#about. every thought is like a hurricane; destroying everything but it leaves no trace.

[multibunmuses]

Woke up again in the pouring rain, I feel the windows shake, thunder in my brain.

The shadow overtook him, bleeding into his skin and bones, his muscles and nerves. A wicked grin spread across his face, eyes once a soft lavender turn a murderous red. Wings extend to their full length, spade-tipped tail flicking back and forth.

Every thought is like a hurricane, Destroying everything but it leaves no trace.

Sharp teeth sink into the arm of a human, she screams. He knocks her over and dominates over her. The stench of blood fills his nose.

Four walls made of skin feeling paper thin. Don't know if they can take what they're holding in.

Her flesh is ripped from her bones, her voice is lost in the static of his ears. He can’t stop it, the shadow is controlling him. He stands above her, wiping his mouth of her blood... smudging it.

It's death-threat, déjà vu, out for blood again. It's out for blood again (it's out for blood again)

Sharp teeth sink into skin again. Into skin. Into fur. Into feather. Into scales. Into the people. The people, over and over and over and over--

I'm a cage, I'm a prison for what no one sees, Ashamed like I'm sleeping with the enemy.

Like a ghost watching his body commit these atrocities, having kept the monster down for so long-- only for it to emerge on it’s own and do as it pleases with HIS body.

No one believes me, but I'm six feet deep. It's a monster made of memories.

‘Stay safe’, she would always tell him. ‘Don’t let it out. Please stay alive.’

I COULDN’T KEEP IT IN...

It's alive, like a parasite inside of me, And it feeds off the trauma of what used to be.

‘RUN!’

‘GET OUT OF HERE!!’

‘DON’T LET IT OUT!!’

‘PLEASE STAY SAFE!!’

But there's no shred of evidence 'cause I don't bleed. From this monster made of memories.

‘You must have consent.’

‘You can’t seduce them.’

I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED. I WAS SO HUNGRY I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT ANYONE...

My darkest own made a creature, That feeds on the fear of everything I can't forget.

‘IT’S THAT INCUBUS!’

‘GET HIM BEFORE HE KILLS ANYONE ELSE!!’

‘MONSTER!’

‘MURDERER!!’

‘CYN, RUN!’

It walks beside me, gun against my head. So I look terrified 'til I've paid the debt.

‘It’s going to be okay...’

No it’s not!! He’s killing everyone in MY body!! I can’t stop it! It’s moving without me wanting it to! There’s so much BLOOD!! 

PLEASE!

Four walls made of skin, feeling paper thin. And I know they can't take what they're holding in. It's death-threat, déjà vu, out for blood again. It's out for blood again.

He feels the thick bile raising in the back of his throat. The disgusting feeling as it churns and twists, finally the black sludge passes his lips-- onto the ground at his feet. It reeks of blood and rotting flesh. Just like like last time... the putrid stench of it and the way it made his body ache and mind blur. 

I'm a cage, I'm a prison for what no one sees, Ashamed like I'm sleeping with the enemy.

‘She doesn’t talk...’

‘The people who sold her to me told me that...’

NO NO NO NO!! YOU KEEP AWAY FROM HER, DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!!

And no one believes me, but I'm six feet deep. With a monster made of memories.

‘You don’t know a thing about what I’ve been through! Outcast because my fur is black! A ‘bad omen’ among the Felines! I don’t want to hear shit from you!!’

I’m a MONSTER... I’m not even one of the PEOPLE... but... your feelings are still valid. You were still hurt, I’ll still be here for you...

Up all night 'cause I can't sleep. With a monster made of memories.

“Come on Cyn, all of these years you’ve been alive, have you done nothing exciting?”

I have... but ‘exciting’ isn’t the word I would use...

Keeps me scared, so it can feed. It's a monster made of memories.

“I mean– what about sex, huh? I’ve seen the scars on your wings, so that means something had to have happened right??”

I COULDN’T TELL HER ‘NO’... 

Up all night 'cause we can't sleep. With a monster made of memories.

“You saved Keisa, what about that story?”

One good deed does not make me a good person... I am still a MONSTER...

Keeps us scared, so we won't speak. It's a monster made of memories.

“JUST SAY SOMETHING, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!”

I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T ICAN’TICAN’TICAN’TICAN’TICAN’TICAN’T

I'm a cage, I'm a prison for what no one sees, Ashamed like I'm sleeping with the enemy. No one believes me, but I'm six feet deep. With a monster made of memories.

STOP KILLING THEM!! LEAVE THEM ALONE!! STOP HURTING THEM!! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!

It's alive, like a parasite inside of me, And it feeds of the trauma of what used to be. But there's no shred of evidence 'cause I don't bleed. From this monster made of memories.

Everything goes still. Like a wave everything comes crashing down. The Incubus is suddenly back in control of his body, dropping to his knees.

There is nothing around him. There’s no taste of blood in his mouth. Cloak had been discarded at some point, leaving only his backless crop-top and harem pants. His body is coated in sweat.

Up all night 'cause we can't sleep.

Cyn slowly raises his hands up, pressing the palms of them against his eyes. With a deep inhale, he rubs them.

With a monster made of memories.

His hands move from his eyes, and all the bodies that were littered before him were gone.

Like magic... like it had never happened.

Keeps us scared, so we won't speak.

“Cyn, are you okay...?” Nico tilted his head a bit, glancing down at the Incubus. “You just suddenly spaced out for a moment there... then dropped to your knees.”

It's a monster made of memories.

“Yeah, just felt light-headed for a moment...” Cyn responds, breathing out a heavy sigh and pushing himself back up to stand. “I’ll be alright... lets just keep going.”

[musebluebird]

Ivan couldn't help but smirk slightly when he heard her. That was his girl, always willing to redouble the bet. Wait. His girl?. Jeez. There were many reasons why he couldn't think like that. The main one being that attachment was always a bad idea but especially with Lydia. The woman seemed willing to make him lose all his patience and Ivan could swear she didn't know the word 'calm' by definition. She was like a devastating tsunami ready to destroy everything in her path and Ivan couldn't allow himself to be swept away by 'Hurricane Lydia'. There was no way he could be vulnerable in front of Lydia. Mainly because that would be giving Lydia a lot of power that he was not willing to give up. It was all about power dynamics and in that marriage he expected to be on the positive side of the balance. No matter how idiotic that sounded, he just couldn't open up to someone like that. Allowing himself to be cared about in such a profound way. It was a position he simply couldn't be in if he didn't want to be vulnerable to any enemy. If he allowed to care about Lydia, to really care about her, the problem was going to be protecting her from everything that could happen to her thanks to the fact that she was married to hhim. He was so screwed up that he didn't even want to think about it.

He let out a gruff growl, a little caught off guard by her movement. The brush of her fingers on his pants sent a shock of blood to his cock. Leaving his cock near Lydia was a potential danger - considering that she wanted to cut his head off less than an hour ago - was too bold a move. The desire he had for her was carnal, he needed to bury himself deep in her like he had never needed anything else before. His tongue teased, gently tracing her neck before returning his attention to her earlobe and beginning to nibble it gently. His hand kneaded her ass. He wanted to smashed it, he wanted to leave some marks around her body.

He was about to kneel down to show Lydia exactly how much he wanted her when he heard the sound of the elevator and the doors opened. Dammit. That ride hadn't been long enough for him. He hadn't even had time to show her exactly what he was talking about. To get on his knees to show her - with more than words - that he really wanted her. However, they always had that night and possibly every night after that one to take it easy. Ivan was impatient as hell tho but he was going to have to wait unless he wanted a search party sent out for them. He wanted to take his time with Lydia. A quickie was always exciting but Ivan had a feeling that no quickie was going to be effective enough if he wanted to get Lydia out of his system. "I guess you'll just have to be patient, honey." He scoffed with a wink, pulling away from her to lead her out of the elevator. Now she had to change her shoes and go back to the party. With each step he took, Ivan was more and more certain that maybe he should tell everyone to fuck off and just disappear with his wife.

He gave a small nod to the guard at the room's door. The man returned the nod before beginning to walk down the hallway giving them some privacy. Ivan put someone to watch the door just to be sure. Not because he thought there was any threat or anything of value in there but the last thing he needed was to be have troubles later. He took the swipe card from his suit jacket before opening the door. It's not that he was rude - his mother would have his ass cause he didn't let Lydia walk in first - or didn't trust his own man but he was careful. He still went in taking a quick look around the room before looking at her. Almost as if they hadn't been about to have sex in the elevator and feigning complete insanity about what had just happened between them. Ivan simply took off his jacket and crouched in front of his wife, "Let me help you with those death traps before you break your neck, sweetheart" The whole nickname thing had become fun for him, an easy way to downplay the whole situation. He took all the time in the world to undo the strap on her heels and finally taking out her feet of those death traps, allowing him to brush her skin with his fingertips slowly while doing so "So tell me, how are your two braincells doing, wife?"

This man, her husband, was full of surprises, wasn't he? Lydia wasn't an idiot, had seen firsthand what a dangerous man he was and all that he was capable of. She couldn't stand him; he was an asshole, a man who was too big for his own boots, one who needed knocking down a peg or two. Or ten. Yet he had an answer for every single one of her sarcastic rebuttals, and could at least entertain a stimulating conversation with her. And now, without doing a lot, it felt like every fiber of her being was stimulated - and he'd barely touched her. When this whole arranged marriage thing was thrown at her, she made a vow to herself to make life hell for both Ivan and her father who was far too keen on throwing his daughter at some person she found despicable. Her relationship with her father had been rocky at best, but his insistence on this marriage and how he even seemed to like the idea - for his own twisted benefits most likely, ones of which she would rather choose not to think about - it had only further added nails to the coffin of their relationship. Up until their wedding day, she had fought and fought to get out of it. Hauled any and every venomous, horrible, spiteful word she could at him, accusations galore strewn. But all in all, Lydia got her stubbornness from her father and as much as she did not back down, he didn't either. Now she was here. She didn't want to think of that wretched man any longer. She had no benefit to get out of him... But Ivan? As much as she detested him and would not mind seeing his head on a stick... at least being around him could have some benefits. Even if Lydia could not admit that to herself. Had too much dignity and self-preservation to uphold.

The urge to restrain herself was wearing thin. The scent of his cologne filled her nostrils, was wild and untamed and enticing; it clung to him like a second skin, a reminder of the primal connection that simmered just beneath the surface. The fragrance crackled with an intensity that mirrored smoldering embers, leaving her eager to explore the depths of his allure. Almost too eager. So much for having two brain cells. In the current moment, Lydia felt like she'd lost all grasp on reality. Because what the hell was she doing? Something in the back of her mind, maybe a voice of reason, was trying to tell her she was heading down a path she didn't want to go down. But if that was the case, why was her body responding differently? Why did the other part of her brain want her to say screw self-preservation and throw herself at him, wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and let Ivan have his way with her. But she didn't - because as restless and impatient she was becoming, that was too easy. This felt like a little game between them, like almost a competition to see who would completely cave first. At the moment, it felt like Ivan had the upper hand for now. But Lydia was still determined to try. It would be rude not to. Hearing him utter those three words, how he wanted her, drove her wild, the smug satisfaction sending yet another jolt of electric desire straight to her already aching core. How someone she found so horrible could also be so hot at the same time was simply unfair. And so fucking confusing.

"What I want?" Lydia repeated in almost surprise, the question caught her off guard, and she was unable to help her ragged breathing at the simple actions of well - just about everything he was doing. His breath against her neck, how his finger drawn across her lower lip, the kiss behind her ear. He was capable of asking her what she wanted? That was new. Probably the first time anyone has actually asked her what she wanted since she was thrown into this whole ordeal. Her eyes opened at the question and she glanced to the ceiling as if considering her answer. Lydia wanted many things, where would she begin? Humming thoughtfully, she shrugged. "I want you to prove it," she settled with. "Prove that you want me. Actions speak louder than words, don't they?" she insisted, her voice barely above a whisper as she still tried to remain semi-composed. One could argue that the evidence was already there with the prominent bulge pressed against her, but she wanted to see how far she could push. Feeling a bit daring, perhaps even as bold as he was, she slid her hand lower, in between them, her nimble fingertips 'innocently' stroked against his crotch as she leaned into him. The anticipation burned her insides, and his next question caused her to let out a choked gasp, spurning her on all the more. She pressed her hand firmer against the strained fabric of his trousers, leaning up to press her lips against his ear. Her breath was hot on his skin. "Maybe so, husband. Why don't you slide your hand there and find out for yourself, hmm?" She basically gave him permission. The answer was without a doubt, yes. Already soaking. She could hate someone and still want to have sex with them. Even if they were her spouse.

[birdcagcd]

my venti

[kshira]

fwb with izana?

— say you want me

tw. fem!reader, fwb turn lovers, tones throughout of sex, f!oral, like literal word vomit of sweet fluff and smut, softest dom! izana w/sub!reader

wc. 1.9k

an. thanks anon, i just fell into a trap of another day being in love with izana, i blame my crotch or whatever <3

[5:33 AM]

it’s early, too fucking early to be awake right now—the birds haven’t even spoke their first syllable but you have; several times.

“izana, please” you beg, fist balling the sheets under you, eyes fluttering close every time he dives back between your legs, a short hum follows his lips—izana kurokawa; a short summary of him; he’s a devastating hurricane.

“come on angel, i know you can beg better than that” he leans up, propping his chin on his hand as the other one slides against your flesh laying its placement on your stomach, “what’s with the face?” he asks, curiosity flickers in his orbs, amusement taunts the edges of his smile.

“i called you to fuck me n-not this, god” you moan again, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight—today; you can’t remember what time it actually is.

“do you remember when we first met?” izana questions, drawing small circles on your stomach, trying hard not to be distracted by your clenching hole in his line of sight.

“i try to forget, actually” you laugh, and izana drops his eyes in disapproval, “yeah guess so, probably fucked the memory outta you that night” he smirks when you open your mouth to speak but don’t, feeding his ego well tonight.

izana looks into your eyes again, maybe searching for warmth, or just a simple twinkle in your eyes and he can tell you how he feels but alas; there is none but tears feeding into the rims from the overstimulation, his fingers working their way back into your weeping cunt without a second thought.

he destroys everything in his path, izana leaves like the waves washing back to the internal darkness, he never stays long yet he wishes for a day when he can wash ashore; a reason to stay permanently.

why can’t that be with you?

“kiss me” izana whispers, crawling away from your cunt for once, taking both hands; the hands he’s took lives with to cup your face, crashing his lips with yours and he devours everything you have to offer him and yet he yearns for more than just a lust filled cry of his name.

[2:13 PM]

izana remembers the warmth that laid beside him earlier, the mattress settled back to its former state now, your touch had melted from his skin. he raises a finger up to trace his lips, thinking about how they brushed every fiber on your body.

he drops the limb, what feels like pity grows in his stomach, at the age he is doing this so freely, sleeping with strangers, lovers of the past or unknown names and faces; he’s too damn old.

he reaches for his phone, sifting through the multiple messages from kakucho, calls from clients and then finally he’s found you, a message you’d opened but never replied back to him.

izana feels hopeless now, but he has no one to blame but himself; why did he say friends with benefits again? he can’t remember, or care too; no— he thought he’d get attached.

and fuck was he right.

[7:30 PM]

“izana, what’s up?” you answer quickly, loud background noises crackle the phone, izana swallows playing with the strings of his sweats, he hesitates tripping on what words to say “come over” he finally speaks up, grimacing at how nervous he is.

“i can’t fuck tonight, sorry” you maneuver the phone from your hand to your shoulder, leveling it closer to your ear as you listen to silence on the other end, izana stares up at the ceiling— “w-we don’t have to do that, just wanna—” izana struggles to carry his voice onward wondering if you get the hint.

“maybe another night, yeah?” the dial tone meets with izana when you hang up, not even able to say a word back, he drags his eyes to his cock—not really in the mood but he just wants to take his mind off of you.

but that’s kinda hard, as he fists his cock—hand slowly gripping at the length, fingers coming up to toy with the sensitive head, and his thoughts drift to you.

the way you’d sit between his legs, pumping his pretty cock within your smaller hands, doe like eyes flickering up to meet his disheveled gaze, no matter how many times izana said it was just sex, it fucking wasn’t.

izana bends down to drip a coat of spit on his cock, eyes glimmering close and he lets his imagination run its course, he always loves dragging his nails across your scalp while you lazily hold him in your mouth, tongue slipping to both sides of his girth and your ass in the background shaking and swaying.

he feels lost, pleasure rushing through his veins as he strokes harder, white knocking at the back of his eyes and izana leaves curses under his breath when unknowingly he spurts pretty white ribbons on his stomach.

another night without you here, another day spent with his confession tied among the stars and izana dwindles from the blissful high to only be met with an insufferable loneliness casted in the black eerie sky.

[10:31 PM]

izana paces the living room, hands tucked into his pockets—the sounds of his bare feet padding against the wooden floors cease his thoughts for a brief moment.

he wonders if he’s going insane, never experiencing these unacquainted feelings before, izana thought spending time between legs would take only his pleasure not his fucking mind.

he wants to know what you’re doing, if you even think about him when he’s not fucking your pussy—he remembers when there was a time before all this, when he’d listen to your half lidded moans begging and crying for him, hard slaps against your ass, calling you filthy names.

how did it turn from never wanting to see your face while his cock was buried into your cunt to hovering over your face while his hips rock into you, soft lips placed neatly on your warm cheeks.

izana leans against a wall, dropping down till the cold wooden floor bites back at his bottom, curling himself into a ball, he shuts his eyes and welcomes the darkness. lights twinkle in his vision and of course—you. contrasting the blackness of his life, whether you wanted that or not.

[11:31 PM]

“izana it’s late” you sigh, walking into his bedroom and sitting down on the bed, izana stands in front of you, carding through his milky hair. “i know” he turns to you, leaning down slowly till his breath fans over your face.

“don’t you want this pretty pussy stuffed?” he questions, raising his hand to your lips, tracing his digit on your pouting lip “always want that from you” you whisper, allowing his finger to dip into your mouth.

“suck” he pushes the digit further in your mouth, shivers settling in his spine every time he thinks about spilling the words from his lips, lungs turning blue when he holds his breath feeling your tongue wrap around his finger.

“no teasin’ tonight i can’t stay long” you mumble, fluttering your lashes up at him, izana stills, his gut twisting “stay the night then cause i wanna take my time” izana pulls his finger from your mouth, pushing your back against the bed.

he ghosts over your face, violet pupils casting a sneer as he crawls down, fingers hooking under your pants and rolling them off your legs—nails digging into the plush of your inner thighs as he spreads them open, curses leaving his throat.

“i want you to cum on my tongue” izana murmurs, laying his tongue flat through your folds, you nod softly running your hands through his hair and yanking him harder on your heat “you only cum for me” izana darts his eyes up, venom dripping from them.

is it possible now to tell you or is it bad timing? you’re so vulnerable right now, pure as untouched snow, soft as the richest silk—voices ranging from a sultry moan to a mere whimper, izana twirls his tongue around your puffy clit, fingers plunging into your hole.

“i’m so close” your voice breaks his thoughts, flickering his eyes to your heaving chest, nipples shining through the thin fabric as they bounce, izana groans feeling your thighs knock against his cheeks, thick fingers dragging through your gummy walls.

“say i can only make you cum” izana utters, circling his warm muscle on your bundle of nerves, fingers curling and the waves begin to crash, heavy at first flooding against your body till they flow through you, a strong undertow while your orgasm washes against you—izana, he’s so mesmerized—he’s captivated, allured into your body arching clouding the room with broken cries.

“y-you only make me cum” your voice drives a dagger in his heart, it’s so easy for you to say something when he’s making you cum. “want you” he rises from your heat, bending your leg and throwing it over his hip, pulling down his sweats, tossing his shirt and yanking at yours.

izana drops a breath, glancing at his cock splitting you open and bends down to your level brushing his lips on yours “pussy so messy” he groans, pushing in and juices coat his balls at the amount of slick dripping from your hole. your hands wrap around his neck, moving your hips with his.

time feels so frozen, izana just wants this to last forever—all this time he’s took for granted, leaving you in radio silence, ignoring your subtle hints of something else and now that’s he’s on the receiving end, it feels like he’s swallowing agony knowing you’ll be gone soon.

“izana” your words chirp in his ear but he pays no mind, still thrusting inside you, cock stretching your hole with every stroke. “izana” you say his name again, but he’s on the edge, drowning in self pity—head above the waters of despair, barely staying afloat.

what is life afterwards when you’re not in it? his heart throbs, cock sending jolts of bliss through his soul, “izana” you’ve said his name again, but he can’t stand to hear it—knowing it’ll be the last time.

“why are you crying?” he finally turns to you, salty tears running down his face, raising his hand to touch his warm cheeks “i-i don’t know” he sits up on his knees, covering his face with his hands as he sobs, “i love you so much” he chokes out, chest tugged in sharp pains.

he feels your arms wrap around him, face nudging through his hands “i know you do” your voice is so delicate, lips finding his cheeks and kissing the wetness away, izana pulls his hands away, looking at you and awaiting the torture.

[12:01 AM]

“say it again” izana whines, locking lips with yours and slowly rocking his hips, gasps leaving his throat when his sensitive cockhead brushes against your spongy walls.

“i love you” izana heart pounds at the words, smiling as he presses his forehead against yours “i’ll never get tired of hearing that” he whispers, tracing his fingers amongst the sheets till he finds your fingers, intertwining them with his.

“i know” you laugh softly, gripping his fingers, izana rolls his hips inciting another moan from your lips, “stay with me forever?” he questions, chest fluttering with caged butterflies, “always” you whisper back.

a new day with izana as the clock struck another minute to the time, and another day izana has gained being in love with you.

tagging— @vryr

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords

Summary: In order to keep Ravka intact, general Kirgan, the Darkling, must marry. Needless to say, he’s not happy about it, but neither is his bride.

Warnings: indicating smut, slight angst

============================

Standing at the altar, wearing his black kefta, the Darkling grinds his teeth at the closed door at the end of it.

Any moment now, the door will open and his bride will appear as an angel in white. Except, the Darkling preferred to think of her as devil incarnate.

Although her beauty is without faults, her mind is sharp and her tongue can be sweeter than honey, Y/N Y/L/N is everything the Darkling hates.

She's entitled, bratty, arguably manipulative and downright cruel. She's all that and more, at least to him. But the one thing he cannot forgive her for is her lineage. As a daughter of a man he sought to destroy, Y/N became general Zlatan’s bargaining chip.

“You must marry her and she must be included in all decisions concerning Ravka on my behalf, or we will declare independence.”

General Zlatan gave the emperor no room to argue on the matter, forcing the marriage onto them. As the emperor had no male descendants to marry off, the next in line was general Kirigan. And while the Darkling fought the emperor on this instance, he was given no choice – either marry Zlatan’s daughter or someone else will be ascending as a leader of the Second army.

"Is it too late to run?" Ivan turns to Kirigan and Fedyor with a breathless chuckle, earning a dirty look from the official Y/N insisted marries them. She caved on the Palace setting, but no one could bend her will on who it is that seals their marriage contract.

"You promised." Fedyor reminds him and Kirigan closes his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Maybe some promises are best broken. She'll be the death of Ravka." Licking his lips, the Darkling glances at the door as a faint noise is heard on the other side of the door.

‘Of me’, he thinks to himself, ‘She’ll be the death of me.’

“She is Zlatan’s daughter with no special powers”, Ivan scoffs, “What could she possibly do?”

"I'll make her just as unhappy as I am now. She's never going to love me and I most certainly will never love her," the Darkling huffs, straightening his back as his eyes narrow at the door. “Unhappy women are always dangerous.” He pauses, pursing his lips, “Even if they are just human.”

"You said this is a business deal, so think of it as such." Ivan raises an eyebrow, wondering why is love even on Kirigan’s mind. In all his time serving his general, Ivan never heard the word pass his lips before now.

"I will”, the Darkling rolls his tongue, focusing on Ivan and Fedyor again. "Tell me you’d fight with me to preserve Ravka if I walk away."

"Do whatever you want, but you better be fast because your bride is coming", Fedyor nods toward the grand opening of the grandiose door, revealing a vision in white and the veil covering her face.

"Fuck", the Darkling mutters under his breath, his heart jumping at the sight.

He watched her walk, his nerves gnawing away at him and all he could think about is why his heart is beating so fast. Why would he be nervous? She should be the one drowning in nerves instead of walking so confidently. Why is she not afraid of him?

Folding his shaky hands behind his back, the Darkling could have sworn every step she took closer made his heart drop further in his chest. It was only a matter of time before he had nothing left but to accept his destiny and take an ordinary woman such as Y/N as his bride. Oddly enough, he found comfort in her mortality. She would die eventually and he’ll be free of her. If she angers him or her father stirs up trouble, he’d make sure he’ll be free much sooner.

Finally in front of him, Y/N holds her breath as the Darkling reluctantly pulls the veil up, revealing her face.

When she first met him, it was on a field of scattered, mangled bodies. He looked at the sky like a man would look at a withered flower in which he no longer sees the beauty he plucked it for, thus destroying it.

And when he looked at her, Y/N forgot to breathe.

There are no traces of doubt, no evidence this isn't the happiest day of her life. If anything, the Darkling is in awe of her and her ability to maintain composure without showing the slightest inkling of her disdain for him. He’s looking for a weakness, studying her in order to find something, anything he could use to make her submit to him, but she’s not flinching. Her stare is unyielding, fierce, and she is unbowed, like a rose in the eye of a hurricane.

"You should have worn the white kefta. Black is for funerals", she notes, her voice low and cold and the Darkling can't help but scoff.

“Black is my color. Besides”, he leans in, pressing his lips against her cheek before whispering, "It is a funeral."

While the crowd whispered and awed over the little exchange, Y/N's lips twitched into a brief smile. Reaching out for his hand, she tilts her head to her left, hiding her face with the veil as she scowls at him.

The ceremony begins, but neither the Darkling nor Y/N can truly focus on a single word said. Y/N is busy wondering what she could do best to make his life hell. This isn’t exactly what she had in mind for her future either and being exchanged like a broodmare to delay a war is unforgivable. She couldn’t forgive her father for giving her over to a known monster, nor could she forgive her seconds-to-be husband.

He is cruel, manipulative, a beast hidden under a handsome built and he may be appealing to the eye, but she can feel he’s rotten inside.

The Darkling’s eyes are fixed on her, examining every single inch of her rather small sized body. Though her curves are undeniable, her height would leave him with a craned neck and back pain in the future. Inhaling sharply, he tried to understand why his thoughts of all the things he hates about her include ripping that wedding dress straight off her. She looks far too appealing in a dress for him to ignore and it sparks a fire to further fuel the flames of hate he’s tended to.

Either way, quicker than imagined, the Darkling found himself saying "I do", forcing a smile that matched the one she displayed. Unlike his cold smile that didn't reach his eyes, Y/N was capable of making her smile believable, enough for him to envy her acting skills.

"You may kiss the bride."

Licking his lips, Kirigan's eyes flicker to Y/N's lips. He never kissed her before, the human who perfectly portrayed an ice queen. It would be a lie if he said kissing her never crossed his mind, but it didn't feel like he'd willingly do so even if he had a chance. He didn’t desire her at all. He refused to allow himself as much.

Y/N glanced at the crowd, seeing their little whispers about how long Kirigan is taking and how they pity her for marrying someone like him – a dark shadow, an abomination even in their world.

She felt a shuddered breath pass her lips as Kirigan leaned into her, torturously slow and the worst part? He smells good, intoxicating kind of good. And whether she liked it or not, her heart fluttered as his lips grazed hers and his hand cupped her cheek.

The Darkling's heart quivered, his mind overflowing with frustration. He couldn't comply and kiss her wholeheartedly, but he found himself wanting to turn her over, to have his way with her.

She's infuriating, unlawfully cocky and unjustly stunning. No wonder hell is where most mankind would go considering the beauty of its tempting demons that poise as naïve angels.

Snapping out of the daze, she pulls back first, whispering against his lips. "Hope you enjoyed it, because it will be the last time you’ll ever taste my lips in your lifetime."

Blinking slow, the Darkling smirked, genuinely entertained. "We will see about that", and he took her words as a personal challenge. 

He would melt the ice queen and have her on her knees, begging for his love before the year is done. He will demean Zlatan by turning his own daughter against him and he will do so with pleasure.

Part two

[bumblesimagines]

Forgotten Fairytale

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

I'm not afraid of this series not becoming as well loved as Green Thumb and I don't expect it to be popular. I've had the idea stuck in my head for a while and I'm getting it all out.

~

You looked over the artifacts the school had stored. You gave a small scoff, shaking your head as you noticed things that didn’t belong in a school.

“They call us thieves and hoarders yet half this shit was stolen off a corpse.” You muttered, stopping in front of a glass case protecting a sword.

“I wouldn’t suggest stealing that. It’ll be obvious.” You turned towards the redhead, sighing and tilting your head as she walked towards you.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” You looked back at the sword, eyes raking over it. 

“You know what this is?” You asked. Hope stood beside you, looking down at the sword. She shook her head, pursing her lips slightly.

“A man named Lord Jameson Wraith owned this sword. He was… a hunter of sorts and specialized in killing dragons. When he stabbed this through the chest of a dragon, the sword would light up and the dragon would burn from the inside. A gruesome, slow death. We were hunted like all others but it wasn’t just to protect humans. We were hunted for our meat, our teeth, and our scales. Humans declared war on us and when we fought back, we were erased from everyone's minds and deemed fairy tales where we continue to be killed by a so-called knight.” You explained, running your finger over the glass. 

“Some dragons were able to survive Malivore but as soon as they shifted… They were taken. They disappeared and left no trace.” You turned to look at Hope. The redhead stayed silent, a frown etched on her face.

“I’m sorry you lost your father. We’re working on finding Malivore and when we do, there’s a chance you’ll be able to see your father again.” Hope said softly, gaze still trained on the sword. 

“Where’s your mother? Alaric mentioned she was a vampire.”

“I was never able to meet her but.. I believe she’s dead.” You walked around the case, looking back up at Hope. You locked eyes with her, hearing her clear her throat.

“I’m sure she would’ve wanted to be in your life.” Hope offered a small smile, nails gently tapping against the case. 

“Are you being nice to me cause you need to find out more about me?” You asked, head tilting. Hope cocked a brow, eyes rolling as she turned away from you.

“Alaric really doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“He trusts you more than I do, that’s for sure. It’s just too much of a coincidence for you, a dragon, to show up when we’re dealing with monster after monster. If it weren’t for Alaric, I would’ve already done a spell on you.” Hope said as she walked around the room, features hard and serious. 

“A little witch spell wouldn’t work on me. You haven’t been trained to deal with dragons. If I was really one of those monsters, why didn’t I burn the building down and search for whatever it is that you have?” You asked curiously. Hope didn’t answer, thinking for a moment.

“Because you’d need to know if it was hidden.”

“Alaric asked if I felt a pull to this place. I suppose that means I would feel a pull towards the artifact, right?” You slowly walked towards her, a soft chuckle leaving you.

“You can kick and scream all you want, Red. I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.” You reached out, twirling a strand of her red hair around your finger. Hope grabbed your wrist, pushing your hand away.

“You’re up to something and I’m gonna figure out what it is.” Hope sneered, eyes narrowed. She turned around, walking towards the doors. She almost bumped into a man on her way out, quietly apologizing before moving past him. The man entered the room, clasping his hands together. 

“I’m Dorian Williams, the liberian and occasional substitute teacher.” Dorian introduced himself, finding a table and taking a seat. He motioned for you to sit across from him. You did so, taking a seat and crossing your arms as you eyed him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, (Y/N). I do have some suspicions that you might be after the artifact but.. You’re a kid. A kid who lost their father and wants answers. I’m not here to interrogate you about your intentions.” Dorian explained, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. 

“Do the other students know what I am?” 

“News spread like wildfire here, especially amongst the students so.. Yes, most likely. I can assure you that you’ll be treated like any other student-”

“So, Hope goes around telling every student she’s gonna figure out what they’re up to? No wonder she’s not popular.” Dorian let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“I promise Hope isn’t always like that. The monster problem we’ve been having has everyone on edge. Do.. Do you know anything about Malivore?” Dorian asked, sitting up and leaning forward. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna interrogate me.” You tilted your head, brow cocked. Dorian hummed softly, nodding. 

“Alright, we can talk about something else. The neck is a dragon's soft spot, right?”

“Depends.” You answered, licking your lips as you reached up to touch your necklace. 

“If a dragon is older and stronger, a hit to the neck isn’t gonna hurt them much. It might piss them off and they could lose their ability to speak or even stop them from breathing fire cause it’ll hurt to do so. We can still kill someone by stepping on them or snacking on them. We were on the top of the fucking food chain and humans just couldn’t deal with that.” 

“I’m not your enemy, (Y/N). I want to believe I can trust you. You’re a child and like all children, you need guidance. I see a lot of rage built up inside you. I can tell from the way you interacted with Hope and from what I heard. Landon and Rafael aren’t your enemies. They’re new and they have a rough past. The first dragon they met wanted to burn them into a pile of ashes so.. I’d say they’re being pretty welcoming.” Dorian held a soft yet stern gaze. It was obvious that he sympathized with you but at the same time, he wasn’t gonna deal with an attitude.

“Tell me about your father. What was he like?” Dorian asked softly. Your gaze dropped to the table, fingers squeezing around the key. 

“I’d appreciate it if everyone could stop talking about him as if he’s dead.” You breathed out, standing up abruptly as your eyes began to sting from tears.

“I don’t need to be welcomed into this school. I’ve been to high school before, I’m not some little kid whose hand needs to be held.” You walked out of the room, heading back to your dorm room. You entered the dorm, shutting the door behind you. You sniffled softly, walking towards the window and opening it. You stepped out, taking a seat on the roof. You brought your knees up to your chest, feeling the wind gently hitting your face. 

“The key to food is passion, remember that (Y/N).”

“I thought it was seasoning.” You grinned as you watched your father cook. He hummed, nodding with a chuckle.

“It is but food from a chef who feels no passion for it will taste bland and bitter. It’s the same with any other job. If you hate it, it’ll show and you’ll only hurt yourself. That’s why I always tell you to look for things you’re interested in.” (F/N) said, handing you a wooden spoon so you could help with stirring the soup.

“What was mom passionate about?”

“Your mother was.. She was a hurricane.” He began, sighing deeply. “She destroyed everything in her path and took down anyone in her way. Not many people have fond memories of her but I saw the good in her. I didn’t love her romantically but I considered her a good friend of mine. I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me the best gift a man could ever have.” You smiled widely, chuckling softly and rolling your eyes. (F/N) smiled softly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“No treasure could ever compare to you.” 

You bit your bottom lip, letting out a shaky sigh. You weren't used to being alone. Your father had always been there to back you up, to support you, and to provide comfort when you needed it.

“Christ, pull yourself together. You come from dragons and a psycho vampire.” You mumbled, carefully going back inside. You picked up the phone, turning it on and waiting for it to power on completely. You responded to a text, watching a call pop up. You clicked the green button and held the phone up to your ear.

“I thought you said it was stupid to be in contact.” You took a seat on the bed.

“Yeah, well, I was expecting you to be back by now. You do know your fathers return lies in your hands, right? Only I can help you get him back but I’ll only do that if you give me what I need.”

“I have a plan-”

“Speed up that plan before I change my mind, (Y/N). While you were on your way to the school, I bumped into some of your new friends. They were a redhead and an older man. I believe the girl went by the name Jessica but I doubt it was her real name.” You let out a deep sigh, head tilting upwards. Hope Mikaelson was gonna be a real pain in the ass.

“Yeah, I’ve met the redhead.” You breathed out, dropping your head and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“I just need you to relax, Ryan. I’ve got it handled but I really don’t need you fucking things up for me. You just keep up your end of the deal and I’ll keep up mine. You might be able to save my father but I can also keep you from helping yours.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. Don’t bother me again unless it’s an emergency.” You pulled the phone away from your ear despite Ryan continuing to talk. You hung up and tossed the phone to the side, burying your face in your hands. 

“Am I paying for my mothers crimes?” You whispered. You flinched when you heard two knocks on the door, standing up and approaching it. You opened the door, staring at Josie.

“What do you want, baby face?” You asked with a frown, looking down at the ice cream tub in her hands. Josie’s brows furrowed at the nickname but she ignored it, choosing to raise the tub. 

“I.. I kind of eavesdropped on you and Dorian and saw you rush out. Ice cream always makes me feel better when I’m feeling down, so I brought you some.” Josie shrugged lightly. You blinked, opening your mouth but nothing came out. 

“If you don’t like ice cream then I could see if-”

“Thanks.” You cut her off, watching her relax and give a small smile. Josie nodded, perking up when you stepped aside so she could enter. Josie looked around the room, humming. 

“If you want, we could go shopping for some decorations tomorrow after school.” Josie said, moving one hand under her skirt as she sat down. You nodded, taking a seat beside her and subtly turning the phone off. Josie opened the lid of the tub, handing you a spoon and giving a small shy smile.

“Well, Welcome to Salvatore School. I’m pretty sure dad is still figuring out your class schedule.” 

“Dad?”

“Oh, uhm, the headmaster is my dad.” Josie shrugged, digging her spoon into the ice cream. Your brows raised, a small smile spreading across your face. 

“Really? You look nothing like him.. Which is a big compliment.” You grinned as Josie let out a soft giggle. Things were definitely starting to look up.

[octania]

I see your requests are open and I gotta get this out my system bc my thirst is HIGH! 🥵 can I get a headcanon of our fire boys Beni and Vulcan (separate) of them getting their first blowjob? I honestly think they’d fucking love it tbh 🥵👉🏽👈🏽

My fiery thirst sister, here is your delightful request for your thirsty ass. I had a ...fiery time...making it. It went a bit longer than expected, because  I just don’t know how to keep things short and simple, plus it turned out more as a first time bj fic than headcanons but...oh well. 😂

Warnings: Smut, NSFW

Word count: 2.2 k

Short description: You had the honors to be the first woman that had her mouth on Beni’s and Vulcan’s cock. 😂

________________________________________________

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader / Vulcan x Reader Headcanons (NSFW, 18+)

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader 

There was a reason you waited for a late midnight hour to make your way to the bath house. It was empty. Well, almost. The passion for warm steaming water and peace and quiet was shared by your new boyfriend, the most respected man in your town, Benimaru Shinmon, the demolishing king of Asakusa.

 You shivered every time that description of him was mentioned, and it was not because of fear. The ideas that popped in your head on the word demolishing, were far from destructive…well at least not in the bad way.

You tried to calm your sexual fantasies and lewd desires, but seeing that man even in his clothes made your pressure high, and the fact that you two were still dating in secret and that moments of pure adrenaline when you were hiding in the dark corners to steal a kiss or two, which turned into a heated making out session were your would barely catch air between your lips crashing on each other, was not very helpful either.

How the hell did your thirty ass think that seeing him naked would be any easier?

It started innocent enough, going after him or before him, meeting him only in the hallways, stealing a glance of his naked muscular torso. You loved the sight after the bath more, because those firm muscles were glistering from the water, as the drops followed the perfect shape of his wide shoulders all the way across his chest, just to disappear in the wet towel around his hips. You barely managed to restrain yourself from licking your lips after imagining what is hiding under it. You would dry that part of his body better than any towel, that is for sure.

This time, you were sick of imagining things, touching yourself in that bath all alone after he makes your imagination running wild because of his appearance. If you are going to risk being caught doing that kind of things in a public tub, it might as well be with him. It was about time people knew he was yours anyways.

Knowing the exact time when Beni will go to take his bath, you waited patiently before entering the area. Finally, the time has come. And there he was, just on the usual spot, sitting with half of his body underwater, leaning on the edge of the tub on his elbows. Even though his strong back was relaxed, every muscle was shown from even a slightest movement. His raven hair half moist, a few strands of his hair glued to his forehead from the moisture. The beads of sweat sliding down from his neck to his collarbone.

You could not resist, you sneaked up to him with steps light as feathers, sliding your palms across his eyes. He jerked under your touch, but quickly relaxed when he recognized the two small hands holding him.

 Benimaru was not a shy person, he just kept his emotions to himself most of the time, but you sure did expect a bit more shyness than this. After all, he is naked in front of you, and the water is not that turbid to hide what is underneath.

“What are you doing here (Y/N)?”- his words were shaped with steam, and tone of his voice calm.

“Taking a bath, same as you.” – you ran your hands through his hair all the way to his broad shoulders, gripping them, starting to massage him tenderly. But what you really did not expect is what you get in return.

Benimaru would grab you on the forearm, pulling you into his lap. Splashing water did not bother him at all, while you were now in his arms, with soaked towel wrapped around you. You gazed at him in surprise, but his phlegmatic expression did not change one bit.

“You said you were taking a bath..well, now you are.”- two could play this game, you thought. You grabbed the end of your towel, pulling the wet and heavy thing away, now touching his bare skin with yours. Water covered you up to your collarbones, but you knew everything is more than visible.

“Now I am taking a bath.”- you move on his legs, pushing yourself up to get closer to him. You heard a deep growl coming from his throat. You were too close, and his body would react naturally to it. Even more when you leaned in to kiss him. The sensation of your needy kisses and light moans only made him wrap his arms around you and pull you closer. You could feel his dick brushing over you tight. He said nothing, as he pulled away from a kiss for a moment, breathing on your lips. His eyes were half closed. You could feel on his body he was restraining something, some wild desire that was slowly consuming him.

Your soft skin did wonders on the his sensitive parts, and he showed no embarrassment to the fact that he is rock hard. Although it sure didn’t seem like it, but Benimaru never had such an intimate moment with a woman, you were the first. Self-confidence had nothing to do with his bold behavior, but the hurricane of emotions you got him feeling was the reason even shame could not get to him. His usual “i don’t give a damn” expression was not just upgraded to the all serious “I am giving everything in my power not to destroy your pussy here and now”. You could sense it, and it made you crazy. You were not playing games any longer.

You stuck your tongue out, licking your way down his yaw, across his chest, to his ribs, and down under the water. His body tensed when you dived in, all so shamelessly. Seeing, or better said, feeling your tender lips reaching the base of his cock made him slide his hand on to your back, to lightly push you down, keep you from floating out. You started to make your way up from his base with your soft muscle caressing every bulging veins on that tender skin. The water made the friction a bit harder, but it did not bother you. When you reached the tip, you squeezed it with your lips, feeling the thick drips of precum spread around the surface of your tongue. Sucking the bitter-sweet drops, you ducked your head down, relaxed your throat and started sucking it all in.

 He could feel tingling in his whole body when you first tried to swallow his whole dick. Your hot mouth wrapped around his length, barely taking it in because of the size, woke up the beast in him. He wanted it deeper, but he know if he rock his hips up, you will choke on it. So he grabbed your hair, pulling your head up from the water gently, while his heavy cock was still in your mouth. He sat on the edge of the tub, absorbing the sight in front of him. Seeing you with your mouth full, only made his wish to move his hips grow larger. He pushed his hand on the back of your head, holding it in place, while he started pushing his dick down your throat.

He filled the tight space in seconds, and the burning desire coming from his red eyes made you give your best to stand still without air. Then he started moving. His thrusts were long and fast, as his breathing became a bit louder, jaw tightened, as he squeezed the edge of the tub with his free hand. The pressure he put on that wood made it crack, but better that then you. The destructing side of him was finally visible, and you wanted it all.

Jerking your head ahead and back in fractional strokes, you caught the pace of his rhythm. The stimulation from your moves made him lose it, as you can taste more of his precum leaking down your throat.

“Fuck…(Y/N)..I will..”- without even thinking about pulling it out, he released a load of thick warm cum. He wanted you to suck it dry, you could see it in his eyes, and feel it by the way he was still holding  your head. Your gaze carried a simple answer- “Yes captain.”- you sucked the liquid as it was your favorite thing, licking that tip clean in the end.

Joseph Vulcan x Reader

Vulcan loved when you would accompany him while he worked. He loved having you around, watching your amazed expression as he fixed or created new things. The spark of interest in your eyes just made him even prouder of his work, and thankful for having you as a girlfriend.

But, when you would came and sit on his lap, moving that hips around  because every time you saw something interesting you started jumping  up and down, making him have a hard time. Hard. Time.

He tried to readjust his sitting position, hiding the stiff erection the best he could, but he failed this time. Your merciless bouncing made his member wake up in seconds, pushing his jeans up, begging to be released.

Once you felt something underneath poking  you, you turned to him, just to see his flustered face.

“I am so sorry, (Y/N)!”- he almost yelled, trying to get up, but there is no way you are going to let him leave after feeling that over sized delight calling out for you. You pushed him back on the chair, turning around to face him.

“(Y/N)…”- he gasped as he felt your hands following the trail of his biceps, gazing at his tattoos. The seductive caressing of his skin made his heart beat in crazy rhythm like a broken clock. Seeing his big green eyes so full of confusion and his lips in a thin line made you giggle.

“Relax baby.”  - you whispered in a foxy voice, as your hands started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. Your hands would trace the outlines of his length over his boxers, exploring the glorious shape that man was blessed with. Your every tender stroke over it made Vulcan exhale deeply, trying to suppress the groans. But his efforts went down the drain when you pushed your hands under the flexible material, placing his dick in your palm. The skin on skin feeling made him tilt his head, and when you did a first stroke from the tip to the base, his voice finally went out.

 “Shit, babe….”- it sounded like a roar, and it made you continue your little show, wanting to see how else you can make him feel.

You were sure he had experience with women before, and you were not completely wrong. He was a catch, he liked the company, but a few dates were as far as his past relationships went. No, not because he would hit it and quit it, he did not go that far. Vulcan was a man who loved the idea of family. A group where mutual respect and love would be shared unconditionally, so the idea of his lover was similar. After all, he was the king of that family, and the affection for his queen is enormous. But, he did not let just anyone sit on that throne, he gave himself time to find the right one. And here you are, getting the honor of satisfying that king for the first time.

You were on your knees in no time. You pulled his boxers down, now facing the swollen tip which had a pearl of precum leaking from it. You gazed at Vulcan’s face. Putting his hand behind his neck  made his biceps pop out so much it looked like a mountain, his expression a definition of raw desire. You kept the eye contact as you leaned in, licking around the tip. His jaw tightened, as a growl went from his throat. After a few long licks on the side of his cock, you started to jerk it at the base , while you were sucking the part from the tip all the way to your hand.

“(Y/N)…”- he moaned your name not taking his eyes from you, reaching with his free hand to your cheek. He caressed your skin with his fingers, making tender circular motions with his thump on your jaw, eventually pulling you closer to make you take it in your mouth more.

 As the king wants, king gets. Your hand started to pick up the pace, and so did your mouth, swallowing his thick cock till it reached your throat. The saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth, but he did not mind, he loved the sight in front of him.

“That’s it babe…fuck..you are so good.”- he kept petting your face as you were playing with your tongue around his cock while sucking. The electric feeling in his body was building up, and you could feel that he was close because his dick started to twitch, his hand started to grip on your jaw harder.

To please your king and give him a happy ending, you removed your hand without warning, ducking down, swallowing the whole thing to the base. It triggered just what you wanted.

“Fucking hell babe!”- he roared, pulling it out, aiming for your tits, as he painted your skin with white strings of cum. After all, he wanted to mark his queen to the end.

If you want to support my work, you can leave me a small tip on Ko-fi 💖 . It is highly appreciated. 🥺 😍

[littlefreya]

Nice day for a White Wedding

Summary:  Even on your wedding day, there is no getting away from August. His grip over you has no boundaries.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (you)

Word count: 3.3K

Warning: Explicit smutty smut, MaleDom/FemSub, stripping, spanking (rather hardcore this time), slight fingering, bondage, rough sex. Wheeeeee

A/N: So my amazing @agniavateira​ who is also my editor(!) challenged me to a request a while ago and it turned out Ummm more explicit than I thought. So I hope you guys don’t unfollow me after this but not blaming you if you will. Also the name, yes, I am a Billy Idol fan. 

Title: Nice Day for a white wedding

White suits you well, a delicate contrast against the shade of your skin. That dress was, without doubt, a marvellous choice. Your mother complained about it being too simple, wanting you to pick something more extravagant. But you knew from the moment you saw it that this dress you wanted to get married in.

The sheer fabric with the little floral details, the way the tulle flows from your hips and falls down your feet makes you feel like a fairytale princess. You can’t help but pose at the mirror in your living room; chin atop the arch of your shoulder, tilting your head and letting your hair sway down your forearm.

All that’s missing is a little golden tiara and a bouquet of pale pink roses and you’ll be ready for the big day.

You nudge your thumb against the diamond ring, and then collect the tulle of the dress in both arms, lifting it and letting it fall calmly onto the floor.  

“Looks good on you, princess.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don’t even need to turn, that deep thunderous voice is already distinguished. 

Your little fairytale has taken a dark twist. You glance at the reflection, watching how he appears from the umbra of light.

A monstrosity so beautiful it makes your heart feel sunken.  

You keep quiet, letting his footsteps dominate the atmosphere in the room, making it thick and heavy with fear. He moves from the darkness, letting the light shower his face. He looks the same as the day you left him. His face still appears as if it was cut from marble by some artist; that moustache still adorns his face, giving him that dangerous-looking edge. 

Without even noticing you hold your hands together, trying to cover that striking diamond ring. But August notices, his eyes trailing over your reflection, drinking in every detail.

“When is the wedding?”

You swallow hard and narrow your eyes, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. He has no right to be here, to taint the new life you created for yourself. 

Because that’s what hurricane Walker does, he leaves you bleeding, a wreck of a woman. 

August lowers his head, looking at his shoes. Knowing him well, it only means that he is harbouring his anger right now. Hell, he has been harbouring it for the last three years.

“This weekend.” 

Talking to him feels as if you broke some spell or summoned a demon by mistake, making him real and not just a figment of your imagination. 

He answers with a bitter smile, his eyes touched by a storm. 

“You really thought you can just leave and then marry someone else? You really thought I’d never find you?” 

“I never thought you’d care enough to bother.” you dare, assuming you’re right. But you remember what happens when you err with August. The payment is painful.

The storm inside him begins to rage. His eyes blaze, even from where you’re standing you can see the small wrinkles that form at each corner.  

“Turn around.” 

Slowly and carefully, as if to not awaken any sleeping dragons, you turn. Refusing to meet his glare, you stare at the floor, hands laying loose at the tulle of your dress.

“Take off that fucking dress.” 

He commands in a voice so calm and rich it wouldn’t have sounded like order if it was heard by another person. 

Stunned by his demand, you finally gain the courage to look into his eyes. The sight of those blue crystals is the cage that draws you in. 

A prison of delights, made of diamonds. Beautiful, but still sharp.

He smirks, knowing he just won. One look and you are his, you’d fight it every time but the conclusion would always be the same: you’d be sore and sorry. Numerous times you told him it was over, yet you always took him back.  

“Did I stutter? Do as you’re told!”

Much to his delight, your chest heaves, making your breasts rise and fall in the v-shaped cleavage of your dress.. You reach a hand behind your back, pulling the zipper down which immediately makes the dress loosen from your body.  

Staring down at nothing but your shattered dignity, you reach for the strap hooked around your shoulder and begin slipping it down. 

“Slowly, and keep your eyes on me.” August demands, forcing you to pause with the strap in the middle of your forearm. Your eyes dart up to meet his stare, trying to read whatever is in that dark mind. 

Perhaps, it’s best you’d never find out.

The strap slides down your forearm before you tend to the other, letting your fingers strip it down while trying to think of some sensual song in your head. That’s what August wants: debauchery and eroticism.   

Your eyes remain on the beautiful blues obediently, trying to show no fear, but the quiver in your lower lip gives it away. August remains composed, caging you in his gaze, there is a faint grin in it.  

The fancy dress finally slips from your body, the fabric swirling around you for a swift moment like tender petals falling from a rose. It piles at your ankles and you hurry to cover your breasts as if he hasn’t seen them a thousand times before. 

He gives a huff, taking one step closer while shaking his head. 

“Aww, is my little princess getting shy? Lay down your arms.”

You obey, exposing your breasts to him. 

The outlines of his cock begin to show as he hardens against his trousers. The thought of it makes you damp in your underwear. It’s been three years, you can’t help but wonder how many broken mouths he had around him since you left. 

You’ve only been with one man and he is hardly the man August is. Yes, he satisfies you, but August destroyed you. 

His hand reaches to adjust his erection before inching toward you. The soft thud of his footsteps makes your heartbeat pace abnormally. The closer he gets, the bigger he looks. You wonder for a slight moment if he was this muscular back then when you still dated.

Finally, he towers over you, his face tilted down as he looks at you, offering a slanted smirk full of dark desires. You remain stoic, unsure how you’re supposed to react but then he leans in, pressing his lips ever so gently on your forehead. 

Everything you felt three years ago hits you like an axe at the back of your head. You breathe, nearly shocked by the circus of emotions that flood your chest. All that love and lust, all that fury and sorrow. 

Falling for August is worse than any sad love song ever written. The problem is, you’re sinking into an abyss.    

His lips hover over your mouth, his nose gently bumping against yours. Still, he remains there. Only his hands move as they work the seam of your plain cotton panties, rolling them down your thighs. 

He takes your hand, raising it and slightly pulling away so it will be at the level of his face. He looks at your ring finger with harsh disapproval. Opening his mouth, he takes your finger in, making you flinch as the hot wetness of his saliva surrounds your delicate finger. He suckles on it for a mere second. Your finger comes out bare and he spits the ring on the floor with utmost contempt.

With your wrist locked in his large hand, you never dream of protesting. On the contrary, you want to beg him for more, forgetting that you once had dignity. You can’t help but pout at his mouth, your eyes seeking that little freckle on his lower lip. 

“Did you dream of the moment I’d find you?” August asks, letting his finger trace the shape of your mouth.

“Sometimes, it was a nightmare.” you declare, parting your lips against his touch.

August hisses through his nose, his touch turning from gentle to crude in an instant. He grips your nape and conquers your mouth, exploiting your flimsy gasp to slip his tongue in. He kisses you for your betrayal, for all the years he had to suffer others, for the days he needed you and you weren’t there. His lips suck onto yours, changing angles to onslaught you from every direction. His tongue is fickle as it overpowers yours, and you hear that deep hum of his voice that makes you flutter against him.

Your lips are swollen and red when he ends the kiss. If not for the hand that holds your nape and hair, you’d be down on the ground by now.

“Get on your knees.” 

Still breathless you stare at him stunned as if his words are suddenly too complicated. Sighing with a wisp of frustration he shoves you down, forcing you to kneel in front of him. 

You are now facing his very hardened bulge, your eyes stare at his groin and then travel up to look at him submissively. August is in his favourite position, on top, staring down with his chest puffed with arrogance. His hands reach to unbuckle his belt and you can’t help but press your hands to massage that aching desire of his, longing to have him in your mouth.

But he has other plans, forcing your chin away with a pinch of his fingers. “No, I want you on four and I want to see you crawl.”

His hand leaves your chin, his head gestures at the direction of the bedroom. Where you and your-soon-to-be husband spend the night.

“Do as you’re told.” he commands, hardly even needing to raise his voice. “And do it slowly, I want to look at your cunt, I want to see how much you drip for me, understood?”

“Yes, August.” You turn on your knees and begin crawling on four, trying to be as sensual as possible. You arch your back and sway up your ass for the man you’ve abandoned for so many good reasons, yet right now you can’t even think of one.

You can hear the rustle of clothes behind you, the thud of his shoes being thrown somewhere and eventually the sound of the leather of his belt as it slips from around his waist. There is a small smacking sound and you realize he’s still holding the belt and slapping it against his palm. 

Your knees nearly give in at the thought of what awaits you in this bedroom. But you still crawl on, swallowing your pride. 

August kicks the door closed when the two of you are finally inside. It’s just the two of you in the house, you find it odd but then you realize it means to heighten your fear, to make you feel hopeless and owned. 

He reaches for your elbow, pulling you to stand up, letting you glimpse his god-like form only for a moment before throwing you facedown on the bed. You are pleased to see you were right, he has grown bigger in the last three years, gaining more muscle.  

You feel the bed shift as he places one knee on the mattress, and with one strong hand, he collects you to stand on four again while he kneels right behind you. You know what’s coming next but you are still surprised, hissing in as his large hand slaps your ass and then squeezes your flesh possessively.

“Did you miss this, princess?” his hand squeezes even harder, his middle finger slightly teasing your slit. 

You bite your lips, leading forward and squirming with anticipation for the next one. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he asks and grants you another slap, this time making sure not to miss your swollen lips. You gasp, fingers wrapping around the floral linen of the bed. 

“Yes sir.”   

You turn your head, seeing him stare at your mound with sick hunger while the bulge in his trousers appears agonisingly enormous. This is what always scared you about August, how much he was willing to endure to torture others.

“Look away,” he warns you as he notices your stare. You realize the belt is still in his hand and you shiver, uncertain if you want to find out what August planned as your sweet punishment for running away. 

“You thought you can just come into my life and leave?” he asks you, one hand sliding up the curve of your ass. You mean to answer but then you feel movement behind you, and then make the mistake of turning your head to gander at him.   

The first smack takes away your breath. The leather stings against your skin, so harsh that for a moment there you are sure the flesh came off from your behind. You try to be brave, fighting away that cry that begs to escape from your throat. 

You deserve this, after all.

You hear him breathing heavily behind you, prolonging the time of the next smack. You won’t foresee it or get used to the pain too quickly, so the excitement will get you wetter. You try to adjust your breath, your back arching upward and downward when you receive the second smack. 

“Uh!” the whimper you fought to keep leaves your lips, your hand pulls on the bedsheet. The worst part is that you’re throbbing, and not just from the pain. Your petals are swollen red, needy for more and August sees it all, enjoying every second of how pathetic you are.

August unleashes another punishment on your ass and this time you cry is a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your entire body squirms back and forth as if daring him to give you more.

The time in which you receive the fourth, fifth, and sixth smacks are nearly immediate. As you hiss and mewl you can hear August chuckling behind you, his free hand massaging your red aching ass, his fingers sliding up and down between your folds almost clinically to feel the soaking thick wetness that awaits him there. 

“You’re so wet, does this boy of yours make you wet as I do?” 

“No, sir!” your voice cracks into a cry, certain you will receive another smack but instead his hand strokes your body with tenderness that is a complete contrast to what you’ve just gotten used to. August always loved to play hard, he wanted you to feel him, not just his body but the raging storm of emotions inside him. 

But when he is gentle, and he would be occasionally after breaking you apart, it would be the certain touch that’ll make you die out of love. 

His strong digits brush down your sensitive muscles, soothing you, tracing and admiring every curve he missed and yearned for. 

You moan, enjoying his caress, eyes closing dream-like while the mattress shifts again. You sense August as he moves closer, his arm reaching to grab at your torso, pulling you to stand on your weak knees. He keeps you pressed against his chest whispering in your ear how much he missed you while brushing your hair aside. His kisses are amorous, prolonged and wet on your neck, trailing up and down, leaving tingling sensations on your body.

“August…”

You hum in delight, you missed having his name on your tongue even though you’ve been doing that many times while pleasing yourself, ashamed of how even when you ran away, this man still had you captive. 

“Take me, princess,” he demands against your ear in a raspy voice. Somehow you manage to ignore the snake-like sensation of the harness that wraps around your neck. When you realize what he is doing, you’re already leashed and thrown back on your elbows while August kneels behind you, holding one hand around your waist while the other is clasped around the leather strap.

“August!”  

He hushes you sweetly and tugs the strap to warn you, making you grind backwards at his demand. 

“Be my good girl,” he asks darkly and pushes himself all the way inside you, as deep as he can possibly reach. His fist tightly holds the strap, pulling you to him to meet his thrust and slide you on his cock.

Your groans are synced in a delightful unison, both of you overwhelmed by how much you missed each other’s bodies.

August makes you feel whole, not just by his generous length and girth, but because it’s him. Even though he made you cry way too many times that you can count, the ache of not being with him was far, far worse. 

He pulls away from you in an achingly slow rhythm, one hand squeezing your pained cheek while the other slightly loosens on the leash. You already protest at his departure, needing him back inside when his fist clenches again, tugging you back to meet his punishing thrust. 

“You feel... so... good, princess.” his voice is as broken as your heart as he sheaths himself inside you, groaning loudly to let you know how great and tight you are around his cock. “Take it,  take it all.”

You’re a whimpering, feeble thing, completely submissive to his urge. Throwing your head back with your hair falling against your spine, you let him slam into you again. August harnesses you like a bitch, having complete control over you while your heart flutters at both the sensation of his cock splitting you apart and those deep grunts that escape his mouth. You’ve missed everything about him, the scent of his body, the bass of his voice, his ravenous gaze and even his stupid moustache.

You’re in a haze, existence becoming nothing but beating emotions, your united throbbing organs and the friction that continues to tighten and grow. Suddenly, August’s entire weight is sinking onto you. He moves to cover you, one hand pressing on the mattress while the other reaches out to your neck. His fingers lace underneath the leash while he begins to pump into you violently. 

There is wetness on your cheeks, rolling and dripping down your chin beyond your control. August sighs, looking at you and kissing the salty tears away.

“You know, you look really pretty when you cry.” 

Little spasms spiral from your core, right where you are connected, where August is claiming you as his. He grinds you into oblivion, ignoring the resistance of your walls and whispering dirty things in your ear. One by one, the tendrils of pleasure begin to snap and your walls shudder and dance urgently around his cock.

“Did you really think you could just break my heart, princess?!” 

It was all it took to destroy you. You collapse forward, your orgasm is so intense, you crouch down beneath the large man and scream your pleasure into the pillow. Your ass bucks back against him, taking his swollen cock all the way inside and forcing him to lose control and erupt into your body with a shudder and a prolonged grunt.

You feel the warmth of his seed seeping inside you. He likes to grind himself in while filling you with his cum, giving you all he has before pulling out and watching how it trickles down from your battered entrance with some twisted pride.

With his hands around your ribs, he takes you down with him, lying you on your back while he hovers onto you, sweaty and panting. Now begins the part when he takes care of you, soothing kisses and claiming strokes on the wetness of your body.

“Call off the wedding,” he makes one last demand, his lips pressing to your abdomen, trailing down lower in apology for every painful bruise that surely will be there tomorrow. 

You comb the mess of curls on his head between your fingers, watching him with a clenched heart while he lifts your legs and kisses all the way from your curled up knee to your inner thighs. 

“You are coming home with me, and that’s the end of it.”

Closing your eyes, you flex on the mattress with muscles aching from his touch. Your lips part slightly as you whisper your answer into the dark. _______________________________

[spencersstrawberryjello]

Zugzwang (Spencer Reid)

Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 ANGST ANGST ANGST it's just Spencer's thoughts from the beginning of season 8 episode 13, him reflecting on everything that went down with the Zugzwang episode

Content: ANGST it’s all angst this episode stomped on my heart so I wanted this one shot to do the same

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and depressive thoughts and actions, as well as swearing

MC’s name and pronouns: No alternate main character, just Spencer Reid being sad

Word Count: 1451

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“Spence, listen, if you’re in there we just wanna know that you’re alright,” JJ called through his apartment door. When he didn’t respond, Garcia chimed in from next to her, an overflowing gift basket now resting at her feet.

“Knock twice if you’re conscious!” She called. After a moment, two definitive knocks echoed through the hallway and she sighed, turning to JJ with a pained expression.

“Is he ever gonna be ok?”

JJ nodded, trying to smile in comfort but coming out with something that looked more like a grimace. “Eventually. And he knows that we’re all here for him, no matter what.” 

She raised her voice on the last sentence so Spencer could hear her through the apartment door, and Garcia echoed her sentiment. After another moment of silence, JJ glanced back to the woman beside her.

“Come on,” She ushered her down the stairs, Garcia following her reluctantly. He heard their footsteps retreat down the hall, listening to the echo of their heels until he couldn’t hear them any longer. 

On the other side of the door, Spencer sat motionless on the floor, his back slumped against the hard wood, unwashed hair hanging limp in front of his eyes. He eventually mustered up the energy to cross his destroyed apartment back towards the couch where he’d practically lived since the night his life went to shit. He felt momentarily proud of himself for doing the simple act of communicating; for the first time in two weeks, he felt like he might take a shower, eat something healthy, retrieve one of the dozens of gift baskets Penelope had left outside his apartment door. That was, until his eyes landed on the coffee table.

That book. 

His steps faltered, The Narrative of John Smith sitting silently in front of him, sending a rush of memories back through his mind as he picked it up, gripping it like a lifeline.

That book had been sent to him at the restaurant, a gift just before they were about to meet. A gift that showed just how connected they were, as it was identical to the one he planned to give to her. 

Right after that evening, he wished he didn’t call off their date. Her safety was the first thing in his mind, of course, but the fact that they were so close… it hurt. Now, he wished he’d called her back, had her wait in the cab so he could make sure the area was safe before she got there. He was a fucking FBI agent, after all.

He wished he’d seen her before it all went to hell.

Instead, all that remained was the book.

The book that was now stained with his tears. 

The book that was the only thing he had left of Maeve.

The book, and 2,412 hours in his memory.

Because that’s all she was now: a memory.

The thought punched him in the stomach, and he collapsed back onto the couch, hugging the book close to his chest in an attempt to fight the tears that were already running down his face. Exhaustion clawed its way to the front of his mind, driven by the seemingly unending stream of tears that had been on and off since the night of Maeve’s death. 

Murder. Maeve’s murder. The thought sent an unfamiliar shock of blinding rage through his mind. 

He knew about the five stages of grief, of course. He was an expert in human behavior, and he knew grief best of all. He’d seen it exhibited in so many ways, in so many different people he’d profiled. 

But he’d never felt it like this before. 

Even having his mom sent to the hospital hadn’t hurt as badly as this, and that had hurt pretty damn badly. But this was a different kind of grief: it was all-consuming, soul-crushing, the kind of pain you only felt when you knew something had come to an end. When you knew that you were never going to get something you wanted back. 

He was never going to get Maeve back.

He’d replayed that night over and over again in his mind, so many times he was sure it was burned into his brain. He’d watched the scene in his mind like a movie, trying to think of any way he could’ve possibly saved her. 

“I don’t love you.”

Those were the last words he ever said to her. 

And god, he’d loved her. He’d never had to tell a harder lie than that one. To finally get the chance to look at the most beautiful girl in the world, face to face, and to have to tell a lie that was so heartbreaking he could barely get it off of his lips destroyed him. And yet, he did it. Because he thought that if he did, he’d have a chance to explain afterwards. To apologize. To tell her that he loved her so much it made him dizzy. 

To hold her.

But the image of her body on the floor, blood pooling around her… it cut through every single happy thought he could conjure up. Be it memory or fantasy, nothing could beat back the brutal scene.

“Thomas Merton.”

He had fallen for her mind. And she had fallen for his.

“He knows.”

He wasn’t even able to muster up a response, his mind filled with nothing but her voice.

“He’s the one thing you’ll never take from us.”

Thomas Merton was her goodbye. Her final message for him, said in a code only they would understand. The message bounced around his mind now, a broken farewell that killed them both.

Maybe it was her reaching out to him from whatever comes after the hellscape he was living through. Trying to tell him it would be ok.

But how could it be ok when he remembered every word they exchanged. Every joke, every book recommendation, every payphone conversation that was worth every cent.

He remembered exactly how her voice had sounded when she said those three words that changed everything. 

“Bye. Love you.”

A slip-up, probably. So used to conversations with parents, ending every call with the phrase just in case something unimaginable happened before you saw that person again. But he wished, more than anything else, that he’d called her back that day. That he’d faked forgetting something she told him, even though that would be impossible. That he’d pretended to need to mention something just so he could end the call with those three words.

“Bye. Love you.”

Somewhere in his heart, he knew she’d meant it. That it wasn’t a mistake. 

He sure as hell would’ve meant it.

“I don’t love you.”

He’d sat there while Diane touched him, her hands a trail of pain across his chest. Even the thought of it made him want to scrub his skin clean, made him want to erase every spot she’d tainted, as if he hadn’t already tried that the moment he got home. 

And his lips.

God, if he’d only closed his eyes. If he’d only played into the lie one step more, Maeve might be in his arms right now.

Instead, he held her book in his arms, tracing his finger over the note that he’d read a thousand times, even though he could recite it by memory after only once. 

Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - We find it with another.

His eyes drifted over tear stains that got dangerously close to smudging the ink on the page, and he closed the cover, acutely aware of the hollow feeling in his chest. The tears that felt like an endless well suddenly felt dried up, leaving nothing but a pit right through his heart. He wasn’t sure which feeling was more miserable. Grief and guilt combined to form a hurricane of torment, battering at his mind until he was sure that nothing would remain.

His eyes drifted to the curtain-covered windows across from his couch, not really focusing on anything around him. His mind had wandered so much in the last two weeks that he wasn’t sure if it would ever return to the way it was. He felt like he should probably get up, do something, but the mere thought was too exhausting to handle. So, he let his mind wander, drifting to the thought that he felt guilty even having. 

He thought they deserved to be happy.

He thought they deserved more than 100.5 days together. 

He thought they deserved something worth fighting for, even when both of their lives were so twisted in so many dark ways. 

Apparently he thought wrong.

[offtopicoverload]

Disney Princess

This turned into way more than the single ficlet I started with and I already have a ton of other chapters started and planned. They'll definitely be going up on Ao3, but I'm not sure about tumblr. Lemme know if you'd rather have them posted here too, I’ll do whatever lmao

Aurora had a plan. She’s always had a plan - for chores, for school, for her career. She’s had a plan for everything, every single detail of her future and every single detail of her life, from who she’ll work for to what street she’ll live on in ten years. She’s always had a plan, and it never once included Rylen Damen, the hurricane that’s blown into her life and destroyed every single one of those carefully crafted plans.

Chapter 2

Aurora x MC (Rylen Damen (changed it lol))

~4k

Read on Ao3

-

Aurora Emery is running.

She doesn’t know where she’s going, or why she needs to go there, but she knows she can’t stay where she is. She knows she can’t seek refuge in her aunt’s office, she can’t look for comfort in the other interns, or even the residents and attendings, she can’t distract herself by caring for her patients anymore. She needs to run and hide and forget the world until it gives up and forgets her, too.

She spots a supply closet down the hall and runs straight for it, throwing the door open and shoving it closed. She steps further inside, tears suddenly springing from her eyes as her throat tightens, raw and awful. She drops against the opposite wall to the door, her knees pressing against her chest as she splinters in some random supply closet, alone and ignored by the world.

She shouldn't be surprised at this point, it's not new, it's not strange. This isn't even the first time she's cried inside the walls of Edenbrook, only now it's so much more, now it's unstoppable and debilitating as she cries into her scrubs, her body shaking with each rasping breath and each sob as she just crumbles, falling apart as the rest of the hospital carries on without her, not even sparing a second thought for someone so irrelevant to them.

The door creaks open, Aurora’s eyes flying up to meet a curious gaze, “H-Hey!” she sniffs, wiping her sleeve under her running nose. “Get out!” she glares at the figure, even as she’s slumped on the floor beside shelves of toiletries with mascara pouring down the length of her face in dark streams.

“Aurora?” the figure whispers, stepping inside the cramped closet and closing the door as their footsteps draw them closer to a teary Aurora.

“Go on, then. Say it,” she spits through tears, her voice cracking under the weight of her sobs and hurt. Cleaving under the pressure of everything she’s ever wanted to say but held back and fracturing from the size of everything she’s never wanted to say but forced from her throat anyway.

The figure drops before her, setting a stack of charts they were carrying a foot or so away, their eyes surprisingly earnest and concerned as they gaze into Aurora's, “Say… what?”

Aurora sniffles again, wiping at the tears under her eyes now, “What you and everyone else have always wanted to say!” she accuses harshly. “That I’m only here because of my name! That I don’t deserve my spot!” she chokes on the last words, as if they could physically hurt her to release them, and they almost do.

“Are you okay?” a stupidly kind and soft and concerned voice asks from above her, a hand landing on Aurora’s shoulder and squeezing comfortingly.

She jerks away from the touch, “Do I look like I’m okay? I’m crying in a freaking supply closet!”

“Okay…” The figure sits beside her, staring ahead and nodding absentmindedly, “What happened to make you cry in a closet?”

Aurora scoffs, “Everything,” her voice falling away with the words. “I’m just so goddamn tired,” it comes out as only a whisper, her eyes focusing on her knee as a finger traces a circle on her shin.

“Of what?”

“Everything!” she repeats, fire back inside of her at having to repeat herself. She shouldn't be having this conversation, this entire thing is ridiculous. Why are they even bothering with her? God, this is insane.

“Well, let’s start with one thing," they begin. "What’s been bugging you the most? What made you come in here?”

“My aunt?” she shrugs with a frown, swallowing thickly before speaking again, “I thought she’d lay off while she was busy with your hearing… but she’s pushing me even harder,” she confesses reluctantly, still feeling ridiculous.

“Pushing you? What do you mean?”

She sighs, “I know you all think I have an easy ride here because of her… but you have no idea how much she expects of me.”

“Because of your family name?” the figure turns, looking to Aurora curiously, as if the makeup streaked across her features isn't even there, as if they're having the most casual of conversations, as if they're sitting in the cafeteria discussing movies or something equally trivial.

“Sure, that,” she shrugs. “And also the fact that she hates being an administrator. Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to live through me because she doesn’t get to practice anymore.” Her arms tighten around her legs, chin landing on her knee, “She makes Zaid and Ines set me the most complicated cases, and then she calls me to her office to talk about them for hours and hours.”

“So she gives you the answers?”

“No!” she turns, glaring furiously, “She just grills me until I find them. And then when I finally get a second to myself, away from her or the patients, I get flocked by those… those leeches,” she grimaces, “It’s like med school all over again.”

Aurora used to enjoy her classes when she was younger, she loved science in high school and most of her undergrad courses. But that stopped when she reached med school. Itwas awful for her, even if she loved her classes, it wasn't enough, it just became draining, the only escape from everything that dragged her down outside of those halls.

She had no real friends, she had no allies, she had no one to trust. Everyone wanted to partner with her because they thought she was a genius, everyone wanted to impress her or bribe her into letting them meet her aunt, everyone wanted to get close to her just for the career boost. And she hated how easily she used to fall for it, how many people she thought she was genuine, close friends with just for them to abandon her when she couldn’t introduce them to whatever famous doctor they idolized. She hated how alone and broken she always felt as they walked away, as she retreated to her dorm to cry and break down, just like she’s doing right now, after all this time.

Tears well in her eyes again, slowly sliding down her cheeks as they escape and muddy with her mascara, “You have no idea what it’s like knowing that everyone who talks to you or tries to be your friend is just doing it to get in with your family.”

An arm wraps around her back, pulling her into the figure’s side gently, “I had no idea you were having such a hard time. I’m sorry,” the tone is sincere, the words precious as they hit Aurora’s ears.

But she’s not falling for this again, she's not letting someone in just for them to hate her when she's not enough, just to abandon her when she can't give them what they want, just to leave her crying and lonely like everyone else has. “Like you care,” she scoffs, pulling back from the arm around her.

But that arm still stays, lighter now, “I do. I care about you and what you’re going through. I’ve never once cared that you’re an Emery, I care that you’re Aurora, and you could have let me tell you that before. But you were a jerk to me from day one. I wasn’t trying to get in with you because of your name. I didn’t even know who your aunt was, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” the figure tries, a thumb brushing Aurora's side absentmindedly, sending jolts of electricity through her entire body.

“What, did you learn medicine in the woods or something?” Aurora scoffs once more, rolling her eyes as that arm tightens around her back again.

“That’s what Jackie said,” the tone’s lighter, almost humorous as it falls from the figure sitting beside her. Before a breath is sucked in, evaporating the humor and the lightness, “Look, I think you’ve been burned by people using you so much that you’ve stopped giving people the benefit of the doubt. I get it," a shrug, "You don’t want to trust people. But if you never give yourself a chance to be wrong… you’ll never be right either.”

Aurora falls silent, a hand circling her back comfortingly as she stares into the darkness of the supply closet, the shelves of cleaning supplies and toiletries. “You don’t have to be alone, Aurora.”

And then she cracks and crumbles, falling apart at that one word, that stupid, awful word that’s haunted her for years, that left her cold and exhausted of everything, that stabbed her in the heart for even daring to have one. The tears fall faster than before, waterfalls flooding her skin as they drip from her chin and sobs shake her once again, a familiar sensation after all these years of being truly, hopelessly, despairingly alone.

Arms wrap around her, pulling her against the figure, and as soon as they do, she falls apart even more. She shatters into thousands of pieces knowing that this is the unfamiliar component in this entire ordeal, that something as simple as comfort has eluded her for who knows how long. Something as simple as concern or caring or whatever motivation the person she’s sobbing against has is entirely foreign to her now.

This isn’t how things were supposed to go, this is nowhere near how things were supposed to go. Aurora was supposed to be her own person without her aunt’s shadow, to dominate the other interns and win the spot on the diagnostics team, to prove herself as an amazing doctor, with or without her last name. She was supposed to be level headed and calm, confident and capable, the best of the best. She was supposed to be perfect, to be everything her aunt wasn’t, to be better. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be crying into the shoulder of one Rylen Damen in a dimly lit supply closet when she should be tending to her patients, helping the people relying on her to tell them what’s wrong, how to fix it.

But she doesn’t even care to fight anymore. She doesn’t care that she’s not enough, that she’s not the best, that she’s still under her aunt’s debilitating shadow. She doesn’t feel like working harder than anyone to prove herself or destroy her competition, doesn’t feel like pushing herself to her breaking point, doesn’t feel like fending for herself anymore as she falls apart beyond repair, not when Rylen’s being so… so… so Rylen.

Which is such a ridiculous thing to think, that someone’s simply being themself, simply behaving as they would any other day, simply doing what comes naturally to them. But that doesn’t change how true it is, how perfect and amazing it is, and how much Aurora never wants it to end, never wants any of this to stop, never wants to walk away from this damned supply closet just to start drowning in everything that drives her mad again.

She never wants this to end, she never wants Rylen to stop tracing her spine so lightly and comfortingly, she never wants Rylen to stop whispering into her hair with a tone that’s so kind and soft, and she never wants Rylen to stop hugging her so. Incredibly. Perfectly. Tight.

But of course, she does. She does stop trailing her hand along Aurora’s back in that light and comforting manner, she does stop murmuring reassurances and promises that everything’s okay and fine in that sweet and caring voice, and she does stop hugging Aurora so. Incredibly. Perfectly. Tight. She pulls back gently, careful not to shatter the fragile Aurora splitting and fracturing in her arms as she carefully meets her eyes, still so soft and perfect. She cups her cheeks, her palms barely resting on the skin beneath them as heat radiates from her, warming Aurora in the chill of the closet, “You gonna be okay?”

Aurora sniffles, forcing a stiff nod as she carefully lifts her hands from their crumpled position in her lap to wipe away the tears falling down her cheeks. Except Rylen beats her to it, her thumbs wiping away the streams under Aurora’s dark and watery eyes, and it’s so tender and sweet and precious and warm and perfect that Aurora can feel herself splintering again, cracking under the caring, concerned gaze resting on her. She sucks in a shaky breath, willing herself to be strong again, to be able to handle this.

Because she can handle anything and everything, she always has, from med school and her cold and lonely dorm to the judgmental stares and constant, hauntingly empty space beside her as she roams Edenbrook. She’s always handled it, she’s never fallen apart so terribly as much as she is now. She's never fallen apart in someone’s arms in the oddly perfect way she is now. She's never felt so vulnerable and so safe at the same time like she does now, in the fourth floor supply closet, shelves of cleaning supplies and products stacked around her.

“Are you ready to head out? Or do you need another minute?” Her voice is so low, so gentle and unbelievable as it spills from her lips, honey dripping down her chin, golden and flowing as it coats Aurora from head to toe, a warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Aurora averts her gaze, turning to her folded hands in her lap as Rylen’s thumbs ghost across her cheeks, a steady, stable rhythm to match her breathing to, “I’m sorry about… this,” she mumbles, insecurity alighting the blanket, turning the fabric to ash along her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to be here wasting your time.”

Rylen’s head dips down, working to catch Aurora’s teary gaze in her own, “Making sure you’re okay isn’t a waste, Aurora,” she hums, low in her throat as her palms slip to Aurora’s jaw, nudging her gaze upwards.

“Yeah, it is,” she rolls her eyes with a frown. “There’s people dying, Rylen,” she meets her eyes, jaw set tight.

“And you’ll be one of them if you don’t take care of yourself and take a break when you need it,” Rylen holds her gaze, serious and stern, pleading for her words to take hold as her hands fall from Aurora's face, a chill replacing their warmth.

“I don’t need a break,” she insists, regardless of what just occurred.

“We’re sitting on the floor of a supply closet and your eyes are red,” Rylen’s eyebrows raise, a knowing smile on her face that Aurora wants to wipe off. “You’re allowed to take a minute when you need to, Aurora, I’m serious.”

Aurora frowns, “I’m not about to make a habit of breaking down in closets.”

“Good,” Rylen grins, raising a fist and tapping Aurora’s chin playfully with her knuckles, “Because you’re too talented to waste your energy on being upset.”

Aurora’s eyes roll, her frown only deepening, “Why are you mocking me now? Was seeing me cry not enough?” she accuses coldly, her arms crossing over her chest protectively.

“Aurora,” her tone is serious. “You’re literally a Disney princess, of course you’re amazing.”

Her cheeks flush dark, her eyes desperately darting around to avoid Rylen’s, searching for an escape or distraction to quell the heat in her cheeks that really shouldn’t be there. It's a compliment, but a different one from what she's used to. This is absolutely absurd, there is not one discernible reason for her to be blushing or embarrassed or whatever is happening as she coughs awkwardly.

“Now come on,” Rylen jumps to her feet, offering her hands and wiggling her fingers to Aurora teasingly. “You need to forget about this rank closet and go help some people,” she grins that grin that used to make Aurora want to vomit, but for reasons she may never know, now sends an electric jolt through her as it’s directed at her for once.

She takes the hands stretched out to her, gripping the soft and warm palms beneath her own as Rylen jerks her upwards, stopping just a few tiny, tiny inches from that smiling face. She sucks in a sharp breath, taking a step back and putting distance between them, brushing off her coat just to occupy her hands and mind.

Rylen picks up the few charts she dropped when she entered and passes them to Aurora without a word. She crosses to the door, pulling it open and bowing, her arm outstretched as she gestures for Aurora to exit. “Your Highness,” she teases, glancing up to wiggle her eyebrows at an annoyed Aurora.

She rolls her eyes, exiting quickly and making a beeline for the bathroom to clean up, dropping her new charts on the sink as she wipes away her makeup, fixes her hair, and kills a few moments until her eyes look less red. She takes a deep breath, grabs her charts, and heads out to meet her new patients, whoever they may be.

She cycles through them, introducing herself, familiarizing herself with their cases, running tests or receiving results for ones Rylen’s already ordered. And on top of that, she has her previous patients to tend to as well, some of which are cases she’s stumped on or waiting to see if her hunch is correct. And all of them are absolutely draining, absolutely exhausting as she stands with a plastered-on smile and cycles through an explanation of a diagnosis or a treatment plan or an invasive test.

She exits another patient room, stopping at a nurses station to receive some results and order another exam, and finally, finally empties her hands of paperwork and charts and results and orders and countless other items that drive her insane. And finally, finally she can stop, can collect her head, can rest and prepare herself for her next shift that consists of the exact same procedures and routines.

She sways, exhaust fogging her mind as she trudges through the halls of Edenbrook towards the on-call room. She’s been staying there as much as she can lately, not wanting to risk encountering her aunt and all of her lectures any more than necessary. She pulls the door open, crosses to the opposite side of the room, and collapses on a bed, staring upwards blankly.

She doesn’t want to move or think or even breathe at this point, she’s too tired and sore, both physically and mentally, as she blinks slowly. But she forces her muscles to work, her arm to take out her phone from her pocket, and her fingers to tap at the screen, setting an alarm and scrolling through notifications. She stops on a text from an unknown number, opening the notification and reading, ‘Good luck.’

Aurora frowns at the light glowing from the screen, the gray text bubble of her correspondent, the monotone, unfeeling dots and lines making up the letters of the message, and especially the name signed at the bottom, beneath those odd words, a name that should not have her number: ‘-Rylen.’

She drops her phone to her side, turning away from it to face the wall, curling up tight and staring into space until her exhaustion begins to wear on her consciousness, a few thoughts swirling as her eyes flutter shut, her folded arm slipping beneath her head as a makeshift pillow as she sinks into the cot beneath her.

Somehow, her thoughts start slowly circling to Rylen, as strange as it is. They’re of that dumb smile she gave Aurora as she held the door to the supply closet open, they’re of the mascara stains on her shirt as she walked down the hallway, they’re of the steadiness in her voice as she stepped into the closet, that steadiness she can draw out of seemingly nowhere.

It was there as she bailed Aurora out to Ramsey, it was there as she led Aurora through her crisis during triage, and it was there as she whispered into Aurora’s hair. It’s always there when it matters, when someone’s career, or health, or wellbeing is at stake. It’s always there when Aurora needs it, even if she didn’t want it or ask for it, even if Rylen had no reason to offer that stability, that olive branch.

Yet she still did. She still met Aurora’s gaze and apologized for something that wasn’t her fault just to save her from the wrath of Doctor Ramsey after experiencing it herself. She still stood across from Aurora, speaking soft and slow, even as Aurora was on the brink of a panic attack, a collapse of her psyche provoked by all the horrors surrounding her, horrors that surrounded Rylen, too. She still stepped into that stupid, cramped closet and pulled Aurora into her arms, her breath hitting against her ear and providing a single constant, the only comfort in that closet as everything hurt and exploded and became too much all at once.

She didn’t mock or hurt her, she didn’t belittle or demean her, she didn’t search for an in with her aunt or a crack in her armour to attack until she bled to death. She just sat there, letting Aurora’s ruined makeup and hot tears stain the fabric of her clothes before leaving Edenbrook for who knows how long, careful not to further shatter the splintered woman that had hit her limit as she shook in her arms.

Aurora turns, grabbing her phone off the cot and unlocking it, opening up that message from Rylen. ‘How’d you get my number?’ she types furiously, staring at it impatiently, waiting for ‘Delivered’ to turn to ‘Read,’ waiting for three dots to appear, waiting for a cohesive response. Her nail taps against the screen, sharp and staccatoed in the dark and empty on-call room, harsh and berating in the dim lighting surrounding Aurora.

‘Your aunt’ pops up after a few minutes, a few minutes that drive Aurora insane, just staring at the light illuminating her face.

Her eyebrows knit together, ‘Why? And why did she give it to you?’ she types quickly, mildly frustrated with her aunt for being so careless with private information.

‘I wanted to be able to check on my patients, Princess, calm down.’ The answer’s quick, sarcastic and teasing like the ridiculous gesture Rylen made as she exited the supply closet.

Heat rushes to Aurora’s face, her cheeks flushing in the dim lighting, though from anger or embarrassment or both, she can’t tell, but she knows she doesn’t like it one bit. ‘Don’t call me Princess,’ she fires back.

‘Oh, do you prefer Your Highness? I can work with that. Oooooh or Your Majesty! That better?’

Aurora’s lips quirk in the slightest smile at the letters on her screen, but she forces it away. ‘I prefer Aurora, my name,’ she responds.

‘You’re no fun, Princess.’

She frowns, ‘Aurora*’

‘Princess*’

‘Aurora*’

‘Princess*’

‘Aurora*’

‘Do you not think you’re a princess? Is that what’s happening? Aw, Aurora, are you not confident? Do we need to work on your self-esteem?’

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, ‘Shut up, Damen. You have my number to discuss patients and that is all,’ she scolds.

‘Sorry, Princess, I’ll be good. How much longer is your shift?’

‘I'm already off. I was trying to sleep before your message distracted me.’

‘Sorry. Good night :)’

Aurora rolls her eyes again, setting her phone back down and settling into the cot beneath her once again, intent on a few hours of sleep before she can make her escape to the apartment, her aunt hopefully long gone by the time she returns and can enjoy the rest of her night. But even as she drifts off, thoughts of Rylen still slip into her mind, thoughts of that ludicrous smiley face and the grin she knows it's meant to represent.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

When Love Must Die (chapter 8)

Longer chapter this time. Hopefully, you, guys, will enjoy it :)

Link to Chapter 1 (masterlist)

Tagging:  @armaggedidnt @oh-hamlet @foxyfoe-reblog @s3dgy @butttteeerrrrrr @swanheart69 @giulisetta  @tonystark5ever @agentlokii @tardisoftheshire @maehemscorpyus

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Chapter 8

 A few moments after all the sounds in the adjacent room seem to die down, Anathema finally gathers the courage to step out of her hiding spot in the kitchen and slide cautiously into the living room, Newt following hot on her heels.  She heard… some of what the demon had said, though it didn’t quite make sense to her.  But it was the angel’s reaction to the demon’s words that truly got to her – the raw, unbridled fury in his voice she didn’t think him capable of; the seismic shockwave of it rolling through the cottage like a hurricane-force wind, knocking out light bulbs and rattling windows and doors.

It was terrifying.  And she wasn’t sure she was ready to face whatever the consequences of that fury left behind.

 Turns out, she was right, but not for the reasons she thought.

 The smell hits her first – burned flesh and rot, emanating from a blackened puddle on the floor just outside the now extinguished demon trap.  She doesn’t understand the meaning of it, not at first.  Not until she shifts her gaze to the angel, back in his familiar shape now, standing at the very edge of the still-smoking puddle, with his head low, his shoulders hunched, and his hand gripping a vaguely familiar sword engulfed in flames.

 “Holy Belladonna…,” she gasps out, and the angel startles at that, turns around to face her, sword at the ready.

 There’s a moment of shocked silence as he stares at her, eyes glazed with darkness and pain so palpable that she has to fight the urge to shy away from that gaze, to retreat back into the kitchen and stay there until the suffocatingly terrifying swirl of emotions she feels emanating from the angel settles down.

 The angel blinks, slow and dazed, as though coming out of a trance, and the sword clatters to the ground, breaking the silence, the flame going out the instant it touches the floor.

 “They have him,” comes the equally dazed, quiet revelation.  “Hell… They have Crowley.”

 Anathema flicks her gaze to the gooey puddle beside the angel, purses her lips in doubt.  “He told you that?”

 The angel shakes his head, swallows with visible effort.  “Showed.”  

 There’s something in that admission, in the way his voice catches and breaks on the word that sends a jolt of compassionate worry through Anathema’s heart.  She dares a step or two closer, hovers almost within reach.

 “He’s alive then,” she tries for comfort. “We know for sure now that he’s still alive.  That’s a good thing, right?”

 The angel’s face twists in a terrifying display of raw, unadulterated pain.  “You don’t understand!”  

 The grief in his voice is once again a powerful, physical thing.  It pushes against Anathema’s senses, and she can’t help but recoil from the sheer force of its pressure.  

 The angel doesn’t seem to notice.  Stands where he is, hands gripping the sides of his head as if to keep it from splitting open, and words pour on, disjointed and rambling.

 “He’s an angel now.  The poison he absorbed, the poison he took from me – it destroyed his demonic essence, burned it away.  It should have… it should have killed him.  Permanently.  Because once you destroy a demon’s essence, there’s nothing left.  Same with angels.  But Crowley, he…” Tear-bright blue eyes find Anathema’s, and he smiles, bitter and wistful, “he’s different, isn’t he.  Always has been.”

 “He kept his angelic essence,” the guess spills out of her in an awed gasp.  Because she’s read about the Fall, alright? She got curious after the failed Armageddon, she wanted to know more about the forces that started it all.  And there was a lot of squabbling and disagreements between the different accounts she’s seen, but the one thing they all seemed to agree on was that the Fall was painful and traumatizing for the future demons and that the process burned away all traces of their former angelic essence, everything that ever tied them to Heaven. The mere idea that one of those fallen angels could somehow manage to save even a spark of that heavenly connection within them… it was… it was…

 “Ineffable,” the angel breathes out, as if reading her thoughts, his smile wobbling as tears spill down his cheeks.

 “It’s still a good thing, is it not?” Newt chimes in from behind her, and she jumps, having all but forgotten about his presence.  “I mean, if he hadn’t, he’d be dead now, but this way we can still get him back, right?”

 Aziraphale blinks at the question and looks away to where the demon’s remains slowly congeal into a cold viscous mess.  And there’s that wave of pain again that rolls off of him, tinting his aura a sickly mustard yellow.

 “I’m guessing an angel trapped in Hell is never a good thing,” Anathema muses, thinking back to the confrontation at the Tadfield Air Base, remembering the open rage and hatred she felt pouring off Crowley’s demonic colleagues.  She remembers something else, too: the cold, ugly swell of deadly menace from both the demon with a fly-shaped hat on its head and from Satan himself, both directed at Crowley.  “Traitor,” the fly demon had called him. And, oh, she thinks.  Oh!…

 “It’s worse for Crowley, isn’t it,” she blurts out, trying for gentle, but not quite succeeding, judging by the way the angel flinches at her words.  And she gets it now, the reason for Aziraphale’s distress.  Because… “They were already angry at him in Hell, weren’t they?  For messing up their plans?  And now they get their hands on him and he’s an angel…”

 “Archangel,” Aziraphale speaks up finally, voice hollow and bitter with pain.  “Raphael.  Lucifer’s baby brother.”

 Oh… my…

 “He was tortured!” Aziraphale whirls back toward them, eyes blazing with self-directed fury.  “All this time.  All the time I’ve spent feeling sorry for myself, moping around this place like a goddamn fool.  He was tortured, and I… oh dear God!” He pales, hand clamping over his mouth as he looks for all the world like someone about to get violently sick.

 “You didn’t know!” Anathema tries.  “How could you?  We all saw what happened, we all assumed that he was–”

 The angel shakes his head. “Crowley would have known,” he forces out, strangled.  “He always… he always…  He would have known!”  His words break on a pulse of guilt and self-hatred so strong – it physically pushes Anathema back a step.  And then it dies out, just as quickly as it came, leaving behind a swirling murky sea of weariness and despair.  “I gotta get him out of there…”

 “Yes,” she nods, still feeling quite off-balance from the whirlwind of powerful dark emotions radiating from the angel.  “But how?”

 The angel shakes his head, forehead creased in thought.  Murmurs a quietly helpless, desperate, “I… I don’t…”

 “Um… I hate to bring this up,” Newt cuts in again, “but don’t we need to do something about this?” He points warily at the puddle of demon goo on the floor.  “I mean… you said yourself he was a… a duke or something. Wouldn’t the others be expecting him back?”

 Aziraphale’s head shoots up at that, face brightening unexpectedly, eyes gleaming with almost childlike excitement.  “That’s it!” he cries out, reaching his hands toward Newt as though aiming to embrace him.

 “What?” The younger man stumbles back instinctively in the face of the angel’s near-manic fervor.  Reaches up to fix his glasses in an awkward attempt to maintain his cool.  “What did I say?”

 Instead of a response, the angel snaps his fingers, and Anathema sucks in a startled breath as the angel’s form shifts once more: the white hair lengthens, the soft curls straightening out into an unruly tangled mop; the smooth perfect skin darkens and sags, breaking out in ugly, weeping warts; the bright angelic blue of his eyes disappears in the pools of seemingly bottomless inky black…

 “Holy shit…,” Newt gasps out beside her, and, yeah, she thinks, as she watches the newly-baked demon roll his shoulders, adjusting the hopelessly stained, worn-out trench coat on his shoulders, that pretty much covers it.

 The disguised angel smiles at them, revealing a row of rotten smoke-yellowed teeth.  Twirls around for good measure, arms spread out wide, as if inviting them to appraise his newest form.  

 “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and now, despite his earlier distress and confusion, despite the ever-present pain in his aura, he exudes nothing but frighteningly calm, furious conviction.  “Bring Adam here if you can and have him wait for me.”  At Anathema’s questioning frown he explains, “He helped me once, when my old corporation was destroyed.  I’m hoping he can do the same for Crowley.”

 And with that and another flick of his fingers he’s gone.

 ***

 Hell is different from the last time he remembers.  For one, his return is not greeted by any special fanfare.  There are no demon guards surrounding him, tracking his every move.  No hungrily leering gawkers crowding the hallways, their sharp teeth bared in anticipation of a good show.  He walks through the damp, sewage-smelling hallways unhindered.

 It’s a blessing on the one hand.  On the other – he needs to find Crowley, and he has no idea where to go.

 He gets lucky finally after yet another sharp turn into a winding corridor with a leaking overhead pipe that a couple of low-rank demons are lazily trying to patch up.  

 Perfect.

 Shoulders squared, mouth set in a haughty disgusted sneer he’s seen Hastur wear on numerous occasions, he strides purposefully right up to the pair, growling out a “What the Heaven are you two, idiots, doing here?” in lieu of a greeting.

 The demons turn around, startled, their grime-smudged faces frozen in fear.  Stare back at him in a helpless flounder.

 “Well?” He lets his frustration and worry seep through, disguised as anger.  Lets the threat of it flash in the blackness of his eyes. “Why aren’t you over there guarding that traitor Crowley?”

 One of the demons, a squatty wart-covered thing, stammers out finally, “Not… not supposed to be there, Your Lordship.  It’s Armaros’ turn now.  And I think… I think they may be waiting for you?”  The demon ducks his head immediately, perhaps fearing he’d spoken too freely.

 Aziraphale narrows his gaze, aware that on Hastur’s face it looks menacing enough to cause the two demons to cower and tremble before him.  He uses that fear to his advantage.

 “Take me to him,” he says, and when the demon hesitates a fraction, giving him a look of scared confusion, he snaps, teeth bared in a clear show of menace, “NOW!”

 The demon jumps forward as if shocked and scurries obediently down the hallway, careful to stay only a couple steps ahead.  Pauses in front of a thick metal door whose surface is dented in places and smeared with grime.  

 “Armaros has been working on ‘im for the past couple hours,” the demon reports with a tremulous smile.  “But ‘e should be good and ready for you now.  You want me to announce you?”

 “Leave!” Aziraphale growls, barely restraining himself from pulling the flaming sword back out of the hidden plane and running the bothersome demon through.  Crowley is there, behind the door.  He can feel him – the familiar tug he’s learned to hone in on over all those millennia.  And he needs to get to him.  Can’t afford to give himself away just yet.

 The demon gulps nervously and is gone faster than could be expected from a short-legged creature like that.  

 Aziraphale yanks open the door and steps inside.

 For a moment – a long breathless moment – everything stops, as he stands, frozen, on the threshold of the makeshift torture chamber, its air so thick with the scent of blood and sweat and despair that it makes him want to gag.  He thought he was prepared, he’d glimpsed some of what was awaiting him in Hastur’s memories, and he tried to mentally steel himself for this very moment.

 It turned out to have been a futile endeavor.  Because nothing, nothing could have possibly prepared him for this!

 He sees Crowley, hanging by his wrists from a spiked metal chain that cuts ruthlessly into the tender skin; rivulets of blood – angel-gold blood – trickling down the skinny trembling arms from there the barbs pierce the wrists, sliding past the awful looking bruises and welts that cover every inch of those arms to drip in a monotonous cadence down to the floor, where they merge with a much bigger puddle that has collected at his feet.  He sees those bare feet, burned and bloodied, barely scraping the cold surface of the floor – not enough, not nearly enough to provide any support for his sagging body; Crowley’s head hanging limply on his scourged chest, the beautiful sun-red hair dull and matted; his beautiful wings – horribly mangled and torn, sticking out at awkward, broken angles, vulnerable and unprotected behind his back…

 There’s a loud roar in his ears, an awful pressure in his chest – so strong he thinks he might burst from it.  And for one horrifying moment his vision goes dark, as though someone somewhere had just turned off the light.

 “Hastur!”

 The raspy gleeful voice pulls him out of the suffocating blackness of his stupor and he blinks to find a tall scraggy demon, whose presence he had previously ignored, stepping out from behind Crowley’s back, one of its many unnaturally long, clawed appendages curled around the handle of a knife steeped in angelic blood.

 “It’s about time you showed up,” the demon continues, a lewd smile pulling at his blackened lips.  “I’ve been getting quite bored here.  There’s only so many notches you can make on those wings before the blasted creature passes out on you, and then you have to wait for him to wake up.  And waiting’s no fun, if you know what I mean.”  

 The demon looks back at his prisoner, pretending to consider him a moment.  “Perhaps I could wake him up for you now,” he offers with a laugh, low and grating.  Grabs Crowley’s wing, pulling it sharply toward him, his knife hand poised to strike down.

 And drops howling to the floor as the flaming sword slices through his appendages like a hot knife through butter, leaving behind blistering, sizzling stumps.  The sword swings down once more, swift and vengeful, and the demon’s screams cut out, silenced into a dying fizzle.

 Aziraphale doesn’t give him another glance.  Steps forward instead, swinging his sword at the chain that binds Crowley in place.  The Hell-forged shackles yield under the furious onslaught of holy energy, crack and shatter, scattering onto the floor in tiny smoking pieces. And Aziraphale lets go of the sword that same instant, lets it clatter to the ground unheeded, as Crowley, released from his cruel bonds, drops boneless toward the blood-covered floor.

 Aziraphale catches him before he hits the ground, the momentum driving him to his knees.  He lingers there just long enough to take a quick, relieved breath – perhaps his first one since crossing the threshold of this awful room.  Then he stands, his precious burden cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped around him with the desperate protectiveness that’s tempered only slightly by his fear of causing Crowley more pain.

 Crowley’s head lolls with the movement, a soft moan slipping past the cracked lips, and Aziraphale stills once again, breath bated as he waits hungrily, selfishly for more.

 “Crowley?” he prods, realizing belatedly as the former demon jerks suddenly in his arms that the voice coming out of his mouth is still Hastur’s voice.  

 And, oh, he wants to kick himself, wants to bang his stupid head against the wall for needlessly scaring his friend!  He should have just kept his mouth shut.  Just long enough to get them both out of here so he could shed this hated disguise.  He should have–

 Crowley shifts against him, effectively silencing his self-deprecating train of thought.  Opens his eyes a slit, his bleary, pain-filled gaze skating slowly up Aziraphale’s face to rest on his eyes.  And Aziraphale wants to close them, wants to keep Crowley from seeing those hateful soulless pools of black he knows are looking back down at him.  

 But Crowley doesn’t flinch away.  Stares mutely into Aziraphale’s eyes for a long breathless moment, and then, inexplicably, smiles.  “Angel,” he exhales, his eyes slipping closed once more as his head rolls, his battered face nestling trustingly into the stained smelly material of Hastur’s coat.

 It takes Aziraphale another interminably long moment before he can breathe again.  Before he can blink away a veil of tears that washes out Crowley’s dear features and get his hopelessly rattled emotions under some modicum of control to snap the two of them back to the Jasmine Cottage, miracling the flaming sword away onto the hidden plane as an afterthought.  

[teddybearmagik-blog]

feel the poison set in || minsung drabble

“already gone” - sleeping at last

Jisung was sure that he was flying. The high he’d gotten from the performance was lifting him off his feet, and he was soaring through Seoul’s sky.

His feet were tapping against the floor of the car. On his right Chan was practically vibrating from excitement, while Changbin to his left apparently never left the stage, still talking at top speed, probably leaving his boyfriend Felix lost on the other side of the phone. 

“That was fucking awesome,” he heard Chan mutter under his breath for what had to be the tenth time that night, but Jisung had to agree. 

It was the first concert for their comeback- 3racha’s first comeback since debut- and they blew it out of the water. Their dancing was on point, they rapped without missing a beat, and best of all, the crowd seemed to love it. All of their hopes for the night had been wrapped and handed to them in a pretty little box, and it was too hard to believe it even happened. 

Their manager was taking them out to the club Chan had requested to celebrate, all on him, which meant they were going to drink out of their minds. 

He knew he was going to regret it in the morning, but Jisung figured they deserved it. This was the first time he felt genuinely happy in four months, so if he had the chance to get wasted, then he was going to get wasted. 

As their van pulled up to the back, their manager wanting them to avoid the crowd of the front, he jabbed his fingernails into his hand, drawing in a breath and ignoring Chan giving him a concerned glance. Tonight wasn’t about what happened before- tonight was about tonight, and nothing else. 

And it was. 

For a little while. 

He was sitting at the bar, only halfway into his first drink since he wanted to watch Chan and Changbin get shitfaced before he followed suit, when he felt someone slide into the seat next to him.  

Jisung turned to get a good look at them and was met with those brown eyes and honeyed skin and dark eyelashes he’d been caught staring at a hundred times and what are you doing here tonight was supposed to be perfect. 

Minho lips turned up in what look like an attempt at smiling. “Hey,” he said, soft enough that Jisung had to strain his ears to hear him, as if anything louder would scare him off.  

His fingers tightened around his glass until his knuckles turned white. For once, Jisung couldn’t think of anything smart to say fast enough, so he decided that glaring and turning back around was a good enough response. He squinted and scanned the dance floor, hoping he’d find both someone he knew and someone who was sober. 

“Okay.” Minho reached over and gently placed a hand in his arm. “I deserve that-“

“Really?” Jisung pulled his arm away faster than necessary, ignoring how much he missed feeling the other boy against him. “Because I think you deserve much worse.”

The hurt that sparked in Minho’s eyes gave him as much satisfaction as it did pain. “I know,” he croaked out, and he seemed to shrink before Jisung’s eyes. “Can we just- can we just talk?” He slid off his seat and jerked one thumb towards the restrooms. “Please?”

And maybe he should’ve said no. Used one of his witty comebacks he prepared in case he ever found himself like this, find his probably drunk hyungs and make sure he never came to this part of town ever again. But he saw the way Minho’s hands shook and how his eyes were darting from everywhere in the club except his face, and he knew walking away would mean destroying something he could never let go of in the first place. 

“Fine,” was all Jisung managed to say as he grabbed Minho’s hand and pulled him to the restrooms, and even through the pounding music and flashing lights, all he could think of was how well they fit together. 

Inside the restroom were plain fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the dimness outside it. Jisung let go of Minho’s hand and turned around, trying to prepare himself, but let out a surprised gasp.  

It was his first time really seeing Minho in awhile, and though he hadn’t changed much, the almost lilac circles under his eyes were definitely a new addition. Add that to the way his shoulders sagged and how his head hung, he looked exhausted. Nothing like the ball of fire he fell in love with.  

Jisung looked away as Minho gave an almost embarrassed chuckle, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah. I’m a mess.” 

“Well, I’m not gonna disagree with you.”

It was one of those smartass comments Jisung didn’t really expect people to hear, so when Minho laughed, it made it all so much better and worse at the same time. 

He missed that laugh. He missed that smile, those hands, those eyes, and everything else about the hurricane of a boy standing in front of him.  

“Why’d you leave?” he whispered, just as Minho’s giggles died down. 

Any trace of humor was instantly wiped from his face as Minho shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ji, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sure you are,” he snapped back, trying to stomp out any of the warmth he felt in his chest moments before. “Doesn’t answer my question.” He clenched his fists at his side. 

Minho stared him down like Jisung was a wild animal; wary and ready to run but all too eager to get closer. 

“You know what it was like,” he said. “You were always under so much pressure, writing your songs and training all the time with Chan and Changbin, and just when I thought I’d get to see my boyfriend, you’d get some reality show or interview placed on the schedule and you’d disappear for the next two days.” He shifted on his feet and stared down at the ground. “And I  know that’s no where near a good reason for doing what I did. But one night you were out late and- it just all got into my head. That you were this idol who was probably gonna take over the world one day, and I’d just be the boyfriend who would sometimes dance behind you.” He finally looks up, the tears in the corners of his eyes visible. “It was just- hard.”

If he hadn’t added anything else, Jisung probably would’ve pulled Minho closer until there was no space between him. And he can’t even explain why, but for some reason, Minho of all people saying he didn’t like their time apart is what set him off. 

“You know what’s hard?” he said, his voice trembling with the effort it took not to blow up. “Walking into the dorm a few hours before I was supposed to, carrying an ungodly amount of takeout because Chan said we could go home early, and that hadn’t happened in months and I knew you were gonna want to celebrate and-“ Jisung’s voice broke, and he didn’t realize he had been walking closer to Minho until he had him backed against the wall. “And you were just fucking gone. No note or text, and I know you took your phone. All the stuff you brought to our room was gone too. You took everything that was yours except-“ He finally let a few tears slip past his eyelashes. “Except me. You were gone, and you left me behind.” 

And just like that, every well placed wall Jisung had spent four months building came crashing down around him.  

He wasn’t too sure when Minho wrapped his arms around him, or when the hushed apologizes and hurried kisses against his neck and checks became one and the same, or when they slid down to the floor as Jisung sobbed into Minho’s shoulder.  

Sometime between a second and a century later, when his sobs eased into small, tearful hiccups, he felt Minho shift and press his lips to his forehead.

“I still remember the way you taste,” Jisung murmured, and didn’t even realize he said it aloud at first.  

He flinched when Minho stiffened. He pulled his head way from his chest and looked up to find him sporting tear tracks and puffy eyes. For a moment all they did was stare at each other, and they both broke out into the kind of shaky laughter that only comes after crying.  

“I know I don’t deserve a second chance or anything,” Minho said when he could talk again. “I probably didn’t even deserve the first one. But- but if you take me back, I promise I’ll never leave like that again. Or at all. Unless you want me to, like, I’m being clingy or something and-“ 

Jisung leaned forward and placed a kiss on Minho’s lips, and dissolved into another laughing fit at his shocked expression. 

Maybe he was making a million new mistakes, letting Minho back into his life. But that was for tomorrow. 

Tonight, Jisung was just fine with intertwining himself with his warm boy against cold stone and even colder lights.

[no6secretsanta]

On the morrow he will leave me

Hey gecko (@lostemotion)! I was your secret santa this year! I took your prompt to heart and came up with this fic. I hope you like it! Happy holidays! <3 - Ace (@hi-im-secretly-satan) Word count: 2161 Warnings: none Summary: Nezumi has a tendency of leaving Shion behind without saying where he’s going, or when (if) he’ll come back, leaving Shion to simply having to trust he will return. Nezumi’s wandering spirit as seen through Shion’s eyes. Title from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.

—

The first time Nezumi had left him, Shion was twelve years old.

The rat had crashed into his life, soaking wet, and filled a void Shion hadn’t even known existed. As soon as he woke up alone in his bed (suddenly way too big for just one person) and saw the two empty cups of hot cocoa on his desk and the open window (the only traces of Nezumi’s presence), the emptiness crashed over him like a wave and had left him incomplete, always yearning for that missing piece. It was almost like Nezumi had not only taken the checkered flannel and the first aid box, but also his innocence.

The months following their strange encounter had been hard. At night Rashi’s face flashed through his mind, with his cold smile that never reached his eyes. Asking questions like “why” and “where”. Why had he taken in VC103221? Where did VC103221 go? Buried deep under the covers, Shion asked himself the same questions. Why had he let that bleeding boy in? Stitched his wound, fed him his own food, clothed him in his own clothes? And where had Nezumi gone? Each time Shion relived his memories searching for answers, he only found more questions. If he could turn back the hands of time, return to his old room and watch the hurricane crashing down on the city, would he still open the window if he knew the price he would pay? Save Nezumi while knowing it would cost him his prestige and his comfort here in Kronos? No matter how many times Shion thought about it, turned it over, analysed every bit of data at hand, he always came to the same conclusion.

Yes, he would.

But after all the wondering and pondering, the question he found nagging at him the most was “Will I ever see him again?”

Oh, how Shion longed to unravel the mystery that had thrown his life upside down. He needed to see Nezumi again; gather more data than his memories contained. In those grey eyes raged a storm he wanted to lose himself in. He wondered what could have scarred Nezumi’s back at such a young age. Wondered where and how Nezumi had learned to effortlessly, coldly, render him motionless, ready to kill if needed. There was so much Nezumi hadn’t told him and Shion wanted nothing more than for Nezumi to take his hand and show him this new, mesmerizing world he had never known existed.

-

Meeting Nezumi again was everything and nothing like Shion had hoped. He had not expected Nezumi to come to his rescue, but then again he hadn’t expected to be labeled a criminal either. It surprised Shion how little he cared about having to flee No.6. As irrational as it was, he had a feeling that as long as Nezumi was by his side, he’d be able to survive anything. After four years of living with a memory, the real Nezumi was within his grasp and this time Shion would not let go so easily.

Nezumi was still the same contradictory enigma he had been when he was twelve. He told Shion not to be kind to strangers, yet he had given Shion’s flannel to one of the children living nearby. He told Shion to let go of his memories, yet clung to his own past. But the one thing Shion couldn’t wrap his head around was how Nezumi had kept an eye on him for four years, watching him from the shadows and keeping him out of trouble, yet now he seemed almost hostile. They got into fights and every night Nezumi left him. Nezumi left him just like he did all those years ago. Whenever Shion asked why, where to, or when he’d get back, he dodged the questions.

One night, a month or two after Shion had arrived in West Block, he was alone in the underground room again. Nezumi had run off somewhere without telling him where the day before, and hadn’t come back. The stew Shion had made earlier that evening was cooling down on the stove. He hadn’t wanted to have dinner alone, but it was getting late and his stomach growled. He had never known hunger back in No.6, had never known how hard it was to ignore, making it impossible to focus on other things. His clothes were baggier on him than he remembered them being. Another growl echoed through the vault and Hamlet chirped on his shoulder. Shion smiled and reached up to scratch its head.

“We can’t eat yet. Nezumi isn’t home,” he said with a sad smile. He put down his book, the enchantment of the “Lady of Shalott” broken by hunger and worries. He ran his fingers over the spine of the book and stared at a stain on the open page. Hesitantly, as if speaking the words out loud would make them come true, he asked, “Do you think he will come back?” The mouse chirped again, seemingly reprimanding him. Shion chuckled and shook his head, scolding himself for even daring to think Nezumi wouldn’t come back. This was his home, after all. “You’re right, of course he will.”

He loved his new life with Nezumi but he couldn’t deny it was lonely when Nezumi wasn’t here, even though he had the mice to keep him company. With a sigh, he closed his book and pushed himself off the floor. Right when he had turned the stove back on to heat up their dinner, the door opened and Nezumi stepped inside, a gust of wind accompanying him. It seemed to storm wherever he went.

Immediately all of Shion’s worries melted away, the tension flowed out of his body and he sent Nezumi a bright smile. “Welcome home.”

He had been foolish to doubt Nezumi. Of course he would always come back. No matter how many times Nezumi left him, he always came back. Even when Nezumi had collapsed on stage, when Shion feared his life had been taken by a parasite bee, Nezumi had opened his eyes and called out Shion’s name.

So surely Nezumi must come back to him now as well. That was the thought that grounded him as Shion stared at his hands, painted red with Nezumi’s blood. A sight he’d never expected to see since he had stitched up his shoulder. It was a silly thought, but after Shion had watched Nezumi survive so many perils that were sure to kill him, he had come to think it was impossible for Nezumi to die. He had forgotten Nezumi bled just like humans do. He had forgotten that Nezumi was human. Nezumi, who laughed, danced, fought, bled, was human.

And now here he was, lying on the floor of the Correctional Facility, his pale skin crying crimson, sluggishly gushing bloody tears, his breathing shortening and pulse slowly, slowly, slowing down. Dying like humans do.

A vague voice in the back of Shion’s head yelled at him to get up, drag him to safety, tend to his wound like you did all those years ago. Shion slowly tore his gaze away from his bloodied hands, stared at Nezumi’s face which was growing paler by the second.

Get up! the voice screamed. After you have saved each other so many times, do you really want to let him die now?

“He killed Safu….” Shion murmured.

You know that is not true. You have both killed people. You are both drenched in sin. Now get up and save Nezumi, otherwise he will never come back to you.

A soft whimper, impossibly loud in the cacophony of death and destruction around them, snapped Shion’s attention back to the bleeding body in his arms.

Right. He had to save Nezumi. He had to save Nezumi and get out of the Correctional Facility. Inukashi and Rikiga were waiting for them. His mother was waiting for them. And together they’d return to that room underground - to their home.

Shion hooked his arms under Nezumi’s armpits and started dragging him to the nearest room, wincing as he watched another wave of blood flow from Nezumi’s chest. He was going to save Nezumi, even if it would cost him his own life.

-

Even before he was fully awake his mind had registered every cell in his sore and battered body screaming in pain. But as he opened his eyes and recognised the storage room that also used to function as his bedroom, the memories of the past few days slowly washed over him and the pain turned into a pleasant ache. The injuries were almost a trophy, proof that he and Nezumi had destroyed the Correctional Facility, destroyed No. 6 and received a second chance from Elyurias.

Nezumi.

Shion looked over at the other side of the bed and found it empty. Although they had shared a bed in the West Block as well, he was no stranger to waking up alone, for various reasons. But today, waking up without Nezumi was a punch to the gut. After everything they had been through, the horrors they had witnessed and survived, he couldn’t bear being alone. He had to know if Nezumi was still alive.

A breeze caressed his cheek and he glanced at the window. Karan had opened it last night for some fresh air and they hadn’t closed it. Shion sat up, blankets pooling around his waist, and stared outside. Was this a repeat of four years ago? Had Nezumi really left him already? Again? Or had it all been an eerily realistic fever dream? He did not know which would be worse.

-

The relief he had felt when he had found Nezumi standing in the door opening, a cup of coffee in his hands and a gentle smile on his face, his hair swaying in the breeze and fondly greeting him with his usual “your majesty” was nothing compared to the feeling of rejection that shook him to his very core when Nezumi had told him he wanted to travel. The sparkle in Nezumi’s eyes when he spoke of discovering distant lands made Shion envious, wishing Nezumi would look upon him with the same wonder as he gazed at the landscapes.

But as much as the truth hurt, Shion knew deep in his heart that this was for the best. The idea of making a home here was paradise to Shion, but to Nezumi it would be a prison. He was a free spirit that should not be caged. Still, that did not stop him from pleading Nezumi to stay anyway. As they stood in the fields and Nezumi checked his provisions one final time, ready to leave on a long trip to unknown destinations, it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Nezumi’s hand and called out his name. “I’m begging you. Please don’t leave, Nezumi. A world without you means nothing to me. Nothing, Nezumi. There isn’t any meaning at all.“ The words tumbled over his lips in a desperate attempt to convince Nezumi to stay. He half expected Nezumi to scold him for saying weird things again, but then gentle fingers on his chin lifted his head and Nezumi’s face was suddenly a lot closer than it had been. He barely got to protest before Nezumi pressed his lips against his. A hand came up to cradle his jaw and Shion squeezed his eyes shut, not caring about the tears that spilled over his cheeks. As one who is shipwrecked clings to a piece of driftwood that once belonged to the ship that carried and guided him over the vast oceans in life, so Shion reached up and clung to Nezumi’s arm like it was the only thing capable of grounding him. Sorrow, yearning, anguish, love, and more feelings he could not even identify rushed through him and threatened to drown him.

When he finally came back up for air, Shion almost didn’t dare to ask for fear of his heart shattering. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He doubted he ever would be. But more than that, he could not bear the thought of never seeing Nezumi again. He did not know what he would do with himself if Nezumi truly never returned to him. He couldn’t-

“It was a promise,” Nezumi replied with a gentle smile. He carefully untangled himself from Shion and pocketed his hands. “Reunion will come, Shion.” Nezumi sent him a final, longing look and with that, he turned away.

As Shion watched him casually walking down the rocky path like he was simply going out for a stroll, he thought of the questions he had asked himself when he was thirteen, hiding under the covers, and the answers he had gotten during their winter together. He realised most questions still went unanswered, but that was all right. As long as one question would be answered, nothing else mattered.

Will I ever see you again?

[birdcagcd]

Kotoko is on her quest to learn every language

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 34

LISTEN TO ME — 0034

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 2K

— "Jade!" — Chan arrived scolding, not caring that the american was still standing in the same place, as if she had been petrified by her own guilt. The party was still going on as usual, but it was obvious that neither of them — four of them, because Josh and Kirsten were still present — were willing to stay in this mess. — "What the hell did you do? Are you crazy?!"

— "When I told you to fix your life, I wasn't referring to any of this!" — Kirsten was also angry with Josh. — "Now tell me what your prize was, 'cause I think if you have the least sense you're not happy with what just happened because of you!"

Josh, in fact, wasn't smiling or showing any sign of satisfaction. Although alcohol could almost boil in his blood, he knew that his moment of weakness had been the biggest mistake he could have made that night, for besides losing Jade's friendship — he was sure it was irrevocable —, now he would also have to bear the blame for causing her to collapse.

Jade was lost in her own rubble, and Josh, being so in love with the girl, couldn't be feeling worse seeing her that way, but it was late and only regrets didn't fix anything. So he ignored his best friend's words and walked away in silence. Maybe his absence would be less worse.

Kirsten looked at Chan, who wasn't sure how to proceed either. And though that moment was far from propitious, she was surprised by a slight tingling in the pit of her stomach as his eyes met hers, obligingly having to disguise her dizzy face with a throat clearing.

— "Sorry 'bout that." — she said, her soft voice entering his ears like the chords of angels' harps.

— "You're not to blame for anything." — Chan felt like an idiot for blushing, it was just a pair of beautiful eyes staring at him as if could read his soul, puff, no big deal! He just didn't start to curl up because Jade suddenly woke up from her trance state and ran toward the exit. — "Bye, I'm going after her."

— "Bye." — she smiled almost imperceptibly and watched him follow Jieun's path. Then she shook her head negatively, as if some thought was scared away. She sighed and said to herself just before turning her back: — "He's too much for you, Kirsten."

Jade used all her willpower to ignore the high percentage of alcohol in her body and focused on finding Changbin. When she finally got out of the mansion and the cold night air hugged her body, she stopped and scrutinized the vast garden that stretched to the main gates, but saw no trace of Seo anywhere. No one told her it would be easy, after all. Determined to run the neighborhood — or the entire city, if necessary —, the american resumed her search, but was intercepted by Yoorim when she was halfway there.

— "Unnie, no." — Heo already knew what had happened and was a little upset about the situation, given that she liked Jade and Changbin's friendship, although it was recent, and couldn't help but mourn them both. — "You're not fine, it's not a good idea to talk to him now."

— "Where did he go?" — the older one asked in a deep voice, completely ignoring Yoorim's last speech.

— "I don't know."

— "Oh, no." — Chan whimpered as he managed to reach them. He knew how impulsive Changbin could be when he was angry, and he didn't want to have been so afraid of the possibilities of what could happen, since he left alone. — "He didn't even give a clue where he was going?"

— "Hyunjin's with him, don't worry." — Yoorim answered, to Bang's relief, and took a car key out of her pants pocket. — "Here, Changbin asked me to give you. I don't think he will want to go back to your house today..."

— "But I have to talk to him." — Jade started crying. — "I didn't want to kiss Josh, I swear. I don't even know what happened, when I saw I had already done-..." — the sobs interrupted her speech and she covered her red face with her hands. Chan bit the inside of his cheek and, soft-hearted as he was, patted her back lovingly.

— "You're still too drunk to have a serious talk with Changbin, you better leave it for tomorrow."

— "But-..."

— "He's right." — Yoorim intervened, gently uncovering Jieun's face. — "It will only make things worse."

— "And isn't that already horrible enough?" — Jade sniffed and turned her reddened, pleading gaze on the younger. It worked like that old saying: what is a fart for someone who was already shit himself? — "Put yourself in my place, you would also want to do the same."

Yoorim sought Chan's face; then, the two had a silent, hesitant conversation that seemed to last for hours for the american, until Bang let out an audible sigh and grabbed her wrist while Heo unlocked the phone to find out Hyunjin's whereabouts.

— "First you'll eat a lot of sugar and drink a lot of water to alleviate this inebriation." — he said and started leading Jade back to the mansion. — "Then we'll try to fix all this shit."

Although Kang wanted to settle her issues at that very moment, she wasn't in the condition of retorting, for it was infinitely better to spend a few minutes recovering her sanity than to let the drink further ruin her relationship — or what was left of it.

                                     ♡˖°

Jisung and Jinah's lull was enviable.

The two got into the boy's car and continued talking all the way to the selected diner, hardly caring what music played on the radio or the intensity of the wind coming through the open windows of the vehicle. The subjects were, for the most part, random and casual, something that was becoming more and more common in their dates. Easy laughter, jokes and the few acidic tumbles that came up eventually couldn't be missed, and both could say, with the certainty of the world, that no grandiose party could replace that moment. Jinah and Jisung had their own party, even if it was chattering in a moving car or smearing with sauces and hamburgers with french fries. As long as they had each other, especially being out of town to contemplate the true glow of the constellations, they needed nothing more.

— "Have you ever come here?" — Choi broke the silence for a few minutes. They were sitting on the hood of the car, their backs against the windshield, their hands entwined and their eyes fixed on the starry immensity above their bodies. Too much peace required no dialogue, but, even so, Jisung loved to hear Jinah's voice.

— "No. But I always thought it would be a good place to visit at night."

It was complete loneliness, not even a manifestation of civilization around them. The only ones responsible for them seeing something were the flashing headlights. On another occasion, maybe Jinah might fear such a dark, but, with Jisung by her side, she felt like the most protected person in the world.

— "It's beautiful..." — she whispered, still looking at all the bright spots in the dark sky. Somehow, the crickets' singing made things so much more relaxing.

— "It really is." — Jisung agreed, but his focus now was on the girl's face. Jinah, realizing, smiled and kissed his lips lightly. She was feeling so, but so happy, that she was certain that nothing in the world could destroy the magnitude of the feeling.

— "Thanks." — she thanked in an even lower intonation, and wasn't just talking about the snacks or the unexpected visit to that little piece of paradise. Jisung understood.

— "I'm the one who should thank here." — he replied, caressing one of the girl's cheeks as if her face were the most valuable work of art in the world. — "If I had known that having you in my life was so good, I wouldn't have taken so long.

— "Jisung" — Jinah uttered his name in a mixture of broad smile and bright eyes. It was unheard of for Choi that fire inside her chest, but the sensation became so strong and inexplicable with every second that she never wanted it to leave. — "As long as you don't let me out of it, that's fine with me."

— "I wouldn't be crazy." — Han accompanied her in the smile. — "Can I call you my girlfriend?"

It wasn't a cliché request, with flowers, blatant statements and all, but, for Jinah, it couldn't have been more perfect, since everything that came from Jisung seemed perfectly and exactly to her.

— "Should have been calling for a long time," — she replied with an even bigger smile than before, but it wasn't like she was doing it alone.

The dialogues were once again set aside, replaced by passionate kisses this time. They still had an entire galaxy to explore, but the night was long, no need to hurry.

                                     ♡˖°

Jade barely waited for Chan to stop the car in front of Hyunjin's house and was already exasperated. Yoorim had called her boyfriend and the boy had said that Changbin needed a quiet place to put his disoriented thoughts on the axis; so, Hwang didn't think twice before offering his house and, as a toast, a friendly shoulder in case he wanted to shed some tears. Jade was relieved to know that Seo was at least in good company, but that didn't lessen her distress. Almost completely sober, all the american wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

Sitting on one of the living room sofas, concentrated on the irrelevant rug, Changbin had already cried all his waterline could bear. He was supposed to be feeling the worst person in the world, but not even the largest dictionary had enough bad adjectives to explain what was going on inside his shattered mind and heart. Beside him, Hyunjin bit his lip nervously. He hadn't told Seo why Yoorim had called him minutes ago, but he knew that Jade was persistent and was on her way, perhaps to star in a third world war. He hadn't heard Kang's side of the story yet, but hoped things weren't as bad as they seemed.

Hyunjin was taken from his apprehensive thoughts as the door opened and a long-haired hurricane entered. He, then, braced himself for the screams; Changbin bursting out, Jade trying to explain herself to no avail, the two crying, perhaps even trying to kill each other, but all that could be heard in that quiet room was Jieun's sobs. Changbin remained indifferent like an ice stone.

— "Changbin" — Jade sat next to him, saying everything with huge difficulty. Chan and Yoorim also entered the house, but didn't dare interrupt anything. — "I swear it wasn't my intention to kiss Josh. I don't even know how it happened right. He just started talking to me and, suddenly, you were already there! I know this explanation sounds very fake, but believe me, please! I've never been so honest in my life!"

Changbin waited for her to finish saying and crying all she wanted. He didn't look into her eyes for a millisecond, just heard her voice, and, when she was done, she kept silence as if this were his best friend.

— "Say something!" — Jade begged, squeezing his arm. Every second without a reaction was agonizing, and it was only after what seemed like an hour that Changbin finally blew something out of his mouth.

— "We have nothing more to talk about."

Kang scowled. Never, in their three years of relationship, nor in their worst fights, had Changbin given her such a cold, emotionless voice. It was as if each syllable could cut through her skin, so sharp they were.

— "But-..."

— "There's no but" — Changbin stared at her for the first time, and Jieun wished he hadn't even done so, for if only his intonation had destroyed her, his eyes, then, did her a thousand times worse. — "Just get out of my life, because I don't care about continuing in yours."

And there was no need for anything else to be said.

(a/n: stfu i'm very sad

but in compensation the next chapter is really 🌚🌚 or not cause jinah and jisung here don't fuck, jinah and jisung here make love

and well, guesses about what will happen to changeun? reaffirming what i said above, i'm very sad but do what ehhh. it's still good that the au's happy, when the sadness really comes i don't even want to see. and it seems that i say this to scare you guys but it's not sdsjkhsdjkkjklhj i just wanna make a preparation or it'll be a lot of knife flying right in my face.

and guys, i'm so sorry, i didn't post anything, but it's because i'm really busy with college projects, like, this shit is really fcking hard, and i need to increase my grades or i’ll be fucked up sjsjksjdsjh laughing not to cry. and i still have to work, then it's hard, right? but in the meantime, i managed to write a few more chapters for LTM, so don't worry, ok? ily and take care~

AND Y’ALL BETTER STREAM ADIOS OK? OK. IT’S A FUCKING ANTHEM, OR AS YOU GUYS SAY, A B O P. 

STAN EVERGLOW Y’ALL)

[akaseru]

I’m gonna start with my supernatural au. If you follow me then you’ll have seen me mention it as the Demon!Juls AU. This is gonna be a long piece when finished. I have tentatively titled it At the edge of the hellfire, but I’m sure that’ll change when I finally post it on AO3 -so keep an eye out for it. I’m still working on the first chapter which is the hardest due to some heavy shit in it. Below the read line is a whole ass scene I already have written that takes place further in the fic; however, it is technically incomplete and will likely undergo some changes when I actually reach that point.

 Juliana stared deeply into Valentina’s eyes in the grandest gesture of trust she could provide; looking into ocean-eyes that could perfectly reflect the owner’s emotions; staring into cerulean orbs that made Juliana feel like she was seen; eyes that literally had the power to make the raven-haired woman do whatever the vampire wanted – something the hunter would willingly do even without compulsion.

Juliana brought her right hand up to cradle Valentina’s cheek, absentmindedly stroking it with her thumb until she caught sight of the stark contrast between the black glove on her hand and Valentina’s skin. Just like that the spark of whatever Juliana could feel was happening between them completely evaporated, leaving her awash in a steadily rising tension borne from apprehension and guilt. Just before Valentina could close the distance between their lips Juliana turned her head to the side while maintaining (the connection at their foreheads/the contact point at their foreheads). The younger woman closed her eyes not wanting to see how the vampire was looking at her, didn’t want to think about what she would see in Val’s blue eyes – especially after she told her the truth.

Valentina, ever in tune and seemingly sensing her tumultuous thoughts, whispered a simple “Juls” weighted with a concern and confusion Juliana could feel like every embrace they have shared in the short time they have known one another. The care in Valentina’s voice was too much to handle and Juliana released a shaky breath before pulling away and severing any physical contact between them. Valentina was not to be deterred however, and Juliana could sense the older woman taking a hesitant step forward as a hand gently held hers.

“Juls, mírame.” The words ghosted across the shorter woman’s face accompanied by the sensation of Valentina rubbing her knuckles.

The hunter only closed her eyes tighter and felt tears gather at the corners. Juliana couldn’t bear it. There was no point in denying it. This ethereal creature looked at her with the kind of love she had never really seen or received from anyone save her mother, and even then, it felt like something more. The mere thought of squandering the light in her eyes, being looked at with the same contempt and revulsion others have directed at the hybrid upon learning of her heritage – like she was less than human and a scourge upon the earth? Juliana could take it from other people, but if she received it from the selfless vampire as well…it would break her.

“Val, I-” and dammit all if she couldn’t stop her voice from cracking. It sounded slightly hysterical to her own ears.

“Juliana, mi amor, mírame,” Valentina entreated, worry creeping into her voice as she wiped a tear from the corner of the younger woman’s eye, brushing raven locks back before cupping her neck. “Por favor.” The vampire’s voice was nothing more than a broken whisper. Like she too could sense that everything was about to fall apart.

That’s what did Juliana in, the endearment that rolled so effortlessly off her tongue, that broken whisper. Her heart tore in two at the sound. For all her otherworldly strength, Juliana doesn’t think she could deny this compassionate creature anything. More than anything, she deserved to know the truth about the woman she chose to spend her time with…even if it destroyed the hybrid and the more-than-friendship growing between them. Juliana took a deep breath and turned her head in the vampire’s direction before opening her eyes.

“Val,” Brown eyes met misty orbs the color of a stormy sea, the most honest and human individual she had ever had the honor meet, and committed every detail about her to memory. Juliana could feel her eyes starting to water and she looked up briefly to get them under control before she looked back at Valentina, willing her voice to stay even as she bared what was left of her soul, poised to shatter whatever illusion they had been living in and witness the end of the best thing that has ever happened in her life thus far.

“Valentina,” she licked her lips in a desperate attempt to bring some moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. The hybrid briefly looked down at their joined hand and reveled in the knowledge of someone fitting so effortlessly with her. Valentina gave her hand a brief squeeze of encouragement. “I’m not human.”

The vampire gave Juliana a lazy and relieved half smile. “Yeah?” She leaned forward and lightly brushed her nose against the younger woman’s, the intimate action relaxing the hunter despite the veritable hurricane of emotions churning inside her. Juliana was suddenly struck with the thought that she may have confirmed the vampire’s suspicions. “You thought that I would have a problem with-”

Juliana gave a mirthless laugh and shook her head, the action making the older woman tilt her head in confusion and bite her lip in thought. “No, Valentina, escuchame. I’m not human,” she reiterated.

Valentina looked deeply into her eyes almost as if she was searching for something. She then directed her gaze to Juliana’s gloved right hand and held it between both of her own. It shouldn’t have surprised the hybrid that the vampire had quickly sussed out what caused the sudden change, they are so attuned to each other, but it did, which made things that much harder. Valentina raised the gloved hand to eye-level and looked at her beseechingly. Juliana gave a barely discernable nod of acknowledgement and the older woman gave her a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Valentina held the hunter’s wrist in one hand and gently pulled off the leather glove with other, slowly revealing keratinous plate-like scales that covered the back of Juliana’s hand like armor in a black so dark it shined with a blueish hue. As Valentina revealed the first set of knuckles she became aware of a slight pulsing glow that wrapped around the back of the hand and knuckles, the same shade of blue-purple as lightning. Juliana could see the exact moment the other woman realized it was coming from the “skin” that wasn’t covered as the vampire stared in awe. Valentina continued removing the glove discovering that after the second knuckle the skin was free of scales. The taller woman finished taking off the glove and touched the thinner and smoother skin of the fingers that ended in claw-like points, fascinated by the faint but steady glow of her palm.

There must have been something in Juliana’s gaze or the way that she seemed to brace herself that the vampire realized there was more and correctly surmised that the last remaining barrier was the jacket. As Valentina made to slide the jacket off Juliana’s shoulders the hunter broke eye contact and stared at the floor in shame while she quickly shucked the jacket off herself. Juliana shut her eyes tight and held back tears as she revealed that almost the entirety of her right arm was just as monstrous as her hand. She didn’t even bother to suppress the way she flinched when Valentina gasped at the sight.

And the truth shall set you free, she bitterly thought all the while revealing her true nature in a statement devoid of the warmth that once lingered between them. “I’m a demon.” She didn’t care about the nuances or the fact that she was only a quarter demon; it was all anyone focused on, so she said the only thing others heard – the only thing that mattered. In the deafening silence that followed Juliana refused to look at Valentina and was mentally preparing herself to sever ties with this amazing woman.

[P] Creatures were still viewed as human in the community, but not demons – especially not a half-breed like herself. Even amongst fellow demons she was met with scorn. Demons or devils or whatever people referred to them as were something to be equally feared and despised, and three years of being on the receiving end of such attitudes on top of the childhood she endured and things she’d done made her believe in that rhetoric.

There was a light touch on her palm as a hand slowly trailed down her arm, tracing the path of the glow running intermittently down the center. When the hand finished its path to the back of Juliana’s hand it was cupped tenderly between two points of warmth and was slowly being raised. At the first brush of Valentina’s cheek against her palm tears were cascading down Juliana’s cheeks, and when Valentina pressed a kiss inside her hand there was nothing the shorter woman could do to stop the sobs that violently wracked her body. Valentina kept Juliana’s hand pressed against her cheek and used the other to cup the shorter girl’s neck and bring the hunter closer to her, kissing away the trails left by tears.

“Oh, mi amor,” the vampire whispered reverently before pressing a soft but lingering kiss to Juliana’s lips. The action incited a fresh wave of tears and choked sobs as she pulled the hunter closer to her in a tight embrace, tucking the younger woman’s head against her neck.