was trapped.”
“Oh really?” He rolls her to her back and leans into her face. “Is that why you can’t stop moaning my name?”
She bites her lip too proud and stubborn to admit it. He doesn’t need her to though, he knows he’s right. He’s staring down at her ready to make her moan his name again. Just as he leans close enough to brush his lips across hers, his phone rings.
“Fuck,” he whispers sitting up and answering it. “Hey, hyung.”
He pauses with a blank stare. Luna isn’t sure which of his hyungs is calling him right now, but she wishes she could hear the other end of the conversation.
“Right now?” Jungkook asks looking towards Luna. “Alright, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hangs up the phone and grabs her shoulders as if he’s about tell her something urgent. “I have to go.”
“Where?” She asks.
“Taehyung‘s interview with Park Hyungwon was moved to today. They’re leaving now. I have to go with them so we can take him down.”
“Ok. I’m guessing I’m not going along with you for this?”
“No, but I don’t have time to take you back to my mom’s.”
“Well this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve left me alone.”
“Just don’t go anywhere for any reason until I get back!” He demands.
“Yeah yeah I know. Your dad is scary, I’m not going to risk being seen by him.”
“Good,” he breathes with relief. “I’ll be back as soon as we’re done ok? I promise.”
He gives her a quick kiss then looks her over a moment. They’re both still completely naked and he hates that he has to pull himself away from her right now. He wants to completely devour her. He manages to get off the bed and quickly gets himself dressed. He runs back to give her another kiss then heads out the door.
Luna lays back down and stares at the ceiling wondering what she’s supposed to do there by herself for who knows how long. She lays there a bit before finally getting up to put her clothes back on. She wishes she could read through her mom’s journal that she brought back, but she left it at Jungkook’s mom’s house.
The day drags with her on edge every time she hears a sound in the hall. She’s convinced it’s only a matter of time before Minseok comes barging in to kill her or something. By evening she can’t rest any longer. She’s bored and anxious, and Jungkook has nothing to eat in his room. Only bottles of blood and a half empty bag of chips. She finds a pen and paper and scribbles a note for Jungkook in case he gets back before she does.
I’m bored. I’ll be at your mom’s.
She leaves the note on the bed and quietly steps out into the hall. She walks quickly and lightly to hurry outside and far from possibly being seen by anyone. When she’s far enough down the street she breathes a sigh of relief. Now the next challenge is remembering exactly how to get to his mom’s house. She has an idea but she isn’t entirely confident since the place is still new to her.
She doesn’t know how long she’s walked or how far, but after some second guessing and circling the same block three times, she makes it to his mom’s street. She only hopes Sunyoung is there and doesn’t mind her showing up, especially without Jungkook. However to her delight Sunyoung opens the door right up and welcomes her back. She offers Luna something to eat as she had just finished making dinner.
Afterwards, Luna goes into the spare room and grabs her mom’s diary. That was her main reason for coming here despite Jungkook telling her not to go anywhere. She knows he’ll fuss and fight about it when he gets back but as usual she doesn’t care. She starts at the beginning reading her mother’s words and realizes it begins not long after she was born.
Her mother writes about her grief of losing her best friend. Her anger towards Hyungwon for killing Luna’s parents and her fear for Luna’s safety. She had been searching everywhere for information on vampires and how it would affect Luna having been born after her mother was bit.
Luna is entranced in her mother’s diary she almost forgot where she was. Nothing exists at this moment outside of the writing on the pages. She gets choked up reading about the challenges they faced trying to find somewhere safe to live. Her mom was afraid Hyungwon would come looking for Luna. She knows there’s a reason why he did what he did, but she had no idea why. She vowed to protect Luna as best she could. Luna learns that she was actually born in a city 5 hours away from where she ended up growing up.
Things begin to seem more desperate as her mom writes about not knowing what to do about Luna’s increasingly out of control temper and the power that comes from her. They were losing control of Luna until they met Kai. Luna doesn’t remember much about Kai, but she remembers being taken to the doctor and she thought its was odd that his office was incredibly dark. She’s learning now that Kai wasn’t a doctor at all, but he was someone who knew more about vampires than her parents. Her mom had a hard time trusting him because she was convinced he was also a vampire, but the medicine he gave Luna worked. Luna had been on a special vitamin that she had to take everyday for most of her life. She only stopped when she moved out on her own and was too busy working to think about taking a daily vitamin. She wonders if there’s a way for her to find Kai again, maybe he’d know something about Hyungwon and what he did to her.
She continues flipping through the pages going through a range of emotions from sadness to anger to confusion. The one who could straighten all of this out and give her answers is the one Jungkook is currently trying to capture. She only hopes he’s able to succeed.
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dvouring-archived · 1 year
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kaeya felt like home.   not a place, a taste, a scent or memory. he was the cold of a snezhnayan winter, a comforting hearth, the slight twinge of abyssal danger ( and the only place childe could effortlessly be understood. ) but he was exciting, new, emotions that bloomed well past his usual infatuations. they were real and tangible, surfacing whenever he could hold kaeya in his grip, hands capable of such terrifying violence cradling him almost reverently. he’d never felt this longing pang, this ache for anothers touch in such a high capacity before. it blinded him. the logic that warned him against getting involved with someone so tied to favonius, or so linked with the abyss went ignored. he simply couldn’t care anymore, it seemed that when he was around kaeya he forgot all his worldly duties.
he was soft under his hands, far softer than the persona of the cavalry captain he conveys. burying his face in soft azure locks feels like down, feathers light and warm. the overwhelming sense of peace he brought him ( contentedness, direction, devotion ) was overwhelming. he’d never been trusted with secrets this deep, or emotional scars so vulnerable before. kaeya’s trust in him felt like a precious gift, one he’d slay anyone to protect. even now it was difficult to stay focused on more concise thoughts, not when he was here stealing all of childe’s attentions. he’d always had that effect on him, even before his infatuations had started. childe’s hands would come to rest on kaeya’s waist, the domesticity of the entire situation made him so happy his heart felt like it would burst with the emotion.
childe was taken aback by a second, as if he hadn’t been expecting kaeya to do that, to look at him with something like his desire reciprocated. was he wrong ? surely he couldn’t have been misreading kaeya all this time. though his infatuation tended to be quick to flare up, and quick to die, this had felt like a slower burn, one that could burn and burn and burn until it engulfed him ( and he wouldn’t mind, not one bit. ) colour rises to his cheeks under the scrutiny, suddenly shy and feeling embarrassed over it. for as much ego and bluster that childe toted, genuine affection in such a disarming scene had caught him off guard. when kaeya spoke his mother tongue, it was like no language that he’d ever heard before. he’d heard notes of it, from sumeru maybe, but he’d always wondered at his core why he felt like he could understand, wondered if he’d heard something like it in the depths of the earth. all he knew was that coming from kaeya it was hauntingly beautiful, and even without understanding it note for note, the sentiment is there, discerned by tone.
kaeya might be the welcome winter chill he so missed, but his lips are warm, and his skin is warm, and the lingering taste of spice on his lips was warm as well. he wondered for a second if someone blessed with the tsaritsa’s cryo vision could truly mimic a heart made of ice, when everything about kaeya was a vibrant, invigorating story of survival. even now he kissed like he intended to put his entire being into the motion, convey as much passion and lifeblood as he possibly could. kaeya gives shards of himself to the people that mattered the most, and while it might not always be much, they’re genuine, heartfelt, a piece of him. he was life, he was survival, he was so heartbreakingly human. and the longing, and desire, and admiration of it all, childe wanted desperately to convey it between them.
he’s doomed, really. he’d never allowed feelings like this to bloom before, he still knew that this couldn’t be anything else but something he’d always deemed himself so unworthy of. but ... even unworthiness could be damned in the face of such a great and consuming tide of emotion. he’d do anything to make kaeya his.
‘   я тебя люблю.   ’   a soft whisper against kaeya’s lips, but a vow nonetheless. another kiss, then another. how could he stop now that kaeya had unlatched such an insatiable want ?   ‘   я тебя люблю.   ’
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@aalberich​, from.
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daylighteclipsed · 3 years
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Very cool how the last chunk of Naruto season 5 got me weeping like a baby
#HEY UHHH IM NOT OKAY#I CRIED MULTIPLE TIMES#the animation during the naruto vs sasuke fight was SO *chef’s kiss* fucking gorgeous smooth as butter#some of the prettiest animated fight scenes i have ever seen#i feel like I’m watching like the Shakespeare of shonen anime. i never had a naruto phase as a kid but i can now see why it had-still has-#such a cultural impact. but also the sTOry?? my heart shatters for all these kids#but especially naruto and sasuke right now wtf I’m watching a tragedy#the violence of devotion. the ache of almost and could have been#these two incredibly lonely kids that could’ve said something sooner.when they were younger.#if one would’ve been brave enough to reach out maybe the story would be different.#maybe they would’ve been friends for years at the academy. maybe they wouldn’t have been so alone.#when sasuke says they’re best friends and naruto just repeats it to himself hesitant soft-he didnt know. he never realized#he never had a best friend before and it’s this precious thing. it’s...they both didnt acknowledge they were friends until they weren’t#didn’t say how much they mean to each other until it was ending. until it was over#but even after everything sasuke can’t kill naruto. and it’s a glimmer of hope. it’s the last tie so to speak to sasuke’s humanity#itachi said sasuke will never have enough hate in his heart and he’s right and i love that he’s right#also i can’t get over how dead inside both naruto and sasuke look after their fallout. there’s no light in their eyes#naruto always has this spark in his eye and for the first time it’s gone#like part of both of them died there. and then the spark comes back when naruto p much declares his new goal in life is to get sasuke back#also during the fight when naruto says ‘i don’t know why but i can’t stand the thought of losing you’ or something close to that bro i died#this whole thing killed me i wanna watch it again#man i really do be balling over an anime targeted at 14 yr old boys
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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years
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I have been thinking hard about how I'd want that man Danny Johnson catered to me. And I came to the conclusion that Danny breaking into the reader's home, threatening to have her guts all over the fucking floor if she isn't a good obedient girl would be ideal. Bonus points for begging, knife play and leather gloves. And the mask stays on for the whole show. Your choice if the scenario is really could-be-lethal stranger danger, or an arranged kinky night. I trust your taste in this. -Furball891
Oh my fucking Goddddd, Furball! I love you! You have been here longer than fucking anyone and I am so happy to be doing this for you! Seriously amazing prompt! I worked so hard on this and really wanted to get it out before the new year and I am so glad I managed it! I didn’t wanna rush this and think it is all the better for taking my time! Juding by the ask I figured you wanted a fem reader with she/her pronouns, hope that is correct. I am dying to hear your thoughts on this one, so without further ado let’s get into it!
Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.2K. Danny Johnson/DBD Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Reader. Warnings: DUB CON. Canon Compliant Creepiness. Stalking. General Creep Behaviour. Mentions Of Murder And Violence. Voyeurism. Masturbation. Obsession. Breaking And Entering. Panty Snatching. Man Handling. Mask Kink. Hitting. Knife Play. Blood Play. Glove And Hand Kink. Spanking. Teasing. Danny Being A Bastard. Oral Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Dirty Talk. Praise. Begging. Degradation. Gagging. Victim Blaming. Threat Of Death. Complex Kink Play.
Be Good For Me.
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Danny always loved to really get a feel for the objects of his affection and obsession. He liked to get in their head and feel like he really knew them before making that all important first introduction. And what better way to get to know someone than following them and seeing how they live? Stalking someone for days, bleeding into weeks and sometimes even months, and he had to say that you were one of his favourites.
Easily.
Not everyone got such specialised and personal attention, not everyone was worthy of so much of his precious time. The fact he deemed you to be important enough, you should be honoured really. He wondered how you would feel about his level of devotion to you.
He had that journal where he kept a record of all the people he had killed and how he did it, how it went, what he felt in the moment, what they said or how they looked, just whatever details he could write down for him to pour over at later dates to help him recreate and reminisce. Typically that book in one hand and his aching cock in the other.
He writes about you often. Small details and moments and logs of your daily goings on as he follows you. Honestly it would be almost kinda cute with how schoolyard crush the whole thing was, you know, except for the whole stalking, invading your privacy and with intent to harm, thing.
He naturally has so many pictures of you too. Stolen while you are out and about or through the windows of your home or when he has braved the inside of your home, you asleep in your bed or in your shower.
Trying to pick the right time to strike might seem difficult to the casual outside observer but that is not the case for him. He plans so carefully, it has to be just right, he can feel when it is coming up.
There is a kind of giddiness to it when he can tell whoever he is after is almost ready for him, this excitement and anticipation that permeates deeply inside him. He really revels in those last few times watching the person, knowing it is so close to the end, the fantasy so near to becoming reality. Fingers itch in anticipation and his mind runs wild with the possibilities stretched out before him, so many choices, but what avenue to take? He thinks over that during those last few times watching someone, thinks long and hard about what he wants to see, hear and experience from that person.
Usually it comes to him easily and it is so clear.
But then we get to you and how he feels when you are nearly ripe for the taking.
It is hard to describe, stumping him on that front is no small feat when writing is his livelihood and so integral to his personal ‘hobby.’ His vocabulary is massive and he is so rarely at a loss for words and yet that somehow, you just have that effect on him.
Tonight is the last time he is just going to watch.
There is always something special in that, even with people that aren’t as important to him as you are, knowing the next time he comes by it is with that explicit intent. That this private one-sided affair, whatever between him and them, or in this case, him and you, is about to change forever.
It was truly a unique feeling.
Sitting outside in what had become his favourite spot to watch you outside of your home. He’d followed you all day, really took it all in because he knows it is so close. You had the day off, went out, did some errands and shopping before coming back home, doing chores and cooking and just all of the best mundane things you got up to in your usual daily life.
He watches you make breakfast for dinner, he loves watching you cook. He watches you eat in front of the tv and as you do your dishes. He watches you relax and unwind.
And he enthusiastically watches you masturbate in the shower and he jerks off to you solo for the last time. Watches as you have your back against the shower wall, how you gasp and the way your body reacts to how your fingers work in and out of yourself. He can't wait for his fingers to be in place of yours, feel how soaked you are, be the one making you cry out like that.
You look too good, watching how your back arches, chest bounces and the water cascades down your frame. How can he be anything but obsessed with you?
He cums shortly after you do. Paints the glass of the window and wishes that he was cumming on your still trembling form, post-orgasm.
Soon after you go to bed. You read for a while and pass out.
He watches you sleep.
He knows if he goes in there tonight he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
Then again he thinks why is he holding back? His hands are on the window, starting to open it. He gets it halfway before pausing.
Normally he always sticks to his plan, when he picks the night he never deviates but you, fuck, you are naked and sprawled our so inviting and so damn tempting. He could always come take another pair of your panties for his collection, he loves how you react when you notice another pair is missing but no, he shouldn't.
He knows that even him considering this is crazy.
He makes himself pull away, less than a day and you are going to be all fucking his. He knows that the anticipation is going to make the eventual prize all the sweeter. All the more worth it.
The next day the tension is palpable. He can hardly wait to enact it, to get you all to himself. He is even more captivated than usual. If only you knew the effect you had.
You are so unaware.
He likes to think it is because he is that good at what he does rather than you being so utterly unobservant.
You are so busy, having a clearly stressful day, you look so tense and keyed up as you are making your dinner again at the end of your day. He watches as you are chopping vegetables almost angrily, in your comfy clothes, still damp from the shower you hopped into as soon as you got home.
He pictures coming in quietly, of coming up behind you, taking the knife out of your hand and using his own on you. Pinning and contorting you in such a way that your knife is right there but just out of reach.
A taunt.
The ability to defend yourself nearly in your grasp, a frankly perfect way to mock you. He is already hard just thinking about it.
He can’t wait anymore.
He can sit here and fantasise and dream, or he can make it happen.
It is shockingly easy, you need much better locks, your home security is almost nil. You really should do something about it, or some real sicko could get in here.
This isn’t the first time he’d been inside your home. Usually you were either out of the house or dead asleep.
But now it’s night time and the lights are on and you are plating up your dinner and the food smells so good and it is all terribly exciting for him.
He watches you through the entryway of your kitchen door for just a few moments, your back is to him, he sneaks up, so quietly and then his hands are on you.
You have been so in your own head lately.
You were still pouring over your super shitty and stressful day, but finally you were home, clean, had food and wine and you were dying to start unwinding. Just as you pick up your bowl of pasta and are about to make your way to the living room to drown yourself in trash tv you feel a strong pair of leather clad hands on you. One hand over your mouth and one on your shoulder and you jump, he holds you so close to him, feels the warmth of you and how your body fits against his for the first time.
He can smell you and touch you and even through the gloves he knows you are soft, pliable, perfect.
And all for him. Just for him.
He had been thinking long and hard about what should be the first thing he would say to you and what he chose was ultimately basic but it was the way in which he said it that makes it good. He leans in and says in your ear in a tone that is far too light and teasing, “Hey there.”
What the fuck, who the fuck was this and what were they doing in your house?
You are terrified, struggling right away on pure instinct, and he holds you tighter, barely holding back a laugh. It isn’t even fair, he is so much stronger than you and you have no hope.
He tries to quiet you. “Shhh, shhh! Awe don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
You don’t stop, in fact you struggle more and he gets even harder than he already is.
He adjusts, one arm around your neck and his hand over your mouth, holding you closer, his other hand slides down your shoulder and holds your hip, presses your ass to him with the express purpose of you being able to feel how hard he is. You let out a muffled sound of fear from behind his hand.
He speaks to you again, “Fuck, you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? How long I’ve been watching you-” A small grind on your ass and it feels almost as if your heart is gripped in an icy hand of pure terror.
You have to do something.
You make a futile attempt to kick him, throw an elbow back too and it doesn’t work. He laughs, he actually laughs, “Oh wow, look at you! Love when they put up a fight-”
“They.”
He said “they.”
The implication of that, of the ‘they’ meaning more than one, you aren’t the only one this sick fuck has watched and stalked and done God knows what to. What will he do to you? What does he want?
“-you must be really fucking scared hmm? Let’s check-” He turns you around, makes you face him, he shoves you so hard against the counter, the bowl containing your dinner tips over, your food spills but you aren’t focused on that.
Instead you are forced to confront that white mask, that permanent scream and the cold empty eye sockets, it looks horrifyingly unforgiving. His figure looks imposing, still pressed so close, one hand covering your mouth as his other hand is on your throat, thumb pressed just right and he can feel your pulse. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest.
He makes sure to watch your face during this, watch how your expression shifts upon seeing him, truly seeing him, for the very first time. God it was good. You looked totally thrown off balance, so confused and he was eating it up. He couldn’t hide how excited he was when he said, “Oh yeah you are.”
You are still trying to struggle and make sounds, any small thing you could do to not feel so helpless and he tsks, tightens his grip and you almost whimper, “Shhh, shhh, quiet. I know, I know. This must be so exciting for you but I need you to calm down for what I want to do-”
You refuse.
As if you would just give in so easily and do whatever he says. You continue to put up a fight.
Or you do until you hear his knife being unsheathed and feel it press to your throat. It makes you freeze. His mask is close to your face as he says in a tone as sharp as the blade in his hand, “Now I don’t want to hurt you-”
His head tips forward and he laughs, a small shake of his head, “-fuck, couldn’t even say that with a straight face, alright, I’ll rephrase-”
His head is back up as he hums and you can’t see his eyes through the mask but you can FEEL him staring you down as he considers how to word this next part, “-okay so I DO want to hurt you but honestly I want to, hopefully, be hurting you for a looong time. I don’t want a reason to kill you.”
He leans in closer, right in your ear, “Not yet.”
The blade feels cold, you’ve never felt more afraid, he is surely able to tell and loving every second of this. He speaks again, “So if I move my hand are you gonna scream?”
You shake your head, eyes pleading, trying to convince him and after a moment of thought he says, “Okay, don’t make me do something-” his knife moves so slowly, a tease that doesn’t cut but tells you just how sharp it is, “-rash.”
He moves his hand and you don’t make a sound, even when he presses the blade harder, the edge of it biting into your tender flesh and he coo’s out, “Ooh there you go. It’s a start.”
He pats the side of your cheek condescendingly with the hand not holding the knife, the cool leather in any other circumstance would feel nice. You are about to work up the courage to ask what he wants from you but he beats you to it.
“So if you do everything I want and are a good girl, I might not just spill your guts all over your nice clean kitchen floor.”
You could do that.
You could be good, you could be useful and entertaining and whatever else he wanted you to be if it means you will get to live.
A shaky nod with a shuddering inhale before you say with a surprisingly steady voice, “I’ll be good.”
A small laugh before saying, “I bet.”
Jesus, you were in deep, how were you ever going to make it out of this with your life?
The way he rocks his hips into yours, makes you feel again how hard he is. With one hand on the back of your neck, the other one still holding the knife dangerously close, he kisses you through the mask and you have to fight the urge to squirm away from him.
When he pulls away he practically purrs for you to get on your knees for him and you fall to them the second he inches the knife back away from your throat. “So obedient.”
He traces the line of your jaw with the edge of his blade and tits your head up, trying to commit the sight of you scared and on your knees before him to memory. He speaks in a tone that even in circumstances where your life was at stake would make you shut up and take notes. “I don’t want you to just go through the motions, I want you to make me feel like you truly want it. Convince me.”
You can manage that.
You lean in, he is holding that knife and his other hand is on your chin, leather clad thumb on your bottom lip, forces you to open your mouth and he tilts and turns your head from side to side, inspecting you.
“Mmm this mouth of yours, the thoughts I have had about it-” With your mouth open you lick over his thumb and it makes his sentence stop short as he watches your lips close around it and suck, tonge lathing over it inside of your mouth.
You’ve known him for such a short while but my God could he talk, good to know he was capable of shutting up.
You pull off and then you lean in closer and mouth at the outline of his hard cock through the material of his pants and press a few kisses there, looking up at him. You had your hands on your spread thighs as you stared up at him, you began to beg. More pressing of your lips bookending the word as you ask, “Please?”
“Please what?” He almost wants to hold his breath as he waits to see what you are going to say.
“Please let me make you feel good?”
Oh that is fucking great to hear, turns him on further.
But he is greedy and wants more. He has that knife to your cheek now and he sing-songs out, “I dunnoooo-”
You whimper in fear and are still looking up at him, you need to try harder to impress him. More kisses, your cheek right against his hard cock, you can almost feel it throbbing through the fabric. You step it up.
“Please let me prove I’m worth keeping alive? Let me choke on it.”
God, he knew there was a reason he liked you so much.
“Fuck yes, you may.”
You jumped at the chance. If you could give him some spectacular head then he would let you live, right?
Your hands worked on opening his pants and freeing him from the confines of his clothing. There was this look in your eyes, lust, hunger, genuine want.
He wanted to make you choke on him until you cried and you honestly looked like you wanted the same thing.
You were a good actor.
You actually looked like you fucking wanted this, wanted him. The threat of death could make people do crazy things though, what better motivator than a big fuck off hunting knife right in your face?
The thing was you weren’t that good of an actor.
You actually couldn’t help it. You were feeling insanely turned on by this. Had to admit to at least yourself, it was so much like the porn you liked to read and indulge yourself in.
You had his pants open, your masked assailant had no underwear on, went totally commando, he really had been planning on doing this and wanted to make it as easy as possible. Less clothes means easier access after all.
Then you lean in, tongue starts at the base of his shaft and runs all the way up the length of him. Your breath is warm, your lips are soft and your tongue is so wet, you’d barely gotten started and it felt fucking good.
You kiss and lick and your mouth closes around the head of his dick and you suck indulgently. You hum around him and start sliding more of him into your mouth right away, no more preamble.
Your mouth feels amazing, better than he ever dreamed. He leans against the counter, making himself even more comfortable while you were certainly starting to feel less than on your knees.
You tightened your lips and pulled back, sucking harder, bobbing your head up and down, your hands on his thighs for support, looking up at him.
“Shit, this mouth-” He bucks forward and you take it with a slight gag. You move with more purpose. Harder, your hand around the base, you suck and take him deeper, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth as you continue to move.
His hand is on your head, pulling you forward until your nose is pressed flat against him, forcing himself as deep as he can into your mouth. He rocks into you over and over, fucking your throat, feeling how you gag and your throat closes around him and he groans out, “Fuck! Take it so well-”
He needs to see more of you. Knife hooks into the strap of your tank top and he cuts it in half, you make a sound of protest against his shaft but he is holding the weapon so threateningly, pointing it right at you as he says, “You know what I want.”
You nod once, not pulling him out and your hands come up and pull the top down, exposing your braless tits to him.
“Perfect.”
He pulls back and thrusts in again and you groan, spit is leaking out now as you continue to move, you shift your hips in a weak attempt to try and make yourself more comfortable, it doesn’t work.
He has the urge and doesn’t stop it. He cuts your cheek and you try to yelp, pausing your sucking, but the knife is still right there, pressing into the fresh wound and it makes you hold him in your mouth, terrified of what might happen if you pull him out and stop.
Your brows are furrowed in discomfort and the expression and the wet and muffled sounds of pain makes him throb on your tongue, he thrusts in again, harder, you gag and as he looks at you it almost steals his breath.
You on your knees, sweat on your brow, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, drool dripping down your chin and onto your tank top, blood streaking down your cheek and onto your exposed chest.
He wants this moment forever.
Lucky for him he came prepared. He pressed the knife into the cut, digs it in harder and you groaned and the vibrations up his shift makes him groan again too, “Don’t fucking move.” he spat.
His other hand is off of your head, well over half his cock is still shoved into your mouth, it weighs heavy on your tongue.
He takes out the camera he purposefully brought along and lines up the shot.
He takes a picture and you look perfect, he is pouring over the picture for a moment, debating about taking another.
You get an idea, you slowly move back, tip of his cock pressed to your lips, spit dripping off of it, your hand on his shaft, holding it there. You lick the tip and said, “Go on.”
As if he needs encouragement.
You play along and allow him to get some different shots, lean down and give his balls some much needed attention as you stroke the shaft, all while looking up at him, he praises you, “What a good little model.”
No way are you dying tonight. Not when you do something totally unexpected.
Your other hand that isn’t holding the base of his shaft swipes through the blood leaking from the cut.
You don’t break eye contact, you bring your hand back over, fingers that are stained scarlet pressed and run down the centre of your tongue and then you show off the blood there. Tastes salty and iron and you then wrap your still red stained fingers around his shaft and pull him back into your mouth. Slowly blowing him again with the mess of spit and blood and he throws his head back with the loudest groan yet.
Camera abandoned on the counter as you pick up the pace. Stroking and sucking, harder, messier, fucking your throat with his cock of your own free will.
He can’t take it anymore. “Ohhh, fuuuuck, that’s it-”
He pulls you off roughly and shoves you to the ground, dropping to his knees on top of you, forcing you how he wants you. Arms are over your head as he sits on your chest, one of his hands forcing your head down, other hand on his own cock.
He rubs his dick on your face, smears more of your blood on it.
“This is all your fault, you know that, right? How am I supposed to hold back around you when you look like this?” The mix of spit and blood and your tears has him harder than he’s been in God knows how long.
“Hope you aren’t gonna miss these.”
He pulls back and gets between your legs, his knee comes down on one of your thighs to help hold it open and he uses that knife, cuts up the leggings you had on. He rips the crotch open with both hands and then cuts your panties in the middle, exposing your dripping wet cunt to him. Gloves fingers run though your folds, you’re soaked and you shift with a small moan, fuck, leather shouldn’t feel that good.
“You are SUCH a slut, I fucking knew it!” His thumb presses and rubs over your clit and you bite back a moan, back of his hand smacks your inner thigh, hard, and you look up at him, he points at you again with that knife, makes your breath catch. His other hand still between your legs, thumb swirling around your clit as he says, “Don’t! Do that shit. I better hear you, understand?”
You nod shakily and he says, “Good.”
He moves off of you and reposes you again until you are face down ass up. He was so rough when he did it, then again, why would he care for your comfort in this?
He has one of your arms twisted behind your back to allow him to keep the upper hand, as if you can do much right now to stop him.
He lines up and sinks inside of you with one long stroke that has him releasing a loud and long moan and makes you inhale sharply at the stretch of him inside.
He watches as he enters you, disappearing into your drenched hole. His hips are resting on your ass as he is fully inside of you, soaking in the feeling of you. He breathes out, “Goddamn.”
You clench around him and he groans out your name, rocking in and out once and you moan, genuine and so hot and he takes then. Grip on your wrist tightens as he sets the pace, brutal and unrelenting as he fucks your own blood into you.
You feel so good, just hot and soaked, he is not holding back at all, why would he after waiting for long?
Loud moans, and panting out broken dirty talk as he is holding your head down, one cheek to the floor, knife gripped in his fist as he ruts into you, pulling you back onto him with the hand that is on your wrist. “Stupid, fuck-ing slut. Look at you! Drooling on the floor-”
It didn’t take long to get to that point, lost in sensation and being vocal right along with him. You are moaning incoherently, panting really hard yourself. “Worthless bitch, this is alll you are good for, fuck! Lucky you have such a sweet cunt.”
The way he has you is killing you, he is hitting that sweet spot perfectly, you feel like you are drowning in pure pleasure, the way he is talking down to you is only adding to it.
You are a moaning mess, shifting and squirming, not fighting back but just unable to stay still because of how good it feels.
He feels it. You are actually getting close, and so fast! He can’t believe it and so he acts on instinct and makes fun of you.
"Holy shit, no way-” He pants out, another hard thrust that has you gasping, “-you're actually gonna fucking cum from this?"
You moan something that sounds akin to a yes, eyes nearly rolling back and your sweaty fingers barely able to gain purchase on the floor below you.
He laughs breathlessly at that, this is so fucking perfect, too perfect, he spits out "Beg for it."
You do.
You beg pathetically to cum on a murders cock, you don’t care about anything else, the only important thing in this moment is getting off and satisfying yourself. “Please, shit, please, lemme cum, wanna cum so-so bad, please, please-”
And he lets you.
“Do it.” You cum hard on his dick, strangled moan pouring out of your panting mouth. You haven’t cum this hard in forever, gush around him and it makes him groan. You think he is still degrading you, something about you being a bitch you think but your ears are ringing and who cares when you are riding this high.
He isn't far behind.
He crushes you. Pins you hard. Knife to your throat with his arm around you, he might slit your throat as he cums inside of you, would he though? You fear he would but what can you do to stop him?
His other hand in between your legs, rubbing your clit sloppily, you came so recently, you’re too sensitive, it hurts. You can't control how your hips buck or how your walls squeeze him, this is just what he wanted, "Fuck-choking me, so good, gonna fucking cum in you-"
Your walls squeeze him again and you moan weakly. His grip on the knife tightens, "You want that?"
You nod frantically, panting out, “-yes, yes, yes-” over and over again and he finally spills.
His hips grind into your ass, and he cums deep in you, groaning out into your ear, "Goooood girl."
You felt like it.
You also felt like a wreck.
Blood and sweat and cum. Heaving and so hot. He slowly pulls out, you feel his hand on your ass, spreading you open, you feel his cum leaking out and he spanks you lightly.
You take a deep breath before asking, "Did, haaa, did I do good?"
He responds amusedly as he snaps a picture of your abused and cum leaking hole, "Good enough to live to see another day."
You are there on the ground. You feel and hear him get up, hear him walk away and you stay there, recovering. Can’t even think about everything that just happened, much too spent for that.
You then feel his hands again. Adjusting you to a much more comfortable position,rolling you onto your back, a warm and wet cloth starting to wipe away the streaks of red. You are looking up at him now and he still has the mask on. You say softly, "Hi."
He can't help letting out a little laugh, shake of his head as he responded, "Hi."
He is still wiping you down as he says, "You seem like you're doing just fine."
You roll your wrists and stretch as you said, "Yes I am. I get to live another day."
He is sitting back on his heels as he looks you over, admiring the already forming bruises and marks and the hurt he inflicted on you as he asks, "You ever worry you won't be good enough for that one day?"
You scoff and laugh as you sit up, cock of your head as you say, "What do you think I'm masturbating to when you're creeping on me?"
He lets out a soft groan at that, "This is why I fucking love you." his hands on your arms pulling you to him.
How could you not be his favourite?
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Words of Prey {Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU} Pt. 2
Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language + brief references to sexual exploits Warnings: None AU Description: People have the first words their soulmate will say to them written on their wrist/forearm. Most people chose a specific quote (referred to as their "soul phrase") that they use every time they meet somebody new. Summary: Daniela has been dreaming of this day far, far too long to let anything ruin it, even if that means she has to beg for a second chance. On one hand, you have no interest in letting her court you. But on the other, you know that the universe has other plans, and you can only fight the inevitable for so long. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Of All Your Dreams
Chapter 2: The Dreaded Dawn
“Of all my dreams… I’ve come to live my nightmare.” The words had fallen from your lips like anchors, snagging Daniela’s on the way down, tugging her smile into an open-mouthed pout. Nothing could have prepared her for this ache. For decades she had admired the words on her forearm, believing that her soulmate would consider her a dream come true, something almost too good to be real. How could she have predicted the harsh addition you now presented her with? That was the cruelest part of soul bonds; no one had context for the words on their skin until they were said and done.
But who could blame you for your cruelty, given what Daniela had said to you? All her life she had yearned for a soulmate to devote herself to, and all your life, you had dreaded the day the universe would offer you up as a distraction. A temporary infatuation. A blink of attraction, a silver participation badge, as shiny as it was insulting. Just that evening you had seen proof that you weren’t Daniela’s first choice.
She hadn’t given you a second thought until you were the only person in sight.
“Don’t do this to me,” she murmurs, with a slight stutter. Her eyebrows are angled down, and the first hint at teardrops form in her eyes, but your gaze remains locked on her blood stained lips. Breath hitching in her throat, she raises one hand to caress your cheek. Again she whispers, faster this time, all traces of her earlier confidence going up in smoke. “This is supposed to be perfect. We’re supposed to be in love, immediately. We have both been longing for this meeting for as long as we can remember, have we not? Don’t break the spell, please.”
“You broke the fucking spell as soon as you opened your mouth,” you snapped. At last you make eye contact with her again, and instantly find yourself overwhelmed. An intensity lingers in her gaze, drawing equal strength from residual anger and the yearning she felt for your affection. That anger flares up for a split second as you speak, in sync with the twitching of Daniela’s nostrils. One of her hands, which has so far been pressed against the wall to hold her up, pulls back to her side, clenching into a fist. For a few moments you had forgotten the reality of your established dynamic with her, but now you are once again fully aware of how strong (and volatile) she is. It is a wonder that she manages to restrain herself at all.
“I did not know- I could not have known!” Voice growing louder with each word, she no longer bothers to disguise her despair, fully embracing the cracking and wavering. Although something deep and wretched in her chest cries out in favor of violence, all she can think to do is cup your head between both of her hands; she has never had a better reason to control herself than she does now. “We can start over, play things out the way they were meant to go. Close your eyes for me. Just for a few moments, please?” Her thumb traces a soft circle across your cheek.
Gulping, you do as she says, hoping that complying would make this ordeal end sooner rather than later. Immediately afterwards you feel Daniela’s touch fade away, the air filling with the sound of thousands of tiny wings beating. Every muscle in your body goes tense, the hair on the back of your neck sticks up, and you can feel your heart pounding away. To make matters worse, blood is still dripping down your neck from where Daniela bit you. Slowly the liquid trails onto your collarbone, pooling there, sure to be a pain to clean up. Oddly enough, the wound itself does not ache- at least not until you feel a feather-light touch against it. You cannot bear to be blind for any longer.
Reforming against you, Daniela eyes your injury with concern, projecting a sense of false innocence. Then her gaze shifts to meet your own, bright eyes conveying a softness you did not think her capable of experiencing. Somehow the sensation of her fingertips against your wound becomes almost pleasant. She’s cautious with her touch, enough pressure to dampen the bleeding, but ensuring that she doesn’t pinch any nerves. When she finally speaks, there is a certain raspiness to her tone (undoubtedly caused by her earlier crying) that threatens to make your knees weak.
“You are far too grand to suffer like this- let me ease your pain,” she says, before letting out a shaky breath. A pause hangs heavy in the air between you, as she eyes you expectantly, waiting with bated breath to hear your soul phrase; but this time without the added misery. I never agreed to this, you think, never said I would give you another chance. Your mind lingers on your disappointment. Thoughts get caught on the way she had initially dismissed you, the lack of interest she displayed, and the heartache you had compiled over years of dreading this meeting.
Something in her soul reflected a piece of your own. Second choice, never the favored child, feeling doomed to a life without love. Daniela just didn’t wear her hopelessness on her sleeve, hadn’t let it go as deep as her bones yet. In this moment, you did not love her, but soulmates rarely experienced love at first sight. With the way she looks at you, a part of your heart experiences the barest shreds of hope for the first time in years.
It was nice to have her affection.
“Of all my dreams, this is the one that comes true… I dare not blink, lest I open my eyes to find myself tucked in bed, a guest of sweet slumber and midnight musing,” you reply, only slightly hesitant. Admittedly the words feel cumbersome on your tongue, but you manage the weight well enough, to your soulmate’s clear delight. Not even three full seconds pass before her lips press against your own, fixed in a brilliant smile. The contact is thankfully brief. Still, you find your cheeks growing.
“This is more than a dream, my dearest,” Daniela chimes. One arm moves to wrap around your waist, and she begins guiding you down the hall, movements deliberately slow (to make this last even a single minute longer). “This is the start of our love story, the first chapter in a timeless tale of true romance. None of your dreams could ever prepare you for the pleasure to come.” A smirk accompanies her final words, along with the perking of one of her brows. Again your cheeks feel a rush of heat; that is to say that they grow hotter, as you were still recovering from the peck she had given you. Part of you felt dirty because of that. Because you were giving in to Daniela, if only in the most miniscule of ways, entirely involuntarily.
“I am sure that you will surpass all my expectations,” you eventually say, biting down any and all less polite additions. To be fair, you are telling the truth. After all… the bar was low enough to be a tripping hazard in hell. You just hoped that, somewhere along the way, Daniela could give you a glimpse of heaven.
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A pleasant mix of relief and surprise well up in your chest when you discover where exactly Daniela is leading you: One of the castle’s larger bathrooms, fit for royalty. At the center of the room is a massive tub, easily capable of fitting several adult humans, with built-in benches along two sides. It was assuredly the most modern appliance you had seen within the centuries old structure. Based on the brightly colored curtains, assortment of scented candles, plush towels, and the abundance of rose petals scattered about, you had to assume that this was Daniela’s personal bathroom. Which did make you wonder if she had chosen the bathtub for any specific ‘purposes’/ulterior motives.
‘Twas safe to say that your sense of relief grew even stronger when she pulled you towards the sink instead. Of course, it was also safe to say that your heart skipped three beats when she lifted you up onto the counter without warning, as casually as one might take a deep breath first thing in the morning. She made it seem natural. But by the time you’ve processed the sudden shift in position, her attention has already been diverted to the cabinet beneath the sink.
Low humming reaches your ears, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of Daniela rummaging through the cupboard, initially seeming like the drone of fluorescent lights. It’s not until your soulmate pauses her search that you notice an underlying melody to the noise, and you realize that she’s the source. Part of the song starts to feel… familiar. Hauntingly so. But then the music abruptly halts, as Daniela retrieves a first aid kit, propping it up on the counter with an easy grin.
“Do you have much experience with patching up injuries?” You ask, knowing that the unsaid portion of your question (as opposed to causing them) was well implied. Despite that, Daniela laughs in response, affectionately resting her hand on your shoulder. No words follow her laughter, however, just the ‘pop’ of the first aid kit being opened. “Lady Daniela?... Please, tell me that you’ve done this before. If need be, I can certainly do it myself. This is hardly-” this time your soulmate reacts with a scoff.
“If there is one thing that I have learned from my dalliances with people less important than you, it is how to bandage love bites,” Daniela explains, gesturing to the side with one hand, wetting a rag in the sink with the other. Once more you watch as her lips twist up into a self-satisfied smile, playful yet dangerous. Gods, you think, how many women have fallen prey to that grin? To those teeth? Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by an increasingly familiar touch. “For future reference,” Daniela starts to say, dabbing the cloth against your neck as she does, “my sisters and I are, hmm, built to take blood. You would have to ask Bela for the exact details, but our bites are never lethal unless we intend them to be. Something in our saliva, I think? Helps stop the bleeding. Do you know what that means?”
She pulls the cloth away from you, leaning her face close to your neck, warm breath extra tickly against your damp skin. Try as you might, nothing more than awkward stuttering leaves your mouth. So Daniela moves even closer, until her lips are tingling against you. Then she whispers, voice smooth, pulling out all the stops to make your heart beat as fast as possible.
“It means that I can kiss your wounds better.” Without further ado, she ‘offers’ up a demonstration, placing an open mouthed kiss on your neck. It’s silly, in a way, considering that the bleeding had stopped five minutes ago. Then again, this wasn’t actually about healing you- not entirely, at least. To her credit, she does seem to be thorough in her efforts. By the time she pulls away, she had licked up what little blood the cloth had failed to remove, and a warmth was starting to pool in the pit of your stomach. Perhaps out of some misguided (read: placebo-esque) interpretation of her words, you swear that the bite mark was ever-so-slightly numb. No more pain. Merely… pleasure. Noticing the tint of your cheeks, as well as the shakiness of your breath, Daniela cups your chin and gives you a loving look. “Now, isn’t this wonderful?”
“Bandages would have worked perfectly fine,” you stutter, instinctively turning your face away from her. Out of the corner of your eye you can see her start to pout. A nervousness builds up in your chest, mind flashing back to what happened at dinner. So what if she had yet to lash out at you? There was still an inherent risk with disappointing her. Between the concept of her inevitable bond with you and the possible threat of Dimitrescu style violence, it was becoming rather difficult to remain neutral. Less than half an hour with her and she was already breaking down your walls. I need to find a way to slow this down, you think. Maybe I can find a way to balance her happiness with my lack of interest? “I… I am grateful, Lady Daniela.”
“We are soulmates. I would do anything for you, and one day you will feel the same way. Until then, I will shower you with endless devotion, relentlessly, and you will shiver under my attention,” she promises, puffing her chest out in pride. Forcing yourself to smile, you give her a short nod, hoping to satisfy her without actively encouraging her. “Now… you need to rest. And where better to do so than in my arms?” Without waiting for a reply, she pulls you off of the counter, into her embrace. The air begins to shake around you, buzzing with intimate intent.
“I would enjoy that, if not for the sake of my roommates,” you say, words tumbling forth in a rush, desperate to delay a night in her quarters. You have no doubt that she would respect your wishes to not engage in certain behavior, were you to sleep in her bed, but even simply cuddling with her was not something you desired. Thankfully, she hesitates long enough for you to elaborate. “All that they know is that an argument took place earlier today, and that I have yet to return to my room. I cannot bear the thought of them fearing the worst for me. Please, Daniela, allow me to ease their worries… and give me time to process our bond.”
Silence follows. Your only comfort is the fact that the air had stopped buzzing, with Daniela content to remain in her human form. Alas, her expression is nigh unreadable, only hardly expressing a sense of great consideration. Though she only takes fifteen or so seconds to make a decision, it feels as if you were left suspended for an eternity. At last she speaks, adopting a comforting tone, rubbing soft circles into your back as she does.
“Very well, dearest. Come morning, we will reunite, and I will cherish you all the more for these missing hours.” Internally, you can only pray that you will have a clear plan by then. If not… you would not last a single week against the inevitable.
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pasteljeon · 4 years
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core pride (m)
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❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.
❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin
❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff
❥ length: 6.6k
❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3
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Winter, Year 20XX
The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.
Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.
It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.
“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.
“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”
“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.
Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.
One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.
Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.
The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.
Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.
“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.
His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.
“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.
“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.
“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.
“Kitten.”
Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.
“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.
“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.
They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.
When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.
Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.
“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.
His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.
An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.
He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.
Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.
Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.
You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”
Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.
The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.
By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.
“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.
“Sweet dreams.”
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“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.
“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.
“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”
“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.
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Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.
You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.
“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.
He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.
“Good night, Namjoon.”
“Good night, owner.”
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“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.
“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.
“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.
“I’m happy to hear that.”
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“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.
Hoseok simply rolls over.
You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.
Tonight, you just want to sleep.
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“Good morning, noona!”
You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.
“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.
Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.
Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.
“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.
Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.
“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.
Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.
“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.
“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 
“What?”
“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”
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Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.
It was not entirely true.
“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.
“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”
There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.
Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.
“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.
Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.
“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.
“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.
Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.
They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.
“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.
“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.
“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”
Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.
You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.
You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.
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“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”
“She’s the one. I know it.”
“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.
He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”
Yoongi grunts, rolling over.
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You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.
“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.
“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.
Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.
“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”
You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.
“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.
Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.
So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.
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It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.
He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.
“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”
Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.
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It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.
With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.
He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.
Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.
He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”
You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”
“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.
He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.
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“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”
They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.
“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.
Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.
You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”
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Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.
Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.
“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.
“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.
“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.
“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”
“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.
“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.
You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.
.
.
.
“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.
“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.
So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.
And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.
He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.
“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.
“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.
“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.
It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.
“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”
“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.
“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.
“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”
You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”
“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”
His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”
“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.
The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.
The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.
.
.
.
Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.
He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.
“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.
“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.
“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.
“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.
“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.
“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”
“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.
“What?” The words taste like ash.
“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.
“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.
Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?
.
.
.
“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.
“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”
“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.
“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.
“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.
You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.
The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.
.
.
.
When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.
And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.
“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.
“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”
“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.
“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”
“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.
He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.
.
.
.
“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.
Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.
“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.
“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.
“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”
“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.
Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.
“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.
He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.
“Promise?”
Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”
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ladyartemesia · 3 years
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The Terms
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◐ PART III of THE ALPHA ◐
◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Series Masterlist ◐
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Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader
Rating: Mature (for this installment)
Warnings: ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat. Jin’s pheromones need their own warning. Yoonji and Yunli are not the same person.
Word Count: 2300
Author’s Note: As promised, this chapter is twice as long as the previous two and a lot of what people have been speculating about in the asks is discussed in this chapter... along with a few surprises...
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“Luna rex provocatione means ‘the moon king’s challenge.’ It is never invoked lightly as its consequences are grave indeed... If an alpha believes that he is the true Alpha and the goddess has placed another in his path as a test of worthiness and dedication to the pack, then he will acknowledge his acceptance of this test by declaring luna rex provocatione. Once the challenge has been set forth only the death of the Luna’s first mate or the total surrender of the challenger can satisfy it...”
Text of the traditional speech given by a chief elder to begin a luna rex provocatione ritual [7th century]
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“I know you won’t understand, but this isn’t personal-”
Jimin offered his rival an overtly feigned smile.
“You plan to kill me and claim my mate. Which part of that could I possibly take personally?”
Tae snorted somewhere in the background and Yoongi elbowed him hard.
Tradition dictated that both alphas meet with their second-in-commands in the chief elder’s chambers to discuss the terms of combat.
Namjoon brought Min Yoongi and Jimin had somehow ended up with Taehyung.
He didn’t remember actually agreeing to make Tae his second...
It just sort of happened somewhere between calming his hysterical mother and quickly reading up on archaic pack law.
The chief elder coughed uncomfortably. Goddess, this ascension was supposed to be easy. He never in a million moons thought he’d be in this position.
The last chief elder who oversaw a luna rex provocatione ritual had immortalized it in his journal as “the single most horrific moment of my life,” describing in detail the Luna howling in torment at the loss of her mate and the victor collapsing over the corpse of his foe in misery and guilt.
As in the past, the outcome of this conflict was already decided by fate...
Pain and regret weighed heavily on the older man as he considered the younger of the two alphas.
Park Jimin was going to die violently and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Because Kim Namjoon issued the challenge, his opponent will decide combat form. Your choices are human form, half-shifted, and wolf-form. After your choice is declared, Namjoon may add a minor alteration if he so desires. Park Jimin, please declare form.”
“Human,” he answered softly - and every single occupant of the room recoiled in response.
It was bad enough to witness a fight in wolf form or half-shifted... but to engage in ritual combat as a human-
It would be brutal - even psychologically disturbing - without the benefit of a wolf’s hide to mask the savagery.
Namjoon’s eyes widened in shock, but he recovered quickly.
“I request teeth and claws.”
Not quite a half-shift. Teeth and claws allowed for attacks using lengthened canines and claws.
It could make a kill slightly more... humane.
Jimin nodded and the elder pressed his seal over the first of the terms.
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The were no windows in the small, stuffy chamber and between the heavy ceremonial garb and the nearly twenty braided praesidium bracelets wrapped around his wrists, Jimin felt as if the blood in his veins was literally coming to a boil.
Though he dared not remove them to relieve his discomfort.
Each bracelet represented a prayer to the goddess. They were given as protection to a loved one before a great trial.
His mother had not stopped making them since the ascension. She’d torn apart her most expensive dress and spent hours twisting the fabric strips into intricate traditional braids while she prayed...
Jimin’s fingers sought them out for comfort as the miserable parade of ritual legalities marched past the two hour mark.
Many agreements (like Jimin’s insistence that his mother not be allowed to attend the fight and Namjoon’s pledge to financially support the Park family in the event of their alpha’s death) were settled quickly, however the sheer number of details to be solidified was overwhelming.
“I think it best if we adjourn for a short recess,” the chief elder sighed wearily and Taehyung nearly ran Yoongi over in his desperate scramble to finally use a restroom.
Jimin turned to leave, but a hand on his elbow drew him back.
“I want you to know, I did this for you as much as for the rest of them.”
His tone was low and carefully respectful, but Jimin’s wolf snapped irritably at the elder alpha’s presumption.
“What an... interesting statement to make.”
He pointedly removed Namjoon’s hand from his arm with calculated nonchalance.
“No one expected you to be chosen... Jungkook, or even Hoseok, would have been an understandable alternative, but you’ve never taken being an alpha seriously-”
“According to you,” Jimin fired back, finally allowing his voice to harden in cold fury. “I have always known and valued what I am. I simply never felt called to your version of it.”
Namjoon tilted his head in acknowledgement.
Park Jimin might not look particularly dangerous ... but for the first time, the Kim alpha considered that he may have underestimated his opponent.
“Either way - the pack does not trust you. They are not confident in your ability to lead them,”his hands fisted reflexively at his side as he considered the weight of his next words, “...but if you beat me, they will never question your strength.”
Jimin’s hands tightened into fists.
Namjoon might be an overconfident windbag, but he had a point.
He faced an uphill battle to subdue a restless pack as well as increased threats from rival clans looking to expand their own power and territory.
The challenge was a chance to establish his claim.
Or die trying.
“You think rather highly of yourself,” he chuckled and Namjoon bristled indignantly.
“I have devoted my life to the pack. I have never questioned my duty to them.” He leaned forward a bit, holding the younger alpha’s gaze with purpose. “That is why I will not hesitate to kill you.”
“And what of the Luna?” Jimin wondered in mock contemplation. “Do you think she will take kindly to the loss of her mate if you win?”
Namjoon’s jaw clenched. The Luna was clearly a sore subject.
“If I win, then you were never really her mate were you? Your entire existence boils down to nothing more than a sacred test in my destined path.”
Silence stretched heavily as the two alphas regarded one another with open hostility.
“I will fight you till the last shred of life is ripped from my body,” Jimin snarled.
A shiver ran down Namjoon’s spine, though he was far from intimidated.
“At least now you sound like an alpha,” he scoffed.
Then he was gone.
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Jimin waited till the sound of the older man’s footsteps faded before slamming his fist into the table.
He needed air and to be alone with his thoughts for moment before he could civilly resume the endless negotiations.
Unfortunately, the only place offering both of those things was a cluttered balcony near the back of the building.
The room traditionally designated for luna rex provocatione proceedings had been used as a storage closet for at least the last hundred years (and therefore needed to be hastily cleared after Namjoon’s inconvenient declaration). Consequently, the room’s former contents (piles of toys from this season’s charity drive) were now strewn haphazardly across the narrow outdoor space like debris from a brightly colored bomb.
Jimin carefully navigated his way to the balcony’s wooden rail and lifted his eyes to the moon.
“Please,” he begged softly “... send me a sign.”
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“If he did not hate me before, he surely does now,” you sighed, staring morosely at the lights flickering in the old chamber building. Somewhere within the bowels of that archaic fire hazard, your mate of less than twenty-four hours was negotiating a nightmare.
“This is not your fault, Luna-“
“Isn’t it?” you snapped. “That’s who I am. I’m the Luna, if I could just accept another mate without someone getting their throat ripped out, then none of this would be necessary.”
Jin sqeezed your hand sympathetically.
The council placed you under guard in a small cottage across from the elder’s chambers in order to prevent the alphas from having any contact with you. Since then you kept a constant vigil from its rickety porch, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man whose life you had ruined.
“Would you do it then - if you could?... Would you accept another mate to spare the Park alpha?”
Bitter tears burned at the corner of your eyes.
“Yes,” you whispered, “...I think I’d do almost anything to save him.”
Comfortable silence settled between you for several minutes - until a small flutter of movement drew your gaze to the chamber balcony.
Then he walked out.
And just the sight of him was enough to slam your heart up into your throat.
Jimin...
Jin quickly turned to your guard and unleashed a wave of pheromones that would have knocked out a grizzly bear. The guard whined and abandoned her post to follow him inside without a second thought, leaving you conveniently alone.
Male omegas are a rare and dangerous breed, you observed wryly, before retuning your attention to the man across the path.
A painful ache twisted hungrily in your gut as you watched him tilt his face to the sky. Somehow the relentless beauty of his features was even more captivating in the moonlight...
Suddenly a strong breeze braided though the air around you, playing with the loose strands of your hair and carrying your scent away from the small cottage and up to the balcony where the young alpha sought solace.
Jimin’s eyes shot open as the rich, unforgettable essence of you exploded over his senses. His gaze immediately locked with yours, cutting through the distance and darkness with an intensity that left you reeling.
You could not see his face at the ascension - instead the blindfold left you burning with curiosity as your mind conjured a thousand variations of how he might have looked on you in that moment...
Yet every last one of them fell short.
You could never have imagined the naked longing - the fierce desire - that burned boldly in his regard.
A strange, desperate frustration overtook you.
He was too far away - and Namjoon was going to take him from you before you could touch him again - before you could breathe him in again-
The cruel wind continued to pull your fragrance toward Jimin like an erotic incense, yet it offered you no such gift in return. You could not discern his scent and you wanted to - needed to - with a voracity that was almost blinding.
Please...
A mournful whimper tore from your lips and Jimin’s body reacted instantly to your distress.
Suddenly he was digging through the piles of mismatched trinkets and toys on the balcony, tossing aside all manner of discarded treasures till he finally found what he was searching for.
“Jimin-hyung! Where are you? Chief elder wishes to resume-”
Jimin glanced toward door as his fingers worked frantically over the object his hands.
“I’m on my way!”
His eyes found yours one last time, then he drew back-
A muted thwack echoed a few inches from your shoulder as whatever Jimin threw embedded itself into one of the porch beams.
Your fingers trembled with anticipation as you reached forward to retrieve (what appeared to be) a pointed metal dart - probably from a wall-mounted Darts game someone donated...
A length of braided cloth was tied tightly to the shaft and you recognized it immediately as a praesidium bracelet.
Soothing waves of Jimin’s scent drifted up from the fabric where it had rubbed repeatedly against the glands in his wrist.
Your body calmed instantly. Cold desperation gave way to the soft warmth of tenderness.
He knew.
He knew what you needed and he found a way to send it to you.
Your hand closed tightly over the bracelet as you crumpled to your knees and sobbed.
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A gentle knock sounded at Namjoon’s door and a familiar figure slipped inside.
“...Yunli?”
Namjoon blinked for several moments in confusion before closing his evening read to approach her.
“Yunli... why - what are you doing here? It’s late - the ritual set to begin at sunrise.” He glanced at the door behind her, “Is Yoongi with you?”
She shook her head.
“My brother doesn’t know I’m here.”
Namjoon’s eyes widened as he considered all the ways his best friend’s younger sister sneaking into his house (in the middle of the night no less) could go horribly wrong.
“Ah. Well... that’s ...not good,” he mumbled, running his hand over his face. “Are-um - are you here to wish me luck for tomorrow?”
He reached for a glass of water to soothe his suddenly dry throat.
“No. Frankly I hope Park Jimin beats you to a bloody pulp.”
Water sprayed comically out of Namjoon’s mouth as he began to cough violently.
“What?!” *wheeze* “Why?!”
She offered him a sad smile.
“You know why, Kim Namjoon.”
He did know why.
Yunli had loved him (or believed she loved him) since she was a little girl.
He sighed heavily.
“Yunli, we’ve been over this-”
“One week. The change comes to me in one week-”
“You’re Yoongi’s sister-”
“I’ll be twenty years old, and for the last time I’m not your sister-”
“Goddess above, Yunli!” he shouted, “You’re just a child!”
Yunli’s hands gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.
“I am not a child!” she growled.
Then her mouth was on his and every single thought he ever had disappeared.
There was only her.
Heat poured through him like heavy syrup as his senses surrendered one by one. His arms wrapped around her without the slightest hesitation, as if their sole purpose was draw her in.
Sweet... Oh goddess, she’s sweet.
Yunli whined needily and a possessive growl rumbled from his chest in response.
Then she was pulling back - wrenching herself away from him with an anguished sob.
Bitter tears flowed freely down her impossibly beautiful face and Namjoon - who spent the majority of his life barely acknowledging his heart - suddenly felt it shatter.
“You should have waited for me,” she whispered.
“Yunli-I-” he tried calling out to her, but it was no use.
She was already gone.
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“Are you sure you have everything you need?”
Jimin offered his second a distracted smile and nodded. His room looked the same as it did the morning of the ascension, yet his entire life was different...
“You were great today, Taehyung. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Tae felt his chest swell with pride. He didn’t want to think about what sunrise might bring, but he was determined to serve his old friend well.
For as long as he could.
“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, recalling that he fell asleep on his feet for three entire terms before anyone noticed. “You’re a surprisingly ruthless negotiator. I barely contributed.”
“I wasn’t alone though...” Jimin whispered, “and when Namjoon first issued the challenge... I thought I might be.”
Taehyung gulped, pushing back the oppressive sorrow settling in his gut in favor of some levity.
“You - uh - you actually missed the wildest part of the whole day.”
“...I did?”
“Yeah it was bizarre. Did you notice the table was different after our break?”
Jimin shrugged. His thoughts had been... elsewhere at that point.
“We couldn’t find you at first, so you missed the whole ordeal but - when we all came back to the room, that big oak table was split in half.”
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Hello my precious readers! If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments.
(If you are already on the taglist, I will automatically tag you in all future chapters, you do not need to ask to be tagged again.)
Please please please PLEASE let me know what you think! This chapter was HARD and I genuinely aganized over it. Your feedback and support are what kept me pushing though. Truly. I would love to hear from you! I treasure every word of feedback like diamonds.
End Note: Yoonji was mentioned earlier in the story. She is Yoongi and Yunli’s cousin. Yunli and Yoonji are separate characters.
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Text
The son's warmth
Yandere! Hinata x Reader
Notes: This is my entry for @seijorhi's Deal with the devil collaboration~
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, Violence detail, injury detail, manipulation, kidnap, yandere.
Please refrain from reading if you are uncomfortable with the above!
That said, please enjoy!
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Generosity. You suppose it could be a bit of a double-edged sword.
Although in hindsight, all you had wanted was to care for the exuberant ball of sunshine you had believed was dealt a bad hand. Parents and younger sister deceased, orphaned at the tender age of 14 and placed in a less than ideal environment - one devoid of love.
You had always been one of a large sympathetic capacity and it had always been a goal of yours, born of the principle’s kindness and compassion, passed on by your parents and sanctioned by your entry into adulthood; allowing you to action your desire to care for a young child struck by tragedy…
You’re not exactly sure, however, how that’d landed you in the basement of your own house with a broken leg and shattered kneecaps.
It was to be expected you'd reasoned at first, you had defied common sense and made a deal with a less than savoury entity.
Too bad you hadn't considered the fact that demons could come in the shape of fair seeming, walking tangerines with an aptitude for overbearing affection.
To his defence (something you’ve now come to consider a very ironic concept) Hinata wasn’t exactly - as far as signatories go - the one you'd even made this... deal with. It had been his orphanage, an institution shrouded in fraud and doused in the bitter aroma of embezzlement that had sealed your fortunes in the form of crisp white adoption papers.
You didn’t mind his clingy nature, the crushing strength of his grip when his hand found - sought - yours… actions that could and would have seemed to untrained eyes like a misplaced and overwhelming sense of desperation, like the shock of betrayal carved upon his features when your focus wasn’t solely trained on him, or the unnerving intensity pooling beneath glittering brown iris’ whenever they met yours during his volleyball matches. Again, this was something you’d chalked down to an amalgamation of a passion for the sport, desire to win and an appreciation for the fact that his beloved mother had come to show him the support he had clearly lacked in the early stages of his teenage years.
After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?
He was the coolness of your eyes whilst paradoxically, providing an all-encompassing warmth (much like the sun) and with an ostensibly boundless supply of energy. Such was the ardour that made your heart swell with pride. It was just a terrible pity – in your case at least - that this energy he had was now being put towards severing your contact with the outside world.
Wanted to go outside? He’d want you to help him practice.
Meeting someone? He’d pout and complain.
How could you refuse? You’d naively attributed such possessiveness to the trauma of losing his family and would excuse such behaviour in consideration of the circumstance. It was only natural. You’d decided to be there for him, accepting the responsibility as soon as you’d inked your name on the dotted line… if he needed a little more attention, that’s what he’d get.
And so, the story progressed until towards the end of his third year of high school, he’d decided the affection you were providing him with, however plentiful, wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as he knew it could be. For you still to be surrounded by others must mean his slice of the pie was diminished in size and a growing boy such as himself needed all the nutrition he could get. He’d reasoned that the entirety of said “pie” belonged to him, anyway. Surely no one could chastise him for exercising a due right over his own property?
He didn’t want to be the occupant of most of your time, he wanted all of it… And it was to be brought to your attention as soon as he arrived home from school.
No sooner had he entered through the front door than he was skipping towards your location (in the kitchen) with a blinding smile on his face, proceeding to grip onto your shoulders with a force that clearly betrayed his cheery demeanour.
“What’s wrong Shoyo?” You queried.
He’d went on to detail how neglected he felt whenever you enjoyed the presence of anyone other than him “It feels like you don’t love me anymore!”, like he’s not good enough, y’know? But it wasn’t your fault, all you needed was the chance to see that he was fully capable of being the only one you needed to depend on.
You were, at first, inclined to think of such proclamations as some silly prank, followed by laughter, declarations of how well and truly you’d been fooled and fabricated in boyish mischievousness. You’d managed to ask as such, but the speed and surety of his response had you becoming increasingly concerned.
“Nope!”
You forced out a nervous puff of laughter, clutching at the rapidly burning straws of denial because surely, he couldn’t be serious, but your dismissal had only served to become the source of his irritation and he squeezed you harder, fixing you with a determined stare that could only have been described as no less than peering into your soul.
You had ignored the red flags and were getting your just rewards.
“Sho- stop that hurts!”
“Reeeeeally Okaa-san?!” He quipped with insincere concern “It hurts more when you don’t care for me…”
It was at this bitter intonation that you’d scrambled back in shock and had prepared your body’s primal function of flight in the direction of the nearest exit.
But were you really going to run away from him? Shoyo, your own child, the coolness of your eyes and springtime in the haggard winter of your life?
Yes, yes you were.
And you would have gotten away with it too, had not the subject of your internal conflict taken advantage of your moment’s irresolution. For in a ginger blur of motion you were on the ground, he had taken a hold of your leg…
SNAP
He roughly covered your mouth to silence the scream, pinning you down with the weight of his own body as hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. The pain was excruciating, but you wouldn’t feel it for long, as with a swift hook to the jaw you were out cold. It hurt for him to have to utilize violence on the one he cherished; however, it’d seem a tad counterintuitive for him to give you the opportunity to run away.
You’d forgive him, you’d come around. You always did.
He’d swept you up and carried you to the large basement of the house, gently placing you on a worn settee; sickly ochre in colour - the one you’d been meaning to dispose of for years. His actions were soft and caring and his thoughts clouded almost entirely with his overwhelming love for you.
In passing hours he observed your peaceful state mindfully as his core pulsated in the cosy warmth of his rib cage, imagining what a future found solely in each other’s embrace would hold… eventually you’d stay of your own accord, he reasoned. He’d have no need to harm you or to keep you under the low, flickering lights of the basement. Defiance would become a thing of the past. You’d realise how happy you are he’d made the decisions for you, both of you, together…
“Why?” That was a question you sometimes took to asking yourself; more out of pure, unadulterated boredom than anything else. Something you’d already explored the answer to but thought it better to keep your mind occupied with trivial matters than to succumb to insanity (or the intensifying ache of your battered legs).
On that same note, though, contact with the world outside wasn’t the only thing he’d severed.
At the time, such an observation had very nearly made you laugh (and you could probably blame it on the fact that you’d always been quite partial to the more gruesome forms of satire). It was in an impulsive burst of inappropriate and rather facetious humour that you’d wanted to entertain yourself in the recital of depressing hymns (expected, given the nature of your surroundings), to congratulate your stupidity and wallow deeper into the marshes your own self-pity; only to be met with the simple fact that you didn’t have the option.
Your tongue? Gone.
And it hadn’t been the work of the proverbial cat, but your own son, who – cheery as always – had explained that it was another necessary action to stop you from hurting yourself, done behind the ever-wise teaching that prevention was indeed, better than cure. Could you not see he only wanted what was best for you?
It was then you were sure he’d dangerously distorted his self-awarded role as your protector and had lost his mind.
“Okaa-San, Its aright…” He beamed whilst you’d engaged in silently cursing your weak will “You won’t feel a thing!” - he flashed a guilty smile - after I knock you out…again.
And you didn’t. He’d sutured the wound (with what you really didn’t want to know) and made sure you didn’t choke on your own life juices, patching you up like the loving, doting son that he is… It was your job not to worry about the extremity of his actions, as a mother that should do everything in their power to put their beloved’s mind at ease.
Saved from the fate of Exsanguination… shows how much he adores you right? Not that you'd had half the courage or audacity to end your own life in such a macabre fashion, but even if you hadn’t been relieved of the burden of speech; you weren’t one to shatter another’s fantasies - especially if they were high school athletes with inhuman amounts of strength.
In the passing weeks, your mind had dawned upon the realisation that no one was coming to save you - and did you even need saving? – for your parents were far too busy, friends far too distant and dashing officer that’d do everything in his power far too non-existent. Shoyo was the only one who had cared for you, providing you with physical and emotional sustenance you’d never thought you needed - maybe for the reason that he had made himself the only source.
Another thing you’d come to realise, this time regarding unintelligible murmurs, is that they are very much open to interpretation. So even though his barrage of saccharine words were met with your limited arsenal of what might be considered responses, they been understood as absolute agreement, alongside the reciprocation of his affections. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that far off from the truth, as it was by that point, you’d learned the path of resistance was futile and that you were beginning to get used to (and even bask in) the flattery and praise he showered you with, silently and psychologically solidifying the notion that he was yours and you were his.
“You’ll stay with me forever right, Okaa-San?”
He giggled, placing a soft, lingering kiss upon your lips as if he were certain of your answer. And so were you. However, when he looked at you, tenderly caressing your form there was something amiss, a dormant hunger that hadn’t been there before, one that when coupled with the intensity he’d always regarded you with gave birth to towering waves of nausea and accentuated the persistent throb of your injured legs as if in subtle warning…
But you could deal with that later.
Because, despite the fact that his, short, brilliant orange hair had grown long and luscious with time and his scrawny figure had evolved into a mass of lean muscle, he still looked to you … like he did the first day he entered your care. Young, innocent and without fault. Unfairly dealt a bad hand and with you tasked to be the provider of everything he never had. So, as per the contract signed…
You nodded.
After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?
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