#Never posted half the chapters lmao

[dumbasswithapen]

E for the fic writer ask

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

So, this is an interesting one because my memory is total shit and all thoughts leave my brain as soon as they are formed so probably I do! I simply cannot remember. A lot of the more formulative stuff I wrote (aka whatever I wrote in middle school) ended up being very reflective of the person I was at the time, so I’d say something from that era… now I am much better at portraying characters that are different from me, hah.

somewhere in the depths of the internet (my old wattpad acc) there is a fic I wrote in middle school titled “on the subject of love and coffee” This fic was a hunter x hunter fic with mediocre characterization, the word ‘Baka’ used unironically twice, and a plot that maybe wasn’t all too solid pacing wise. But while I can’t point out a single character that I related to, that whole fic was a pretty big representation of myself at the time, and still now. Wanting to be a caretaker but not knowing how. Being terrified of change. Trying to figure out your gender and sexuality. So much of that was reflected in the… 42,000 or so words of that fic? So yeah. Not a particularly good answer. But an answer all the same.

[kyouka-supremacy]

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[pro-bee]

So some of you may know the lore about how I was mad inspired in the fall of 2019/early 2020 after Ziva’s resurrection to write fic and started this multi chapter fic… and then the pandemic happened and I lost interest and haven’t touched it in four years lol.

I don’t know what’s happening this week but I’m betting it’ll blow whatever head canon I had in mind back then out of the water and that fic is going into the vault lmao

Look how far we’ve come friends 😂

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Seven — Consequences

We were there for what felt like forever. Long enough for Archie to try and take a drink of my hot chocolate, and Aunt Sia to grab both rats and return them to their cage in the living room. Long enough for Zeke to become restless and start pacing the five steps it took to span the entirety of the kitchen. Long enough for my hands to start shaking as I thought about everything.

9k words | 45min - 1 hour reading time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death mention, experimentation mention, illness, mass casualty, rats (?), fighting, threats, bullying.

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: I cannot take credit for all of this chapter. My lovely @lobotomizedlemon wrote the beautiful speech in the end, like they knew what Jean needed to hear. Everyone needs an Aunt Sia in their life. Things move on from lore-heavy here, but Chi—thank you for trusting me with Sia. Thank you for letting me use her for something so deeply important to Erosion, and letting me hand her to Jean. She's exactly what was needed. I can't imagine this tale without her now.

Aunt Sia stood at the other end of the room, arms crossed, that cupboard full of mugs still hanging open. Brent and I were frozen mid-signage, both hands at the ready to argue further and yet absolutely no wind in our sails—mine especially. What did she mean she knew sign language? How long had she known that?!

Her arms stayed crossed as she stared at us like she caught us red-handed, Dad looking between her and us before asking, “What’s going on?”

Aunt Sia kept her gaze on us, unblinking even as I tried to shrink under her stare. “Brent,” she started, “What are you two talking about?”

Of course she’d go for Brent first. Take the weakest in the pack by the jugular, right? The man couldn’t lie, evident as Brent stumbled on his words for a moment before coming up with the best deflection ever:

“What do you mean?”

Dad suddenly became way more interested as Brent’s cheeks went red, his own eyebrows furrowed as he looked between the two of us. “Kids. What’s going on?”

Brent suddenly became very interested in the wood grain as my voice caught in my throat, eyes flitting between everyone as they all turned their attention towards me. God, why here? Why now? This was supposed to stay between me and Brent! I didn’t wanna explain everything to everyone. 

I took too long to respond. That’s what was the problem. I faltered, unable to find my voice, and prompted Aunt Sia to ask more pointedly, “What did Brent mean, ‘Tell Dad about Mom?’” she asked me directly. 

That got Dad going; his eyebrows shot up from their furrowed position, now zeroed in on me and cocking his head slightly, like a cat trying to get a reading on how far I was before it pounced. “Jean,” he said, warned, and I knew he expected nothing but the truth after saying my name. 

I swallowed thickly, trying to convince myself not to evaporate on the spot and run away while they all were confused. “I, uhm…” I drew off, voice crackling slightly. Jerry came over towards me and I grabbed the rat and held him close, using the little guy as a reason to not look up and meet anyone’s eyes. “When…before I woke up in the hospital, I…there was this thing wi-with Mom...”

And I was forced to recount it all to an audience. 

I couldn’t look up as I described it all; the long field of barley, the forest, the mines. How I followed wisps of neon thinking I was trying to find Dad. How I knew none of it made sense, but it wasn’t like a dream—I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried. The lack of a sun. My voice faltered when I came to the grove and I froze for so long that Jerry began biting holes in my jacket’s sleeve before I spoke of Mom. 

I could see Dad’s hand clench into a fist on the tabletop the moment I did. 

That was the reason I didn’t bring it up to him in the first place; not only did I not wanna sound like I was insane, but I wanted to keep from bringing up those memories that would turn his face ashen with pain. I couldn’t look at him as I described her. How we hugged, how she felt so real. If I did, I was sure we’d both have the same pained expression on our faces. 

When I ended my story with her using beams of neon to essentially throw me back into the real world, the room stayed tersely quiet for a moment. I hazarded a glance up; Dr. Sims was writing something down furiously on the back of one of Aunt Sia’s COLE papers, Aunt Sia was watching him as he wrote. Zeke stayed positioned by the wall, head down, not surprised but still avoiding my gaze, and Dad—

He was pissed. “And why didn’t you tell me this?” he demanded. “I thought we said no more keeping things from each other!”

“I know—” I started to defend, voice weak against his anger. That weak squeak that would have put Jerry’s noises to shame died off, though, when someone interrupted. 

“It’s my fault.”

Dad turned in his chair so he could glare at Zeke instead. “What?”

“I told Jean not to worry about the whole…deal so much,” Zeke continued, meeting Dad’s eyes without a flinch. Was he…covering for me? “When she came to me to ask if the same thing had happened to Cole and told me a bit about the…vision, I told her not to worry about it if it was the only time it’s happened. That Cole would get them if he touched tar too, and with her getting it in her bloodstream, well—’course she was in for a bad time.”

Dad seemed to have trouble processing this. “She told—” he spun his head around to look at me. “You told Zeke? But not me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you—” I started, Dad cutting me off. 

“Well, you didn’t do well, Regina.” he snapped. I flinched at how he growled my name and looked back down, throat tight. Of course he was mad! We promised each other we’d be truthful and honest and I lied to him within the same sentence. 

God, I messed up. Again. 

“You should have told us right away,” Dr. Sims chastised—not as passionately as Dad, but still disappointed. I could hear him turn slightly and he added, “You too, Zeke. If I’m going to make sure Jean’s okay, I need to know everything.”

I could hear Dad sigh hard, and my eyes followed his hands as they came up from the table and pressed against his eyes. “Okay, so what could this mean?” Dad demanded after a moment, blinking hard as he looked at Dr. Sims. “If Jean was seeing Abbs, could that have been a hallucination?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Sims muttered, looking down at the notes on his paper. “If Jean and Cole had hallucinations when interacting with the tar, I’d simply chalk it up to that and move on. But with the Vermaak’s history too, I’m not…not sure what to make of it.”  

“She’s not a forced conduit,” Aunt Sia interjected, finishing with the mugs she was messing with. She walked over, moving to lean between Dad and Dr. Sims and hand Brent and I cups of hot chocolate. It was funny—you could always find her in the kitchen when she was trying to think through something. A part of me was sure that’s why I loved sugary things so much. “The Vermaak went insane because their power was eating their neuroelectricity.”

“Yeah, but if she was injected with tar, could that have done something like the CRB solution the First Sons were using on the Vermaak?” Dad asked. 

“Retroviral integrase?” Dr. Sims asked before shaking his head. “No, can’t be. That would only work if she wasn’t activated.” 

Dad groaned slightly, the noise interrupted as Aunt Sia asked, “What about the power transfer device Cole MacGrath used? How was that different from the Vermaak?” 

“I couldn’t recover the files fully on that,” Dr. Sims admitted, clicking away, “But from what I can guess, the original power transfer device was used on a one-on-one basis, with a core of raythium to fuse properties of the donor’s protein to the other Conduit. It looks like some sort of process involving mutagenesis and particle acceleration? I can’t really make sense of it. Basically the original device damaged the part of the DNA that hosted the Conduit gene and then rewrote it with the second power integrated, so those abilities were a part of their normal powers.” He turned to look at Aunt Sia fully. “It doesn't use the same system the Vermaak’s does, and the DUP used CRISPR and gene editing. They’re all different.”

Aunt Sia crossed her arms, the hand of one going to town on the forearm of another, scratching away. “So there’s no correlation,” she hummed, glaring at the computer screens like it was their fault. “What about the DUP?” She asked. “Don’t you have files on their experimentation?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “I have one, that only talks about injuries, heavily redacted with no info about what sort of experiments they were performing.”

Aunt Sia shook her head, Dad’s hand reaching out to stop her stretching and holding the hand in place. “Okay, w–what about tar?” He asked. “Or that woman that could use tar, what was her name—”

“Sasha,” Zeke cut in. 

The moment Zeke spoke, Dad’s jaw tensed, and he looked like he was 30 seconds away from picking up the man and throwing him out of the front door himself. He glanced at me with that same anger, and I just knew it was because I told Zeke about the hallucination but not him. “Right.” Dad said flatly. “Sasha.”

Dr. Sims got to searching, declaring—much to Dad’s absolute frustration—that there was nothing on tar. “But Sasha is mentioned in Wolfe’s notebook,” he hummed, scrolling through scans of the journal’s pages. 

“What for?” Aunt Sia asked, looking over Dr. Sims’ shoulder. 

“Apparently she was on Wolfe’s team when they were testing on Warner,” he hummed, scrolling just a tad to pull up more text. “She’s the one that determined all the properties of the…Warner’s Threshold…”

“That’s the evolution-to-mutation thing, right?” Brent asked. 

Aunt Sia nodded. “Absorbing RFE through a blast core, yeah.”

The way Dr. Sims drew off peeked Dad’s interest. “What’s up?” He asked, apprehensive. “Is…could the RFE be doing this to Jean?”

Dr. Sims didn’t answer immediately; whatever he was reading grabbed Aunt Sia’s interest, her hand pulling away from Dad’s hold to settle on Dr. Sims’ shoulder, squeezing once to get the man to look at her. They shared one of those looks, one of the ones Dad would reserve for talks within earshot of us when he felt there was some information that someone either didn’t know, or didn’t need to. 

But it didn’t stop Dr. Sims from speaking. “No, no, just…Can I ask you something?” He gave Dad his full attention, who just seemed absolutely confused on why his friends suddenly looked worried. “How many Core Relays do you think you’ve absorbed over the years?”

Dad blinked before chuckling, the sound a bit incredulous. “I don’t know? It’s been a while, Eugene.” After a moment, though—when Dr. Sims’ stare didn’t let up, he asked, “Wh–why does it matter?”

“I’ll spare you the math,” Dr. Sims said, turning back to the computer to begin to read from yet another section of the journal. “‘Absorbing the raw power from Blast Cores, a conduit's ability to harness energy reaches a precarious tipping point after accumulating between seven to nine cores. Beyond this threshold, the conduit's physiology undergoes a tumultuous shift. Initially marked by heightened abilities, this excessive energy absorption eventually sparks deleterious manifestations.’”

“Cole had to absorb seven to use the RFI,” Zeke threw in. 

My brow furrowed as I silently counted something off in my head, piecing thoughts together bit by bit. Seven to nine cores. Dad was scared the one he used on us was enough to mess me up, but he’d had far more than one, right? 

I glanced at Brent, who seemed to be coming to the same conclusion I did; Dad’s used way, way more than seven—probably just in this year alone.

“You’ve…it’s definitely more than nine, isn’t it Del?” Dr. Sims asked. “I gave you eight just for the twins and that’s not counting the five we found in Spokane after you were cornered by the Akurans, when you had Jean’s power.”

“You used six of those generator things at the construction site.” Brent realized, “When you got mine.”

“That’s eleven alone,” I murmured. 

“How many do you think you’ve used overall?” Aunt Sia interrupted. “If you had to guess, because this…it’s concerning, Delsin.”

“Didn’t I give you three or four when you were fighting Augustine in Seattle?” Dr. Sims added, looking off to the side as he tried to recount a memory I’m sure they all wanted to forget.

Dad nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah there…there were four when that happened. I think Abbs and I found four after I got her power too,” Hit brows knit so close that the lines on his forehead looked like waves. “And I know there were a lot after I got Hank’s power. Yours too.” Dad leaned back in the chair, eyes turning to look at the popcorn ceiling. “If I had to say, I think…I think I’m close to twenty? Maybe even over it.”

Everyone fell silent, looking between each other with the same tense silence like we all expected Dad to explode right in front of us or something. Even the warmth of the mug of hot chocolate wasn’t enough to warm my hands as I asked, “If you’ve absorbed…that many, then why aren’t you…”

Dead? A walking corpse? Some sort of monster? I wasn’t even sure what to say.

Dad’s head came down when I asked my question, eyes falling to the polaroid of Warner on the table. He picked it up tentatively, bringing it closer and looking at it with a mix of intrigue and pity. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe Wolfe was wrong. Or maybe there’s something different with the Ray Sphere and that’s why Warner looks like…that.” He set the polaroid face down, looking back at Dr. Sims. “Maybe the Core Relays are different. They aren’t exactly exploding bombs.”

“No, but they are miniature fission reactors,” Dr. Sims said, turning to his laptop to begin clicking away on it yet again, muttering to himself, “Fission, fission…” as he typed what I had to assume was that same word into the search database.

“Do we really need to worry about this right now?” Dad asked, exasperated. “I mean, we’ve always known I’ve been a bit weird when it came to Core Relays, really, it’s not—”

“We just wanna make sure there’s nothing wrong,” Aunt Sia cut Dad off, her other hand going to his shoulder. “There could be some sort of…radiation radius or something if you’ve absorbed that many Core Relays.” She smirked playfully, looking down at Dad. “Maybe you’re a biohazard.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “I’m being serious, Alessia. This is about Jean, not me—”

“It may have just became about Jean,” Dr. Sims interrupted. “Sasha LaRue was a part of the Ray Sphere project.”

Dad immediately snapped forward, leaning his elbows against the table like getting close to the computer was gonna help him read the words better. “I thought she was just some crazy lady in Empire City?” Aunt Sia asked, glancing back at Zeke. 

“We…she had ties in the First Sons, but Cole and I never figured out what sort.” Zeke said. “Just knew she and Kessler were a ‘late night booty call’ sorta couple.” 

I cringed. Oh god, I could have lived without that trivia fact. 

Dr. Sims stared at Zeke, processing that information for a moment before trying to etch-n-sketch the idea from his mind with a shake of his head, saying, “Anyways—yeah, she’s mentioned a few times in regards to the Ray Sphere. Turns out she was the lead engineer of the First Sons’ Empire City branch.”

“So she knew exactly how the Ray Sphere worked,” Dad hummed, glancing at Aunt Sia. “Probably knew all about Ray Field Energy too.”

Aunt Sia didn’t look convinced. “But…Ray Field Energy can’t be what’s making Jean sick…right?” She asked, unsure. “Every Conduit needs RFE. Could it be something genetic? Like an intolerance?”

Dad shook his head. “We checked already.”

Zeke clicked his tongue in thought. “Y’know, the gene ain’t the savior y’all make it out to be. People with the gene could still get the Plague.”

Dad rolled his eyes, not bothering to look at Zeke as he said, “Yeah, but people with the gene don’t just stop working.”

“They do if you mess with RFE. Why do you think most of ‘em died in 2011?” Zeke shot back. “We used the RFI.”

Dad chewed on the inside of his cheek as Zeke called, annoyance slowly dissipating as he thought through his logic. “Eugene,” he said, raising his head to look at the man. “See if you can pull up anything about Ray Field Energy being weird. Adverse reactions, whatever was wrong with Bertrand—the whole deal.”

“That’s not a lot to go by,” Dr. Sims muttered, bringing his hands to the keyboard anyways. 

“We need to know,” Dad said, glancing up at me.

We were there for what felt like forever. Long enough for Archie to try and take a drink of my hot chocolate, and Aunt Sia to grab both rats and return them to their cage in the living room. Long enough for Zeke to become restless and start pacing the five steps it took to span the entirety of the kitchen. Long enough for my hands to start shaking as I thought about everything. The hot chocolate was frothless and cold now, bringing nothing more than a chilly distaste to my mouth that could also be felt in the room. 

Eventually, Dr. Sims shook his head. “I’ve got nothing on RFE and Conduits,” he told Dad. “RFE and humans, sure, but not Conduits.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “RFE and humans? Like the Plague?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “No, that’s what’s weird—it’s about the Ray Sphere.”

Dr. Sims began scrolling back up as Zeke paused to listen, reminding him, “The Ray Sphere caused the Plague. ‘Course it’s mentioned.”

Dr. Sims, though, disagreed. “It’s talking about how they prevented the Plague.”

Everyone snapped to attention at that. 

“You can prevent the Plague?” Dad asked. A thousand emotions passed through his face—shock, confusion, doubt, anger. “So Kessler managed to fuck that up too? Great.”

Dad’s hand clenched until the knuckles of his fist turned stark white, barely acknowledging Aunt Sia’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t blame him for his anger; if I had found out that my parent’s deaths could have been prevented, but years after the fact?

I’d be fuming too. 

Dr. Sims, oblivious to the fact that Dad looked like he was a huff away from breathing fire, asked over his shoulder, “Hey, Zeke—the Ray Sphere only detonated once, right?”

Zeke, who was frozen dumbstruck in the middle of the kitchen, took a moment to nod. “Y-yeah, it only went off the one time.”

“And Cole was holding it?” Dr. Sims asked, the word holding stressed. 

Zeke blinked. “Yeah? At least I think so. I wasn’t there. He…he would talk about how it burned his hands when he was holding it, though.”

Aunt Sia, with one final squeeze on Dad’s shoulder before letting go, asking, “What did you find?”

“It’s—it’s sorta hard to understand,” Dr. Sims admitted, finally settling his scrolling to a segment of the journal, “But it reads like they had a lot of issues in the beginning of testing with illness, just like the Plague, but then figured out how to keep the fallout from its detonation from happening.”

The Plague was something I really didn’t understand. To be fair, I don’t think anyone really understood it fully; it ripped through victims way too fast for any solid science on it, and with it being completely eradicated from the world with the RFI, no one ever really tried replicating it. Most people didn’t even know how it happened—the Ray Sphere wasn’t public knowledge. Far as I knew, it was nothing more than an illness you’d occasionally see mocked up in conspiracy forums regarding chemical agents and aliens. 

What we did know about it was…weird. Contagious radiation poisoning. Contagious. No one really understood how that was even possible. 

Until now. 

Dr. Sims turned back towards his computer and began reading. “‘In the initial phases of our research, I harbored profound reservations regarding the implications of detonating the Ray Sphere—a device harnessing the raw power of nuclear fission. The prospect of manipulating such potent energy was both exhilarating and unnerving. I grappled with the uncertainty of its consequences, the unknown variables that could spiral out of control. It was already proving a terrible beast to control; those without the gene, when exposed to the energy output from the device, fell to an illness not unlike Acute Radiation Poisoning—only it battled with their neuroelectrical energy. Whatever it didn’t take to power the Ray Sphere, it sought to destroy. What was more alarming was how it seemed to spread to those outside of the vicinity of the detonation, as if the energy from the Ray Sphere jumped from person to person, seeking a genetically-positive person to attach to.’”

“Jeez,” Dad breathed when Dr. Sims paused. “So the fallout, what, seeks out the gene?”

“Seems like it,” Dr. Sims confirmed. I could see him highlight the section in the reflection of his glasses, and throw a copy of it into a note in the background, storing it away for himself later. This was probably a gold mine to him. He cleared his throat before continuing, “‘Despite my concerns, Kessler continuously reassured me, promising that as long as we found a suitable core, there would be no repercussions beyond the unfortunate souls sacrificed to the Ray Sphere for its initial phase. At first, I didn’t trust him. What if our actions unleashed catastrophic repercussions beyond our comprehension? But now, I see how wrong I was, and why Miss LaRue calls him her little oracle. After three failed attempts, Kessler insisted that I place someone with the gene directly beside the Ray Sphere, perhaps even holding it, for better results.

“‘Kessler was right. The Ray Sphere needs approximately eight hundred to a thousand microvolts from neuroelectrical energy to fully charge the Blast Core—about ten to twelve people. They all fall victim to sudden exposure to Ray Field Energy—including the genetic carrier in question. Who wouldn’t, when face to face with a miniature nuke with twice the concentrated energy? But where they fell, the carrier rose. Eleven test subjects turned to ash in an explosion greater than anything I’d seen before when activating the Ray Sphere, only for one to be birthed from the ashes. When the dust settled and we turned to our monitors for information on the fallout of the detonation, we found there was none. The scintillation counters were the only proof the Ray Sphere even detonated—well, that and the smell of burnt leather in the room when we deemed it safe to enter with hazmat. The test subject himself was in disarray and needed to be temporarily placed on a ventilator due to distress from direct exposure to radiation, but within the week, he was healed, no longer exhibiting symptoms of radiation poisoning and with the ability to manipulate flames. He had become a conduit for the raw, ionized energy, and came out of its blast anew, his proteins absorbing the radiation in full and preventing any fallout from occurring.’”

My mind was reeling. So the…the Conduit they used in their experiment basically sucked up all of the radiation? I glanced around the room to see Zeke’s back turned towards us all, nodding slowly. When we were out on the roof of that train car by his house, Zeke had said Cole went into a coma. “Took him a while to brush off what happened to him after the Blast,” he had said. 

Not because it was explosive, but because he was fighting radiation poisoning. 

“‘With no risk of radioactive fallout upon the use of the Ray Sphere, we’ve essentially secured funding from DARPA for any experimentation in the near future. As long as a gene carrier, a conduit for the Ray Field Energy, activates the Ray Sphere, the only damage to come to the world will be from the Conduit’s power as it becomes overloaded from so much RFE, and the poor souls that sacrifice themselves for the greater good.’” Dr. Sims finished before leaning back in his chair, closing out the translation pop-up. 

Dad looked furious. “So they knew.” He said. Not asked. “They knew it could go wrong, and they still set up everything to happen the way it did.”

“I don’t understand,” Aunt Sia murmured, moving to lean against the end of the table on my right. “Kessler didn’t care about the risk? Or did he want that to happen?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think Kessler would have wanted there to be a Plague. Wolfe said for the greater good. They were still working towards fighting the Beast and keeping humanity safe. Something happened.”

“Like what?” Dad demanded. “If the Ray Sphere detonated once, then how did it cause the Plague?”

Dr. Sims inhaled deeply, trying to brush off Dad’s anger. “There’s something here about proximity related to residual RFE post-activation,” he hummed, like it meant something. “They took everything into account.”

Wait—post what? I held up a hand half-heartedly like a student in class, not bothering to say anything until Aunt Sia hummed, “What is it, Jean?”

“Dr. Sims said post activation, right?” I said, looking between him and Dad. “And th–the notes said something about the Conduit’s power overloading. So did the Ray Sphere have to explode for the radiation to occur, or did it have to just be turned on?”

Dad and Dr. Sims stared at me for so long that I began to try to defend myself with, “Sorry, I don’t really get how this works—” before Dad held up a hand to silence me, staring at the wood grain as he worked something out. 

“It…It wouldn’t need to explode, would it?” He asked. “It’d just need to begin the fission process. That’d be enough.”

Dr. Sims slowly nodded, rubbing a hand against his chin in thought. “It would need to output that energy with or without the Conduit,” he hummed, “and Wolfe said something about the ‘overloading RFE’ and uh…an explosion bigger than what had happened before. That’s gotta mean there’s a version of the Ray Sphere being activated that doesn’t cause as big of a detonation.”

Dad nodded, his own more pronounced. “That means something could’ve happened when it was in someone else’s hands. Hey, Zeke, didn’t you say the Ray Sphere was taken by some gang back in—”

Dad faltered as he looked back to where Zeke had been standing only to see he was no longer there. Instead Zeke was by the sink, leaned over it like he was ill, gripping the edge of the counter with a grip usually saved for squeezing the life out of something. “Zeke?” Aunt Sia asked softly.

“A Conduit has to activate the Sphere?” Zeke asked, voice lower than I've ever heard it.

Dr. Sims glanced over at Dad, who looked just as bewildered. “I, uh...yes,” he confirmed hesitantly. “A Conduit has to be within…thirty-five centimeters of the Ray Sphere and holding it to act as a...well, a conduit for the RFE.“ He glanced back at the screen. ”Seems that's where Kessler got the name, in fact.”

Zeke's head shook as it fell, like he was refusing to believe what he was hearing. What was going on with him? He was acting like he was just diagnosed with the Plague himself. Brent looked over at me bewildered and all I could do was shrug.

Dad, though, didn't have as much tact. “What happened, Zeke?” he asked, eyes narrow as they bore through Zeke's back. “Do you know how the Plague started?”

Zeke breathed shakily, giving himself a few seconds to keep his head hung low as he collected himself. He reached up and pulled off his polarized glasses, running a hand across his face hard like he was trying to wipe away dirt. It's when he turned that I realized he was crying.

“I think I started it,” he whispered, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. “What did you just say?” Dad asked flatly, the hold on the back of his chair tightening.

Zeke kept his head low, eyes pointed at the ground but seeming to look far past it to some long-forgotten memory. “There was this...game of hot potato after the Blast as everyone fought to get ahold of the Ray Sphere. First John White pulled it from Cole's body after the Blast. Then the Dustmen got ahold'a it.”

“Dustmen?” I asked before I could stop myself. What kind of name was that?

“They were the old heir to the First Sons' gang.” Zeke informed me, only just glancing up. He saw how intensely everyone was looking at him, though, and his eyes fell once more. “He wanted the Ray Sphere back to eventually reclaim the throne from Kessler. He stuck it at the top of this huge tower he made with his powers, in some sorta charging cradle and had his men guarding it.

“We...Cole and I fought our way to the top of this tower and—you've gotta understand. There were Dustmen, there were First Sons, we were a good three hundred feet in the air and I had nothing but my pistol on me.” Zeke shook his head as he relived the memory. “And with everything else going on in Empire City...I was scared outta my mind. So when Cole was fighting Alden's men and I managed to get to the Ray Sphere and pull it outta that charging thing...”

His fist came down softly against the counter’s edge behind him, a beat far steadier than my own as I listened to his story. “I turned it on.” He admitted simply. 

It was almost instantaneous; Dad’s grip on the chair grew so strong that the wood backing splintered under his fingers, Aunt Sia’s protests unheard over Dad as he growled, “You what?”

“I was terrified,” he said, the admittance not really an excuse, but an explanation. He definitely didn’t seem to be defending his choice at all. “The world was going to hell in a handbasket and I barely had enough 9 millimeters to keep fighting against it. There were people who could suddenly make spiders outta scrap metal and tar that’d turn you into some zombie. My best friend was shooting lightning outta his hands and the most I could do to help him was hand him rubber gloves.” Zeke sighed hard, closing his eyes. “Kessler told me he…he knew why it didn’t work when it fizzled out. Why I didn’t get powers. And that he would show me what needed to be done if I just gave him the Ray Sphere. So…I did it. I gave him the damn thing. I was scared and thought that by getting myself some powers I’d live to see the next day. 'Cause then? That wasn't guaranteed.”

Guaranteed. 

“How long are you willing to fight for these Humans when they’re guaranteed to turn on you in the end?” Augustine’s voice rang in my ear. “Even the great Cole MacGrath was betrayed by his closest companion.” 

“You’re the one that turned on Cole,” I whispered, not realizing my eyes had fallen until I looked back up at Zeke, whose own were solemn. 

“You knew?” Brent demanded accusingly. 

“Kids.” Aunt Sia interjected sharply. 

“So you just set off the Ray Sphere because you were jealous?” Dad asked Zeke. 

“I was scared. Hell, we all were—”

“There was no one else close to the Ray Sphere?” Dr. Sims demanded, trying to click through some translation notes at rapid speed. 

Zeke shook his head. “Just me.” He began to pace back and forth in the three steps it took to get from the counter on one side of the kitchen to the oven on the other.

“There would have been no one gene-positive close enough to absorb the latent RFE. At least not in a way that mattered before the scattering of radioactive dust,” Dr. Sims informed the room.

Zeke stopped pacing, head falling into his hands. “Christ, did I cause the Plague?” he whispered aghast.

It was almost instantaneous; for a moment, Zeke looked like he was about to fall to his knees with how hard they were shaking, and then a second later he was flying back into the pantry door, Dad nothing but a plume of dust and concrete as he moved to beat on Zeke.

Whatever happened next was hell, and I was barely able to keep track of it all. There was a dogpile of limbs in the kitchen I was shoved away from. Brent emerged from it fully steel, holding Dad back and pushing him against the cracked pantry door as he fought to get out of Brent’s grip. Aunt Sia helped Zeke stand, trying to wipe away at his bloody nose with a random rag she pulled from the oven’s handle. Dr. Sims moved to intercept Dad's concrete-laden arm as it raised and aimed indiscriminately at Zeke, his face more furious than I've ever personally seen him.

“You killed them!” he screamed, loud enough that his voice echoed through the room. Brent pushed Dad against the wall and was trying to talk him down and I'm pretty sure the only thing that kept him from catching a right hook was the fact that he was Dad's son. “My parents died because of you!”

“I didn't know,” Zeke insisted, holding the white rag to his face that was steadily turning red. “I just...I was trying to protect myself—”

“You nearly killed the world because you were jealous,” Dad spat, face contorted in rage. “You gave Kessler back the Ray Sphere to get powers! You were a coward—”

“Delsin—” Dr. Sims tried to talk Dad down, though it was no use.

“I was.” Zeke agreed without hesitation. “You think I haven't regretted it every day of my life since? I’ve been trying to make up for my mistake ever since—”

“Regret isn't gonna bring back everyone you killed,“ Dad snarled.

“I know.” Zeke said solemnly. “One of those people that died was my best friend—”

Dad scoffed. “Save me the fucking sob story—you're the one that betrayed him! I'm supposed to give a shit about how sorry you feel when you turned on him willingly?” He shook his head, glancing at Dr. Sims, who was still holding his dominant hand. “Did you know about this?” he demanded.

Dr. Sims shook his head and opened his mouth to say something when Aunt Sia said, “I did.”

Dad's head snapped her way and he glowered, the stare enough to make my own spine chill despite being to the left and behind her. “You what?” he growled.

Aunt Sia didn't even flinch. “I knew what happened. Zeke told me years ago when we first started working on this together,” She motioned to the papers on the table.

“And you didn't think to tell me?” He looked beyond pissed. Betrayed, like Aunt Sia was the one to activate the Ray Sphere.

Aunt Sia raised an eyebrow. “Would you have understood?”

Dad blinked, his scowl just barely slipping off of his face. “What?”

“You're not human, Delsin. Not like Zeke, not like Reggie, and not like me.” Aunt Sia pointed to her own chest as Dad’s nostrils flared the moment she brought up his brother. “You don't get how...how scary and inadequate it can feel to be the person who can't do anything and to watch people you love put their lives on the line. You can—you can make a nonprofit to help or go undercover or sneak people out of the country but it's never enough.” Her hand fell. “I spent five years trying to help the Conduits and you were able to fix their issues in a week. Do you know how hard it is to feel like you're never doing enough when people you care about are in trouble? To be pushed aside and practically be told to let the Big Boys handle it?”

My eyes fell from looking at Aunt Sia to staring at the tile, her words settling on top of that weight in my chest that I couldn't seem to shake off anymore. Do you know how hard it is to feel like you're never doing enough when people you care about are in trouble? I could guess. I felt it in the pristine white of that First Sons base, watching Dad and Brent fight and having to run away like a coward. Helping Dad bandage chemical burns on his flesh that made the entire room smell like weirdly sweet bacon whenever the wrappings would come off. And I couldn't do anything to prevent that, even as a Conduit—or whatever I was now. Told to run away, asked to hide on the floorboard of a car, told that I 'didn't need to worry about it' when wanting to know more about everything.

And I guess that, even though I didn't really approve of handing over a miniature nuke to a crazy cult leader, I could understand why Zeke did what he did.

Dad, though, didn't. “That's different,” he insisted.

“Is it?” 

“You didn’t sell out Eugene to Augustine,” Dad said, before his eyes returned to Zeke and they immediately became darker. “He fucked over MacGrath.”

“And I’ve done everything I could to honor Cole and his sacrifice,” Zeke, surprisingly, snapped back. “You think I’m not haunted by what he had to do every goddamn day of my life?”

Dad shrugged off Dr. Sims’ hold. “He wouldn’t have had to sacrifice shit if it wasn’t for you.”

Aunt Sia sighed, exasperated. “Delsin, don’t act like you’ve never made a selfish mistake before.”

“I didn’t hand a goddamn bomb to Kessler!” Dad defended. 

“No, but you’ve done stupid shit plenty of times before.” Aunt Sia chastised. “Don’t act like you’ve never been blinded by your emotions.”

Dad glowered long after Brent let him go, not moving from his spot. He seemed to be debating on where to place his anger, and I saw his right hand twitch once without raising as his eyes shifted between Aunt Sia to Zeke and back again. The tight fist relaxed, but he still had enough anger in him to let them settle on Zeke and growl, “I’m only saying this once, Dunbar: You do anything to risk my family while we’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with my girl? I’ll kill you. You’re here because you’ve got good information, and nothing else.” 

The air itself felt thick as Dad stared down Zeke, waiting for some form of acknowledgement. “Alright,” Zeke relented, the first to break eye contact. 

Aunt Sia held up a hand, trying to force Dad and his cold glare to stand down. “We should stop there for today,” she said, voice suggesting she was leaving no room for arguments. “We’re getting nowhere like this, and I think everyone could do with a break right now, okay? So let’s stop.” 

Dad glowered our way a moment longer before storming off, making sure to give Zeke a shoulder check on his way past before he threw open the back door and disappeared into the backyard. 

It was hard to pretend like everything was normal for the rest of the day. 

The journal didn’t really get us anywhere, and when Dr. Sims declared he wanted to take me to a hospital tomorrow and run tests? I became nervous. “There’s a specialist there that can see her that might be able to help,” he told Aunt Sia. “And the endocrine unit and palliative care are on the same floor. That’s where the other prime Conduit experiencing strange symptoms is.”

Zeke disappeared soon after Dad retreated to the backyard, mumbling something about ‘giving space’ that he didn’t even let Aunt Sia try to retort to. She sighed hard as he closed the front door before turning to Brent and I, leaving Dr. Sims to mess around on his computer as she steered us to the living room, trying to use the allure of a movie to help us pretend like none of that just happened. 

She tried to make the resulting day fun. Tried being the keyword. Trips down memory lane where she reminded us of every young-age blunder she saw over the five years she watched us, equally embarrassing moments from Dad’s past before we were born.

“Met her soon after I met Eugene,” Dad said when he had returned from outside, anger somewhere dissipated. “She would locate the suspected conduits he was picking up, and Project Sanctuary would sneak them outta Seattle. Eventually had me doing the same thing.”

It was hard work, tearing suspected gene carriers out of jail cells and getting them out of the country, but they did it together with the network Aunt Sia had built over the years. “I started Project Sanctuary soon after I began volunteering at the Conduit Rights League,” she told us, “About a year after Eugene was taken from me.”

Dad and Aunt Sia really got to know each other in the after, though; those few months after Augustine’s crimes were shared but before the government was strong-armed into doing anything about them, Aunt Sia was there trying to help the Conduits that were trickle-released from Curdun before its doors closed. She was there to protest when they were opened again. “With the pandemic, and your mother’s condition, I didn’t visit her as much as I wanted for fear of getting her sick,” Aunt Sia admitted when we asked her why, since she knew Dad since we were born, there was no evidence of her existence. “And besides, you know me—addicted to my work. I had a lot cut out for me then,”

But everything she said, all she meant to be some sort of melancholic sharing of truth, was nothing more but another straw on the back of this burden that kept feeling like it was crushing my chest in. I knew so little. I was the cause of so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last few weeks; the lies and the pain and the truths and the fights. 

I even made the mistake of going online at some point and was bombarded with new notifications; someone found my art blog online, and it spread, fast. There were so many messages, so many death threats, that I had to go hide in the bathroom and cry as I deactivated every source of me online. Not before seeing news updates about COLE, since my name was tied to them now. 

Protests, riots. More bomb threats than should have been allowed. COLE was officially defunded in 8 states, and forced to close by government order in 3 of those. CRON, the conduit registration bill, suddenly had enough signatures to pass the House, and was set to be voted on in the Senate. 

And this was all because of me, and what I did to Seattle.

I tucked my phone into the couch after that, ignoring every missed email and social media notification because I was so sure what they would be about that I figured it would be better to not even look at them. But I couldn’t stop thinking about them. God, I couldn’t—not during the movie Aunt Sia put on, not during dinner, and not even when she tossed me a pair of soft pajamas that I almost immediately dropped, declaring a girls night. “You all find a place to sleep,” she said, waving off Dr. Sims, Brent and Dad in a jokingly dismissive way. “Jean and I will be in my room.”

She ushered me into her bedroom and, after a brief moment where she helped Dr. Sims find comfort on her couch, returned, closing the door fully behind her and locking it for good measure before turning to face me, holding up my phone. “You forgot something,” she said, moving to the big king sized bed and handing it to me before crawling in. 

“Oh,” I smiled, trying my best to look grateful as I set down my hair brush and reached out to grab the phone, “Thanks.” I immediately put it on the nightstand beside the bed, face down. 

Aunt Sia sighed, “Alright, hon.” She raised an eyebrow when I looked at her. “You father isn’t in the room anymore. Out with it.”

I blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind, Jean.” Aunt Sia said softly, concern laden in her voice. “You’ve barely smiled since you’ve been here. I can hardly get any interaction out of you. What’s wrong?”

I looked away from her, shrugging and grabbing the hair brush again. “Just tired. I could barely sleep in that van.” 

Aunt Sia gently took the hair brush from me and began to go through my hair herself, working out the knots. “I don’t believe you,” she hummed. Non-accusingly but still all the worried. 

I sighed hard, and admittedly said a bit snappily, “I’m just tired,” trying to reinforce the lie to her. To myself. All it did was make me sound more guilty. 

“Jean.” 

I could feel her eyes boring into me from behind as she set the brush down and began to braid my hair, small hands moving expertly to make a french braid tighter and neater than anything I could ever do. I looked up at my reflection in the vanity mirror in front of her bed and sighed, hating how deep the eyebags looked. “I’m…I’m sorry.” I began. 

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t have pushed—”

“No not that—well, actually, yeah. That too.” My eyes traveled down to my cast, the same deep blue as those waves that devastated Seattle covering the ashen and yellowed bruises, the same shades as the remains of COLE in Portland. “I…a bunch of people found my blog and…they weren’t nice about it.”

Aunt Sia’s brow furrowed slightly. “How so?”

I didn’t answer, pushing Aunt Sia to pull her own phone out and go straight to the blog. Shit. Right. I gave her the link to that. She scrolled for a moment, seeing nothing innocuous until she got to the comments—and that’s where her anger flared. “Wh–” she cut off, scrolling further. Switching to reblogs. Her nostrils flared, gray eyes almost steeling like Brent’s and the hand holding my braid in place tightened. “Those assholes,” she hissed, dropping her phone and looking up and meeting my eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Jean, how long have you known about this? We need to tell your father—”

“No!” I cut her off, a bit too loud. I screwed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply, forcing myself to be quieter. Involving Dad was the last thing I wanted to do, especially after everything today. “No, no–not Dad. Not now. Please.”

Aunt Sia, fury still in her eyes, let her face soften slightly. “Why not?”

It took me far too long to answer, instead glancing at the screen of her phone; she was on a picture I’d done of a beach. Pastels. That one had so many comments—not just of people saying how the art sucked, but saying I had planned this the whole time. That I wanted to flood Seattle, that I wanted to kill everyone I did, and this romanticizing of the tall waves was proof. “It…” I drew off, unsure of what to say. “He doesn’t need to worry about it right now.”

I could hear Aunt Sia sigh gently. “That’s not for you to decide.” 

A warmth of upset, of anger, lit in my chest. “I’ve already caused him enough issues, he doesn’t need to keep worrying about me—”

“Hey,” Aunt Sia cut me off, hushing me like one would some spooked animal. Her eyes met my reflection. “Now, Jeanie, listen to me. Everything that’s happened wasn't your fault. You hear me? It doesn't matter what anyone says, it wasn't your fault.”

I shook my head. “I killed one hundred and thirty seven people, Aunt Sia. People keep attacking COLE because of it. Dad’s cover was blown! All the people that were hurt and th-the politicians…” my voice cracked and I clammed up immediately, barely able to choke out after, “If I was more careful in the alley or the fight with Augustine—”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that, Jean,” Aunt Sia interrupted. “You’re a child.”

“Does that matter?” 

“Of course it matters.” The hairbrush came down, and she moved to look at me intensely through the mirror from over my shoulder. “You were dealt a bad hand and you did what you did out of desperation. Who could blame you?”

“Everyone,” I said softly, looking down at the printed quilt at the end of the bed. “Everyone does.” 

Aunt Sia sighed, silence hanging in the air for a few moments before she started. “I think…I think what matters most is knowing—and accepting—that, sometimes…you won’t be able to help.” The way she said it so matter-of-factly made me raise my head to look at her in the mirror. She wasn’t staring at my reflection anymore; her eyes were down, staring at the dresser the mirror was posted on and yet far past it, eyes traveled somewhere foreign. The look was familiar; that's how Dad would look when thinking about his past. About everything that still threatened to drag him down. “Sometimes all there really is is guilt and shame, and the feeling of your entire life being a burden to those around you. But what I learned throughout the years is that people will only start to treat you like an inconvenience if you present yourself as one.”

“I already am.” I interjected. “I know I had the healing thing for only, like, a week, but—”

The glaze in Aunt Sia’s mind seeped away and they snapped up to meet mine in the mirror. “You're a person who needs help, and you have so many people in your life who are willing to go above and beyond to provide you with that help. Not because they pity you, not because it gets you off their back, but because they love you.” After a moment Aunt Sia seemed to know the thoughts forming in my mind before the sentence was finished being built, adding, “Even if it might not always look like it—hell, I've known your Dad long enough to be aware of just how harsh he can be sometimes. But he does love you. We all do.”

I looked down at my hands, disagreement rising in the back of my throat like bile. “I just…I feel so useless right now,” I admitted. Why was that one sentence so hard to choke out? “I’m either not helping or when I do try to help I…drown half of Seattle. I couldn’t even protect them when we were in New Marais.”

“It's hard to come to terms with the fact that sometimes all we can do is rely on the kindness of others, and it's frustrating to feel like you're unable to ever return just a tiny bit of everything they did for you.” Aunt Sia sympathized. I’d never understand how it came to her so easily. “But there is one thing you're missing: You surviving, you making it through hard times with their help, you being able to smile again? That's the best way to give back to the loved ones that want nothing more but to be there for you.”

My brow furrowed as I processed her words. Was that really it? Was it that easy? It didn’t feel that easy. It definitely didn’t feel like someone else’s love would absolve me of my sins. “Those people in Seattle had loved ones.” I said simply, eyes glancing over to look at Aunt Sia’s knees. “That mom that lost her kid in the COLE bombing? There’s so many innocent people that’ve been hurt, and it’s because of me in some way.” I could feel the frustration and anger and self loathing bubble up in my chest. “I—Dad can’t even go back to work, Brent can’t see his girlfriend, you’re stuck watching COLE explode after everything you’ve done for it—”

I hadn’t noticed I began to tear up until Aunt Sia took my face in her hands, squishing my cheeks slightly as she forced me to look at her. “None of that is your fault,” She insisted, eyes searching mine. “None of that was intentional. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and that’s enough—even if you may have. You were trying, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say. You think those politicians have ever done a thing in their life that benefited anyone but themselves?” She shook her head, answering her own question. Her hands fell from my face, but she stayed close. “The only thing I want you to worry about right now is your health. Everything else is for us to worry about, I don’t want you to feel guilty for us caring about you. You’re worth all of this stress. No one—no government, no human, and no conduit will ever be able to convince me of the opposite.” Her shoulders squared a bit. “And I'll beat the shit out of everyone that even dares to try and tell me that what happened was something you should be blamed for."

God, there she was—the Aunt Sia I knew. She managed to pull an amused huff outta me, my halfhearted smile bringing a brighter one on her own face. “Now stop this moping, I can’t handle it. Let’s have one night where we pretend nothing’s happening, okay? You need a night off, especially since tomorrow’s gonna be busy.”

With a swallow and a nod I agreed, trying to shove away the pain for now. I knew she was right; Dad had told me Dr. Sims was able to order some tests for tomorrow. “There’s a specialist there that can see you that might be able to help, and they work in the same hospital where the other prime Conduit experiencing strange symptoms is,” he said. We’d be leaving in the morning. 

I couldn’t see it from her point of view, I couldn’t understand how I deserved her understanding—but maybe it was easier to lie to myself anyways. And as Aunt Sia went to a folder titled ‘Jeanie’ Favs’ in her pirated movies, I figured maybe she was right about one thing; I could use a reason to forget about everything right now.

[sexynetra]

Less than a week until my Neech tattoo and I only have editing left to do for the next chapter of my fic, looking forward to this upcoming week 😍

[candyunicornsateme]

Anyone ever just think of random fucking dialogue and jokes and random shit between characters?? The amount of goofy ass otp banters and shit I have drafted is embarrassing. What am I going to do with that?? Make them comics or fics??? Bitch. 

[vynegar]

14% of the way through....

[dollgxtz]

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual. 

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response. 

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark. 

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

 “You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt. 

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat. 

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. 

“What?” 

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.” 

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe... 

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster. 

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders. 

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!” 

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing. 

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?” 

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Start crawling,” he suggests. 

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again. 

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?” 

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver. 

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws. 

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine. 

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him. 

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be. 

“Zayne, please,” you whimper. 

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh. 

“Please fuck me.” 

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you. 

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body. 

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up. 

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response. 

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake. 

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him. 

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.” 

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.” 

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face. 

“Are you okay...?” 

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile. 

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

[neverendingford]

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[maxtermind]

SCENE 1 :: YOU TORE ME RIGHT APART ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their way back to each other? ★ : a/n :: oh fuck okay here we go! let me know what you guys think so far <3 what are the theories!! ahhhhhh this is more introductory? but lots of drama nevertheless <3 please don't mention the diff twin pics, i'll start crying!

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

yn.user 41 mins ago

yn.user boys are here to support their papa!

username OMG THE IT BABIES ARE BACK ON TRACK charlesleclerc I know they were rooting for me in red🏎 I loved the bracelet btw❤️‍🩹 ⤷ carlossainz dress up leo in red and leave my kids alone username I WOULD KILL TO HAVE Y/N AND CARLOS AS MY PARENTS carlossainz papa won this for his family👍 ⤷ username it's so cute that even though they are separated, carlos never leaves out y/n ⤷ username I think it's his loss, he wants them back so he's playing a persona w words like 'family' lol ⤷ username please get a life, touch some grass🙏 username THE BABIES MADE A BRACELET FOR CARLOS ⤷ landonorris I got one toooooo

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

instagram stories

lily is typing... (y/n's pov)

twitter

carlossainz 20 mins ago

carlossainz who said weekends with papa are a bore?

landonorris whoring on main papa sainz? ⤷ carlossainz please unfollow❤️ username DILFFFFF username carlos can I also be your baby mama???? y/n.user MUMMA MISSES HER BABIES ⤷ carlossainz we miss you too ⤷ username pretty sure she was talking about the kids carlos lmao username it's so strange that now we get the updates from separate accounts I miss the og paddock fam ⤷ username well people move on so🤷‍♀️ ⤷ username only the real ones rmb the sainz x y/n post spams lmao

yn.user just now

yn.user stole my tortured heart💫

username who plays cards alone on a beach? 👀 username y/n’s cryptic post has me guessing mhmmm a new love interest maybe?! ⤷ username cards on the beach when alone? definitely not alone. who’s the mystery company hehe carlossainz looks like a peaceful day. glad you're finding time for yourself! ⤷ yn.user hope the boys are still up! returning the call soon🥰 lilymhe finally enjoying some well-deserved relaxation💖 ⤷ yn.user love youuu username i see cards but no players. who's with you y/n username we need more context omg is this a date ⤷ username probably with lily lol username at first i thought you were with carlos but he's in the comments soooo does that mean a new romance

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1.wags 2 mins ago

f1.wags Our sources have spotted Y/N, ex-partner of F1 driver Carlos Sainz, enjoying a cozy dinner with an unidentified man. The two were seen sharing intimate moments, sparking rumors of a new romance. Could this be the start of a new chapter for Y/N? Stay tuned for more updates as we dig deeper into this developing story.

username wow, moving on already? poor carlos username she couldn't wait a little longer before flaunting her new man username guess she never really loved carlos. just saying ⤷ username carlos deserves better than someone who moves on so fast ⤷ username its been almost half a year? username poor kids. this is why you should never have kids out of wedlock ⤷ username hey good morning, i think you time traveled to 200 years forward. please go back username she’s just trying to make carlos jealous. grow up, y/n username so much for being a loving mother? priorities lol ⤷ username boys were with carlos for one weekend and this is how she spends it ⤷ username from a perfect family to this? disappointing username carlos is better off without her. clearly, she didn’t care about him ⤷ username fr y/n's true colors are showing now. carlos dodged a bullet

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[winterzsurprise]

Crimson Lovers • KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

SUMMARY: “I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” Jin whispered into your lips like a promise. If it weren't for your lust addled mind, you'd believe him. “You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

Or alternatively, your friend’s only solution to you being a broke college student with a family to feed is to attend a private feeding party where the most affluent vampires are in attendance to drink fresh blood in exchange for money and get yourself in trouble with the infamous Kim Coven. 

Tags: Vampire! Seokjin, Half-Faerie! Reader, Mythical Creatures AU!, SMUT, Cunnilingus, Magic slick (Seokjin passed out from it lmao), Blood sucking(obvs), not beta read.

Words: 5.1k

I just found this one collecting dust in the vault so I decided to post it here since it'll be a shame if I don't post a 5k words worth work. Its supposed to be the first chapter for a mythical creatures and reincarnation au bts x reader story but I immediately hit a wall.

I'll prolly pick it up in the future idk.

• MASTERLIST •

__________

Never in your life have you ever thought a single sheet of paper could weigh so heavily in the palm of your hands like it holds the heaviness of your future.

Depending on your answer, it does.

The card was a vibrant crimson with a nice golden design of modest swirls as margins for the text that are colored in silver, the material no doubt expensive. It was an invitation to a private feeding after all, how could it look shabby when only a selected few are given the opportunity to attend?

By selecting a few, you meant people from affluent backgrounds and some unfortunate people desperate for money.

It was obvious what category you’d fall into.

If you were to attend the party.

“Stop staring at it like it offended your ancestors, I'm just suggesting it.”

Soomin, your friend since high school, says.

“Where did you even get this? You don't know any vampires, do you?”

She shrugs, leaning back into her armchair. “Got a few favours. You were complaining about needing money and thought I could use some of them.”

Scratching your head, you read the card's contents with careful apprehension.

“Relax, it's not enchanted to track where it goes. It's just a normal card, you know I wouldn't force you into something if safety wasn't guaranteed.”

Before leaving the herd to pursue college far from the safety of family wards, your mother had enchanted your accessories with aura suppressors and glamours to prevent people from knowing your heritage.

You were told of horrors of the inhabitants outside the plane, both mortals and supernaturals turning over every leaf in the forest just for a whiff of a faerie.

Your blood is as precious as its golden colour, said to restore even the weakest mortal on its deathbed to pristine condition with a mere drop and turn a half vampire’s miniscule powers into a bottomless pit of a royal pureblood.

Faeries live in constant danger and you'd be damned if you weren’t taught to overthink everything.

“It’s anonymous, they’ll have you wear a mask, don't overthink it too much. My aunt used to tell me ‘your body is an emergency fund, every part of you is profitable. You just need to know the right place.’ or in my case, a man.”

She says, wiggling her fingers in front of your face where a gigantic pink diamond glimmered under the light above you, an engagement ring from the werewolf she bagged from dancing haphazardly on a stranger one friday night.

It's her pride, being able to capture the attention of one of the country's most attractive bachelors. It gave her a confidence that soared so high in the skies, she had nudged the space terminal. You couldn't even blame her for thinking so, knowing you'd share the same sentiments if it were you.

But still, daring to wander around without the wards your mother has spent years of creating to keep you safe, it makes your stomach churn. 

Placing the card and pushing it as far as you could, you lean back into the chair.

“I don't know… It's really risky.”

“I’m just suggesting here,” she sighs, sliding the paper back in front of you and patting it. “If all goes well, you wouldn't need to work overtime for a year at least.”

“You saying that only makes me overthink it even more.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

You knew she was right and the prospect of not working for a year is tempting. But a part of you frowned at the thought of risking your safety for a couple of zeroes in your bank account. Pride is such a fickle thing, so easily threatened and dragged through the mud when desperation kicks in.

But what is Pride in the face of your mountainous pending bills?

Not to mention, your mother and little brother's living situation back in the province. Soobin needed new shoes for school, you've seen how well-worn it has been—if well-worn meant clumsily glued back soles onto the upper body for the nth time with shoelaces frizzled and pulled taut from being twisted into knots and years of washing.

Your barista and supermarket cashier job nor your mother's job as a saleslady in the wet market doesn't reward you enough to save for his shoe while trying to sustain both you and your family, you need more. Taking on another 9-5 job is far from the solution.

Grabbing the paper with a newfound heaviness in your body, you sighed. The address encrusted in silver stood out in the seas of crimson reds, rooting your eyes onto the text.

“You asked for my help and I offer this–this somewhat long term solution.”

“But what if someone tries to track my blood back to me?”

Your mother and brother are counting on you, her salary from selling in the market aren't enough for the both of them. If you were to disappear they would sink further than you all already are, Soobin would stop attending school in favour of working. The guilt from seeing your mother bend over her back to be able to put food on the table would kill him.

It's a burdening feeling you wouldn't wish upon him. He should only know to have fun, make friends, and experience life in high school like a normal teen would.

You can't afford to put yourself in danger.

“I’ll put my name on the list instead. I promise you that you'll be safe, you just need to find someone to feed on you and then you can go, easy money!” 

Seeing the hesitance in your eyes, she continued.

“Sometimes you just need to live a little. There's rewards in risking, you know?”

But then again, nor can you afford new shoes for Soobin with your minimum wage jobs.

With a defeated sigh, you looked up to meet your friend's eyes. 

“How should I dress?”

________

He should've known better than attending parties the prehistoric council members had invited him into, you'd think centuries of politics would render him immune to these tricky situations yet here he is, standing awkwardly in the middle of the meeting room while holding said invitation and a cocktail. The old geezer was already gone by the time he realised his mistake. 

The envelope was a deep hue of red, a foretelling sign of what the party might be about.

It wasn't a shock when he saw the neatly imprinted silver text on the thick crimson paper telling him of a private feeding gathering for both the fortunate and the unfortunate on Saturday.

While being a vampire himself, he never had to feed on strangers when he had his coven to fill him up for the next month or so. His age has allowed him longer intervals between feeding and at this point, he has grown nonchalant with that aspect of his life. 

Obviously, he should've ripped it to shreds and incinerated the damn thing.

But a voice whispered at the back of his, urging him to join the small gathering. A nagging feeling tugging at him and telling him he'd miss something important if he were to dismiss the invitation. Yet when asked why he went, he said it's to oversee the event undercover.

He could still feel the burning curious gaze of his brothers on his skin.

Which brings him to his current predicament, fighting off the urge to yawn from the absolute boredom caused by newbloods breaking their backs to impress potential business partners and blood donors.

He silently thanked whoever thought it was a good idea to have guests wear masks. There would've been heaps upon heaps of scandals if he were to be spotted in a feeding party, not to mention, the newbloods trying to peacock their way to being sponsored by the Kim Coven and from the rising irritation burning his back, he might shave off a huge number off the vampire population.

He couldn't remember the times he had done his route around the hall, trying to avoid people vying for a morsel of attention and trying his best to not stay still in one place for people to recognize him but he did know that if he were to go around once more, he's leaving once and for all.

Downing his last martini, he stood up. 

Only for a dizzying scent to knock him back into his seat. It grabbed onto his throat with a tight grip, stuffing his head and demanding his attention. It smelled like the sweetest of sin, honeyed and dripping thick on his tongue. 

A faerie’s blood, although from a half, is still as tantalising as a pure blooded one.

He hears the murmurs, could feel multiple spawns’ auras spilling out of their body, their greed relentless and non-discriminating as it lashed out over each other, fighting to be noticed by the woman in the black bodycon dress. Why are they looking at her? How dare they lay their eyes on what's mine—

He immediately shook the thought away, making a note to review it later.

You strode into the middle of the ballroom with a sway to your hips, lips painted in the hue of blood stretching into a coy smile as vampires of all ages take a step towards your direction. The dress didn't leave much to the imagination with its thin fabric clinging onto your form tightly. From the spaghetti straps hanging flimsily on your shoulders to the low dip of its collar between the mounds of your chest and the high slits on one side to reveal the plumpness of your thighs, you were mouth watering in every way possible.

With pouty lips tinted in crimson red and hair loosely curled on the side of your face. You were a sight to behold.

Seeing you stride in with all that skin displayed for everyone to see, a ravenous monster at the back of his mind resurfaces. Greed and possessiveness of the others seeped into his skin, awakening something he had long buried.

A potential mate, his mind had whispered 

Fuck, you're driving him insane.

Seokjin didn't notice his feet moving, following the alluring scent beckoning him close as if hypnotised but he did see the flirtatious narrowing of your eyes as he approached. If his power is spilling over the floor and deterring everyone from daring to get in between you both, he ignored it. 

In fact, he revelled in their soured faces and shivering bodies.

He wasn't one for claiming territories nor was he the type to flaunt his power but for tonight, he'll make an exception.

No one is to dare interrupt him.

“What's a pretty faerie like you doing outside of their realm?”

He tried so hard not to stare at the delectable view of the mounds of your breast or the unblemished skin of your neck and chest but it's difficult with the view granted by his height. Your heartbeat pulsed nervously despite the flirtatious mask you so perfectly strut with. 

He could practically taste your scent being this close and his throat dries up.

Fuck, you're gonna make him religious.

“The same as the other women in pretty dresses in this room, darling. Money.”

“Aren't you scared people might hurt you?” It was a genuine question, if he wasn't here to step over the pining prospects, he didn't want to imagine how they would've killed each other for a glance.

You would've been ravaged, you were bold for strutting into a room full of ravenous vampires. It was impressive as much as it made his blood curl. He pushed the thought away, he wouldn't want to scare you off by decorating the hall in gore.

Seokjin could feel your fear, could hear it from the racing beats of your heart under flesh and bones. You were nervous, no doubt ready to bolt the moment you were approached by the predators surrounding you in all directions yet you faced him head on with a false confidence he started to think is real.

If fear were to ever linger in the corner of your eyes, he had a feeling it wouldn't end well for every supernatural in this room. 

No one should ever dare scare you.

“I'm desperate. So, if you aren't trying to take me for the night, I have other guys pining for me so excuse—”

“I didn't say I didn't want you, sweetheart. I'm just trying to get to know you better.”

You stopped, looking up at him through your lashes as you stepped closer.

Lithe fingers boldly reached onto his tie pressed neatly behind his blazer—nails painted in a sinful red hue, he notes— tugging and twirling it between fingers as you stepped closer and closer, further drowning him in your delectable fragrance. Your nervous heart beats echoed in his ears and it sounded like the piper's capturing tune, your scent surrounds him like a haze of amortentia, demanding his attention on your eyes, your lips, your skin and to the dip in your waist. All Seokjin could think about was you.

Your soft flesh flashing up at him, teasing him and urging him to have a taste, to feel the rush of your blood coating his tongue and down his throat, to run his hands over your skin and have his marks littering its unblemished surface.

Suddenly his clothes felt suffocating in the heat of his desire.

Was he seriously this floored for someone whose face he hasn't seen?

“All you need to know is that I need a name to moan, handsome.”

He could feel the thread of his patience running thin, lust leaking in and clouding his judgement. He smirked. “Name’s Jin. What should I call you then, sweet thing?”

Your arms reached around his neck, body pressing flush into his chest as you looked up at him through lidded eyes. The size difference not going unnoticed, if anything, it made him want to drive a stake through his heart.

“Cherry.”

He doesn't know who started it first, nor does he remember how you both ended up in a private room after the feeding contract was signed, doors locked behind you both as he pressed you onto its wooden material, the masks long forgotten on the floor. Seokjin felt your lust in how your scent sweetened further like heaven's nectar, grabbing onto his throat and drowning him.

It almost felt sacrilegious that he gets to know you so intimately like this. Almost unfair how your desires grappled with his patience like a cat with a ball of yarn, temptation lighting his skin alight.

Pulling away, his lips immediately zeroed in on your neck. His fangs ached to be buried onto your precious skin but he knows better than to harvest his rewards early. He sucked bruises and marked your throat yet the greediness in his chest didn't relent, if anything, it rampaged further at the sight of you littered with his marks.

They looked so pretty on you.

“You're driving me insane.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Taking your lips once again with his, you engaged in a wild dance of teeth dragging over his lips and tongue clashing with yours before picking you up and taking you both to the bed at the far corner of the room.

The straps of your dress falling from your shoulders shouldn't have the effect it does to him yet here he is, throat tight and mouth watering as he hovers over your pliant body, full chest spilling on the sides of your body, raising with your laboured breath with cheeks flushed with desire. His hands pushed the offending fabric of your dress to bunch over your inner thighs, eyes greedily drinking in every inch of skin being revealed to him before noticing how the thick flesh managed to look so small under his palms.

His mouth dries.

He can't wait to see how Namjoon feels about the size difference between you. The man would lose every morsel of control.

“Stop staring!”

“Why should I? You look so pretty like this.”

There's something so sinfully divine in how the fabric only seems to cover the necessary parts of your body, trying its best—and failing—to hide you from his gaze, the devil about to corrupt your purity with a bite.

You whined, hand reaching for him as you flush darker at his comment.

You'd turn Yoongi into a devout worshipper who'd dedicate a thousand songs because of this sight alone.

He ran his hands across your thighs, thumb inching closer to your heat under the fabric and every time it neared your breath hitches. Your heartbeat thuds a little faster, a new melody he's grown to love. 

Yoongi would've somehow composed a song with it.

“If you stare any longer, I'm going to start charging you.”

He didn't mean to laugh as hard as he did at that.

“Not much of a threat for me, sweetheart. I'm fucking rich.”

Your scent flares as you let out a soft moan and he captures your lips once more before pulling away with a smirk. 

“I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” 

You whined and it sounded like the sweetest melody he'd hear once he enters whatever heaven there is for the supernatural. 

Seokjin didn't have a kink for spending money on someone nor did he imagine he'd have one, but as he drawled on, he couldn't help but imagine you in the most lavish fabric to pose for him and his coven members, to see your form covered in the softest of silk and the rarest of gems only their money could purchase, his throat tightened.

Taehyung’s designed clothes would fit you perfectly.

“You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

You didn't react to his revelation and he takes it as a win, a silent acceptance of his coven.

“Please just touch me.”

“Where do you want me, princess?”

You take his hand, lithe and small against him, and bring it close to where you wanted him most between legs, nudging his fingers between folds and shocks shoots through his body. He groans, the lacy fabric already drenched with your arousal, doused with your addicting scent.

“I want your fingers inside me, Jinnie. Please?”

If you asked him for the universe with that voice, he would learn how to shrink it and hand it over to you the next day tied with a bowstring.

Are you aware of the power you hold over him?

Instead of moving, he let you move his wrist, watched you with rapt attention as his fingers dipped down your folds, hovering on your clenching hole before rising to nudge your clit, teasing your already sensitive self and moaning from the slightest of touch. 

If it wasn't for the unfamiliar signature of a faerie in your scent, he would've thought you were a succubus.

“Look at you grinding on my knuckles so prettily, already so needy for me.”

He pressed light figures of eight on your button and drank in the sight of your desperation with rapt attention. Your hips twisted, eager for more. Tugging the fabric aside with the other hand, he toyed with your clit, using different pressures and motions to figure out what brings you the most pleasure before dipping a finger into you.

Your velvety walls fluttered around him, pulsing with need and tightening oh so deliciously on his finger. His cock stirs in his pants as he adds another digit, he can't wait to bury himself into your warmth.

Seeing you thrash around in pleasure as his fingers drove and curled inside you, got his body crawling with the intense feeling of greed. He wanted to see more of you, to have you on the brink of breaking. Suddenly, the dress flimsily covering you grew offensive. He eyed the material restricting his movements before pulling away from your cunt and reaching up to tug your panties off of you, discreetly tossing it into his spatial storage.

The dress is already halfway off your skin, he could easily tear them apart to replace them with a better, more expensive fabric but decided against it.

He sheds the clothing inch by inch, placing soft kisses and gentle nibbles to newly uncovered skin, leaving you breathless beneath him. Your scent flourished with your magic. It was electrifying. Intoxicating how your power seems to react so well with his.

Like you were meant to be.

Sitting back, he admired the divine artwork before him, embedding the sight into the walls of his brain. Your arms moved to cross over your breasts from his gaze making him reach down to entangle your fingers with his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Don't hide from me. You look so pretty like this.”

With you finally revealed bare beneath him, he wasted no more time, leaning down to your cunt where your scent was stronger and licked.

Your flavour explodes on his tongue and he groans. Whether it was just your scent he’s tasting or your arousal he could care less, mouth latching onto your folds and tongue lolling on your erect bead as he sucked. His head buzzed, intoxicated by the fluctuating aroma surrounding him. He could die happy between your shuddering thighs threatening to close around his face, he didn’t mind it though, he can go on without breathing if only he could taste your sweet nectar.

Tasting you felt blasphemous, like he broke every heavenly rule there is by having you drip on his tongue. Sinful and outright disrespectful, and he loved it.

Heat ravaged his entire being alight, desire running rampant and restless under his skin. His fingers roamed your uncharted skin possessively, digging his fingers onto flesh and dragging them down, cupping and squeezing whatever he could reach while his mouth busied with your clit. Your hands grabbed at his head, fingers threading and entangling themselves onto his hair, confused whether to push him away or to tug him closer as you edged closer to the precipice of your high.

“I'm so close…! Jinnie please!”

With your back arched, hair laid around your head like a halo and chest glistening with sweat stuttering as you come to a close, skin illuminated by the soft lights of the room, Seokjin swore he has never seen a more beautiful sight than this.

His fangs ached once more.

“Fuck..! I’m gonna—”

He pulls away, teeth sinking into the plush of your thigh and your body seizes with pleasure, the ecstasy caused by his bite pushing you over.

Your blood is light and rich on his tongue, syrupy and honeyed, like the sweetest nectar found only in the garden of eden, the flavour heightened by your climax. Seokjin could taste the sugariness of your orgasm as if it was his own and he groaned. It was dizzying, the taste clogging his senses and stuffing cottons inside his mind as he took and took. He has never realised how hungry he was until he’s bitten into your skin.

His head swims, intoxicated by the raw magic in your blood entering his system, intertwining and entangling themselves into his own before boldly integrating with the flow of his power as if they've always been there. Energy buzzed under his fingers now erratically plunging and curling inside your cunt, further sweetening your blood as you edged between pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

Then in the midst of all the pleasure and nirvana, something clicks into place and he jerks awake from the haze.

Forcing himself to pull away, he almost black out as if he’s been taken off of life support—he feels like he did. Head blank and lightheaded, blood drunk. Even in his bleary state, he could feel it. An additional trace of your magic latching onto his own, a bond unconsciously made.

The uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers didn't go unnoticed and he buried his face into your thigh, blushing for no one in particular.

He cursed under his breath before pushing himself up and wishing you both into the comfortable clothing he had stocked up in his pocket dimension before taking his phone out of it, immediately greeted by the onslaught of text on his lock screen, all two hundred of them from his brothers who had no doubt felt the addition and his intense pleasure from feeding on you.

Normally, he'd be embarrassed by the thought of them knowing what he's been up to but there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

For example, the bond formed without your consent and his.

There's panic and confusion swirling madly like a hurricane through the six other bonds. He forced calmness down the lines tethered to his magic before turning back to the issue at hand.

He might have to wake you up and inform you of what happened.

But when he looked up and found your eyes closed, most likely blacking out from the intensity of the unprecedented bonding and the overstimulation from a vampire's bite, he figured that he'd deal with it tomorrow. You looked peaceful and he found himself mirroring the same sentiment, exhaustion weighing his bones. He dragged himself up next to you, arms wrapping around your torso as if he has always been doing so.

There's still insistent tugs down the lines of his bond, demanding answers and the constant buzzing from his phone but that's for tomorrow's Seokjin’s problem to solve, for now, he closes his eyes.

For the first time that year, Seokjin sleeps and wakes from the most pleasant rest he's had in centuries only to end it abruptly when he wakes up with the other side of the bed empty and he freaks.

______

“What the fuck do you mean you just left him?!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do then?! If he's as high profile as you think, I don't think he'd appreciate waking up next to a one night stand!”

“Not all of them you—ARGH!”

Soomin groaned exasperatedly and loudly, folding over herself as she facepalms on the other armchair in your dorm's living room. Deeming it not dramatic enough, she grabs the pink throw pillow behind her and screams onto it.

Truth be told, leaving Jin earlier that morning placed a heavy weight on your heart. It felt so wrong to walk away from him, as if there's a string tying you to him and now it's pulled taut—which is a crazy statement to think about, there was no bonding ritual so how could you feel so dejected from closing the door behind you?

You have a couple of spare zeroes in your bank account now with bills paid and an expensive pair of black shoes already in transit for Soobin. Why would you be sad from leaving a one night stand?

You couldn't even believe you managed to bag someone that high in the social hierarchy. That party was a nightmare, walking in knowing all eyes would turn to you, all predatorial and hungry, it almost made you want to run back to your mother's arms. But you're an actress, theatre experience be damned if you weren't going to put on the greatest act of your life.

Fake till you make it, you always think and it led to you having the most earth shattering, blackout worthy orgasm as well as owning heaps of money.

Soomin has a different sentiment though, now standing up to crossover to where you sat across her before promptly hitting your body with the pillow.

“You're. So. Fucking. Stupid!” She screams like you had pissed and disrespected her ancestors’ grave, striking after each word. “That man might be Kim Seokjin from the most elusive clan in the world! Number one most sought bachelor and the country's most powerful sorcerer and you just walked away from him!”

“How could you be so sure it's him? All we got is a nickname.”

“His name is literally Jin which is short for Seokjin and he's a vampire wizard! You said he has a coven with a dragon? Well, guess what?! That dragon is Kim fucking Namjoon, another member of the Kim coven! That man is one of the richest in the fucking world and you just ditched his coven’s eldest!”

She swings for the last time and you weren't so fortunate the last few times—already letting down your guard when she began ranting—and it hits you square in the face. You groaned in pain, the zipper on the side of the pillow scratching your skin. 

Soomin’s anger immediately dwindled as she realised her error and gasped, falling to her knees and hands already reaching to cup your face to check for visible marks, pillow left abandoned on the carpet.

“Can't be damaging the face that bagged the Kim coven.”

“No damage here.”

“Just my faith in your decision making skills. I mean,” she stands, now more subdued and more disappointed than angry, still you eyed the pillow warily. “You've been wearing yourself down to death for years not only for you but also your family. If you were taken into the Kim Clan, you wouldn't have to worry about money anymore.”

Despite being one of your closest and longest friends, there's always been a huge difference with how you both perceive money. 

You're desperate for it, clawing and digging your hands bloody through the desolate desert for a chance of finding one small nugget to sustain your family while Soomin was familiar with it—she grew comfortably living in her parents’ spoils of years of hard work but never enough to buy the highest of quality items until her fiance came and suddenly, she had more than enough to spend for her luxury and you.

You strived and toiled for a smidge of stability whereas she revelled in anything life throws at her without worry because she has her parents to catch her if everything ever goes wrong.

She thinks of luxury as designer brands and ridiculously highly priced products that don't guarantee the greatest quality but you think of luxury as never having to worry about spending a cent over the designated budget for food shopping.

Even then, you loved her to the bone. Appreciated her like a sister from another mother.

“I can't afford to be distracted right now. I have a course to finish and a family to keep alive, I can't be hanging onto blind hope.”

Soomin's eyes softened, understanding and sighed. Turning around, she licked up the stray pillow before settling back into her chair and crossing her arms.

“I'm just… I just wanted you to be happier. It's a life mission of mine to make sure I won't die before seeing you living without stressing over details.” 

“I know.”

“I love you, leaflet.”

You laugh and she smiles. “I love you too, queen.”

[brynnewithane]

[Dating Hoshina Headcanons]

Absolutely no one asked but this is how I imagine dating Hoshina would look like:

This post is based on my personal research and officially published information about Hoshina up to Chapter 110. Please read this with a giant grain of salt.

If he has a half day off:

Casual coffee dates, talk about anything and everything.

Walk in the park while he’s still wearing his tracksuit so he can respond quickly to Kaiju’s attacks.

Takes you to all the bookstores or libraries, buy books for each other then go home and read each other’s book.

Late night Izakaya date when his shift is finished. Both grab a beer and you’ll listen to him telling you about how his day went, including all the drama at work of course lol.

Spend a lot of quality time together reading, discussing a book he has recommended (probably non-fiction or classics).

I also love the idea that he likes to take you to every Japanese Festival like the Kyoto Gion Matsuri (Kyoto is in the Kansai region; he’s from a traditional old-money clan in the Kansai region, so this festival is a must), but he’d probably be on duty those days for extra vigilance in case there’s an attack. Despite so, he’s gonna make it up to you later on bc this man does have a sense of loyalty and he cares a whole lot once you make it to his heart and earn his trust.

Another headcanon of mine is that he‘s lowkey romantic. Like c’mon, he reads poetry lmao. I’ve never seen someone who reads poetry that doesn’t have a romantic side. If he’s off duty, he’d plan a proper date, such as:

Watches the Blossom Forecast to plan for a Hanami picnic (花見, hanami, "flower viewing") when Spring comes. He’ll bring sweets like Dango, Daifuku, and his favorite Mont Blanc.

Takes you to those kimono retailers, makes you try on different types of kimono, and buy the one you like most.

He’d take you to the beach, or onsen on some mountains. He’d ask you to go on a hike with him in the early morning bc that’s his routine and he wants you to join him as well.

He’ll prepare a yukata for both to attend summer festivals, buy sparklers (線香花火, senkou hanabi), play goldfish scooping (金魚すくい, kingyo sukui), eat candied apples and watch fireworks together.

Chilling in his house, drinking ramune and eating watermelon. You watch your favorite show, he reads his newly bought novel. Either you both cook and prepare dinner, or head out to a rather fancy traditional restaurant.

English is not my first language so my grammar isn’t grammaring sometimes. If there are any parts that feel weird or unnatural, please let me know🤧

[cheolaholic]

ring of love; csc (06)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

chapter warnings: brief mentions of crimes (drugs, robbery, abduction), brief mentions of sex and hormones

a/n;; i have risen from the dead, everyone. I know it's been a while since I last updated (4 months 💀) But, please enjoy this chapter and hope that I do not disappear for another few more months until the next update lmao. Also posting this update while I'm on my lunchbreak lmao

You didn’t think that figuring out a place to meetup with Seungcheol would be difficult, but alas, it was. The places Seungcheol had initially suggested were either too far or the price range of their menus could amount to at least a month’s worth of your rent. Maybe it was the years of not seeing him that you had forgotten his parents had their own businesses, which obviously, means money is never an issue for Seungcheol.

After telling him you had to commute to some of the places or either needing to Uber or have Vernon pick you up, Seungcheol found a decently priced cafe near your place with a cosy looking interior design. Having finally settled down on a place to meetup, you now began to stress about an outfit.

You tore through your entire wardrobe before finally panic-calling Aki who agreed to help, on the condition that you tell her everything that will go down at the meetup. You agreed and after hours of outfit try-ons, you settled on a brown oversized sweater, a black pleated skirt, paired together with doc martens loafers.

“Are you sure this looks okay…?” your voice full of uncertainty as you stared at your reflection. Aki, who was on video call on your phone that’s propped up on your dresser, rolls her eyes at your question. “Babes, you’re literally so pretty right now that you could be someone’s gay or bi-awakening. Don’t worry, okay? I'm sure he’s equally nervous of finally seeing you again after what? Almost half a decade?”

“That's a dramatic way to say almost 5 years, but okay.”

“Just be your normal self, ___. Even if he’s changed appearance or physique wise, I'm sure he’s still the same ol’ Seungcheol from more than a decade ago. Well, at least for you, it’s more than a decade.”

“That is true… thanks for helping me out, Aki.”

“Anything for my bestie. Now, go and see your prince charming!”

“Can you and my parents stop calling him my prince charming?” you whined, only for Aki to shoo you through your phone.

“Tell me the deets afterwards! I want all the nitty-gritty - don’t you dare leave anything out!”

Seungcheol got to the cafe an hour earlier than the agreed meeting time. He tried to get some sleep but the adrenaline of being able to see you again kept him up. Sitting at the booth and occasionally glancing at the door, he would try to come up with things to talk about. Of course, he knew he had to explain why he dropped off the face of the earth for years without contacting you. But, he still needed to think of other ways to fix the rift between you both.

“Seungcheol…?”

When he hears his name being called, he lifts up his head and it was as if time had stopped. There you were, shyly standing in front of him as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. A few seconds after he realised he was staring, Seungcheol snapped back into reality. “Have a seat, __.” Ushering to the seat across him, flashing you that gummy smile that still sent your heart running for miles.

You did as told and after placing both your orders to the waitress who came over, Seungcheol nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “So… I didn’t know you were friends with Vernon…” he began, “Let alone a best friend since, y’know, Aki.”

“Yeah, I didn't really have a choice when he came up to me with that awful tie-dye during orientation. I was so glad when he got rid of it with how much my eyes were hurting.”

“That's Vernon for you,” he chuckles, “When he said he invited a friend, I was expecting maybe a classmate since Mingyu did the same with him.”

As you fidget, Seungcheol takes notice and leans his elbows on the table, reaching out a hand. “Hey, no need to be scared, okay? I know it’s been years and you’re most likely overthinking things right now, but I'm still me.”

“Where did you go…?” you asked in a shaky voice, “You just… ghosted me and later on, I found out you’ve been in Seoul for a while. Why… why didn’t you try to reach out?”

Withdrawing his hand and thrumming his fingers against the surface of the table, Seungcheol was silent for a moment before explaining himself. “That weekend when I headed to Seoul to check out Pledis, they had told my parents I qualified for one of their pre-u programmes. But, the slots in Korea were full, and if I did want to join the programme, I had to join their partnering unis abroad. They had Carat University in Japan and An Ode University in Melbourne.”

You quietly listened to Seungcheol as he continued.

While he wouldn’t mind waiting for an empty slot to be available in Pledis but, his parents had encouraged him to enrol into An Ode as they had an apartment in Melbourne. In the event he didn’t want to stay on his own, they’d be more than willing to pay for his dormitory. “They said the enrolment opportunities for pre-u programmes like these are rare… And, since I was given the opportunity, they encouraged me to take the chance.”

“… And you did…”

“I missed you like crazy, _. But, I couldn't get your calls or texts, not even reply nor call you back because I had to wait two weeks to be able to get a new phone and sim card. When I finally did get them, you had changed your number…”

Your face went red with embarrassment at the memory. A few days after your return from Jeju, your parents had brought you to go shop for a new phone and you’ve decided to change your number in the process. Since Seungcheol had dropped off the face of the earth at the time, you thought it wouldn’t matter anyway if you had changed your number since what were the chances of him calling you?

Turns out you were wrong.

“When I finished the programme, I stayed in Melbourne for a year and a half for their business course before transferring back to Korea to finish it in Pledis.”

“That was… that was at least two and a half years ago. Seungcheol, are you… are you telling me within those two years you never bothered to even look for me?”

“I did! I went back to Daegu to look for you, but your parents had told me you went to Pledis! I tried finding you all over the place, but for some reason you were never in my line of sight!”

“Wait, wait,” holding up your hand in disbelief to stop him from talking, “you went to see my parents? They never told me anything!”

“I begged them not to tell you!” he defended, “I wanted it to be a surprise! I wasn’t expecting our first meeting after years to be you witnessing me boxing!”

“How did you get into it in the first place though?” you asked, the waitress arriving with a tray of drinks and some cakes, “I heard you’ve been underground boxing for a year now.” Taking a sip from his drink, Seungcheol stared out the window, watching random cars and pedestrians pass by.

“I’ve been underground boxing for two years, actually, when I was back in Melbourne.” he answered. “A senior saw me during one of my Taekwondo matches during pre-u and invited me to try boxing. A few months later, he introduced me to this trainer who was looking to coach someone for a boxing match and everything just kinda fell into place.”

As a blanket of silence fell over the table, you muttered out a small “I missed you…”. Seungcheol gives you a smile, reaching out his hands to hold yours as he brings them to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles – an action that causes you to blush. “Well, I’m here now. I’ll make it up to you, alright?”

“I expect good food.”

And he replies with a sentence that has the butterflies you thought had died start fluttering again.

“Anything for you, pup.”

“...No…”

“Yes.”

“No… You’re lying…‘

“___, I swear on my life, I am not lying.”

“Ew, Cheol, that’s gross!” You whined, pushing at his shoulder with a disgusted expression, “I don’t need to hear about your sex life – much less a three way you had!”

Seungcheol laughs at your reaction, “Hey, if you think mine’s gross, you sure hear Mingyu’s. Who knew models were so… hormonal.”

“Lalala, I’m not listening!”

After your catch-up lunch at the cafe, you brought Seungcheol to the park near your apartment. The area enroute… was sketchy, to say the least, and that was putting it lightly. If you were to remove the sugarcoating, it looks as though you could get mugged or abducted if you lady luck was having a bad day and decided to take it out on you.

“No offence, pup –”

“Non taken.”

“But, at least three blocks of your housing area looks like they’re being used for drug operations. I know you can fight for yourself – I mean, I taught you how to defend yourself when we grew up together. But, have you ever thought about… y’know, moving to a safer area?” 

You had thought about moving out, but with the current rent prices being equivalent to a monthly mortgage payment, the dingy area is the best you got.

“I mean… It can’t be that bad, right…?”

“___, look at the place… I know you value your independence but, surely there are studios or apartments for rent that are safer and more… well lit, y’know?” Seungcheol notices how you began to pick at your nails, a habit he’s noticed when you both grew up and a sign that you were either anxious, nervous or both.

“Budget restraints?”

“Yeah… This is the best I got, Cheollie… Anywhere close to campus is expensive, and a decent apartment is… well… if I had a mortgage, I could pay that off, y’know…? I have a part-time job – I work as a barista at one of the cafes near campus. It pays decently, kind of higher than the usual amount part-timers get per hour but, let’s say I move out and rent an apartment near campus – I wouldn’t be left with much money after paying for rent and the utility bills…”

“Ever thought of getting roommates?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Mr Choi, I am not a people’s person. Ask Hansol, it took me a year to actually open up to him, even after he’s been introducing me as his best friend for months.”

“Your parents should have property in Seoul, right? Why don’t you stay there instead?”

“Because I’m an only child, Seungcheol. My parents will pay the bills even if I was willing to fork up my own cash!”

Adding on the fact that you had no transport of your own, the dingy little apartment area really did seem like the best option for you – at least, for Seungcheol he was still… iffy (rightfully so, he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you).

“Any public transport nearby?”

“There’s a bus stop that’s a 5 minute walk away from my place.”

“Okay…”

What you forgot to mention however, was the lack of reliable or functioning light source of said bus stop to your apartment’s lobby. But, surely, it wasn’t a detail worth mentioning to Seungcheol, you thought to yourself.

“Y’know, I thought your crush on Seungcheol would actually die down within those 5 years of no-contact.” Aki confessed as you typed on your laptop, phone propped up against one of your pen organisers. “I mean, it kind of did? But, instead of you being over over him, it’s more like… it’s more like your feelings weren't as obvious as back then.”

“Was it that obvious though?” you asked, turning your head to look at her as she shrugged her shoulders, “Not gonna lie, you’re pretty good at hiding it. I only noticed it after spending more time with you and noticing the subtle signs. If anyone was observant enough, they’d notice. But, to those that just look over the surface, not really.”

“...Do you think Cheol noticed…?”

“___, I might offend you and almost all the male species out there with this statement but, boys are dumb.” Aki moves her position from her desk to her bed, lying down on her stomach. “You both have been friends since you were kids so he should be picking up the signs. If he doesn’t then he’s either dumb or playing dumb.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before you asked, “Do you think he knows I like him and he’s just playing me?”

“You and I both know Seungcheol isn’t like that,” Aki began, “Your well-being is a priority to him – you’re a priority to him. Maybe he’s never thought about it, y’know? You both grew up together, maybe the lines were blurred to him.”

“But… what if he is, and he’s just really good at hiding it?” you asked again, the anxiety and nervousness eating you up as you thought about Seungcheol taking advantage of your feelings.

“___, darling, you and I both know Seungcheol always puts his loved ones above him – he makes them a priority. And, he’s always put you first, even up to the point he dropped off the face of the earth!”

Aki could still see the uncertainty on your face, which by all means, you had every right to feel that way. After all, Seungcheol had gone no-contact for 5 years and a person can change a lot within those 5 years. Who’s to say he actually is just a bastard who would step on people’s heads just to get what he wants. “Why don’t you start spending more time with him? Like the good ol’ times!” Aki suggested.

“Rekindle the friendship, y’know? Sure, you both had a catch up session today, but you and I both know that isn’t enough. 5 years worth of catching up – and not to mention, I need to kick his ass.”

You let out a small laugh, “You’ll need to fly over to do that, Aki.”

“Hey, don’t tempt me, ___.” Aki playfully warns, narrowing her eyes at you and pointing a finger at the screen, “I have the money to do so, and I will.”

“God, Aki…”

"Hey, Seungcheol isn't the only one that would do anything for you and has the money to do so."

[0212] cheollie: hey, ik it's pretty late rn [0213] cheollie: but, i just wanted to text you this before i forget [0213] cheollie: thanks for agreeing to meet up with me today and hear me out about my whole disappearance and lost all contact [0213] cheollie: and i'm really, really, really glad that you still see me as that boy you grew up with all those years ago [0214] cheollie: and i really had a great time catching up with you today [0214] cheollie: and i'll always be here for you if you ever need me, ok?

Seungcheol stared at the text he's about to send out.

i'm always going to be right by your side no matter what

After silently debating with himself, he deleted the draft and set his phone on his nightstand, laying in his bed as he stared at the ceiling of his dark bedroom - contemplating as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwooo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp @minhui896

[inkonparchment]

there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, organs, guns. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: with the way i decided to title these posts i can never figure out which part is getting the notes LMAO anyways i did this to myself nbd. also please take care in reading this!! description of corpses and blood!!

series masterlist

Chapter 3

The fluorescent lights sting in your eyes, bouncing off the white tiles and multiplied by the same stain of the walls. You bring your hand up to shield your eyes, blinking harshly. A lump sticks at the bottom of your throat when you notice the white sleeve of your coat. Glancing down to your body, your blood runs cold at your attire; neatly buttoned up white coat, your black pants and pointed brown heels. The scent of antiseptic floods your nose and it takes every fiber of your being to keep down the acid in your stomach.

The hallway you’re in is narrow, too narrow, enough that if you put your hands out, your fingernails would just barely scrape the walls. The fluorescent tube lights hang overhead, a straight line slicing through the centre. The silence hurts your ears, almost deafening, feeling your eardrums on the brink of collapse. The sound of your heels echo as you shift on your feet in unease. You look as far down the hallways as you can, twisting your heads to look both ways. You don’t see an end, the file of tube lights endless in their pursuit.

You muster up your broken courage and take a step, the sound echoing, reverberating and multiplying as it travels down the hall. You wince with every step, hoping to locate an end; a door, window or just about anything with an exit. Click-clack, click-clack.

Your breath stutters, huffing and puffing with sweat breaking out over your forehead. Your eyes dart around the walls, in hopes of catching a glimpse of something, some flaw, some piece that doesn’t fit, some part that chips away at the façade of perfection. The hairs on the back of your neck, stand upright, an eerie cold breath harsh against your nape. You nervously run a hand over it, eyes bulging and heels now clicking faster on the floor. Click-clack, click-clack.

A presence looms behind you, flickering into existence, steadily closing the gap. You don’t dare look back, eyes drilling a hole in the end of the hallway that you cannot see, peeled open and barely blinking. Perspiration drips down your temples. But it doesn’t relent, creeping closer and closer, almost mocking in its approach, enjoying watching you try and scamper away from it. But where will you go, how far will you go? Click-clack, click-clack.

You dig your fingernails in your palms, grip so tight that it breaches the layer of your skin, blood prickling and painting the crescent shaped indents. It’s toying with you now, slowing down and then suddenly lurching forward, feeling it grow satisfied at the wobble in your footsteps, never closing in but dangling you far away enough to delude you into thinking you could escape. A push and a pull.

Helpless and powerless to decide when it has had its fun with you.

And suddenly it surges forward, your skin erupting in goosebumps as it hunts you down, penetrating through your chest and gripping your throat. Just before it can tighten around you, before you can scream in terror, it vanishes. And takes the lights with it, plunging you in darkness.

You freeze, ragged breaths harshly resonating in the air, heart beat furious in your chest. Your ears are ringing and in an instant, the lights turn back on.

You suck in a harsh breath, eyes so wide they nearly spill out of your skull, forearm shooting up to save your nose from the assault of the acrid smell. Tears spring in the corner of your eyes, burning at the sight before you; hundreds of bodies lay scattered around you, seeping into the endless void of the hallway, drenched in red as their skin are marvels of blue and grey, torn at the edges, rotting away and hollowness in their eyes. The lights blink above you, broken and dull, sparks of electricity raining upon the bodies.

The walls once so carefully white are stained, swipes of blood cracking the plaster and making it peel away. You double over, a strong wave of nausea nearly knocking you off your feet. Regaining your footing, you look up and stumble back, eyes falling on a lone figure standing hunched over in the distance, fluorescent tube light flickering over the figure ominously.

She looks different than the rest on the floor; white coat, black pants and pointed brown heels. The words are lodged in your throat, forehead creasing in worry when your eyes flick to her hands, the drops of blood falling slowly, splattering on the pristine floor, sleeves wholly drenched in maroon.

She turns at a snail’s pace, time beginning to compress, its weight crushing down and sucking all the oxygen out of the room. And you recognize her in an instant; the dip of the nose, the curve of the lips, the bags under her eyes, the vacant look occupying her face and the way her hands shake.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“You could have stopped this,” You hear yourself speak, voice trembling, tears gathered at your waterline, “Why didn’t you stop?”

And then it all melts away.

The scent of wood pulls you back, eyes fluttering open to the blanket that lays on the armrest of your couch. A shiver rakes your body, spine straightening in your chair, followed by an ache from having spent the night in an awkward position. The rifle stands loosely between your legs, nozzle pointing up, the leather strap skating the fingers of your free hand.

A dull glow enters through the windows, painting the inside of your cabin in streaks of monotonous grey. You blink away the sleep in your eyes, muscles jostled awake from their slumber as you stand and approach the windows, welcoming a distraction of the horrid sense of doom gripping your being. A dull ache forms behind your eyes, shivering at the phantom that graces your nights.

The morning sun rises, hidden away behind the firm curtain of the clouds, ashamed from having lost the battle against the tempest of yesterday.

The leaves are heavy, bowed down in surrender under the morning dew collecting with the onslaught of raindrops, a sheen atop the grass blades. A sigh escapes your lips, dropping the curtains back in place, making a mental note of assessing the damage done outside later.

You forgo the rifle, setting it against the couch, revelling in a sense of security as no unexpected guest had showed up. Luna is awake, not having moved an inch from her spot as you step over her, halting in the threshold. Not much has changed, the man still fast asleep under the layers of blankets, a stray empty bowl with a spoon inside on the side table you had used to spoon a mixture of water, salt and sugar down his throat as much as you could.

You chew your lip, your words from last night suddenly swimming in front of your eyes. ‘All good on my end’. What the fuck was that? You can’t remember what had possessed you to say that, why didn’t you confess and rid yourself of this issue? He would have been a distant memory by now, the indent of his body on your mattress reduced to nothing but a fleeting moment.

You stare at him, long and hard, a shiver raking through your limbs. You’ve never had another person in here, the feeling of another in your home erupting sensations of discomfort all around you. It’s long since you’ve been around anything living that wasn’t Luna or your chickens. A long while since you spoke words and got a reply in turn, not counting the bare exchange of words during the weekly phone calls.

You wonder about him, who he is and what he is. Someone dangerous, you guess. It may have been a while but you are certain that baristas don’t show up bloody in the middle of the woods, armed to their teeth with gashes on their body that were given to them by anything resembling a human. You wonder if he’s here for you, finding the thought slightly ridiculous. If he was, you would have been dead already. The sentiment scares you; if he is, you hope he takes pity on you on the account of saving his life.

You shift closer, trying to better hear his breathing. You will your hands forward, peeling away the covers to inspect the wounds underneath. Nothing bleeds, the angriness of his cuts, subsiding to a gentle simmer. The paleness of his skin offers a sharp contrast to the purple bruises littered across his muscled body. You graze his skin with the back of your hand, pausing to assess his temperature, eyes fixed on his face that relaxes under your touch. Some warmth has returned, easing your heart and you find it hard to pull back, the scratchiness of his stubble marking a foreign sensation against your hand.

You wonder if he’s kind. Kind in the way he speaks, in the way he approaches life, mind wandering with the pictures of him living in a cozy apartment in a big city. You wonder if he has a family, friends or co-workers, anyone who misses him. You swallow harshly. They must be worried sick at his disappearance.  

He begins to stir under your touch, the movement startling you as you flinch and retreat from him haphazardly. Your feet get caught up on the rug, causing you to stumble, hand knocking the metal bowl onto the floor, the spoon clattering across to the corner of the room. And you stand paralyzed at a distance, only able to watch as he moves. His hands crawl out from underneath the blankets, eyebrows creasing as his frown deepens, finally registering the pain he is in. His eyelashes begin to flutter, peeling open but not fully, the sunlight nearly blinding his hazy gaze.

You can see the blues of his irises from where you stand, dulled out and unfocused as he stares at the ceiling. He shifts, removing the blankets away from his chest and immediately grimacing, letting out a low, “What the fuck?” as he finally notices his tattered shirt and stitches across his torso.

You feel yourself move forward instinctively, your boot against the floor sounding out a loud thud that has his whipping his head towards you, as though just realizing that he’s not alone. You freeze, fists clenching under his icy gaze. Your heart stutters, unease shooting up your spine as he regards you with hostility, his hand immediately reaching for his thigh, wincing as you realize that his hand itches for the comfort of his gun.

And you’re glad that you stripped him off his weapons, Luna immediately bounding towards you, barking at the man in warning. You slip your fingers under her collar, holding her steady as he switches his attention between you and Luna. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t relent but he halts his actions, looking back at you.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, an edge to his tone.

The image you had of him shatters, finding no kindness to his voice or the way he is carefully watching you. But it satisfies something in you, one restraint snapping off of your chest, making it easy to breathe as you register his words. He doesn’t know who I am. And that means that he’s not here for you.

You find your voice, hoarse from disuse, “You’re the one who showed up in my woods all bruised and bloody. I should be the one asking you that.”

He winces again when he readjusts himself, thigh protesting at the movement.

You scowl, twisting your hands tighter against the material of Luna’s collar, “Stop moving so much or you’ll rip your stitches. And I’m not wasting my time doing it all again.”

He looks confused at your words, glare softening for just a moment behind his bangs, gaze flickering to the dropped bowl next to you, hand retracting back to help in holding him up. “What happened to my gear?”

“It’s safe.”

“Where?”

“Safe.”

His breathing shakes like he’s already out breath, swaying on his propped arms, eyes shut to hold on to his consciousness. He lets out a sound, almost sounding like a scoff. He tries again, the edge softening a bit when he speaks, “Where am I?”

The blood loss seems to be catching up to him, you note, biting back the retort to tell him to lie back down. You hesitate, still unsure at the nature of the situation you’re in, and how much you’re at a liberty to reveal the details of his circumstances. So you settle on something that is just enough, “In my cabin.” And it slips out regardless, “You should really lie back down.”

He doesn’t listen, eyes still shut.

Your eyes linger on his wounds, the image of how they had looked when you found him. It sends a shiver through you. His blood stricken body renders in your mind, flashing between the nightmarish vision of your blood stained doppelganger. “Who are you? What are you? Your wounds don’t look like something you’d get on a hunting trip.”

He opens his eyes at your words, not saying a word.

You gulp, continuing your questions, Luna growing agitated in your grip, “Are you military? A mercenary? Or just someone with a shit luck?”

Luna barks, unnerving you together with how unaffected the man looks despite his weakened state. He slowly moves down, head connecting on the soft pillow, ignoring your inquisitive expressions. “Look,” You say, trying to control the tremble in your voice, “You have to tell me something. Especially if someone comes knocking at my door-”

“No one will come. You don’t have to worry.” He mutters, exhaustion seeping in his words.

That shuts you up, blinking rapidly, the distant rumble of thunder filling the air. He covers his eyes with his forearm, taking deep breaths, fingers splayed out over the blanket, stroking the material under his touch.

His chest starts to even out, falling into a rhythm, his hand pausing in its movement. You know he’s drifting off and you’ll lose him to sleep very quickly. Frustration grows in you, not a single question having been answered, still standing in the dark and nothing real in your grasp. You bite your lip, thumb rubbing against the back of Luna’s neck, her presence grounding you.

“At least tell me your name,” You whisper, hoping he can hear you.

His reply doesn’t come instantly. He shifts his arm slightly, revealing his eyes as he grazes you up and down, taking note of your squared shoulders, worried expressions and the scrapes across your knuckles.

“Leon.”

Its Leon!? No way! I did not see that coming!

[uh-oh-its-bird]

Fuck ok, gather 'round it's time for another fic idea spinning off of a crumb from my last post ab time traveling team Ro into founders era:

Summary:

Fact 1; Kakashi is now 3 weeks the last living Hatake.

Fact 2; Tobirama Senju, according to dusty old scrolls Kakashi finds in his father's study, was apparently half Hatake himself.

Lonley and hurting, Kakashi grabs on to this fact with both hands and squeezes it so tight to his aching heart that his hands bleed.

Or, still processing his father's suicide, Konoha's favorite baby genius finds out he's distantly related to history's favorite baby genius and immediatly starts projecting to cope.

Digging through old journals, history books, Kakashi begins to try his own hand at the man's favorite past time; creating jutsu's. It's the both the hardest thing he's ever done and the most satisfying to date.

Ft.

1) Weirdly chill scene with Danzo (fuck that guy but hear me out) where he kinda looks at Kakashi and sees the hint of the shadow of the man who taught him. Not quite there yet, not fully, but crumbs of it. Enough to make him nostalgic, and enough to hand over an old journal that used to belong to Tobirama.

A calculated risk, he tells himself.

An unspoken challenge, both Danzo and Kakashi understand.

He wants to see how far Kakashi can go, finds himself almost eager to see how close he can come to the shadow of the man he seems so determined to chase.

(and if this side project temporarily distracts him for long enough that Orochimaru slips through his fingers, well, it's not like he knows it was this event specifically that caused that plan to fall through)

2) The fact that, both due to time and the Hatake clan's less than stellar reputation during the warring states era, Tobirama's Hatake ancestry got buried. Kakashi finding him on a dusty old family tree has ✨️political implications✨️ for Kakashi specifically. Ones he isn't all too interested in — unless it means he might be able to access things he otherwise wouldn't've.

Also just general fun surprised Pikachu faces from some people as an added bonus.

3) Kakashi becoming even more terrifying than he rightfully should be at that age !! Danzo pretty much handed him a missile and went "lmao good luck" with that journal! He should not have that! He's learning things! He is experimenting! Someone take the missile away from the baby before he learns how to make his own— oh fuck it's too late hes somehow made a nuke instead

4) Orochimaru poking Kakashi with a stick and vice versa. They are making baby genius <--> baby genius eye contact it's mildly concerning, Minato is concerned. Obito is jealous, he wishes the Snake Sannin would poke HIM with a stick

5) Kakashi bites someone. That's it that's the bullet point I just think he should get to bite someone is all.

And more !!! Im ngl I think I like Tobirama just existing in the fic as as an ever present shadow, super influential in just every single chapter but never actually present. But I won't lie if I'm giggling over the thought of Kakashi finding Edo Tensei and going ".... ok but what better way to figure out this new jutsu / seal than to ask the source directly."

Orochimaru would so help he's having too much fun with this to bother experimenting on children for Danzo. Don't talk to him rn he's having fun with corpses!! No not the corpses you asked him to have fun with, the other ones!

[je-suis-applebread]

Wait do the beasts still want their souljams back? Since I see that PV and White Lily are in the au-

I was just wondering if the beasts have tension between the ancients but this also brings up the question of if the other ancients visit as well

mostly text post (that took quite some time)

so, where do i start... beasts-ancients relationships under the cut (there's a lot)

Beasts don't try to get soul jams anymore. They know, that once they get their hands on at least one, they would get grounded once again faster than they can say "world domination" - even though they don't know if Witches are the same they used to be or not, they know cookies would still be able to bury them alive at that tree, so isn't worth it.

But not that they even want to try that again. They've already lost once, what is there to repeat? They are kinda content with what they have now. And I find two of them a special case, actually.

Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt. After everything I came up with, I've found something special about them, something that especially noticeable in "what if eldad faerie died" reactions - Eternal Sugar wants them to be happy, Silent Salt tries to be there for them. They get closer to what their ideals were once. Maybe they're not Happiness and Solidarity per se, but sometimes they just feel like that. Of course, they're not gonna take respective soul jams to become whole again, neither do they have some special synergies with their Ancients, it's just a detail I really like.

Anyway, to relationships we go.

Mystic Flour:

- Dark Cacao: Dark Cacao HATES her for what had transpired during her chapter and - hey, can you really blame him for his feelings?? He just never wants to see her ever again (he'll have to on purelily's wedding, poor soul), he does not know what he will do if he sees her for too long. — She doesn't give a fuck about it or him.

- Pure Vanilla: she doesn't interact with him all too much, however he is terrified by what he heard from Dark Cacao. So he maybe wishes he won't stumble upon her. — She, once again, doesn't give a fuck.

- Hollyberry: she would like to call Mystic Flour out on feeling something because no way she believes Mystic Flour really apathethic to everything. — That's annoying to Mystic Flour, otherwise she also doesn't give a fuck

- Golden Cheese: they forbid her from starting fights because the first thing she did when found out about her doings from Dark Cacao, she started looking for her to at least punch her. She was held back physically, which did not stop her from shouting insults. — Mystic Flour was watching it with her annoyed face, mostly irritated by noise also not fully understanding why Golden Cheese reacts almost harsher than Dark Cacao when it wasn't even her kingdom, why would she feel something that strong when it didn't include her. If Golden Cheese is surprisingly in Faerie Kingdom, she locks herself up so she would not have to listen to her screams for another half an hour.

- White Lily: she really doesn't believe Mystic Flour is okay in any way though. Of course every Beast has their "oof lmao", but everyone is maybe slowly but surely come to senses and Mystic Flour... White Lily knows she must give a fuck about at least something, even if she is "Apathy". So she is mostly worried about her and her attitude. Also hearing about her deeds made White Lily once again think of her doings as Dark Enchantress, so she became quite quiet for a while (and Silent Salt was another quiet one, but tried to be a comforting presence). — Mystic Flour... She doesn't give a fuck to even try to not to give a fuck. Like, with others is mostly "ignore them", but with Lily she doesn't even acknowledge ignoring her

Shadow Milk:

- Pure Vanilla: after all the troubles, he really didn't want to believe a word of his and maybe possibly evade him. But being there with White Lily, he kinda got to know new Shadow Milk - mischievous and still very emotional, but otherwise mostly harmless. Sometimes he wonders if this is some grand deceit of his but then this silly boy hides behind him because he just annoyed Mystic Flour to point of giving a fuck and, well, it doesn't seem that likely. He is not fully comfortable with being around him - at first he wasn't comfortable with Shadow Milk at general, but after he got used to him it was because he didn't really want to be his hiding wall or involuntary coparticipant of his jokes and stuff. — And we all know what Shadow Milk feels about him. For him, Pure Vanilla is absolute bestie, he never let's this poor innocent guy go, for him he's that rat/mouse he picked up and said "youre my bestie now"

- Hollyberry: she kinda likes his energetic and funloving attitude. She gets that he shouldn't be trusted, but hanging around him is never boring for her. She trusts her friends that if Shadow Milk would start deceiving her, they would notice and get her back, so she's kinda chill about him. — He also finds her quite interesting, especially her stories. Especially dragon ones. And maybe she kinda internally compares him and Pitaya because under overall opinions, they're good companions.

- Dark Cacao: he can tolerate him, which already is times better than with Mystic Flour. Not very much aside from this though - Shadow Milk being cookie of Deceit is already a massive con for him, and his personality overall is kinda annoying for Dark Cacao. He can stay in the same room as him, but he's gonna grumble or leave it if Shadow Milk tries to communicate with him with no actual reason or pull some shenanigans of his. — As for Shadow Milk, Dark Cacao kinda reminds him of Silent Salt and a little of Mystic Flour, so bro can't stop himself from annoying this guy. Overall he's fine, but nothing really special standing out.

- Golden Cheese: she's wary of him, she's all like "I'm not letting you mess with my head". She's all ready for hitting him should the need come. Shadow Milk actually finds kinda amusing the fact that she was deceiving herself about her kingdom's fate. — He would like to mess with her about it or at least stir some talk that way but she never lets him.

- White Lily: she was a bit tense about him in the beginning, but slowly started to find his personality kinda amusing. His shenanigans were making her smile when she was sure of nothing, when her thoughts were trying to get her. She could see his obvious attachment to Elder Faerie what raised her trust towards him even more. — Shadow Milk, considering her closeness to Elder Faerie, kinda treats her like some kind of sister. Out of the Beasts, he knows how haunted she is by her past the most. If he was to cheer her up, she would think of it as a lie, so he mostly distracts her from thinking or gets Pure Vanilla's attention to her

Eternal Sugar:

- Hollyberry: drinking buddies. Okay, let's elaborate, she wasn't really trusting her at the beginning, but Eternal Sugar let her understand, that she has no harm in mind as of now. One time White Lily mentioned that Eternal Sugar makes really good wine and then Hollyberry accepted next drinking together suggestion. She slowly started warming up to her and really enjoys their drinking sessions. — Eternal Sugar actually first suggested drinking together right after her defeat. She basically said like, hey would you like to drink with me? i want to cheer over your victory. And of course Hollyberry was surprised aaand of course she was suspicious. But Eternal Sugar didn't stop after that rejection – after all, she knows that Hollyberry likes drinking, so that means they both like drinking the most out there so why not take her in drinking buddies and possibly just buddies down the line, with the way they giggle after first half of drinking session.

- Pure Vanilla: he likes to see how happy White Lily is to chat with her. He gets that Eternal Sugar is, like, mostly harmless when she has no motivation to commit atrocities, so he's actually very fine with interacting with her. He finds it pleasant to talk with her when they're together. — Eternal Sugar finds him cute in terms of personality. Also sis is main purelily supporter in this household, she finds him very good for White Lily.

- Dark Cacao: she doesn't really worry him. He isn't enthusiastic to communicate with her but if she tries to sometimes he entertains it. She's the most chill out of them and Dark Cacao gets it – like, he's not gonna trust Beasts, at least anytime soon, but he's kinda okay with her. — Eternal Sugar can't help herself but think of Silent Salt whenever she sees Dark Cacao, she actually suspects that just like Silent Salt, Dark Cacao also is a "softie"© inside, that's her main theory.

- Golden Cheese: the only Beast she is okay with. Golden Cheese actually finds her wings kinda cool, and maybe she sometimes pouts because Eternal Sugar doesn't agree to flying race. — Eternal Sugar is not a fan of races or such but she totally can't drop the topic of wing care. She had been asking Golden Cheese if she was doing anything with her wings and gave some of her wing care tips in return (and Golden Cheese had actually tried out a few)

- White Lily: she was invited on girls night by Eternal Sugar after a few visits to Beast-Yeast. She didn't really know what to expect, but it turned out just a girls night with her, Eternal Sugar and Mystic Flour. Like, of course, Mystic Flour was in her "i don't give a fuck", but White Lily and Eternal Sugar actually had quite some fun, spending the night by meaningless gossips and different hairstyles (they even made one for Mystic Flour). — Eternal Sugar just adores White Lily. Like, she was kinda intrigued when she met her for the first time, but the she started gradually realising that she wants to befriend her and so she did. Her bestie is Burning Spice, but White Lily is very close second, she's not even second, she's first and a half.

Burning Spice:

- Golden Cheese: Golden Cheese is tense and kinda down around him. Tense because of what he had been doing about soul jam stuff and down because he embodies destruction, he reminds her of her loss just by being there. She kinda tries to play neutrality or still being irritated about soil jam stiff around him, she mostly tries o leave whenever they're in the same place. — Burning Spice actually feels kinda bad because he had distressed an already traumatized person even more. He would like to somehow make up for that, but he can't really get a chance to do so.

- Pure Vanilla: he finds Burning Spice quite sincere person. Like, of course Burning Spice still gets into troubles and creates destruction, but most of the time it happens out of accidents, which makes Pure Vanilla calm about him. He's not malicious since the end of all the soul jam mess, and he finds him a fun person. Way too active to tag along, but fine to have an occasional chat with. — Burning Spice thinks he's a bit frail actually, not in the bad way. Like, if Pure Vanilla would get exhausted around him he would totally carry him (not that he wouldn't for others, but it's even more for Pure Vanilla). He kinda likes to ask him about Crispia, how the world is there.

- Hollyberry: she kinda finds their personalities a bit matching. Like, she had found him quite fine all the way almost in beginning when he crashed in something and was very embarrassed about destruction he caused. She suggested having a spar the very next time they saw each other (of course under supervision but he didn't mind), so she really likes running around with him when she visits. — Burning Spice also likes spending time with her. He actually was surprised to see so much power in such a cookie but oh he's all in for it. Especially after stories about dragons (which may have made him being happy as a little kid whenever he wins a long spar/forest race or something else against her)

- Dark Cacao: he actually gets skeptical half the times Burning Spice gets into another destructive accident but doesn't push on it looking at his friends. He is kinda tense about him, but actually his active yet sincere personality sometimes reminds him of Crunchy Chip and so sometimes he gets lost in fond thoughts around him. — Burning Spice finds him kinda grumpy but also thinks he has his reasons to be that way. He doesn't really try to communicate with Dark Cacao most of the time, knowing he would most likely be turned down or ignored, judging by his personality.

- White Lily: she gets worried about Burning Spice each time he crashes into something or something like that happens again. Burning Spice spends quite some time with Eternal Sugar, so she finds him being her good friend just like Eternal Sugar. — Burning Spice can't think of her any way except as a friend or kinda sister, but mostly friend. He likes chatting with her and Eternal Sugar, sometimes he even participates in their girl nights (and those nights they totally paint their nails(do cookies have those though...? ...does it matter though??)).

Silent Salt:

- White Lily: she was kinda tense and a bit afraid of him in the beginning but slowly she was finding him more and more reliable and just kinda misunderstood. So she stopped worrying about him looking all intimidating and tried to know him closer. She realised he is actually very reliable and the most responsible out of Beasts, so she actually started sticking around him sometimes. — He knows she wanted best and then it turned out into disaster, so she totally wants to comfort her (and possibly relates). He sometimes gets quite worried thinking of what would somebody who don't know her think of her knowing truth about Dark Enchantress(especially worried when he sees the way Golden Cheese still can't get okay with it), also he really wants her to kinda separate Dark Enchantress and herself in her head. She's here and that person is out there.

- Pure Vanilla: at first he was tense as well, but then noticed that Silent Salt does something questionable only when something happens that really clashes with his morals. After he got to know him a bit closer, he started to understand his company. Not really enjoy it, it's kinda uncomfortable for him, but he understood while others were finding it comforting. — Silent Salt is positively surprised that such an actually pure cookie exists in such a world. He respects Pure Vanilla for his personality and morals, for the way he does not waver in his ways and wishes he would stay this way as long as this world would allow him to.

- Hollyberry: she finds his presence kinda unnerving especially with him being that silent so she tries to not interact more than needed. — Silent Salt just thinks their personalities are way too different, no way to actually connect with her. She does not try to do so and so he follows this tactic.

- Dark Cacao: he finds their similarities being kinda unnerving. Since Silent Salt is, well, silent, he had been thinking they would not really communicate, but they kinda got some non-verbal communication in actions, body language and in case of Dark Cacao, eyes. So he got that they both are just worried about ones they care for and can go for great lengths to protect what they have. But otherwise he really doesn't initiate any other contact. — Silent Salt kinda sees through him because of their similarities and he thinks Dark Cacao should get better before it gets worse for everyone. If anything serious would ever happen, he is sure they would both jump to action the very same moment and possibly cooperate way too well.

- Golden Cheese: she's not gonna become unnerved because of him, but she really has no reason to stay around him with him never talking, so if she has nothing to do she mostly leaves if they happen to be in the same room. — Silent Salt, once again, finds it worrying, how she reacts to White Lily. He finds himself wanting to get them through it but he knows he can't make Golden Cheese just change her mind. Otherwise, he doesn't really has a special opinion on her since they communicate as much as him and Hollyberry – that is, they almost do not.

Phew, I think got everything. That took quite some time but I got through it yaay