#you can tell i've been really into the dark urge and fear & hunger

[strixhaven]

the more i rewrite iziador the more it's giving "no dm is ever gonna let me do this huh" but i simply do not care. i want this man miserable and to be such a sacrificial lamb and have twenty morbillion problems. i can make him worse i will make him so much worse.

[ymiwritesstuff]

The Urge in Me

HI! Here's a Dark Urge inspired Halsin fic!! I've been playing my Durge playthrough and I really wanna romance Halsin, I just think it would create some nice duality and it also inspired me to write this! Fair warning though, this is NOT for the faint of heart, this one deals with some heavy stuff. General Dark Urge stuff yes, but be sure to look at the warnings thoroughly. Please enjoy!

Baldur's Gate 3

Halsin x Dark Urge!Tav!Reader

Summary: The torturing darkness in you was only growing stronger, and on a certain night you can barely contain it, leaving you fearing for your beloved's life.

Notes: NSFW CONTENT (gore and violence), Angst, DARK THEMES, GORE, EXTREMELY graphic mentions of violence, mentions of death, Blood, Dark Urge stuff, Fantasizing about murder, Hurt & comfort, happy ending, Fluff

There was dread in the air, carried by the foul stench of death. Bright red, fresh blood pooled on the ground, a river of crimson flowing into the endless depths below, gushing out of bodies that were twisted into the most unnatural and grotesque of positions. Their gruesome appearance showed no regard for the sanctity of life, the sight of it a despicable and unsettling reminder of the reality of the world.

The butchery was vile, done in a hunger. A hunger to kill and bring carnage. It was as if a monster had unleashed unimaginable horrors upon these poor victims, many of them still housing an expression of pure horror frozen upon their faces. Even in death, they feared.

How delicious.

You marveled at the sight of the bloodshed, your body trembling in what you could only describe as ecstasy. How it brought you so much euphoria to see the fruits of your murderous efforts, a feast for your eyes. Your hand ached, a testament to the way it brought these people to their dooms oh so effortlessly. The sharp blade of the dagger you gripped dripped with blood, so deliciously wet with the juices of life.

The sweet smell of slaughter floated in the air, filling your head with a more ravenous desire to bring about another massacre like this one, with even more souls for your taking, with even more blood and guts. How superb it would feel to slice and slash flesh, to hear the screams and pleas of your pathetic victims, only for you to sink your dagger into them again.

And again, and again, again again again! Only for your hunger to remain famished, the never-ending thirst for glorious murder growing with every stab and cut. You would desire more.

More bloodbath… Slaughter of the highest order. Your body tingled at the thought, a vicious cackle ripping from the depths of your throat, ringing in your ears as the lust of slaying grew within you. How wonderful, how sublime. Where would you start?

Perhaps with a family… To hear the screams of the children as their parents met their end by your hand, to feel the rush of frenzy flow through you as your sharp blade works tirelessly, to see the desperation in their eyes as you gouge them-

“My heart?”

You sat up suddenly, breath heaving and sweat dripping down your forehead. For a moment, you did not see anything, or feel anything, however soon, as the warm light of a familiar campfire reached your eyes, as well as a silhouette of a large elf towering over you, you finally came to your senses.

“H-Halsin? What’s going on?”

He looked at you, concern plastered across his features. He remained quiet, his expression somehow managing to tell you that he did not dare to tell you why you were woken up by him. The previous visions were a blur, but the way he eyed you planted a seed of fear in you. What had you done?

Fearing the worst, you frantically looked around, trying to see if everyone was still sleeping, hopefully among the living. “Did… Did I do something? Please don’t tell me I kill-”

“No, my love.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning closer. Looking at him fearfully, you noticed a distant calmness in his eyes. “You’ve done nothing. I simply woke you up as you seemed… distressed.” His voice trailed off at the end, his eyes briefly finding the ground below him.

You noticed a hesitation within him. He was trying to comfort you, but you sensed something plaguing him. Something sinister.

“What did I do?” You were afraid to ask but had to know. The urge had tormented you for some time and only seemed to grow in strength, but you could not afford to pretend to be ignorant, lest you someday did something irreversible and horrid.

Halsin paused, seemingly fighting a battle within himself. “You… weren’t yourself, so to speak.”

He was being vague, most likely for your own good, but it only made you want to know more. You took his hands and looked at him, trying to persuade him to tell you everything that happened.

“Please, Halsin. I want to know. I can’t begin to control my urge if I don’t understand it…” You pleaded with him, fearful of what horrors he might describe but determined to understand this… Sickness of yours. That’s what it was to you.

Halsin sighed deeply, pondering over your words before giving in. It pained him to see you like this and though he would have rather not told you any more than he already had, he understood your struggle, and above all wished to help you in any way he could.

“You tossed and turned at first, seemingly disturbed by something. Soon you began saying words that I did not understand. They were unclear, confused, but loud.”

You swallowed nervously, noticing how his face slightly twisted into a frown at the memory.

“Then you started twisting like your limbs were being snapped and you thrashed around uncontrollably. At this point, I knew I had to wake you up, but then...”

He squeezed your hands and took a breath. You would not be ready for what he said next.

“You laughed. You laughed like a…” He quieted down again, but you had a feeling you knew what he was about to say.

“Monster.”

Halsin did not want to hear you say it. Neither did you, but it was useless trying to deny it. The twisted urge had partially taken control as you slept, fortunately only managing to contain itself within your mind. Still, it brought you a sense of qualm.

The desire for bloodshed had infiltrated your mind before, briefly, but it had always left something behind, a fraction of its dark desires. Even when you looked at Halsin, your beloved, with whom you wished to spend every moment of every day, you were not spared from the invasive thoughts of slaughter.

You wondered how many stabs it would take to pierce that large body of his. How much you would have to twist your knife while it was buried deep within his torso until he screamed in agony. Your eyes wandered to his neck, vision blurred as the sound of your rapid heartbeat filled your ears.

He called to you, but you could not hear it, for all you thought about how lovely it would have been to see that thick neck of his gushing with blood from a deep wound. You grinned. What fun that would be.

Before your sickened mind went any further, you managed to pull yourself from the sea of blood raging within you. Gasping, you looked at him again, no longer fantasizing about his murder. You felt disgusted like you had cruelly betrayed him. You hung your head low fighting back tears that threatened to fall.

“I… I don’t know what to do… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

You felt his strong arms wrap around you, and one of his hands pet your head gently. He held you tight, almost afraid that you would slip away. The severity of the situation was obvious to both of you, but Halsin, being the kindhearted druid he was, put that aside to help you deal with it.

“Do not worry, my heart. I am here.”

His words hit you like a boulder, finally urging those tears to come out. You quietly sobbed against him, wondering just how you had managed to meet someone like him. Despite the dread, the death, the urge, all of it, he was there for you and made sure not to leave your side.

However, the underlying fear grew the more you thought about it. If you could not control the urge any longer and embarked on a murderous killing spree, who would stop you? What would happen to everyone and most importantly, what would happen to him? It was all covered in a veil of dark mystery, but one thing was more than certain.

You would rather run a knife through your own throat than allow yourself to harm him or anyone else.

“We will find a solution to this yet, my love…” He spoke, voice soothing, almost a whisper. His large hand ran through your hair and his words brought you some hope. You found yourself believing him, if only slightly.

“I would hope so but… Halsin..” You lifted yourself from him, teary eyes looking up at him with another pleading expression. His hand was on your cheek, thumb wiping away the stray tears. “Yes, my heart?”

You took a breath, what you were about to ask was not a light matter, and you debated whether or not you should even begin to ask this of him. It weighed on your heart, but you could not go on any longer wondering when you’ll finally lose control and hurt someone.

“Love… I… I’m fearful… It’s clear that whatever it is in me, can consume me and make me do… regrettable things.” You held onto his shoulders, your voice losing its power as you went on.

“To kill someone… To kill you- It… It’s like a nightmare that I fear will yet become true… So please…”

Squeezing him, your eyes met his, and in the pit of his stomach, you were sure he already knew what you were about to ask of him.

“If I one day lose control, lose myself to this… Dark urge… Promise me-” The words got stuck in your throat. How could you ask this? From him? It felt wrong, all of it felt wrong and suddenly you weren’t sure what to do. The words hung in the air that had become thick and judging by how Halsin looked at you, he knew all too well what you wished to say.

“My heart, listen to me.” Both of his hands were now on your face, hazel eyes frowned in sadness but sparkling with hope. “I can only imagine the torment you are going through, and I do not blame you for considering a more bleak solution.” His voice was gentle, like a spring breeze and the warmth of his hands spread throughout your entire being.

“But that is not how this will end. I promise you, I will not let anything happen to you, or anyone else. Trust me, my heart. You will prevail, we will prevail, together.”

You were stunned. With wide eyes you look at him, his saddened kind smile radiating your dark insides like the sun. You clung to him unsure what to say.

“Halsin…”

Leaning against him, you craved an embrace and he was happy to oblige. You felt safer than ever before, his words affecting you in ways you did not think possible. Suddenly, it did not feel so hopeless anymore. You thought the only possible solution would have been for him to kill you if you ever reached a point of no return but now… Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps you would find the cause of all this.

“I’ll be by your side, love. No matter what.”

Halsin pressed his lips to the top of your head, and you melted in his arms, the fatigue of the night returning to you. The urge was quiet blessing you with its pity as you enjoyed your beloved’s warmth. To be with him was a miracle.

He was a miracle.

~

Feel free to support me on ko-fi! ❤️

[dastardly-imbecile]

Not the Dungeon pt. 3

I've accepted i'm continuing this.

---

His gaze snaps to the person in front of him, still laid out upon the bed. For a moment, they are a thin white creature marveling over a stone cube, and then they are a dark priest trying to comprehend the speech of crows, and finally the flicker of a knight, eyes wide, forgotten words spilling frantically from his lips. 

---

Flashback episode?

Wordcount: ~2500

---

Rudimer is standing in the grand hallway of a palace. Around him, marble columns do the work of giants, holding up a ceiling splashed in vivid murals, old saints and prophets conjoining and copulating in cracked glory. 

“Rudimer!” Calls a voice from behind, jovial and perhaps touched by too much wine. Tonight is the night of his promotion, of a sort—no longer is he a mere knight, one cog in the wheel of thousands, but instead he is a Captain. 

Of the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger no less, an ominous name if he’s ever heard it. He turns, already knowing who he will see—Seril, brother, who throws a heavy arm around his shoulders. “What are you doing away from the party? We’re all celebrating you.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, placing a hand upon his brother’s. “Is it not all an elaborate excuse to drink?”

“Yes,” he admits, but surges ahead, “and that applies to you as well.”

“I cannot afford it. I’m setting out tomorrow.”

More than that, his true goal was to make it to the library. Find out what this dungeon truly is—for the sixth sense inside him, honed from years or battle, says that it is not all of what it seems. 

“We will miss both you and the stick up your arse,” Seril remarks fondly, and Rudimer musts a half-smile. 

“Me as well.”

Tomorrow, he will leave, and after that, he will see what these dungeons truly contain.

***

Rudimer is sitting in the darkness of his office, watching the snow fall in gentle flurries outside. It is a stark contrast to the rust on his blackened walls—he tried his best to clean this room out when he arrived, but he swears that every morning they have redirtied themselves. 

Briefly, he remembers chucking snowballs with Seril as young boys, or running through the wilds around the palace, all carpeted in plush white, and there is the urge to stand and take a moment in the snow—but that is quickly quashed. 

Too many things to do, too many things he cannot afford to lose. If he catches a chill, then there is little medicine to help him fight his way through, if he ruins a bit of his armor, it will not be until spring that he can request a new shipment. 

A flurry of papers on his desk. All unread, but for the letter sitting apart from the rest. Seril’s. Inquiring of his health, of the dungeon’s health, whether it has loosened him up a bit—he has half-written a dozen replies, but nothing he pens down feels right. Can he really say that when he sleeps, the space behind his eyelids feels darker than it used to? Tell him that when he ventures into the deeper cells, the prisoners press against their bars and tell him how his great-great-grandchildren will die?

That two days ago, a man crucified himself, spilled his intestines into the shape of something he does not know, but couldn’t bear to look at for too long. That priests file in with two black-robed children and come out with only one, and yet he never finds a body. 

But he cannot sit agonizing over this forever, not when there is so much to do. So, once again, he grabs a quill and a blank sheet of parchment and scrawls something out. 

All is well, Seril. Life is more difficult than anticipated, but I believe I can do something here. I miss you and the palace as well. 

After a brief hesitation, he puts the quill down. It is short, but it has to do. He has not the time for anything else. Not with a dungeonful of strangeness to manage. 

***

Rudimer is stalking through dark corridors with a sword in his hand, hunting. Lately, strange creatures have been coming up from the depths—little chittering things with many teeth and many eyes and many limbs. He doesn’t know where they come from, but he doesn’t care to find out either. 

Days ago, a request came through to transfer the mercenary captain deeper. The blonde man who does not seem to have succumbed to the quick insanity that takes most prisoners—despite the violence that Trotur seems to revel in inflicting. He could barely walk when Rudimer ushered him out of his cell, passed him to two other guards to take deep, deep down. 

Mostly because he was too scared to go himself. 

For good reason too, he’s sure, because only one of those guards returned. When he asked about the fate of the other one, all he received was a vague shrug, one scarred arm pointing towards the ground below. 

Everything goes that way eventually. There is a strange gravity inside these dungeons that pulls all things intangibly downwards instead of physically, whether that be sanity, health, or strength of mind. 

He has done his best to stay strong, but in his lowest moments—when he finally allows himself to succumb to sleep—he has been hearing the soft sounds of clicking, of pattering, of movement in the dark. Small creatures, many of them, beady little eyes blinking-blinking-blinking. 

If he looks at the walls for too long, then he can almost see them again. 

He thinks they are birds, maybe. 

***

He is walking into the center of a town he cannot imagine existing, surrounded by creatures small as children and thin as winter, watching him with wide saucer eyes. In his hands, watched ardently and eagerly, is a small gray cube, disproportionately heavy for how small it is. 

The guards are dying of starvation and suicide alike, but even then, there has not been enough supplies. He has stopped rationing food for the prisoners—but they simply grow thinner and thinner instead of dying. 

This deep, he can almost hear the cawing of crows, the flutter of a thousand wings echoing behind every step. It makes him jumpy, but he stills the hand upon his sword—he’s well aware that the only reason he is allowed down here at all is the cube in his hands, and he was lucky enough to have been able to strike a bargain furthermore. 

Two sacks of unidentifiable rations. Told to him in broken speech, barely understandable, to be food, weapons, clothes. The food, these creatures grow themselves, but the rest is what they’ve taken from the dead that decorate their village. 

Does not matter. He hands the cube to the largest, strongest monster, taking the supplies swiftly in the same breath. It takes his left hand a moment to close—recently, it has been growing numb, stiff and hard to control.

For a split second, he is on high alert, gauging whether they will turn on him after all, but none even spare him a glance anymore. All are surrounding their leader, clamoring eagerly for the cube, thin fingers reaching like a child’s for fruit upon a tree too tall. 

Quickly, he leaves, not willing to overstay his welcome. The guards he passes are near-catatonic, staring blankly into empty space. Most have grown larger in this time, despite lack of food, for it’s not the organic blossoming of muscle or fat—but instead the swelling of their limbs, strange tumorous growths sprouting from hard flesh. 

The prisoners are worse, purely because they are all too aware, and he must dodge the thin hands that snake through their bars and attempt to gouge out his eyes, try to rip the armor off his body. They speak in tongues as well, and though he can’t understand a single thing, he somehow knows that they refer to Gods and rituals and deities floating in the primordial mire beyond reality. 

As he is depositing the scant supplies earned from this foray, he catches sight of a window. Strange. Somehow, despite the presumed abundance of windows, he cannot remember the last time he saw morning light. 

For a split second, he considers going outside. Taking a walk—distancing himself from the dungeons, at least for a while. 

The notion vanishes just as quickly. Too much left in here to leave. If he walks out, he will never return—he will keep going until his legs give out, or the wolves get him, or somehow, miraculously, he makes it back to some semblance of civilization. 

He cannot go. Not until he has finished whatever job he was sent here, originally, to do. 

He cannot remember exactly what it is. 

He will remember. 

But he cannot. 

He cannot. 

He cannot. 

***

He is crouched upon his cot, knees pressed up to his chest, trying to silence the flurry inside his head. There are whispers, and there is birdsong, and there are strong beaks scraping the last of his brain from the crevices of his skull. 

When he closes his eyes, it does not help. When he drives his fingers into his skin, bites his tongue so hard that it feels like it might bleed, it does not help. He cannot remember what he has been doing. He cannot remember the last time he ate, drank, stood. 

Upon his desk, the glint of an inkwell catches his attention. There is something important there—and then, as he forces himself to rise, he finally sees the paper set neatly to the side. Seril’s. That of weeks ago, perhaps months—they wrote regularly in the beginning, he’s sure, but the spaces between have grown larger and larger. 

With dirty hands—when was the last time he washed them?—he grabs the paper, scans it fervently. Nothing important. Seril has found a nice woman, she is with child, all is well, all is fine, he is not stuck here in this cursed dungeon, he cannot fathom a single iota of his experience. 

There is a scrap of dirtied paper upon the ground, but it is the only one he can find, so it will have to do. When he grabs at the quill, his hand—so rough, so uncoordinated, it is as if he cannot move his fingers individually anymore, but the entire arm is instead an odd, stiff mass—knocks the inkwell off the desk. Now, limited to one dip of ink, but there are only a few words he needs to say. 

seril i require help these dungeons are full of crows plea

The quill runs out of ink before he finishes, but it is all the words he needed to say. 

Except, there’s something missing. It takes a long moment of staring at the paper to realize. 

It is missing a signature. 

Well. He has no ink left to write it, and besides, when he imagines penning it down, he realizes that he does not exactly remember what it looks like. What name he would use. 

He finds her lower in the dungeons, drawing out a sigil in what’s probably blood. A dark priest, skin and hair both sickly white, clad in the robes that are customary for her kind. He does not know when she entered, but somehow, he knew where to find her—the only person who could deliver his message. The only person in this entire dungeon who is any modicum of sane. 

Besides him, of course. 

She looks up at him when he approaches, lip curling in confusion. 

“...Captain?” she guesses, putting a hand into her pocket and grasping some hidden weapon inside. He smiles, to try and placate her, but it doesn’t seem to work, so instead he launches into instructions. 

She cocks her head, brow lowering. Does she not understand? They are simple words, or at least he thinks they are, but when he attempts to concentrate on what he is saying, all he hears are the guttural rumbles and screeches of something that cannot conceive human speech. 

Sharply, he shuts his mouth, and simply shoves the paper into her hand, points towards an approximation of the entrance. 

Finally, she gets it. Looks down. “...Seril?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but settles on nodding a moment later. The memory of how to mold his tongue around comprehension seems to have somewhat, somehow, escaped him. 

“Deliver this?”

Another nod. 

“I know of him,” she says shortly, and then returns to drawing out her ritual, which he takes as a confirmation of the task. 

Seril will come, he’s sure of it. He will come, and he will stand inside the dungeon and find patterns in the blood and hear the chirping of crows and neither of them will be alone anymore. 

***

He is standing behind a thick stone wall, listening to the footsteps on the other side. How he found himself here is not entirely clear in his mind, nor is the wooden apparatus where a left arm should be, nor is the strange heft of his head. 

“...happened,” comes a thread of muffled conversation, “I cannot imagine. Do you think he is dead?”

“He cannot be dead.” This voice is sharp, impassioned. Familiar?

Is it familiar?

“Of course,” comes the other, now softer, placating. 

The crows chatter and caw and talk amongst themselves. It is a long moment before they come to a conclusion. 

Forward. Bludgeon. Intruders. 

Intruders. He raises an arm and slams it against the wall, even as he remembers a single name. 

Seril. 

It must have been his own, back when names still mattered. Nothing that has use to think of now. 

He wonders, briefly, why it is only now that it’s come back to him, and it doesn’t feel exactly right as his former moniker, but then it slips away in the lieu of blood. 

***

He is all that, and he is none of that, and he is a man-no-longer that tries to catch memories in his hands like water. 

“Rudimer?” 

His gaze snaps to the person in front of him, still laid out upon the bed. For a moment, they are a thin white creature marveling over a stone cube, and then they are a dark priest trying to comprehend the speech of crows, and finally the flicker of a knight, eyes wide, forgotten words spilling frantically from his lips. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he nods. 

“What happened?” they breathe, looking at him in what he cannot tell is marvel or pity. For a moment, all that he has newly remembered attempts to push its way out of his heavy beak, but it will not be in any understandable configuration. “Do you… have you been here, all this time?”

Nod. 

“Can you leave?”

Now, he hesitates. No, logic dictates, but he has never actually tried. Still, though, he does not think he’s the sort of creature that could survive in the world, not without the dungeon’s lifeblood coursing through his veins.

At his nonanswer, there is another question.

“...Do you want to?”

His beak is dipping down, and at first it is because of the weight of gravity, but then he is lifting up, dropping again. 

Nod, one more time.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part II

Part I (complete)

Part III (complete)

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Making deals with a vampire was one thing, (Y/N) supposed, but fulfilling such a deal was quite another.

When Zeke— who held the contradictory position of the regional Commander of the Hunters as well as the alpha of a local werewolf pack— had approached her with the idea of infiltrating Eren Jaeger's inner circle, she had jumped at the chance; her great-to-however-many-degrees grandfather really had been Jean Kirschtein, and she had read his old journal, and her curiosity about the Old Ways was always bubbling just beneath her skin. Zeke, she thought, must have known of her curiosity, because his offer had been everything she was searching for.

You'll have your answers, he told her, And we'll have ours. One way or another, the problem of Eren Jaeger will be solved through your efforts. There is no possible way to lose.

If only she had known how wrong Zeke had been.

At first, things with Eren were simple— well, as simple as things could be with such a delicate arrangement. It had been beyond easy to bait him into approaching her at the Creature bar on 76th Street, and aside from the first time, allowing time for Eren to feed was almost nothing. Even the process of feeding itself wasn't much of an ordeal— there was hardly any pain since he drew from her wrist after a warm soak, and the whole thing took less than five minutes— but around the second time, when the visions began, things began to be… different.

Little snippets of Eren's past began to come as the two of them interacted more and increased the amount of regular feedings. Sometimes it was as little as a feeling, a memory of a face that (Y/N) had never seen before; other times, it was like (Y/N) was truly there centuries ago, in a land that would one day become her home. Now, almost every time she let Eren drink from her, she was thrust back into a world where humanity was (literally) with it's back against the wall, fighting demons and mindless monsters just to survive; and, sometimes, the visions were so intense that she would come back from them terrified, shaking, and incapable of cogent thought. It was during those times that Eren held her, silent, resigned, and yet somehow caring until she was herself again.

It was strange; in the visions, Eren was often passionate to a fault. He was wild, like an animal, but kind, too. During times like these, when he cradled her in his arms as she was trembling with the force of a particularly poignant memory, (Y/N) wondered if the centuries had truly changed him, or if he hid that passion beneath the jaded indifference she had come to expect.

"You think too much," he told her as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. "Your heart is racing."

Of course it was— the terror of watching hundreds of people be consumed by the very wrath of hell itself would do that to a person— but (Y/N) had no rebuttal. She did think too much, and the end result was muddled reports sent back to Zeke and a clouded heart.

"You loved her."

It was a statement, not a question. Mikasa— the brave, beautiful woman that Jean Kirschtein had once loved— may not have always known it, but Eren truly had felt very deeply for her.

"More than life," Eren replied.

(Y/N) thought back to the memory— the sheer panic Eren had felt at the thought of losing his comrades, the desperation with which he strove to save them— and she amended her statement.

"You loved them all."

Eren hummed.

"More than the wide, wide world."

And (Y/N) thought that, perhaps, he truly meant it.

"What did you see this time?" he asked, his voice soft.

(Y/N) pulled back so that she and Eren were face to face, her legs straddling him. His eyes were glowing-green, and she shivered beneath their scrutiny.

"I saw a field full of demons," she told him, unable to meet his gaze. "You and Mikasa were defenseless, yourself having been pushed to your limit, and Mikasa's blades having been broken. There was nowhere to run, and you— you screamed, and—"

A large, warm hand caressed her cheek, and it occurred to (Y/N) that it was her own blood within Eren that gave him such warmth with which to comfort. She placed her smaller hand atop his, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment to allow this brief, intimate interlude.

"Do you understand now?" he asked as he did almost every time she had a vision. "Do you see why I did what I did?"

As always, (Y/N) shook her head, moving his hand from her face.

"No, I don't."

The response was never met with anger or frustration; Eren was only ever resigned to it. Before, (Y/N) might have felt scorn for such a man who cared so little, but now that she had seen who Eren had been, what he'd been through… perhaps he was simply tired of caring so much.

"You're beautiful when you're thinking."

The words caught (Y/N) off guard. She had known that Eren had thought she was attractive— his emotional feedback told her that much— but she had never thought that he would voice such a thought. The compliment heated her cheeks, and (Y/N) had to fight the urge to bury her face in her hands.

"I've always thought," said Eren, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "That one can never truly appreciate the beauty of a blush until one could see it with the eyes of a vampire, or smell it as it rises on the cheek."

Eren placed a hand on her face, tilting it until their eyes were level.

"And as a vampire who has seen many beautiful blushes on many beautiful women, yours is the most bewitching of all."

(Y/N) swallowed thickly.

"Why are you saying this?"

Eren cocked his head to the side, studying her. It was a long moment before he spoke, but when he did, he gave an answer that (Y/N) was not expecting.

"Because it's true, and because I would very much like to kiss you."

(Y/N)'s heart leapt into her throat, but she didn't dare move one way or the other. She just stared at Eren, slack-jawed, as he stared patiently back.

"Why?" she asked when she had collected herself.

Eren shrugged. "Does that matter?"

(Y/N) supposed very much that it did matter, but she didn't feel the need to say so. She studied Eren closely— the latent hunger in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the stain of her blood on his lips— and she thought of how gentle he had been with her, how patient. She had no doubt that he would prove to be equally so in other matters, and she wanted him— but something stopped her.

It would be wrong of me to allow this, she thought, letting her eyes wander to Eren's lips. I'm his enemy, a spy for the Hunters. Allowing him and myself the potential of intimacy is too deep a betrayal, even for me.

Even so, she didn't stop him as he shifted her closer; even so, when his lips brushed hers, she kissed him back, tasting her own blood on his tongue.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered against his lips, shifting in his lap.

"How young you are," he said in return. "There is no such thing as a bad idea, only poor timing and execution. Take it from someone who has centuries of experience; rarely ever is the regret for having done something greater than the regret of not having done it."

So saying, he kissed her again, and (Y/N) threaded her hands in his hair as he reached beneath her shirt. His hands— warm, now, with the heat of her own blood— reached beneath the cup of her bra to cradle her breasts, and she exhaled a hiss as his fingertips found her nipples. She arched into him, pressing her flesh into his hands and parting their lips; he chuckled, dark and low, and she shivered at the sound.

"How many other Creatures have you tricked like this?" he asked, pressing kisses against her neck. "Tell me, pretty girl— just how many have fallen prey to your charms so that you can run back to your little doggy master with their deepest, darkest secrets?"

(Y/N) froze, stuck somewhere between fear, dread, and ecstasy. Eren knew— somehow, he knew— and yet he continued to touch her, kiss her, caress her as though nothing were amiss. Her whole body went still with shock, but Eren never stopped even for a moment.

"Come now, you can't think I didn't know." His lips were just below her ear now, and he closed his teeth around the lobe, teasing her with the sensation. "I can smell him on the papers in your bag; I can hear the clicking of the letters as you type your memos after I've pieced you back together for an evening. Most of all, I can hear the way your heart pumps a little faster when I feed you the information you want. I can taste your guilt in the very blood I take from you. You can hide nothing from me."

"Eren," she said as fear— rancid and terrible— began crawling up the back of her throat, "Eren, please, I haven't told him about the important things, I'm trying to make a case for you—"

He pulled away then, and when his piercing green eyes locked with her own, she stilled like a sparrow caught in the gaze of a cobra.

"I don't care," he replied simply. "You are what you are, and at your core, you cannot change that. It is the same with me. I'm not afraid of my half-mutt half-brother no matter what you tell him, and as long as you want what I have to offer, there's no reason not to take it for your own."

(Y/N)'s mind was reeling.

"Half-brother?"

Eren chuckled at her confusion.

"Oh yes, pretty one. Zeke Jaeger is my older brother, and I suspect he sent you to me just to you with the both of us." With a carnivorous grin, he added, "But little does he know that I play for keeps, and you're not the good little Huntress he must assume you are— that is to say, he must have no clue at all how hungry you are for vampire cock, hm?"

(Y/N) would be lying if she hadn't pictured Eren in… less than appropriate situations, but for fuck's sake, she wasnt blind. The man— vampire, Creature, whatever— was fucking gorgeous, and he damn well knew it, but that didn't mean she was gagging for it.

Did it?

"We can't do this," she said, pushing at Eren's chest, though he didn't budge an inch. "We shouldn't do this."

Eren cracked a grin, toothy with fangs that glistened.

"Says who?" he asked, his large, strong hands coming around to grab her by the ass. "You were perfectly fine with letting me kiss and touch when you thought I was in the dark— is it no longer any fun now that you don't feel like you're taking advantage of me?"

(Y/N) couldn't take it.

"Eren, be serious—"

"I am serious."

When she looked in his eyes and reached out with her own heart, (Y/N) knew that he was telling the truth. He wanted her regardless of anything, regardless of everything.

He simply wanted her.

Could that be so bad?

***

Eren didn't think that this would happen even in his wildest dreams, but when he saw (Y/N) splayed out on his gold silk sheets, he knew it wasn't the madness that Armin accused him of lying to himself about. No mind, well and whole or not, could ever conjure up such a vision. The woman who lay before him— naked and gorgeous— was beyond imagining. She was something from another world entirely.

"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled as Eren stood over her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts. "Come hold me."

And how lovely was that? His natural enemy, his perfect prey, asking him to come hold her, as though his skin on hers was blessed assurance that he was there and wanting.

Maybe Eren was mad— or, perhaps he was dreaming. If he was, he hoped he never came back to himself. A world without this was not a world he ever wanted to return to.

"Yes," she hissed as he crawled atop her, his mouth suckling at her breast. No other creature that walked the earth could ever taste as sweet as her— having tasted many, many before, Eren would know— but even were that to be disproved, Eren wasn't sure he would much care. This woman would be his undoing.

"Touch me," she demanded, canting her hips up to him. "I want to feel you."

How could Eren ever deny her? He brought a hand down to her sex, caressing her there before parting her folds to quest for her clit. Having found it, he drew small, teasing circles, and she whined.

"Am I still a monster to you?" he asked into the hollow of her throat, placing biting kisses there as his hand kept busy with its work. "Still something to hate and abhor?"

"You're still a monster," she replied, so startlingly honest even now, "But I never once hated you. Oh Eren, please, I want you inside me, I—"

Her wish was his command; Eren plunged two fingers into her depths, and (Y/N) gasped at the intrusion. She was so wet already, and so tempting as she squeezed down on those fingers, rocking her hips as he withdrew them just to the tip and repeated the motion. The way she felt around his digits shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, but as Eren slid in a third finger, he had to keep himself from letting out a groan.

"You're so beautiful," he told her as she writhed beneath him. "You truly, truly are."

Distantly, Eren wondered what Jean would think if he were alive to know who was finger-fucking his great-granddaughter, but when Eren remembered the nasty right hooks the taller man used to give him when he was being a shit, he figured that he would rather not know. Still, as he watched (Y/N) come undone on the tip of his fingers, he couldn't help but think that perhaps it was something of Jean's spirit— the part that even Eren had to admit was better, kinder, more human than most— that drew him to her.

"I want you," he said, withdrawing his hands and licking his fingers clean of her juices. "Do you feel ready enough?"

And then, as though to prove his point, (Y/N) sat straight up with the cutest little Jean-like scowl he had ever seen and pushed at his chest with no small amount of force. He went with the motion, and he found himself being mounted by her as she said,

"I'm not made of glass— if you can't wrap your head around that, I'll have to show you just what I'm capable of."

She did— and how! Powerful thighs— the thighs of a Hunter— levered her up and down on his cock, squeezing him until he thought he might die from it. He thought she was never going to stop impaling herself again and again, and by the time she did eventually tire, Eren was sort of hoping she never would. He was in ecstasy with her, and like the selfish bastard he was, he wanted it to last forever.

"Such fire," he said, reaching up to press kisses into the skin just between her breasts. "You've made your point, now let me take over."

Let me take care of you.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted as he thrust up into her, the head of his cock buried so deeply within her that he marveled at how she didn't seem to be feeling any discomfort. "Oh fuck, right there, please don't stop—"

Eren didn't stop; he couldn't. He was beyond restraint.

"May I?" He asked, tapping the wrist that was trapped in his right hand. "I won't take much, but I want to show you something."

Delirious, drunk with lust, (Y/N) nodded, and Eren pierced her skin with a single fang, letting a drop of blood fall onto his tongue. In that moment, as they connected physically, her blood connected them spiritually, and Eren groaned as he physically felt how close she was through the link he had created.

It wouldn't be long now.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried, and Eren buried himself as deeply as he could within her as he came. "Oh, oh, oh—"

And then (Y/N) was following him, shaking and gasping as her orgasm overtook her. It seemed that the world had stopped existing for a moment, and Eren found it hard to breathe even though he had no particular need to do so at all.

In the afterglow, they clung to each other like the survivors of a shipwreck; when the world began to exist again, it felt new, and as Eren closed his eyes to sleep, he knew that this changed everything.

I must keep her, he thought as sleep overtook him. I don't know if I could feel like this ever again for anyone else.

[many-gay-magpies]

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @ofaffectionate @yixiangs @cherry-riki

so uh. heyyy <3

pt 2 (technically pt 1 because it happens before) of blood bonds is here!! tagging everyone that i tagged for blood bonds (except for kyu </3) bcs why not

i'm not 100% on this, but that's mostly because i've been staring at it for a week, and y'all haven't, so i hope that you'll enjoy it thoroughly more than i do

wc: 1.7k, tw for blood, blood-sucking, death and mentions of death, and vague descriptions of a car crash. same as the last one pretty much, let me know if there's anything i missed!

that being said, have some bloodlust.

It's a scent that stops him in the middle of the street, blaring alarms through every inch of his body—thick and sweet, intoxicating, like the richest chocolates and tenderest meats. For a second, it brings him back to his days in the castle; feasts coating tables upon tables in every decadence he could imagine. He hasn't felt that kind of indulgence in a long time.

Jungwon is immediately aware of his instincts overcoming him; he knows what the smell is, he's smelled it coming off the other boys enough times to be familiar with it. But not this strong. Never this strong.

His head swims. Stars cloud his vision, and yet everything is ten times brighter, more crisp; his senses sharpened, sensitivity heightened. Jungwon battles with himself for a moment, there, on the side of the road, watching the car with the contents of it's driver's seat smelling so delectably like food as it drives by; no, no, don't give in, don't succumb, you've made it so far already, just hold on a little bit longer—but the gut-wrenching hunger inside him is like none he's ever faced before.

It tears at him, the unbearable hunger, the emptiness; twists his insides into knots and makes him double over against the brick wall beside him. He doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to take, doesn't want to hurt—but he's so, so hungry, and it smells so, so good and he just can't take it anymore. It's a kind of longing that burns him from the inside out, and maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt, to... to give in, just this once.

He's hungry. He needs food. Really, when he thinks about it for long enough, rationalizes it in his mind, that's all there is to it. Lions don't feel bad when they hunt gazelle, do they?

(Something is different here, though. Lions, unlike vampires, will stop. Lack of food will make their body grow cold, their energy sapped until there is nothing left; they grow tired, bodies moving slower and slower, until they breath their last breath. Vampires do not. Vampires will not stop. The hunger depletes them, eats at them, and then when it can eat no more it consumes them completely—writhing black hole taken ghastly, human shape. Death evades them, and so they become death in it's place—emptiness so great it would eat the whole world if it could.)

So, with his resolve melting as his hunger rages, Jungwon presses onward—taking advantage of the scenery's sudden clarity to slink towards the moving car at a truly frightening pace. Plus, it could be... fun, he finds himself thinking; fun, to play around a bit, see how much fear he can truly instill. In the past, Jay and Sunghoon's jokes to Sunoo to "not play with his food" when me mentioned spooking his victims the tiniest bit before feeding had left Jungwon feeling sick to his stomach—but now, the idea doesn't seem so bad.

A voice in Jungwon's head (the more logical Jungwon; the one that isn't starving, the one that's still on the edge of rational) tells him, you're being stupid, as he throws caution to the wind and teleports directly in front of the car. Someone could see you, do you even have any idea what you're doing? But the voice of hunger rises above all others, and Jungwon, smirking at the screech of tires on asphalt as the car skids to a stop in front of him, tells the voice, it's dark out, and we're in an abandoned part of the city; who, really, do you think could see us?

The voice protests, but the drone of Jungwon's hunger drowns it out. He feels cool metal on the palms of his hands, hears the metallic clang of his boots against the car's hood. The trembling of the man inside tinges his nerves with delight.

He raises his finger to his lips in a single gesture, shhh, and wonders if his eyes gleam red.

Thoughts run one by one through his mind, though they are fleeting, like mice; skittering into the darkness as soon as he catches sight of them. He should have listened to the hyungs, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have waited this long—he knows the consequences of vampires going too long without blood from Sunghoon's stories, how could he have been so stupid?

But it all fades, irrelevant, in face of what sits before him now—food. A meal. Satiation, finally, an end to his hunger. He can feel his conscience slipping away more and more as the moments pass, the little Jungwon in his head letting go of it's logic.

It is with this quieting of the rational voice and sudden booming of the instinctual one that Jungwon teleports himself to the back seat of the man's car. It doesn't take long for him to be noticed—even the lack of his reflection in the rear view mirror cannot disguise the creak of expensive leather and the sigh he lets out.

"Jesus Christ--" the man nearly shouts, car jolting forward as he slams on the breaks. Jungwon doesn't flinch. He turns to look over his shoulder and meets an unblinking vermillion stare. "W-what the hell are you, kid?"

"Go on, guess," he says, brow raised. "I have all night."

Though even as he speaks, Jungwon knows the statement is a lie—he's the closest to the man, the closest to a human he's ever been since turning, no plexiglass or metal barrier between them—the smell of the man's racing heart and pumping blood chokes his senses like smoke, so thick he can barely breath. Jungwon doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold out—but he can feel how the seconds tick by, as if there's a pocket watch embedded in his skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Agonizing. Even so, Jungwon delights in the fear, the rabbit-quick pace of the man's heart. Equally as amused as he is overwhelmed, he decides that quickening it a little more won't hurt, and smirks, doing well to lick over his fangs in perfect line with the man's eyesight.

"Shit--" Eyes widen comically, and breath grows shaky with the reckless fumbling at car door handles in an effort to escape, pure, cold fear jolting through bones and bringing goosebumps to unsettled skin. It's useless, though; because all the doors lock, jammed shut, and the most he can do is huddle as close to the door as he can, as far away as possible from the boy with glowing eyes suddenly perched in his passenger seat.

"Surprised?" Jungwon asks with a grin.

The man gulps. "Th-this isn't happening," he mumbles, eyes focussed somewhere off in space, past Jungwon. "This can't be happening to me. This... this is impossible."

"Oh, it's very possible," hums Jungwon. "You'd be surprised to find out how much is." And he smirks wide again. He probably looks like a madman, but he doesn't care. He can taste the man's blood on the air.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispers. "W-whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just-- I don't wanna die. Please."

Any other day, the pleading would have gotten to him—any other day, Jungwon would have cried and screamed and torn at his own skin at the prospect of ever killing anyone, let alone drinking from them. But now, the logical him (the human him, he thinks for a moment) has been tucked into the deepest recesses of his mind, and the sound is like music to his ears.

"H-have mercy," the man stutters quietly.

Jungwon tilts his head. Mercy? a voice in his head whispers. It is a voice he hardly sees himself in, and yet it consumes him completely. There is no mercy. You are only prey.

It's funny how suddenly it hits him—how long he's waited for this, and how he can't stand to wait a second more. Faster than lightning Jungwon blinks on top of the man, pinning him down; the protests (physical as well as verbal) make no difference to him. He searches for a carotid artery with shaking fingers and, once he finds it, sinks his teeth in with a groan.

The car swerves in a panic, and the sound of it crashing into a streetlight is a distant ringing in Jungwon's mind. Everything is muffled, as if he's been thrust underwater, and he might as well have, with the way the smell and taste of blood blooms around him, inside him. He feels himself wanting more, needing more, craving more, the hunger never-ending as he sinks his teeth even further into his victim's neck.

Nothing else matters in that moment, and he knows, now, he knows what the others were talking about—how good it feels to feed when you've starved for so long.

His victim loses consciousness soon after that, but still Jungwon drinks. He can't find it in him to stop—it tastes so, so good and he's still so, so hungry, and it seems his hunger only grows the more he feeds; every bit of blood he drains, the sickness and lethargy drains away with it, leaving a hunger larger than he had known behind. Eyes closed, the world spins around him, and Jungwon can feel himself slowly revitalizing as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Jungwon loses track of time the longer he sits there.

The hunger is less ravaging, now, only a low growl in the back of his throat; and soon it peters out entirely. The body under him has grown cold—it's warmth taking new ownership. He feels the stolen blood and pulse humming under his skin.

There is plenty to worry about, he knows—plenty things he should, realistically, care more about than he does. But for the life of him he can't pick out what they are, buried beneath layers of cotton he doesn't care to reach through.

His mind is heavy with fullness, and heavy with sleep, and for the second time that day a little voice in the corner of it urges him to just give in—so he does.

[babieyangyang10]

violent ends (chapter 12)

(chapter 12)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairings: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: lots of kissing, mentions of killing, description of injuries

previous | next

Athena's POV

It took a while for Jisung's quiet sniffles to fade the night of Chenle's death. By the time Mark and I had made our way back, Jaemin and Jisung had found out the news after they saw his face among the dead in the sky. Honestly, it was almost easier for Jisung to find out that way. I know Mark was in too much pain to tell him. As for me, I don't know how I could bare to look him in those innocent eyes and tell him either. As expected, he took it pretty hard. I mean, he was his best friend. He literally cried so much, that he eventually became exhausted and fell asleep.

I took the first watch, since Mark looked like he needed rest as well. The only other person who was still up was Na Jaemin.

"What are you thinking about?" Just like when we were alone in the first days, his head was resting on my lap.

"Jeno, Renjun, and the District 5 girl are the only ones left other than us." I point out.

Focusing on the positives, he replies, "Okay, well I'm guessing they'll go after her for us, since she's alone. Hopefully, they'll kill each-other. If not, we'll do it."

My voice was in a small whisper, "And then?"

He's silent.

I know District 2 is watching me right now. The same district that attachment is only necessary when it pertains to something you need. Once you have gotten what you've needed, you have to detach yourself. Almost like how a leech sucks enough blood until their fulfilled, then falls off on their own free will.

These people have given me my fill. Mark and Jisung took Jaemin and I in, even after Jaemin was injured. However, now we are both healthy as can be. As they sleep in front of me, what is stopping us from running away or even just killing them? Friends. Something I never had before. I never understood it until now. How it means that even though I'm full, I feel obligated to them too. To give just as much as they gave me.

But they are right. This is what they warned us about. This obligation will keep me captive. Let's say that we do all make it to the end together. Even so, the games will continue until a single victor. It happens every time.

The longest was the 25th games, it lasted for a total of twenty-seven days. This year the Districts had chosen the children of their mayors. Because of growing up wealthy and sheltered, none of the kids knew anything about fighting.

So they didn't. Half of them were wiped out by vicious mutations on the third day, then eventually others by starvation. However, the Gamemakers had a twist this year. Instead of the parachutes sending things to help and aid you, they sent down things like tracker jackers and acidic rain. No longer did the tributes have to survive eachother, but instead the sponsors.

Three weeks later, only two managed to do this: a brother and sister from District 9. Hopeless and broken, they decided to draw straws to see who would survive and win. The brother ended up getting the short one and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek before she stabbed him to death.

This just proves no matter how much you care for the other survivors, the Capitol won't give up until you kill the other.

The long silence was interrupted, "You know you're my priority. Ever since the beginning, only you."

"You know what I'm saying, what I'll do if I need to." Jaemin whispers sincerely, "I know you wouldn't like it, but we promised it would be me and you in the end, right?"

I knew exactly what he was alluding to. It doesn't matter if it's Mark or Jisung, he would kill anyone so we'd survive.

"I know." I speak even through the lump in my throat. There's no point in pretending or acting like things could never possibly come to that. I mean, it's not like the games are a place where you make friends.

Jaemin is sensitive to my discomfort, "Hopefully, it won't come to that, okay?"

All I could do was respond with a nod. Let's hope it doesn't.

It's almost natural the way I once again played with his hair to calm down. I noticed that since we've been separated, time had caused his nearly-black roots to appear, fading nicely into the frosty blonde. His eyes were more sunken in and tired, but still held the same old light as he peered up at me with interest, "You really have no shame, Athena."

"What do you mean?" I tease, playing innocent like I wasn't obviously checking out the beautiful boy just seconds earlier.

Then, in a burst of affection, the boy literally almost tackles me. My elbows brace myself up on the ground, as he leans over me. Alarmed, I turn my head to see the boys fast asleep, a good distance away.

When I look back at Jaemin, I feel my head start to buzz. It's seems like so long since I've been this close to someone. A someone who is somewhere far away in this arena. Someone, who in was in this same position with the night before I came here. In a soft voice, Jaemin's voice brings me back to the present, to him.

"Please."

Not long after I nod, I feel his lips softly brush over mine. Almost as if he's testing the waters. The kiss that follows is soft and delicate, yet brief. It's like I'm a piece of glass, that he is trying his best not to break. When, he backs away to see my reaction, I nearly chase after his lips. He just laughs to himself at the display of eagerness. I move back, so I'm entirely laying on the grass.

I try to be patient, not wanting to overstep our boundaries. However, when he looks down at me with absolute adoration, I didn't stop myself from grabbing his shirt with both my hands. Once I pulled him down into an bruising kiss, I could hear him let out a content sigh.

I get lost and entirely forget where I am. Instead of in an arena, it just feels like we're two young teenagers making out under the stars. It feels normal and completely right. Out of breath, he is now laying on top of me. My mouth is open in awe, while I marvel at the feeling. Relaxing, I could feel Jaemin smiling into my neck. Even in the dark, I know the cameras can see me also smiling like a fool to the sky.

After that, Jaemin decided to take his watch and let me sleep. It was the first peaceful sleep I have had until forever. That was, of course, until a young boy named Park Jisung ruined it.

"We need water!" Beside me was a knocked out, Jaemin. He was leaning against a tree, while my head was leaning against his shoulder.

"Okay, fine. Just shush." I was trying to be wary of Jaemin, who stayed up for both of our watches.

Grabbing my stuff, I say a brief goodbye to Mark. Jisung happily follows me like a little puppy, probably glad to finally get out of the camp again.

The fresh sun illuminates the water of the lake. Birds are singing good morning to one another.  I hand my bag to Jisung, as I take out my bottle. The tiny fish quickly swim away as I fill Mark and I's bottles up with water.

I feel a tug on my leather jacket.

"Athena." Jisung was pale, looking behind me.

My head snapped around to automatically meet eyes with Lee Jeno. Across the lake, he had just arrived with Renjun.

I don't waste any time before grabbing Jisung and running into the woods behind me. However, we could only get a small distance before Jisung fell to the ground, clutching his bad leg, "I can't."

"You can. Come on." I tried to hold him up like I did during the forest fire. I could hear the two Careers just around the corner.

"I'll slow you down." Jisung begged, "You gotta go without me." 

Not even having it, I grabbed him and sat him down behind a nearby bush. Since the bush was fairly small, I had to go to the only other one across the clearing.

"Let's split up." I hear nearby.

Through a gap in the branches, I see Lee Jeno come around the corner. My heart pounds with each of his steps. Jeno gets closer and closer the bush Jisung is hiding behind. I violently curse in my head as I realized Jisung was carrying my backpack with all of my weapons in it.

I guess we're gonna have to do this a different way.

I dart out of my bush and begin running in the opposite direction of camp. That way, Jisung could hopefully make it back undetected to get help.

I don't look back at all. I just keep running until I get back to the lake. Before I can change direction, I feel someone jump on me.

Crashing down, the side of my head collides with a large boulder. At first, it's completely numb and I'm able to push the tall boy off of me.

However, once I push myself up, I start to see black and fall back to the ground.

"Hey, I got her!" Jeno yelled out to Renjun.

"We've been looking for you, pretty girl." His arms have mine completely pinned to the dirt. The more I struggle against him, the more the white dots fill up my vision.

Renjun's POV

When I run towards Jeno's voice, I eventually found the two of them.

Jeno was holding the small girl. Lee Athena's face was as white as a sheet. Blood was pouring out of her head, falling in thick drops down the side of her face. I couldn't even tell if she was even conscious at this point.

She was completely limp as the boy sat her up on her knees, "Why don't you finish her off?"

"Look who came to join us." He cooed, grabbing her hair to make her look up at me.

Her half-lidded eyes recognized me right away. Although, there wasn't any signs of fear or sadness for what she knew was about to happen to her. She almost looked like she was challenging me. You wouldn't.

Would I?

"Do it." Jeno urged me. Her chin was tilted back by his hold on her hair, neck entirely on display. My hand was tightly wrapped around the familiar blade in my hands.

I tried to quickly come up with an excuse for my next actions in my head. I mean it would have to happen eventually. At least, it would be somewhat quick.

Then, I did it.