#and then they stare out the window watching soul just lay there in the dirt & rain

[sneeb-canons]

soul has a whole flock of chickens, not just darrell. chickens are social animals we NEED MORE CHICKENS GUYS STOP GIVING THEM JUST ONE DARRELL WILL BE SAD AND LONELY

anyways his chickens are Darrell, Jazz, Ginger, and Rob Cantor.

Headcanon #176

[ponder-the-orb]

The definition of home

Saw the epilogue where Gale is still 100% down to marry mind flayer Tav. And so THIS was born.

Pairing: Fem (illithid) Tav/Gale

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, post-game (pre-epilogue), Gale would still love you if you were a worm,

Word count: 4.6K

Summary:

“Have you really thought about the things I cannot give you?”

She reaches out and parts the folds of his mind, her own face impassive and wet through his eyes. “This.” She concentrates, projecting the image of her former self, naked and wanting, into his mind. “Or this.” Another image of her elven body, now heavy with his child. “Or this.” She twists the image until it’s the two of them elderly and grey, their withered hands clasped together.

Such pictures are not hard to conjure for her. Once, they were her own wants, the things she’d dreamed about a lifetime ago now. All the things she can’t be.

After the Netherbrain lay in the Chionthar and they’d found one of the city’s unscathed inns, she’d simply sat in the dark as he slept and contemplated just how truly alien she was compared to him. All the parts of her he’d loved, the places he’d whispered his devotion against– they’d gone. There was nothing left that could fit together, not as lovers should.

Read on AO3 or below

***

She had never thought that she’d call a wizard’s tower her home. Before, they’d seemed like such uninviting places: lofty, solitary and always exuding such an obnoxiously foreboding aura — perhaps to match their owners she’d once presumed.

It turns out, she’d been half right as this particular tower very much matched its owner. Gale had not exaggerated when he’d described its comforts. Every single floor was dedicated to either good literature, good food or good rest — and while it was as cluttered as an addled mind when they’d arrived a few days ago, it had been a strange sort of gift to sort through the mess and dig into the person he’d been before.

It had been a greater gift still to see him so at ease for the first time. Every discarded elixir or scribbled note had a story, one told with bright eyes and eager words- free from the poison of that Netherese orb or the expectations that had once festered so cruelly within him.

Tonight, as with most nights since her arrival, she’d retired to her favourite desk in a comfortable corner of the library. It’s a shadowed spot nestled between towering bookshelves, a thousand tomes watching her like a leatherbound forest as she writes. The window is half open in front of her, Waterdeep itself glinting in blue and silver splendour beyond. Her new city. Her new home.

It’s almost strange how that word has evolved almost as much as she has recently. For most of her life, it had meant the bustle of Baldur's Gate. It’s still somewhere she finds herself thinking of often, the wonky streets, the cobalt waters, how there was such a strong scent of ale and stone and smoke wherever she went. 

For a while it had also meant a continuously moving campsite, barely a few paces ahead of the Absolute’s horrors. Those memories of dirt and stale bread and shared bedrolls still bring a joy to her, despite the peril that stains them. They’re pieces of her, pieces that slid into place and changed her down the fabric of her soul. 

Even now it’s a little difficult to fathom exactly who she’d been before she’d been abducted. 

She looks to the small mirror propped up on the desk, really scrutinising the reflection. All the same elven features stare back, from the sharp angles of her face to the points of her ears — yet there are still details that don’t quite seem to fit properly. 

More doubts crop up as she takes in every inch of visible skin. Had she always had this many freckles? Are the scars on her shoulders new or old? Are the shadows under her eyes usually this deep?

Was this the face he fell in love with?

“Have you finished your guest list yet?” Gale calls from closer to the hearth. He’s reclined in an armchair, eyes glued to some massive compendium on psionics he’d picked up almost an hour ago. He waves his hand and the fire blooms brighter, perfuming the air with a stronger scent of bark and spices.

The glow illuminates those handsome features in a softer gold. She feels herself warm a little at the sight.

“Yes. Here,” she replies, picking up the paper next to her and floating it over with a flick of her own wrist. 

He cocks his head as it lands between the pages of his book. “This is really everyone you wish to attend?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve put Omeluum and Blurg at the top. I am rather curious as to what the Society would consider an appropriate wedding gift.” He smiles and turns back to his reading. “One would hope for a rare magical artefact of some kind but we may have to be content with an exotic selection of mushrooms.”

“Our correspondence has been a great help to me,” she says, turning back to the mirror and concentrating on how her mouth forms the words. “And they said they’d be delighted to attend under the guarantee they will not be attacked the second they enter the city.” 

She can understand their worry. It had scarcely been a fortnight since the city had been saved but the illithid invasion is already legendary news across the entirety of the Sword Coast. She’d seen multiple mind flayer corpses kicked into waiting fires, whispers about parts of their bodies being sold for high prices to wizards and alchemists spreading along every single street. 

It scarcely mattered. There was never going to be any outrage over that.

They were monsters after all: soulless, mindless, evil creatures, ready to enslave everyone who didn’t fit their image. After such destruction caused by the Absolute, it would be foolish to not be ready to kill one on sight.

She hears him sigh and shut the book in his lap. “There’s really no one else?”

“I’m very sure that is everyone who will want to come.”

There’s a quiet shuffle and his face appears in the reflection behind her head. 

“You know, you really don’t have to do that,” he says, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I know how much effort it is to maintain.”

“I will need to do so for the wedding. It’s practice.”

He squeezes her shoulder gently. It’s a familiar comfort. “It’s just us, my love. You can be yourself.”

She exhales and closes her eyes, finally pulling her illusion out of both their minds. When she opens them again, her true form looks back. All her bright colours have faded, giving way to taut grey skin, a pulsing stretch of pale brain matter on either side of her head and four long tentacles. The textbook image of a freshly birthed mindflayer.

The slick pebbles of her eyes catch his in the mirror, but he doesn’t flinch.

“There you are,” he says, patting her shoulder again. “Was it tiring to hold it for so long?”

She turns in her chair. “It is just you and I in here. When there are others, it will be harder to distort their perceptions of me.” 

“You don’t have to do that for the ceremony either if you don’t want to,” he continues softly, sitting on the loveseat opposite her desk. “I’ve already spoken to several clerics and after a lot of explaining a few of them are happy to-”

“It’s easier this way,” she interrupts. Her voice is stronger now that she’s speaking directly into his mind. The lack of vocal cords had taken a few days to get used to when she’d first transformed but now she can scarcely think of another way of communicating.

He leans forward in the chair. “It’s not about what’s easier. It’s about what you want.”

“What I want is for our wedding to not be interrupted by a group of angry citizens, terrified that there is a mind flayer in their city.” She can almost count the people who know of this tower’s new tenant on one hand, only ever leaving under the cover of night and wrapped in several layers of clothing to hide herself. 

Despite Gale’s assurances, she knows she’s not ready to fully explore the city yet and neither are her new neighbours.

His small smile doesn’t fade. “No one is going to hurt you. Plus I think you’re more than capable of defending yourself.”

She nods and floats over to the fire, the flames highlighting the deep grey tracks in her hands. “Perhaps it would not be so bad. I heard that it is good luck to have at least one murder at a Waterdavian wedding.” 

Gale chuckles. “I think we already have all the luck we need.”

A long beat of silence passes as she faces him again. She can see another thought twisting in the front of his mind, clear as any parasite. It would be no trouble to reach in and find out for herself, but she stops. 

Waiting is the human thing to do , she reminds herself.

“Is there something bothering you about the wedding?” he eventually asks.

“Nothing in particular,” she replies and begins to methodically float various piles of books back to their places on the shelves. “Perhaps only that we do not need such a large cake when only one of us can eat it.”

There’s another moment of quiet, a slightly more uncomfortable one this time. She can feel the way his eyes bore into her, even as she avoids his gaze. 

“You’re a poor liar, even now,” he says. The chair scrapes behind her and she hears him pad over. “Can you be completely honest with me please? You haven’t seemed overly enthused about any of this.”

She halts her book sorting. “You want this. I want you to have it.”

“I meant what I said before. We do not need such a ceremony if you’d prefer.” His voice drops when she doesn’t answer, gentle as an embrace. “To many it is an unusual situation, but those that matter will understand.”

“That is not what I am concerned about.”

He closes his eyes. “Then tell me. You are not exactly the open book you were before. Forgive the wording but, I have never found reading someone so tricky.”

“Precisely,” she says, turning to him fully. 

She takes his hand in hers, so delicate and pale in comparison to each of her long clawed fingers. It would be so easy to break his skin with but a caress, tear all the soft places to ribbons without even meaning to.

“Gale, are you truly sure that this is everything that you desire? What we have can never be any definition of the word traditional or domestic , at least by the standards of Faerûn. What you want is something you envisioned with my previous self and that is not someone I can become again.” She pulls her hand away, something akin to a sigh projecting from her mind. “It is also not a form I ever wish to return to.” 

That was her one fear before evolving — the permanence of it. She could save everyone, save him but forever be branded a monster. 

That was before the universe opened like a flower before her eyes.

The moment she changed, all that abhorrence dissolved into astral dust. The walls of her mind opened, possibility upon possibility flowing through her until the bounds of space and thought seemed such novel concepts. Gone were her aches, her bruises and the limitations of such a weak shell, replaced with the thrill of being able to bend the world around her with but a thought.

How could she have ever been scared of these gifts? Of such wild beauty? 

But elegance to one can so easily be an atrocity to another. It was the first feeling she’d tasted when her mind had opened, as deep and sour as vinegar. 

Part of her still wishes she couldn’t have immediately known that reaction belonged to Gale.

He folds his arms at her words. “I know all that.”

“Have you really thought about the things I cannot give you?” She reaches out and parts the folds of his mind, her own face impassive and wet through his eyes. “This.” She concentrates, projecting the image of her former self, naked and wanting, into his mind. “Or this.” Another image of her elven body, now heavy with his child. “Or this.” She twists the image until it’s the two of them elderly and grey, their withered hands clasped together.

Such pictures are not hard to conjure for her. Once, they were her own wants, the things she’d dreamed about a lifetime ago now. All the things she can’t be.

After the Netherbrain lay in the Chionthar and they’d found one of the city’s unscathed inns, she’d simply sat in the dark as he slept and contemplated just how truly alien she was compared to him. All the parts of her he’d loved, the places he’d whispered his devotion against– they’d gone. There was nothing left that could fit together, not as lovers should.

She’d seen it in his dreams that night too: visions of him pressing his lips to the places that were tulip-soft, tonguing the sweetness of her skin, slipping his hands under swathes of white lace to touch her  — each beautiful thought piercing like a needle of ice to her mind.

It was the night she’d wondered if such caresses would feel the same now. The same night she’d realised that illithids cannot cry.

The walls of Gale’s mind suddenly slam down like a portcullis.

“Out!” His shout reverberates around the library as he swipes the air in front of him.

She floats backwards, almost pushed by the force of his thoughts.

“Do not do that again.” he whispers, the words breathy and broken like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach.

She turns her face back to the fire, mind burning with regret.

“I am sorry. I only wished to show you the truth.”

“The truth,” he says flatly. “Do you really believe that I didn’t think through our future? Or rather that I was lying to you and myself when I said that I wanted us to stay together. I’m honestly not sure which of those options is more insulting.”

She sighs and wraps herself in a new form—  him, from their first meeting.

“It’s a process known as ceremorphosis and it is to be avoided .” She wags her finger as she speaks in a perfect echo of his voice. “Day one, fever and memory loss. Day two-”

He holds up his hand, cutting her off. “I remember what I said.”

“That was only a few weeks ago. Is it surprising for me to wonder why you have had such a sudden change of heart?” she says, fading back to her illithid form.

“Because of you ,” he answers, exasperated. “You chose this and you saved us, saved everyone .”

She shakes her head. She’d never thought that rationalisations could hurt more than an outright rejection. 

“Yes, I was instrumental in stopping the Absolute and it may be the greatest thing I will ever achieve. But awe or gratitude are not reasons you have to stay with me.” 

“If I recall correctly, I was also fairly instrumental in that.”

“You also offered up every other option to me evolving, even using the orb,” she continues, suddenly finding it hard to keep her voice so even in his mind. “And I am not sure whether your own death being preferable to this or you still hanging on for Mystra’s forgiveness feels worse.”

She immediately tastes his anger at her words.

Mystra isn’t someone they’ve discussed much since her arrival here, but it is not something she can simply cast a veil over and forget. His previous lover was a Goddess , a being described as more wondrous than the light of the weave itself, beautiful and terrible as a storm. 

The very statue of Mystra herself had once sat at the desk she now calls her own, a cruel and shapely reminder of what she has to live up to.

It had tactfully been moved one morning before she could blast it into a thousand pieces.

“Do you really believe that is what I was thinking?” Gale utters after a moment. His expression splinters like glass in front of her, the frustration around him turning colder- hurt.

She immediately wants to take it all back. She wants to lie and say she was angry and jealous and pave over this whole evening with a sweeter candied drawl about the wedding. 

She fights it, knowing this conversation is long overdue for them both.

“The more foolish part of me wants to say no. But I cannot,” she says as calmly as her mind will allow.

She holds back her power as much as she can as he silently processes her answer. She can see the feelings churning behind his eyes, but it feels wrong to sip them now. She can handle his anger, his realisation, his wish for her to leave– but not his pain. 

“Tell me the truth in its entirety, regardless of what you believe my feelings will be,” she urges gently. “Regret will fester between us otherwise.”

He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “The only regret I have is not realising sooner that her forgiveness boiled down to me blowing myself up at a more convenient time,” he finally says in a firm whisper. “I didn’t care a jot for it then and I do not now.” When he opens them again, there’s a stronger look set there. It pins her to the spot as he takes a step forward. 

“The truth in its entirety, very well. You already know that when we first set out, our main objective was to stop this very thing from happening, so of course I was scared when you chose it. In all my studies on ceremorphosis, the same thing was emphasised repeatedly: that the host is completely destroyed, soul and all. What remains is merely a husk and there is nothing left of the person they were.” He pauses and takes a shakier breath. “Even if it damned the world, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” 

The air feels somehow quieter as his confession hangs between them. She stays silent, waiting for him to gather himself. 

“But that didn’t happen,” he continues, his voice a little more resolute. “It took a minute, but after you changed I could see it. You still looked at me the way that you did before. You even made a joke about wanting to taste smoother brains than mine,” his smile softens, eyes glossier the firelight. “Perhaps you are a new kind of illithid, or maybe there is even more we need to learn about them. But I can definitely say that I never thought that a mind flayer could feel ashamed.” 

She bristles a little. “I am not ashamed.” 

“Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?”

She looks back to her desk, the reflection of their strange pairing shadowed in the mirror. “I will not be the reason you cannot have everything you want.”

He grabs her hands as she begins to float away.

“I have said it before. I am many things, but I’m not coy nor am I a liar. I made a promise that you will always be enough for me. That has not changed and it never will.” He strokes her palms in a familiar pattern and memories of her sitting with him in star-spun visions of the outer planes drift to the front of her mind. She holds onto the image, remembering the warmth on his face when he’d told her the first time, the light and love so clear in his eyes.

It’s the same look he has now, the same feeling unfurling hot and unyielding in the pit of her stomach. 

What she’d give to hold onto it forever.

“I doubt this was what you imagined when you made that vow,” she answers quietly. Her tentacles shiver as she moves her head as if to prove her point.

They both look down at their joined hands for a moment, before he brings one to his mouth and presses a long, warm kiss to her wrist. “You can pry into my mind and seek my true feelings on the matter if you wish, but after everything that has happened to us, there are really only two questions I have about your new form.”

He lets go of her hands and lightly cups her shoulders.

“Firstly, do you love me?”

Her head snaps up. “Of course I do.” Her response is immediate, the airiness of her voice almost breaking at such a thought. 

After all she’s said tonight, she knows it is not a completely unfair question to ask, but hearing even the tiniest curl of doubt in those words feels like a greatsword carving straight through the space where her heart once lay.

“Before, I always believed that illithids were simply not capable of any type of real emotion, other than mindless obedience I suppose. But I could not have been more wrong.” She looks down at herself as she speaks, taking in everything from her feet hovering a few inches from the ground to the pinkened tips of her tentacles. A monstrosity through and through, but one that she’s proud to be. 

“I know it can be hard to see. My face is… grotesque to many and emotions can be difficult to show when you lack even the basic attributes to form a smile. I will never sing nor weep nor kiss again but that does not mean the desire to do so has left me. And the feelings I had for you, they too have evolved with me.” She pauses, trying not to stumble under the intensity of her words. “I did not realise that love could run this deep inside of me. I can remember everything so clearly : the strength of your passions, the beauty of your kindness, all you are, all you have done for me. There is not a second I do not hold dear.” She hesitates as she reaches up, still so keenly aware of the razor-sharp claws protruding from each finger. He meets her halfway instead, leaning in to press his cheek to her palm. 

It’s such a simple gesture, one she’d done maybe three dozen times when she was still elven. It’s a stronger feeling now – every sensation against his skin settling firmly into her memory.

“Gale, it is no exaggeration when I say that you are everything .” She traces the familiar trail from his eye to his neck as she speaks, where the edges of the orb had once cracked his lovely face like porcelain. 

He leans into the touch, just as he had three dozen times before. “And now that you’ve had time to settle into this body, even with the tentacles and the talons, do you still feel like you ?”

It’s the question she had pondered herself for weeks now, one that she’d already been asked repeatedly by practically everyone… everyone but Gale. 

And for the first time, she has a firm answer.

“Yes, I do,” she says, pressing each word clearly into his mind. His face breaks into a wider smile as she looks back up, one that she wants to paint her dreams with should she ever remember how to sleep.

“It is curious in some ways,” she continues, “I do not feel as if anything has been taken from me, rather added– perhaps because I have no higher purpose to serve as the rest of my kind do. I am no slave, no thrall and I have no wish to conquer this world, at least no more than before.” She huffs out a small laugh, the first in what feels like a lifetime. “The desires I had then are still those that I want now.” 

“And what are they?” Gale asks, still resting his face against her hand.

She pats his cheek. “ You ,” she gestures around them with her other hand. “This.” She looks to the window, watching the nighttime bustle of Waterdeep gleaming below. “And perhaps more adventuring when the time is right.” When that time may be she isn’t sure, but she knows she wants it – wants it all. She wants to feel every inch of the Sword Coast against her skin, seek new ways to use her mind, love in every physical and abstract way she can fathom until both of them have experienced all joys and pleasures possible between them. 

“That sounds perfect to me,” he says, twisting to kiss the palm of her hand.

She sinks into the feeling of his lips for a long, wonderful second before letting go. “You really do not think that you will ever wish for more?”

She already knows his answer. She can taste it in the air between them- rich and sweet like honeyed wine. Perhaps there is still some shred of her old mind that lingers, one that wants to hear him say it one more time.

He hums for a second before gently gripping one of her tentacles. 

“You are the person I love. The person I want to be with,” he says, his hand leaving a pleasurable warmth as it slides up the length of her. She doesn’t notice the lower portion reflexively curling around his arm until his face is but a hair’s breadth from hers. “It is true that this has required a bit of an adjustment. Our relationship will be one of the mind for the most part, but there’s more than one way to be a family… and to be intimate.” He bends down, letting his lips follow the trail of his hand until they rest against her forehead. 

“I doubt the world will ever fully accept this.” Her voice wavers with an unfamiliar pleasure as he continues his slow exploration of her.

His answering laugh tickles her skin. “As if I give a damn what the world might think. To know that you care for me is the only reassurance I’ll ever need.” 

He leaves a lingering kiss between her eyes and the whole room blooms in pink around her.

“Thank you, ” she says as does it again.

“For what, my love?”

She presses her forehead back in her own imitation of a kiss. “For everything. For opening your home to me.”

He looks down with heavy-lidded eyes. “Home is with you: wherever that is, in whatever form that is. And you should never, never doubt that.” He leaves one last kiss against her face before stepping away.

“Plus, I never realised how fascinating the field of psionics could be!” She quickly pulls her tentacles back as he grabs the book he’d been reading. “You are a veritable treasure trove of discovery– that the power of the mind can rival the weave itself in certain ways has made for such an amazing study. Texts on the subject are fairly rare and, as I have come to realise, inaccurate. Not many have had  the privilege to see the power up close and I’ve already got several papers planned on the subject.” He turns back to her, his expression softer. “Provided you would be my co-author, of course.”

She drifts over, studying the masses of notes scrawled in the margins of the text. “Dekarios & Dekarios,” she muses. “We would certainly leave quite the author’s note. But I believe it would be best to have the wedding first or I fear you will be too distracted to plan such festivities.”

He chuckles and carefully puts the book down. “True. In that case, I suggest we return to that at once.” He pulls another chair up to her desk, smiling as he gestures to the empty one next to him. “Shall we?” 

--

It quickly becomes an open secret in Waterdeep: the wizard and his illithid companion. Questions fly as to the true nature of their partnership, of the work they do, the ways such a being is kept satiated in the city.

And if they are spotted on the evening streets or in the quieter corners of the Yawning Portal, the same answer is always given by both of them.

Their tower is open to any who seek knowledge. Simply knock and be welcomed into their respite from the bustle of the city.

Their office. Their oasis.

Their home. 

***

I take back what I said before, THIS is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written.

[xerotiny99]

Knuckle Velvet // Ethel Cain #1

Knuckle Velvet

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: abusive relationship, depictions of sexual abuse and physical abuse. Non-consensual sex/rape.

Note: my adaptation of 'Knuckle Velvet by Ethel Cain' from the Golden Age EP. This piece of work DOES NOT relate to the idols in real life. This is also experimental writing, in reader's point of view and Yunho is referred to as the second person. Don't get confused. Critics are welcomed but please don't judge me. Requested to listen to the song and understand the lyrics before reading this, however it isn't mandatory. Enjoy!

Gist: in this push and pull game of love, you knew you made a mistake by falling in love with him.

Song Rec: Knuckle Velvet by Ethel Cain

Word Count: 2,904

Reader's Perspective.

          Sunlight pools into my eyes through the broken window of my room; the long empty space harbouring pointed shards of glass, spills in the warmth my yearn for in my heart. The suddenness of my soul, the marred skin on my face, the raggedness of my hair, as I lay my head on the bed, feels surreal to deny the pain. White sheets stained with my blood, tainted with the dirt your hand had, an unseeming candour had stricken between us two again and the aftermath had been quite remarkable.

I stare at the void between my lifeless body and the door to my room; the small cut on my lower lip stings to the fickle air playing with it, scabbing the pouring blood till it loses its colour and becomes a shade of torment. The burn in my stomach growls every time I recount our argument, every reminisce about your enraged eyes was blowing my conscience.

Click-clack!

The doorknob to the door twists and turns, the sound resonates with my pulsating heart but not quite with my mind. It takes me a second to realise he was back, you were back at my door like you usually are after every argument and useless fights. I catch a glimpse of your silhouette through the crack of the door beneath, moving, restless and angry. You probably want to see me, want to tell me you love me. And when you spell out those three words, I forget about everything and run back to you, back in your arms.

I should've known it from the start, from the time I met you; falling for you was a tragedy in it self, like, I, an angel, fell from grace for you, just to be loved by you. Insignificant justifications of my own notions, the short-lived existence of love between us, the strumming of our hearts I once heard till they flatlined, I was your mere puppet. I still am.

"Open the door, sunshine."

Your voice seems so warm and comforting, so composed.

The doorknob rattles to your force, even the hinges creak and squeak; while I lay on bed watching it all unfold, waiting, holding my breath, preparing myself for when you manage to break the door and storm in. Growing pains in my stomach rumble so deep, lurching me from the daze—it hurts, it hurts to feel anything at all. My broken skin hurts. My bruises hurt. My cuts hurt. Everything hurts. But not more than you. Nothing hurts the way you do.

Clatter!

Metal clatters with the floorboards, splinters of the door aching from the brute push. Your footsteps alert me, your jagged breathing alerts me, and the stench of alcohol from you alerts me. Tears swell in my eyes, bubbling my hazy vision with your shadow growing and growing. You come to stand next to me, by the edge of the bed, inspecting my body propped halfway on the bed and with the floor.

"Sunshine," you rasp, and play with my heartstrings. "Sunshine...I—" you catch your tongue, realising how badly you had hurt me before.

I find your warmth engulf me, border me with the affection I lacked. You're sitting next to me, your face still so beautiful in my eyes. So breathtaking. Your pale cheeks are cherry glazed, your brown eyes are so full of love and warmth, and your lips—you're smiling at me. I straighten up, reaching out my cold hands to caress your face. Instead, you cup mine. You cup mine and pull me close, pressing your lips against mine to initiates a kiss. Hunger, lust, and pleasure, a kiss symbolic of these three attributes.

I drown in you again. I drown till I die.

"I love you, sunshine." You mumble against my lips, and nothing could hurt me more than that.

"I love you too."

I find you shuffling then, pulling and dragging till you're out of your clothes; you fling your jacket halfway across the room, surprising me. But I helplessly push myself to you, to feel your warmth. After all, I craved it as much, yearned to be engulfed in it because—because it was the first time, you'd feel so warm to me. Otherwise, your gelid body has always been too far gone, far to fathom the pain of my evermore death. My body fits so perfectly with yours, or maybe I'm in a delusion. Maybe we're two opposite pieces of puzzle, never meant to be fit.

You fumble with your hands under the hem of my dress, its tattered pieces shaping with your sleek fingers so well. You were the one who tore it, nicked it off with your brute strength to reach the sweeter depths of my body. And you do the same now, trace your warm fingertips along my thighs, dispersing a string of tickles on my skin. I needed you bad. Desperately. You waste no time in doing so, tugging at the pieces of my dress to tear them apart. Completely.

"Yunho," my voice trembles in fright, "not now."

I couldn't let you have your way with me, not after you had the audacity to hit me. Still, I desire you as much as you do. Your hand is pressed against my soaked cunt. This touch of yours is my weakness, you could touch every part of me and make me forget about everything. And you do. When your fingers dip past my folds. You're so eager, you must be; prior to this, you had ripped my knickers off.

"Then when?" you whisper, burying your head in the crook of my neck and leaving behind your favourite kind of bruises. "Sunshine, I ought to have you now. You know it too."

You pull me in your lap, and without a second thought, I wrap my legs around your waist. The distance between us is dithered to nothing, so close to you yet distant in a way our hearts work. But then why do I hear your heart pounding in your chest? Why do I feel the beats under my fingertips when I caress your chest? Do you really love me?

"When we're okay," I whimper, feeling your teeth sink in my flesh and bite till it bleeds. "Until we put this behind us."

"We always have," you mumble, pulling back and licking your blood-stained lips. "And the sex after is just better, isn't it? I get you begging and pleading, I have you so vulnerable and desperate. Hopeless too."

You thrust two fingers inside, your sleek and thick digits curling to bring me pain again. I told you to stop, didn't I? But you didn't listen to me. Why do you hurt me? There's a havocking storm in me, waiting to blow up; the more you prod your fingers in me, the more I'm tempted to push you away. You're so deep in me, letting my flesh squelch around your fingers and musing to it like it is music to your ears. But isn't it right? You adore the sounds I make, be it in pain, pleasure or despair.

"You're swallowing my fingers, sunshine. Like you usually do after we're done fighting," you add, pecking my lips gently. "Does it turn you on, when I throw you around like a doll? Don't you...? It makes you feel more loved when I abuse you."

I can't utter the words I feel roiling my tongue; I want to cry. And I'm sure I have a few tears rolling down my cheeks.

You have your way with me, even when I protest. My body feels so lifeless as it stays strewn on the unkempt bed, as I watch you dress yourself up and flash me a smile. You're look so satisfied with yourself, with what you've done, with how you've hurt me this time. But you look so damn breathtaking. Standing at a distance from me, buttoning your creased shirt, running your fingers through your hair to set it, you're a piece of work, Yunho. A piece of art I held so dearly in my eyes and never let go. Never want too either.

My heart hurts. The way you've gored through it, the way you've left your dagger in after stabbing—you're obsessed with it, aren't you? You're keen on ripping my heart from my chest and wrenching it in the palm of your hand till it's devoid of anything at all. Loving the way my crimson blood taunts your skin and soul, you must find it so pleasurable. And the justification for your behaviour keeps changing every day. I chase your truth every day. You keep telling me you're healing; you're healing in the way you love me. But is this love? Is this really love, Yunho?

I see the look in your brown eyes, the warm and kind, gentle at times. I notice every speck of brown floating amid the dark of them, wondering if there ever is any piety in them. I hate it so much. I resent when you act different through your eyes, different in the dark and different in the light. As I watch you now, Yunho, I feel so helpless. I feel like I want to run away from you. Because I know you won't change. All your truths are your lies veiled in morality—they hold no significance in my heart. Your words are hollow and meaningless, just like your promises.

It hurts when I open my mouth, the several cuts from your teeth on my lips stinging. "You—you fucking piece of shit."

I stutter, but yet catch your attention with my broken voice. You smirk. Why are you smirking, Yunho? Do you find my tears pleasing? Am I entertaining you? I need to know. Because I know it's delightful to find you so happy. And it's me who's making you happy.

"What did you say?" you ask, smiling so smugly.

I sit straighter in bed, every part of my body aches to your abuse, every inch of my skin is littered with painful bruises. You love inflicting them upon me, you always do.

"You're a fucking piece of shit, Yunho." I repeat myself, my throat suffocating, my chest convulsing, my jaw slack from the pain. "You—you, you're so fucking fond of breaking me. But you always—but you never see how fucking vulnerable you are. Hitting me makes you feel more like a man, you fuck—"

You don't let me finish, aiming at my jaw with your fisted hand; you don't hit my jaw however, your punch comes flying to my face, to my mouth. Your knuckle scrapes on my teeth, your skin scratching—you've done it again. You've shed your skin on my teeth again. It's going to bruise now. Your knuckles. They're going to bruise.

"Fuck," I spit out, not understanding the impact of your punch beforehand.

But when I do, it's already too late. My mouth floods with blood, the metallic taste coating every corner till I feel unease crawling up my stomach. You're panicking, I can tell by the way your footsteps grow louder by me. You hug me again. I'm not surprised. Your warmth is peaceful again. I'm not surprised. I bleed on your sleeve again. I'm not surprised. How many times have I drenched your sleeve in my blood, now? How many times has it been, Yunho?

You've knocked my tooth out; I feel its crown poking my cheek. I want to spit it out, but I can't because you're pressing your hand against my mouth, attempting to stop the bleeding. Naked in front of you, bleeding uncontrollably, we've been here before too. You're so close to me again, the distance between us is nothing but your sparse dedication to me. A dedication to kill me in any way you find, but your trials are delicate, they're soft. You kill me softly. All the time.

"I'm so sorry, sunshine," your voice cracks, "fuck, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you—"

You're crying. Your hot tears trickle on my face, slowly slipping down to my chin and neck. Why are you crying? Do you feel remorse for what you've done? Do you really? So, you are a human being capable of feeling human emotions and out of them all, it's guilt. It's so clear in the way you cry. Your body shakes against mine, your cheeks are turning red, your face is so flustered; you're really guilty, you're crying and it's genuine.

This reminds me of our first fight. The first time you ever raised your fist at me, the first time you yelled at me. You cried then too, feeling sorry, feeling guilty for ever letting your anger get a hold of you. Your untamed rage is so childish. It always is.

I push away from you, spit out the loose tooth floating in my mouth, and I spatter blood when I mumble. "Ymoure sumch a fumcking chilfd."

"What?" you gasp, perhaps you didn't understand me because my mouth was full of blood.

"You're a child." I repeat, swallowing the blood, "a fucking child. You use me the way you please. If you don't get your way with me, you throw a fucking tantrum."

"Sunshine, it's all for you."

Your words don't validate your actions anymore.

"No, it's not! It's fucking not," I push you away, shoving with my whole strength to throw you off the bed. "You cry when you know you've fucked, you cry when you know I'm going to leave you, you cry when you want to make me stay."

I was hitting all your right buttons. I am pushing you to your edge. You are fidgety right now, listening to me, staring at me with tearful eyes, and ragged breath, you're noticing everything about me, and I am too; you're shaking, trembling. Was it because of the anger again? So, it seems, you know it too. Truth hurts, doesn't it?

I hear you grumble under your breath, "fucking bitch."

And then I hear the resonating thud of the door; you pulled it close with spite, so much of it, that I wonder you'd knock it down too. You're gone, though. Really gone. The silence was dense, enough of an indication that you're gone. But then I hear the engine of your car roaring, eventually the screech of tyres dragging on the road, reeking of asphalt. You're truly gone. You left me. You really did.

I don't know how much time it took me to clean and steady myself, but when I was standing in front of the entrance door, I realise how long it had actually been. The window to the left shows nothing but the dark sky, the glooming night—the moonless sky murmuring of cold rumours. The house is dark, beyond anyone's imagination. I couldn't see anything, couldn't discern anything, nothing at all.

In the same darkness, I stay till I crumble like a paper, and fall to my knees; you're gone. Nothing in my heart is hoping you would come back. That's when the fear builds in my mind, taking over everything. The cold night is scary, frightening to the soul. The same coldness seeps in my heart, shutting my senses till I realise what I don't have without you here with me.  I miss you so fucking much. Are you really not coming back?

Yunho, come back. Please.

I need you.

Can you give it back? Every drop of blood I spent on you, I spilled for you, I bled for you every time to let you have your way with me, can you give it back? I laugh at myself as I realise I'm never getting my love back. I know I spent it all on you to save you from yourself.

"You're not coming back," I mumble to myself, not bothered by the cold or the sting on my wounds, especially my tongue.

"You're never coming back."

[roomsofangel]

CHAPTER ONE

death wish .ᐟ

wc 1.1k

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your mother said you had trouble following you ever since you learned how to walk — it had only gotten worse with age.

and with recent events, you were starting to believe her because truly, in what world, who can say,

the god of death asked you to marry him.

breathing in the scented candles, your shoulders slumped, “he has a taste for vanilla,” you muttered, index finger delicately grazing the glass holding the flame in tact

“do you not like it?” seonghwa’s voice startled you, your body tensing from the energy it couldn’t process radiating off of him, his large hands firmly holding your arms from behind you— yet, it still felt like he was handling you with more care than you could ever fathom a being like him would.

humming, “i never said i didn’t,” you turned your body to face him, his expression softening once your eyes met each others — he smiled, hands drifting off of you and to his sides

seonghwa’s scent was different and it was only more noticeable when the two of you stood this close, the mixture of cold iced air and rain, just add a bit of cigarette smoke and cherry — your nose twitched, hand lifting for your finger to wipe it

though all reapers had a scent,

seonghwa only proved he was much more than just that. his title being the god of death made your spine shudder.

“you should wake up now, y/n,” he whispered, his chest pressed against yours while you tightly knit your brows together, fingers laced in his belt loops, humming in question

“wake up?” you asked

nodding his head, he gently shoved you away so he could step back and gain his composure you saw was faltering, “i just came to visit,” he held his hands in defense, “lake, tonight. i’ll explain the rest of our deal.”

and before you had time to question, your body shot up with you gasping for air — chest heavy and frantically rising, your forehead dripped with sweat before you wiped it off

4:44am

“ah, seonghwa,” you cursed under your breath after your breathing had settled, laying yourself back down and pulling a pillow over your head in exasperation

the two of you had gotten separated that night after he dropped the sudden question—scratch that—the sudden command it seemed with the way he had came about it.

your mother had called midway of him getting ready to explain more about the wedding arrangements and why this had to be done — how do you tell your family you’re getting married?

and how the hell do you tell them he’s the creator of their future demise? he decided everything in the end.

“one iced mint green tea, please,” you requested, attempting to dust off the imaginary dirt off your blouse while you stood in front of the coffee shop’s cashier who nodded their head

you didn’t get much sleep after the visit seonghwa paid you with, a clouded mind — you sat in the back by the window, eyes glued to the scenery that changed with each and every new person added and removed, the sun bright and giving everyone a kiss on the head

hands clasped together, you continued to watch the endless amount of people who weren’t aware they would be dying soon, frowning at some that would be a few hours from now.

receiving your drink, you thanked the barista and put your straw in, and that’s when you noticed something

with a heavy chest, you turned to glance back at the register where you saw someone already looking at you — nose twitching, you attempted to look away, having the urge to run and hide

his catlike eyes stared deeply into you, almost as if he was trying to rip out your soul with his hands — he wasn’t a reaper, you could sense it.

then what was he?

“san! come get these boxes from the back, you’re stronger than i am,” you heard someone from the back call out for him and it broke his eye contact with you, his uninterested expression turning to the person who stumbled out before he followed behind them

and not before he gave you one final glance, mouthing,

‘come back soon’

the sky was going through its new phase, a waning gibbous moon glowing on the water while you sat in the same spot you had been residing when seonghwa had made his existence first known to you — your breathing was rough, almost as if your lungs refused to give you oxygen before the tightness released hearing footsteps behind you

with tensed muscles, your head glanced over your shoulder to see the myth and legend — park seonghwa, looking down at you with an expression that made your chest feel iced, “seonghwa?” you asked

taking a seat next to you, ignoring your acknowledgment, seonghwa looked back at the moon with a sigh, “you met san—didn’t you, y/n?”

clearing your throat, “san?”

seonghwa’s expressions were unreadable but you knew, deep down in your core, that there wasn’t pleasant feelings attached to them, scoffing, “you can’t lie to me, y/n,

not when i’m your reaper and husband,” he finally met your gaze.

“i never fully agreed on marrying you,” you muttered — it was now your turn to avoid his stare

laughing from the base of his throat, seonghwa hummed shortly after, “you didn’t need to, your energy was enough for me.”

“i know you met san, y/n, just not formally,” he humored, though, there was nothing amusing about the situation to him, you could tell with the way his fists clenched around his coat, “don’t go back there.”

“what?” you coughed, turning to look at him

how did—

“i think you forget i’m the god of death,” he shook his head, “god is in the name,” seonghwa deadpanned

and truthfully,

seonghwa didn’t feel like a threat despite his title screaming otherwise — something about him made interacting so easy.

why did you feel as if you knew him before? as if you both were picking up where you left off..

his fingers brushed against your hand, your nose twitching before you felt his frigid temperatures on your skin more — seonghwa held your hand and it made you question everything once more

“i could answer the questions you have, y/n,” he spoke up, voice more frail and broken before clearing his throat to continue, “but i need you to verbally consent to being my wife,” his eyes locked on you

and if anyone asked you what was going through your head when you answered his proposal — you knew they would call you insane

because why did you cup seonghwa’s face between your hands, and whisper, “i’ll marry you, seonghwa.”

as if you didn’t know the consequences that would begin to follow you after saying those four words.

MASTERLIST . . NEXT

taglist (open)

[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Two

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: Once again I am showing off how I have zero self control when it comes to creating stable fic uploads! I simply write another chapter and then upload it immediately. I’m so sorry when this will eventually start to die down, but for now let’s enjoy the start of the story, I guess? I’m astounded at the immense love this got! Thank you all so much!

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4k

Chapter Two

Inej returned with three glasses of whiskey. Kaz was sat opposite you at his desk, crow-headed cane secured in one of his leather gloved hands. Inej put the glasses on the desk, before picking up and handing one to you.

“Thank you,” You said politely. Despite the few weeks you’d had to acquaint yourself with the types of people that Ketterdam housed, Inej seemed different. She was a fighter, you could see that clearly, but she also seemed... soulful. Like she had a heart, bursting to the brim with kindness and care, despite the Wraith she had to become living in a place such as the Barrel.

“So, what, the Darkling took you in?” Kaz asked, impatience all over his voice. He grabbed his glass sternly, tapping the sides with his covered fingers.

“This is only the beginning of this story,” You replied.

“Well, get to it,” He said quickly.

“I told you it was a long story, Mr. Brekker. It’ll probably take us most of the night. Can your business wait that long?” You raised a brow at him knowingly. There were men such as Kaz in the Little Palace—impatient, to the point, needing answers immediately.

“Listen, Kaz,” Inej spoke up. “I have a feeling we’ve only skimmed the tip of the iceberg,”

You regarded Inej, taking in her petite frame, the glint of the knives on her body; you counted them quickly, efficiently, until you’d added up fourteen in total. Knives for days, and you’d wager a bet that she knew how to use each one to its full advantage, as if they were an extension of her body.

Kaz breathed out shallowly, shooting Inej a stare. She accepted it gracefully, not even flinching from the obvious tension that had begun to float between them.

“Your sister,” Kaz spoke, his eyes still on Inej, until he finally turned to you once more. He nodded once, sternly and quickly, but you got the message loud and clear—I’m sorry. You swallowed uncomfortably, thankful for the small comfort the tumbler of whiskey gave you as you gripped it in your hands.

“Right, where were we?”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Ago

You woke in a bright room, unrecognisable from where you’d been before—in the snow, the ice, shrouded in a darkness that the Darkling seemed to gravitate towards himself involuntarily. You looked at your hands as they shook; dirt was under your nails, dotted with dried and muddied blood—your sister was still on your very skin.

That’s when you shot up, your heartrate exploding suddenly. She wasn’t here, her body wasn’t on the floor at your feet, nor in the bed next to you. You were trapped inside four walls of creams and golds, with décor that you’d only dreamed of ever seeing.

It was unmistakable—you were in the Little Palace, the one place you’d begged the Darkling not to take you to. He’d done it anyway, after you passed out from your extreme exhaustion.

Now you started to panic, as you looked out of the grand windows of the room. A courtyard was down below, empty of people and carriages. It was still early morning by the sun placement; the palace was quiet. The Grisha lay sleeping in their rooms, the General was in his own—

You were alone.

And saints, you weren’t going to stick around. Not with your sister’s body still lying in the Fjerdan snow, waiting for wolves to find her.

You jumped out of bed, ignoring the way your muscles were screaming at you to return to the pristine sheets. Your feet were bare, and one glance at the floor showed you your shoes had been taken. What for, you didn’t know. Maybe they thought that would be enough to prevent you running.

You almost laughed, imagining the spoilt Grisha deciding to remove your boots—She won’t run with bare feet. She won’t. Little did they know, you’d run with bare feet before. And you’d easily do it again.

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, making as little noise as possible. At the last second, before your fingers curled around the handle, you decided to drop to the floor. You lay on your stomach, shoving your skull to the floor and shutting one eye—there were two feet shaped shadows under the door.

One guard, stood on watch.

This complicated things just a tad, but you were already hatching a plan by the time you stood up again. You gave yourself a few moments to stretch your poor limbs, feeling the adrenaline course through your blood and spur you forward. Without hesitation, you curled your fingers around the handle to your room, and yanked it open—

The guard whipped his hatted head around to you immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to get into a defensive stance. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him aggressively into your room, before you twisted him round and placed him in a headlock.

The two of you flopped to the floor, but that allowed you to secure his body to the ground with your legs, wrapping them around his torso so he couldn’t wind his way out of your grip. That’s when you tugged—hard against his windpipe.

He struggled and flailed like a freshly caught fish, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out and went jelloid. You kept your grip on him tightly, keeping him glued to the ground and his neck secure between your chest and forearm, being pulled taut by your other arm.

Eventually, he stopped fighting. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, his body slipped into a state of sleep.

You left him on the bedroom floor then, opting not to take his uniform in case he woke up while you did, and left the room. You clicked the door shut behind you, before beginning a tiptoed journey through the winding corridors of the Little Palace.

Saints, if you had the time, I’m sure you’d have appreciated the décor. It was splendid; all bright whites and creams with accents of shining gold. There were golden curls on blank white walls, intricate designs of Grisha imprinted in the wallpaper and grandiose windows that let the light flood inside.

You felt that, perhaps, the décor made up for the fact this was effectively an army base. The Grisha brought here were trained non-stop. They couldn’t leave, they didn’t have a choice. You’d heard horror stories of this place, back when you used to be safe in Novyi Zem.

“Zowa adawe,” Your neighbour had said. She was an old woman, living a quiet life on her farm. You called her Nana.

She was stern, but often times soft spoken, with her glorious Zemeni skin and gorgeous personality. When you’d found asylum after an unfortunate incident in Kerch, you and your sister had settled in her barn; parentless. She was kind, she ran the farm and let out the barn next door.

She became a grandmother figure immediately, up until the day she died.

Zowa adawe—Grisha fight. Grisha had to fight if they were sent to the Little Palace. There was no getting out it. Nana had said that your powers were beautiful, but she’d always said it with a hint of distain on her lips, as if you were running out of time.

You turned corridor after corridor, praying that no one would see you creeping around this early in the morning. All you had to do was get outside, and then you’d be able to run—run like Hell. Not stopping to look back or even worry if General Kirigan was on your tail. You’d outrun him, even if it killed you.

When you heard voices and footsteps, you flushed yourself against the corridor wall. You didn’t know where they were coming from, or who they were, but with the rags you were wearing the mud dotted over your skin, they’d know you weren’t supposed to be wandering around.

You held your breath, praying that they’d leave, that you’d get out of this fortress unscathed; and then you started moving again. The next corner you turned welcomed you into a large landing. A spiral staircase was before you to your left, only a few metres ahead of you. You lunged quickly, ducking down as not to be seen through the large windows out to the acres of land that surrounded the palace.

“You,” You stopped, swivelling round as your eyes laid upon two Grisha—one in a purple Kefta and one in white. The lady in white had yelled, but neither got into a defensive stance as you faltered backwards, constantly creeping back to the staircase as your heart threatened to bombard out of your chest. The lady in white shot her gaze down the staircase quickly, while the man in purple next to her all but looked confused.

That’s when her gaze tracked back to you once more, her jaw clenched. “Kirigan!” She boomed. You raised your hands quickly.

“Please—just—,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“Kirigan!” She yelled once more, and as the bash of doors sounded from down the stairs, you knew he’d heard loud and clear. The smack of boots ascended the spiral staircase, until the fresh face of General Kirigan hit your own. He slowed on the stairs, overseeing the commotion, before his expression softened.

He raised his hands calmly, widening his eyes in some kind of silent language, meant just for you.

“Now, just calm down,” He said calmly. You shot your gaze from the two Grisha at the end of the corridor, back to the General, before taking in your surroundings. You were blocked in from both ways; there were no doorways on your side of the grand landing.

But, there was an empty corridor, dotted with closed doors, and at the end—

A window.

It was as if Kirigan could sense the cogs in your brain whirring. As soon as your eyes lay on the window at the end of the free corridor, he began bounding up the steps. “No!” He yelled, reaching out for the flowing fabric of your blouse, but you were already running.

You pumped your arms and moved your legs as quickly as you could, storming towards the window at full pelt. Your heart was in your throat, your limbs screaming for relief, but all you could think of was your sister—alone, cold, left in the snow in a land that had never been kind to her.

That’s when you jumped, flying with all of the momentum you’d charged up from the run up, crashing straight through the window with all of your force. You ignored the sting of shattered glass as it ripped through your clothes and skin, the pain of the wood panelling breaking apart as your body slammed through the window—

And then you were falling, falling, falling—but you never hit the ground.

You brought your hands together with your eyes clamped shut, mustering your remaining energy into creating a cushion of wind to land on. It circled beneath you, spiralling around your body and stopping your free fall comfortably, until you balled your fists and the winds dissipated.

You landed in a large courtyard outside, shaking shards of glass out of your hair as you stood. You dared to look back at the mess you’d made, staring up at the broken window—

Kirigan stood above you, gazing down at you eerily.

You thought he’d be more frantic at the fact you’d just smashed through a window and were still standing. You thought he’d be rushing to get you back inside, but he wasn’t. He was calm and collected, looking at you as if he’d already worked you out completely. And that was the scariest part of this entire ordeal.

You broke into a run, not looking back as you pumped forward. You could feel his stare on your back the entire time, but you chose to ignore it—even if it all felt too easy.

Before you could make it to the tree line, you started to wane. Your limbs felt like lead, your heart felt like a bowling ball in your chest, and all of a sudden it was far too difficult to suck air into your lungs.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest as you glanced around the clearing. Before your vision began to blur, the unmistakable colour of red hit you. Red and black, with hands dancing before them. A Grisha—a Heartrender.

You struggled against the obvious magic that he was using upon you to slow your heartrate, to stop your muscles working properly. That’s when a blob of black strolled up beside the Grisha, placing his arm upon his Heartrender.

“Enough, Ivan,” Kirigan said, but you could hardly hear him.

“Heartrender...” You stuttered out, as Kirigan began to approach you slowly. “Playing dirty,” You said, as the rest of you collapsed to the floor. The sky above you circled sickeningly, your vision seeing double. Kirigan stepped above you, his face distorted as you fought against the power of Ivan.

“You’ll soon learn that I’m not the enemy here,” He said softly, as he descended to one knee. He slipped his arms beneath you, before rising. You were cradled in his arms, to incapacitated to fight against him.

“Darkling,” You muttered. You would have added more, but even talking was too much to handle.

General Kirigan carried you back inside, as the doors of the palace were bolted shut by his Heartrender. There was nothing you could do—you were powerless, and you were stuck.  

You didn’t fall asleep, but everything felt like a dream. The walk back inside, being carried to a room that wasn’t the one you awoke in, feeling the strength of Kirigan’s arms holding you up without as much as a grunt of exertion.

Kirigan gently dropped you into a large armchair, letting your head fall back against plush leather. He straightened himself, going to sit in a chair opposite you. He picked up a small bell from the table between you, ringing it once, before putting it back down and leaning back in his own chair.

You blinked away the double vision, trying to gain back your composure.

“It’ll ease. Ivan slowed your heart into a death state,” Kirigan said calmly. You were getting annoyed at the way his voice filled the air around you, floated into your ears smoothly. You didn’t want to listen. “That was quite a show,”

You think you scoffed, or maybe you tried too, because the corners of Kirigan’s mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“I told you not to bring me here,” Your words were slurred, almost as if you were drunk. You fought against the want to drift into a sleep, but he was right—it was easing with every passing minute.

“You never told me why,” He replied. You forced yourself to look at him, as your eyes adjusted. There weren’t two of him anymore; just one man. One man who’d dragged you here against your will, leaving your sister alone on Fjerdan soil.

“You left my sister there to rot,” You said, stronger this time. “How could you think I’d stay here when you left her?” Kirigan’s expression didn’t change, but he did look around when someone entered the room, carrying a pot of tea with two cups and saucers. The tray was placed on the table silently, before the attendant left immediately, clicking the door shut.

Kirigan poured two cups of tea, pushing one set towards you and taking one for himself. He didn’t take a sip yet.

“What do you have against the Little Palace?” He asked. You couldn’t help your scowl from devouring your entire face.

“The King hoards Grisha here like he owns them, like they owe him something. It’s a prison disguised as a lavish life. It’s no worse than the whore houses in Ketterdam,” You replied bluntly.

“Yet you were trying to get to Ravka, weren’t you?” Kirigan was quick to the mark, leaving nothing unturned.

“For my sister,” You said, clenching your jaw. “She’d be safe with the First Army,”

“And you?”

You finally looked in his eyes. They were dark, piercing your very skin, but the way they reflected the light gave them the illusion of warmth. You didn’t want to ever admit that the Darkling was a warm individual, not from the stories of his bloodline that you were taught from a young age.

“I was going to lie and stay with her. My abilities have never offered me much,” You said honestly, but you didn’t know why you were being truthful with this man. You swallowed uncomfortably, telling yourself to stop being so open.

“You killed those druskelle. You protected yourself,” He said. He was right, but you felt sick to your stomach. You saved yourself, but you couldn’t save her. You didn’t. “Your power is unrefined, unpredictable, but strong. I’ve never seen a Squaller summon a storm such as what we saw from the Ravkan border. It’s what lead us to you,”

The General finally took a sip of his tea, daintily rising the cup to his lips, before setting it down slowly on the saucer. You glanced at your own cup, wanting to take a sip too, but you couldn’t make yourself reach for it; not yet.

“We train Grisha here for the King, you’re right,” He continued, when you kept your mouth clamped shut. “But we also allow them to refine their abilities and hone their craft. This is a safe place for Grisha, when there are many out there who would try and take advantage of such power,”

“I never asked for this power,” You said quickly.

“No. But you can control it,” He replied, stronger this time. He had a smile on his face, leaning slightly forward, as if he truly wanted you to know why the Little Palace was good. “Wouldn’t you feel better? If you could truly harness your power? Bend it to your exact will?”

You swallowed once, frowning as you looked in his eyes. You wanted to say that you didn’t trust him—and never would. You wanted to splash scolding tea across his treacherous face, but you did neither.

“I’d feel better if I’d buried my sister, before you gave me a life sentence,”

Kirigan stood then, turning his back to you to stand before the window behind him. His hands were together behind his back, his chin high and shoulders broad. He wore all black, but you’d expect nothing different from a man who went by the Darkling.

He thought in depth, calmly, quietly, while you debated having some of your tea. It was steaming and warm and calling out to you. You knew it wasn’t poisoned because he’d already taken a sip, but you were still wary.

“How about a proposal?” He said then, turning back to look at you. You scoffed.

“I’d rather marry a horse than you,” You let out. It was an obvious joke, but you hadn’t expected the words to spill from your lips. Kirigan raised his brows, almost boyishly, taking you by surprise.

“We have fine horses here, I’m sure we could find you a great husband,” He hit back with. Saints forbid, he’d joked back. You hated to admit it, but your shoulders relaxed then, as a small giggle burst from within your gut. He came to sit opposite you once more, taking another sip of tea.

This time, you mimicked him. You picked up your own cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping heartily. Warm tea cascaded down your throat, bringing more strength back to your muscles.

“You train here,” Kirigan began. “You train here and learn to fully control your powerful Squaller abilities, with the help of myself,” You frowned slightly as he mentioned himself, but nevertheless let him continue. “And then, when you’re ready, I’ll... let you slip out undetected,”

That’s when you choked on your tea. You placed the cup back down on the saucer messily, spilling tea on his table.

“You’d let me out?” You stuttered. “No. No fucking way would you let that happen. I know the stories, General. The stoic man, damaged by his bloodline and his image,” As you spoke, Kirigan’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t let a Grisha slip out of your ranks,”

He cleared his throat slightly, straightening his shoulders. “I will, if it means you’ll let me train you first,”

You furrowed your brows at him, the cogs in your brain whirring. “Why are you so interested in my abilities? I’m no Sun Summoner, General. I can’t destroy the Fold—,”

“This isn’t about the Fold,” He interrupted you. “This is about you,” He said it with such surety that it almost took your breath away. You were silent, pondering what to say from your rapidly firing thoughts. “Squallers are never as powerful as you have proven to be,” He leaned forward on the dark wood table, coming in close to you. You were too frozen in place to move, too stubborn to back away from him. “I want to see what else you can do, with the right training,”

You stood abruptly, after he’d finished talking. You ignored the disastrous way you looked, with shards of glass still in your hair and small scratches all over your bare skin. Your feet were bad; you could tell just from the way your soles felt; but you pushed through.

“This is a deal,” You said strongly. “A proper deal—a vow,”

Kirigan stood then, too, strolling round until he was face to face with you.

“I’m a man of my word,” He said plainly, before he stuck out a strong hand. You stared at his wrist, his fingers, before slipping your own hand into his. You both shook on it, cementing the deal that he’d offered. If you felt he was lying at any moment, you wouldn’t hesitate to break out of the Little Palace and slip through his fingers.

“Fine,” You said, pulling your hand from his grasp. He looked down at you with an air of knowledge, but his eyes showed you something else; a softness, excitement, sadness. It was so intense that you simply had to look away.

“Your sister,” He said then, causing you to flinch as you scowled back at him. “Men have already been sent to the border to collect her,” He said it so plainly that you were sure he was making it up, but your heart panged as he kept talking. “They’ll bring her here in two days’ time. She will have a proper burial,”

You could have cried, if your body wasn’t on fire. You would have screamed and sobbed if you weren’t stood in front of someone such as General Kirigan. In this world, crying was always a weakness. Emotions were meant to be felt in private. Pain was only to be felt behind closed doors. You wouldn’t give up that ingrained way of life so quickly, as much as you wanted to collapse on the floor when you thought of your sister.

You tried to find the words to say something in response to General Kirigan, but nothing came out. All you could muster was a curt nod, to which he reciprocated with his own.

“Rest. Eat. Drink. You have today to recuperate,” He said sternly.

“Before the Grisha here eat me alive,” You whispered. Kirigan let out the smallest huff.

“Show them your power, and they’ll leave you be,” He said, before his hand curled around your forearm tightly. You gasped at his touch, expecting it to be cold, dark, hostile—but he was just a man. He was just... a fucking man.

With eyes and a nose and a mouth. With shining hair and stubble and broad shoulders. With hips that dipped to his thighs and knees that met his calves.

It was scary, to say the least. You knew what this man was capable of. You knew what he could do, but instead he promised you freedom. He promised to train you, to bury your sister, to keep you safe here while he could.

But that didn’t mean you trusted him. That didn’t mean you weren’t wary—

If only you’d stayed this on edge, this untrusting. Maybe things would have been different.

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[danoscigarette]

Eli Sunday x f!Reader

Chapter III - Set my Body Free

Summary: the day of your baptism, you are left alone with Eli for a private service. It is up to the pastor to save your eternal soul, except for the fact that the Reader soon learns of Eli’s true intentions.

Warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, religious practice/guilt, slapping, manipulation, 18+

A/N: its finally here! The wait is over and the writers block defeated 💪

"Eli, I want you to put the fear of god in that woman"

Friday rolled on like a storm, much faster than you wished it to; ever since the incident with your step-father, you had remained in your room, isolated from the rest of the family. All you could do was sit, sleep or stare out of the window, dreading what was coming. Joe arranged to have you meet with Eli one-on-one for what seemed like an exorcism, to turn you into a submissive, God fearing woman that is worthy of marriage. It was of course to get you out of their hair, for your family to finally know peace. Joe wanted to wash his hands clean of you and give you to someone else to deal with so he can "focus on being a devoted husband" to your mother. You even considered the possibility that it was all for the best, to never being the burden of the family, never having to face Joe again and perhaps even settling for a man who is somewhat kind to you. Literally anything is better than this physical and emotional prison.

You lay there in your bed, the sun had only just risen above the horizon, the sky a brilliant shade of orange which reflected off the miles of dirt and weeds; you stayed there for what felt like hours, watching the sky become more and more blue - with each passing shade, drew closer the foreboding Eli, that damned pastor.  

Your thoughts dissolve when you hear a hesitant knock at the door. Without moving, you welcome them in. 

"Y/N...its time" it was your mother, her voice was hoarse as if she’d been weeping. Only turning your head you look to her, giving her a knowing nod. She takes a step back at the sight before her, your eyes were so red and eye bags darker than they were before; she knew you had spent the entire night crying. She felt utterly helpless, yet totally convinced that what is to happen will be your salvation. 

You were forced to wear a hideous white dress, an old laced rag that symbolised purity and innocence; qualities you had believed to be untrue about yourself. It was in yours and your family's mind that you would be baptised again, which was kind of confirmed but with one strange condition: it would be private. In cases of emergency baptisms, they can be performed without witnesses but you found it odd that Eli requested for an isolated ceremony; your family didn't even blink an eye when they were told this - you suppose that's what happens when you are desperate, religious sheep. Eli had justified a hidden baptism to save your family's reputation, of course no further explanation needed after that point. 

Apparently it took a good few hours of convincing Joe to not be present on the morning of your baptism, your mother said it would be a terrible start to your new sin-free life. You certainly felt grateful at this, if you had to look at him again anytime soon and you'd probably kill him. 

The bell tolls, it was 8am when you arrived at the church, staring up at the shack of a building, you are breathless. You didn't quite know what to expect, part of you hoped that it would be a quick ceremony, you say a few lines, get a splash of water and be done with it; heck, you wouldn’t even have to believe what you were saying. 

“Now darlin’ this is where we leave you. Me and your sisters will be back at the barn; Pastor Eli said that he will deliver you to us a new woman” your mother squeezes your shoulders, you gulp in response and nod your head. 

You don’t turn your head around to watch your family walk away and get into their carriage; you stood there unmoving like a frightened doe. The church was in an isolated part of Little Boston, so it was just going to be you and Eli for however long the ceremony lasts for. This was the first time you were without one of your family members, for as long as you were faithless, you had to be chaperoned by at least one other person - now, you were completely alone, and this utterly terrified you. 

You enter the church, ensuring that the door was firmly closed behind you, looking around there was no sign of Eli. You let out an audible shiver, the anticipation getting the better of you; you decide to sit at one of the benches - coincidentally, it was the bench you had sat last Sunday. 

“Ahem” 

You turn your head to look behind you, Eli stood sheepishly by the door; he wore a very smart uniform with hair slicked back and the same cross he wore the day you met him around his neck. Immediately taking a stand you curtsy, having no idea what to do or say. 

“M-Mr Sunday I do apologise, I didn’t see you there”

“It is fine child, please” Eli sat beside you and took your hands in his. 

‘Child?’ He was barely any older than yourself. 

“Do you know why you are here?” His eyes search yours, you held your breath as you take note of his murky green irises; they were strangely enchanting. 

“I…am faithless” there was silence that hung for a few moments, Eli assessed your words and sucked air through his teeth. 

“The church of the third revolution has no choice but to restore your faith and must cleanse you of your sins" Eli pulls you up and takes you to the centre platform where he gently presses your shoulder down. “On your knees”

You do as you are told, your eyes never leaving Eli’s. You felt so vulnerable and so unsure about this whole thing. You could run, scream even but you were obedient, like an invisible force was pulling at your strings; something about the way he commanded you to your knees made you quiver. 

"I have seen your rage and it is the devil…I can see it in your eyes…your soul…such a wrathful spirit in the body of someone so beautiful - the Lord can only weep” 

You don’t answer, your breaths shallow and mouth slightly agape. 

“Just so you know, before we begin…it might get…intense. Any violence acted here upon this day is the energy that God has given me”

“Violence?” You squeak

“Passion, Y/N. Be not afraid for ye shalt be greater for it” 

You certainly were more scared now, what on earth did he mean? Was it going to be like what you saw on Sunday…but worse? You purse your lips, giving an unsure nod. Eli was a tall man, but whilst on your knees he towers above you, a strange feeling grows in your stomach. 

“Then we shall begin”

The ceremony started off calmly, Eli had whispered a few bible passages to you, circling you with a bowl of water and spraying you with his fingers. He took special note of the water droplets that ran down your face, for some reason it made his entire body stiff and his cock twinge.

“Submit yourself therefore to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, sinner…” Eli kneels down to you, grasping your hands in a firm hold. The same tone of voice he used on Sunday returns, a loud yell as he shakes your wrists. “…and purify your heart” Eli suddenly presses a hand to your heart, it was so close to your chest that you let out a quick yelp; Eli took this as a sign that this was working. 

Your heart beats are so fast, your eyes bewildered and your breath trembles. For whatever reason, the fact you were both alone and so close felt more overwhelming than it did with a room full of shouting people. The familiar forbidden arousal itches between your legs, you may not be feeling a spiritual experience, but it was as strong as one. 

“What say you? Do you feel the power of God within you?” Eli shouts, his hand remaining on your heart, he can feel you trembling beneath him like you did before. 

“Yes” you whisper a lie, you definitely felt something; you had half a mind to believe it was the Holy Spirit, but you new truly it was a dark desire. 

“The Lord cannot hear you!” Eli yells once more 

“Yes Eli please! I can feel it!” You grip at Eli’s suit, pulling him closer. 

“With my righteous hand I condemn your sins, I banish the devil, the parasite sucking at your soul…” with said hand he pulls at the air, tugging an invisible rope that is coming out of you. “The devil lingers in you no more!” Eli carries on shouting, its high pitched and aggressive. His hand continues to wave in the air as if pulling out Satan. At this point, you were lost in the moment, convinced by Eli’s words you finally succumb to his passion.

“And by GOD-!” Eli brings down his hand a little too aggressively, you hear a long rip at your dress to see it tear open and reveal the skin of your shoulder and part of your breast. Eli froze. It’s true that whenever he’s in the moment he gets carried away but…it was almost like fate, a sign from God. 

Eli stares at you, you are whimpering a little with terror and arousal; the air was so thick that you could cut it. He attempts to composed himself, seeing your exposed shoulder was his undoing; he took a sharp inhale before considering his next words carefully. 

“But every man is tempter, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished bringeth forth death” He was speaking to himself this time, the rational side of him begging to stunt his desires.

“For everything in the world - the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life - comes not from the Father, but from the world”. His face is impossibly close to yours now, it took everything in your power to not push forward an inch and claim him. 

But to your surprise, it was Eli who rushed forward, feverishly kissing your lips. Your eyes widened, a mewl leaving your throat but never pulling away; your hands found his face and pulled him closer into you. The kiss was clumsy yet full of longing, it wasn’t bad to say the least. 

Eli’s hand reaches for your dress and rips it further open and you allowed it. His lips never leaving yours, he experimentally messages your breast, his boney fingers sink into your flesh as he lets out a pained groan.

You responded with a moan of your own, disconnecting yourself from his mouth and looking at him with pure lust. You suppose that this ceremony has worked both of you up, but you never would have guessed that the good Christian boy would have it in him. 

You didn’t complain however, never in your life had you experienced a kiss let alone this sort of passion. As Eli toyed at your breast, you instinctively rub your legs together, causing friction to your clit, needing more and more. 

“Eli” you breathed, he shudders at your voice saying his name “I need you…” you wrap an arm around his waist to pull him between your legs; you feel him wobble. He is hesitant at first, although this was always his intentions, he realises the weight of the situation - he was about to give into temptation - but looking at you…it will all be worth it. 

“By the grace of God, this is your baptism” he merely whispers this declaration under his breath, kissing along your neck and jaw. Daring not to leave you, he reaches for the bowl and wets his thumb in the water. “In the name of the father…” he begins drawing a cross on your forehead, his crotch digging into your further. “The son…and the Holy Spirit” you grab Eli’s face and pull him into another heated kiss, his hands return to touching you anywhere and everywhere - he just needs to feel you. 

“Amen” you smile. Needing to feel more of him, you pull your dress up more, a leg slipping in between Eli’s, he’s rock hard through his pants. It’s so lewd, so erotic; if this is what usually happens during baptism, you’d have a baptism every damn day. You roll your knee against him and he jolts up - that was a misjudged action. 

Eli’s hand is harsh around your throat, as much as he enjoyed the feeling of you playing with him; he is ultimately the one in control here. 

“Break the spirit and mend the soul; it is God’s will to mould you into that which is clean and pure” even on the edge of exploding, he spews his faith into you, and you let him, soaking up his words like a sponge. 

“Eli please” you just about make out, pathetically clawing at his veiny hands for release. It didn’t stop him however, instead he brought his other hand under your skirt, gliding his fingers up your thigh and close to your pelvis. You could roll your eyes back at the gentle touch alone. 

Finally, his hand ghosts over your clothed pussy, you buckle your hips into his hand in hopes of feeling something more; the hunger in your lower abdomen is insatiable. 

“Patience…the Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still” The harder the grip around your neck, the more you felt light headed; this was a torture to you. Eli hooks his hand under your panties and swipes his middle finger across your slit - it could absolutely have been the lack of oxygen but you started to feel it, that spiritual experience your family spoke about, you finally understood. ‘Wet already…all for me?’ He smiled to himself. 

Feeling a little more braver, Eli sinks another finger into you, drawing up and down your folds until he feels your clit to which you whine profusely. He relishes in your little noises, the way your lip quivers when he rolls the pad of his finger over your pulsating nub. 

“You’re doing so well, love” he rolls your clit between his fingers, circling them and teasing you in all the right places, your moans turn into a pleasurable sob; the knot tightens and coils - all you want is release.  

“E…Li…” you begin to lose consciousness. Without him realising, his grip on you was like iron, Eli finally releases you - you jolt up and take in a sharp breath of air. Both of your hands claw at Eli’s suit, it was all getting too much. “I’m gunna-I’m gunna-”

“Come undone Angel” were the only words you had to hear combined with a final swipe over your clit to let go completely. Your entire body felt like hot, liquid glass and your loins throbbed; you begin to see a growing bright light through your tears. 

“Fuuuuck Eli!” You came hard, biting into his shoulder to release some of the pressure; Eli welcomed it, no, took great pleasure in feeling your teeth sink into him. It was so animalistic, so raw and feral - something neither of you had experienced before. 

Eli’s hand remained on your cunt, you were impossibly wet now and he could feel you convulse around his fingers. He did that, all of that by himself; his greatest achievement. With the other hand, Eli held you in an embrace, listening to your breaths slow and come down to a normal speed. Your cheeks a fiery red and your body ached. 

“Eli…” you held onto him tightly out of comfort, you couldn’t quite believe what you were about to say. “Please…take me” 

“If it means that the Lord also takes you…then yes” 

“Yes - I accept him” a half lie this time, you could kick yourself for your obedience but you couldn’t resist it; you needed Eli to fuck you till you saw Jesus Christ himself. 

And with that, Eli laid you down, it wasn’t very comfortable but you didn’t care. You removed your dress and undergarments, laying naked before your pastor. His eyes are wide and irises blown; this was the first time he had ever seen a naked woman and you were a heavenly sight. His gaze couldn’t decide where to look, moving from over your breasts, to your lips and to your soaked cunt; all ready for him. 

“Will you kiss me?” The tone in your voice gives away your nerves, you were a virgin after all with little to no sex education from your family - you certainly hadn’t expected it to be like this. Eli obliges and hovers over your form, kissing your lips a little more lovingly than before, you could tell he was just as anxious as you. 

“I’ve never-” Eli stops himself, his face says it all and you give him a sympathetic yet encouraging smile. 

“Me neither” 

Eli takes a gulp before pulling away from you, unbuttoning his trousers he releases his cock; an impressive size (not that you would know) but it certainly wasn’t small and had a good girth to it. Your eyes traced over the curve and the thick vein that rain alongside it, as Eli revealed more and more - your lips water and your pussy throbs just looking at it. 

He finally pushes forward, resting his tip at your entrance, he gives you a quick glimpse to gage whether you were okay with it - the look on your face is enough confirmation, you were pleading him with your eyes to continue. Inch after inch he pushed in you, it was initially a tight and stinging pain, though never had you felt this full in your entire life. The only thing is…Eli was being too slow about it. You impatiently bring your calves up behind and pulled him into you with a blissful force; it was tender at first but soon subsided when hearing Eli’s surprised moan. 

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…” he whispers to himself, allowing you to adjust to his length. Eli knew he wouldn’t last long, you felt euphoric around him, any small movement sent sparks through his body and he intended to savour the moment. 

When you were both ready, Eli took an experimental thrust, filling you full to the hilt - he could feel his tip kiss your cervix so deliciously he could bust then and there. Another thrust, and then another until he found a comfortable pace. His breaths are rapid and his moans even louder; this was not a quiet man after all. Tears pinprick both of your eyes and you allowed yourselves to give into the bliss of the moment. 

“Do you accept God’s love and salvation?” He chokes out, still determined to save your soul, religion was the last thing on your mind but you nodded in agreement - the same white light comes to your vision; perhaps it was God. Without warning Eli slaps your face, waking you from your trance. “I said do you accept God’s love and salvation?” 

“Yes-Yes I do Eli please fill me with the Holy Spirit” you scream, your nails scratching into him, you were so close again. 

“You feel so good, fu- so so good for me” Eli’s hips buckle and break his pace, it was sloppy and extremely clumsy now, coming ever so close to spilling. It was this change of momentum did it tip you over the edge, clamping down on his cock, you let out a long shrill of pleasure. As your whole body hot and pulsing against Eli, he took it as an opportunity to empty himself into you as deep as he could go - rope after rope he filled your insides with his seed. 

“Jesus Christ” his head drops to the crook of your neck, his hair messy and sticking to his sweating forehead. That was the single most erotic, pleasurable and intense experience either of you had ever felt. Pulling out, Eli watches his cum drip out of you before flopping onto his back by your side. He rests a hand on his chest as he stares at the ceiling, coming down from his high.

You however were still pulsating and sore, overwhelmed with everything once again but in the most beautiful and confusing way. You held onto his shirt, needing to feel somewhat close to him in this moment. A few moments of golden silence passes, your afterglows dimming and sober thoughts return to the forefront of your minds. 

“You know now...what must be done" Eli huffs, brushing his hair from his forehead. Your hand still gripping onto his shirt, you pull him to meet your confused gaze. 

"W-what?"

"Marriage" 

"MARRIAGE?" You shove him away, scowling at the man. He looks a little hurt at your clear objection before coughing to clear his throat. 

"We have committed a sin here today. It was a necessity to save your soul but...premarital sex is unacceptable as it is seen as adulterous to your husband or wife that you will marry. It can only be rectified if we were wed" Eli's voice was soft and cool, one could say controlled; He had to be careful here.

You thought for a long hard moment, processing the situation. It was madness, it was obscene - how could the man who claimed to save you have only trapped you further. You almost laugh at yourself, allowing the thought of 'if he's that good then he might be worth keeping', but even so, marrying someone so outrightly religious would go against everything you've stood for. 

"Had you considered this before we did this?" Your eyes searched his, you could blame the afterglow but there was a part of you that hoped he did; the other was condemning him for this manipulation. 

"Yes, and without hesitation"

You felt your cheeks heat once more. Despite being sought after by men, their cowardice after meeting you was somewhat regrettable, so a man who still desires you even after seeing you for who and what you are was refreshing for lack of a better word.  

"I wish you had made your intentions clear before tying myself to you" 

"In hindsight it would have been kinder..." he begins, reaching a hand forward to hold yours, you allow him the touch and time to speak. "Y/N, I wish to see you grow and to allow me to guide you into the light. I am but a humble pastor, but with God's grace and my determination I could be a good husband; if given the chance"

"And if I say no?" Your question was colder than it was intended, but you meant it. 

"Then we are both damned"

You had to push down a smug smile, the realisation donned on you that he needed you more than you needed him. You weren't concerned with life after death, in your eyes you had committed enough sin that you'll be going to hell regardless; but it was Eli's strong belief that if he does not marry you, he will be cursed with no redemption. His risk was greater than yours; this gave you leverage, this gave you power over him. 

"I have one condition" You lift yourself up to your knees, pushing Eli down onto his back, you straddle him. His breath hitches, watching your naked form move over him. 

"Which is?" Eli's breath is shaken with a tone of curiosity and desperation. 

"You say you want me to grow..." you gyrate on his crotch, despite only cumming moments ago you could feel him harden beneath you once more. "And nothing means more to me than freedom..." you speak as you undo each of Eli's buttons, in return, his hands dig into your hips and pushes into you to cause more friction. "I wonder if this good little church boy is going to let me do whatever I please...just so he can get this anytime he wishes?" You bring a hand down to stroke his fully hard erection, rubbing it against your clit as you let a drawn out moan from your lips. 

Eli curses you under his breath, secretly loving everything that you're doing, and you could tell. 

"Tell me Eli...for this cunt will you do anything for me?"

"Y-yes-!" It was almost painful for him to speak through his moans, you were getting off on this pathetic sight. Just as he thought it was easy to break you...you had completely turned the tables. Once this man had tasted pussy, it was game over - he was the one to break this time. 

"Tell me Eli, that if you let me have my freedom then I will give my mind, body and soul to God...and to you...tell me now or I will walk out this church and never return" you mewl, the tip of Eli's cock so dangerously close to entering you. 

"Yes oh God, I will let you have anything, do anything, say anything just for this - please!" He tries he damned hardest to pull you down onto him, his actions are feverish and defeated. With a smile of satisfaction, you grant him the pleasure of inserting his cock into you. Letting out a strangled groan, you move your hips slowly, drawing out noises from Eli that you'd never heard from a man before. 

"Then I am yours" you whisper before picking up the pace, bobbing up and down his shaft.

“Break the spirit and all that, am I right Eli?” You breathily laugh, he is an absolute mess. The man looks like he could cry he felt so good; you felt triumphant and extremely turned on to the change of power dynamic - you could get used to this. 

“Angel please-I’m so close”

“Already dear husband?” Your hand meets his throat, you can feel his Adam’s apple move as he yelps. Religious gilt fully kicking in now, he lets a tear run down his face but by God, he wouldn’t be anywhere else in this moment. You wipe away the droplet on his cheek with your thumb “Eli love, was it not God that said Be fruitful, and multiply? We are just a little early~” you purr, Eli gives you a little nod before pulling your hips back down to his. “Good boy” you smile, oh what a vision Eli thought; he needed to see you like this more often. 

It took a good few minutes of bouncing on his dick did Eli finally bottom out, unleashing a guttural moan as he painted your insides white. Your whole body ached, it had been a while since you were that active (especially after a good few days of moping in your room). You lay across his chest, feeling him kiss the top of your head and stroke your back. 

“You will be the death of me” he pants, smiling as he clung tightly to you. 

“You know, I could be pregnant…after this” you let out a half laugh half sigh, Eli’s eyes widen, riddled with panic. You let out another laugh and roll over to face him. “I suppose we could be married earlier than expected” you tried to be brave in this moment, the likelihood that you were pregnant was low, but not impossible. The thought of marriage and a child so soon was…sickening. Your whole life was flipped and turned upside down ever since you came to Little Boston, for better or for worse. 

This was your life now, whether you wanted it or not. The only plus to the whole thing was that the first time having sex was a pleasurable one and that you would explore more with your soon to be husband. He had a pretty good dick, very talented with his fingers and was a passionate, well loved man; you could certainly do with worse. With this acceptance, you place your hands on either side of Eli’s face and give him a long, loving kiss. 

“I promise to always protect and respect you…so long as you’ll let me?” He whispers into your lips, it sounded so genuine and sweet that you could cry. 

“I am a changed woman Eli, of course I’ll let you” 

[divinolenta]

comforting childe and diluc after a nightmare 

character x gender neutral reader, fluff (angst?)/sfw

trigger warning: brief mention of blood and death

additional notes: this was requested by a lovely anon ♡ i had fun writing these (had the most fun picturing what nightmares they would have but you didn’t hear that from me)! i listened to “the moon song” by karen o while writing childe’s scenario and “butterfly’s repose” by zabawa for diluc’s, which is why i’ve included lyrics in their respective scenarios! feel free to imagine yourself singing another song to them, if you’d like :) there are potential spoilers for their backstories, so read at your own risk.

childe:

he is cold, frigid air nipping at his skin viciously as he flees, blinking away snowflakes that cling to his eyelashes. pursued by ravenous wolves and beasts, he loses his footing, falling into a seemingly innocent fissure in the earth. recognizing the dark realm that haunts his memories, he panics, searching for an escape. no, please, not this again. 

too late, he lands, trapped in this hell once again. pain jolts through his bones and a gasp leaves his lips when he places weight on his sprained ankle. struggling to stand, childe grips the sword in his hand, hope dying when he finds that several monsters block his path. slaughtering them quickly, childe wipes off the blood that splattered on his face. 

“b-brother?”

he turns around, shock evident on his face when he sees his younger siblings, cowering away from him. the snow surrounding them is stained with crimson, and his hands are slick, viscous blood slowly dripping on the floor. tonia wraps her arms around anthon and teucer, shielding them with her body. childe takes a step forward, and extends a trembling hand toward them, calling their names weakly. 

“stay back! you....you monster!” a shriek rips from tonia’s throat, gripping her brothers’ closer to her, her terrified expression mirroring theirs. childe recoils at the lack of recognition in their gazes. no matter how heroic and righteous he believed himself to be,  he is merely a tainted soul, a monster who could never redeem himself.

lurching awake, childe’s momentary relief is quickly replaced by bitter contempt. a nightmare? he almost laughs, running a hand through his mussed hair, but his hammering heart and shaking hands tell another story. childe needs a breather, and he eyes the door, longing to escape the past and lose himself in the beauty that nature offers. perhaps he will meander along the ocean and watch the waves kiss the shore and recede, and let it wash away his sins. sitting up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, but it creaks underneath his weight and childe cringes at the sound that resonates throughout the room. 

“where are you going?” you ask groggily, squinting blearily at him. 

“i just,” childe begins, but before he could continue, shudders ran through his body, interrupting him. you tug him back into the warmth of the duvet, hands cradling his face while you peer at him in concern.

“i’m sorry...” childe squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenching tightly. he tries to calm down his erratic breaths, apologizing meekly as his hands try to nudge you away. 

what if he hurts you too?

but you hush him, pulling him closer so that his head rests against your collarbone, limbs tangled together. 

you start to sing, the familiar melody striking a chord in his heart. your voice is hoarse and muddled with sleep, but you gradually fall into a soothing rhythm, like the euphonious and undulating cadences of a piano.

i'm lying on the moon

my dear, i'll be there soon

it's a quiet starry place

time's we're swallowed up in space

we're here a million miles away

childe sheds his brash and arrogant exterior and allows himself to get pulled under by the overwhelming tides of his emotions, just like the waves of the ocean that he adores so much. he feels like he’s fourteen again, but this time, you’re here with him. he grasps your shirt tightly, and anchors himself, tears leaking from his closed eyes, falling on to your skin, seeping into the fabric of your shirt. 

there's things i wish i knew

there's no thing I'd keep from you

it's a dark and shiny place

but with you my dear, i'm safe

and we're a million miles away 

he is consoled by the fact that you do not view him as a monster, and when he’s with you, he can be whoever he chooses to be. he does not need to be tartaglia, childe or even the ajax he used to be, rather, he is content with simply being your lover and spending every hour of the day with you. 

diluc:

the moment diluc sees his surroundings, he knows. he knows what’s going to happen, and how everything will go down. the carriage rocks back and forth as it travels over the uneven path, and everything is calm. too calm. swallowing thickly, he turns to his father, heart twinging at the sight of his familiar figure, with hair of flame, so similar to his own. 

horses whinny frantically in the distance, and diluc tries to warn his father, but is cut off by the carriage toppling over as they lose control of the reins. a roar shakes the very earth and diluc is thrown against the side of the carriage, hissing in pain when his hand gingerly presses against the bruise on his head.

“father! wait!” diluc scrambles to his feet when his father begins to rise to his feet to investigate and protect the transport fleet. his father looks at him inquiringly, and diluc advances, clutching the hem of his coat in an effort to make him stay.

“you mustn’t go, father, your life will be in peril.” he implores, and even though he tries his best to keep his voice steady, the anguish he truly feels does not fully dissipate.

“i can’t afford to lose you again” is what diluc wants to say, but can’t muster the courage to form the words. 

“my son, is that not what a man like your father should do?” his father rests a heavy hand on diluc’s shoulder, and his heart sinks in response. 

“but, father-” diluc presses, but his father simply shoots him a reprimanding look.

“i’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” he lets out a booming laugh, and ruffles diluc’s hair with an affectionate gaze, before walking off, summoning his weapon. 

horrified, diluc calls out, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. he desperately wills his body to move, but it’s like vines have erupted from the dirt and tangled around his legs, trapping him in a prison of thorns. 

all he can do is stand there, watching from the sidelines. even as his father gulps his dying breaths, all diluc can do is clutch on to him, and pray to whatever god that still remains, while the very light of his soul eclipses.

and like an incompetent fool, all diluc does is weep and regret. 

hands shake his shoulders, and diluc snaps out of his dream, released from the tormenting illusion. his gaze meets yours, and when he reaches up to touch his face, his fingers come away damp from the tears that streak his skin.

you’re seated on the bed, sheets pooling around your waist. your brow furrows, and diluc opens his mouth, about to let false reasurances tumble from his lips to alleviate the look of unease you don. how many times had he dreamed of the incident? how many times would he continue to blame himself?

diluc himself does not know the answer. 

you lean forward, hands tenderly brushing away the tears that remain, and diluc loses himself in your eyes. eyes really are the window to the soul, he thinks, everything is so clear, like how he knows that the sun will rise, signalling a new beginning. your eyes betray every emotion that flicker through their depths.

“i’m okay.” he whispers, but both you and him know that he’s lying. diluc lies back down, and he gestures for you to do so as well, but you situate him so he lays with his head in your lap. 

you card your fingers through his hair carefully, your delicate touches evoking a chill that runs down his spine. you begin to hum softly, voice lilting in an ethereal melody before words surface and accompany it. diluc feels like he’s simultaneously floating and sinking. he wants to weep, for barbatos was lenient enough to grant him such a caring and understanding lover to someone as undeserving as he is.

for a moment, he wonders if you are perhaps hestia incarnate. the warmth and love with which you behold him with is surreal, and god knows that diluc is not capable of replicating or returning such affection. 

the shadows in your head

they've got you down again

got you feelin' low

your voice is an intimate whisper, and diluc welcomes the warmth that it entwines him in. he catches your hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a chaste kiss against it. moonlight slants against your features, and diluc can only stare in awe as you continue to sing, body slightly swaying along as your hand aimlessly caresses his hair. 

but it's time to rest, now 

let it all melt now

wipe your tears 

“thank you.” he murmurs, eyes falling close as your voice lulls him into a sleep. one that he knows will not be plagued with nightmares. you don’t respond, but diluc can hear the hint of a smile in your voice.

it’s a sight to behold: diluc ragnvindr, a man with a renowned reptuation of having a heart of ice, melting in your embrace. out of everything, perhaps your love is what ignites him, and brings back the fervor that was once lost. 

[eyesofophelia]

surrender || aizawa x reader || sloth

➼ chapter six of fern’s dante’s inferno collab: sloth ➼ masterlist for collab! ➼ banner credit: @sightoru ➼ word count: 5.3k even ➼ warnings: dark content, noncon, self doubt, death, guilt.

                                      ‘thou seest how sloth wastes the sluggish body,                                              as water is corrupted unless it moves.’

struggling gears groaned against their rusted neighbors and rattled through the elevator shaft. you had thought that you would have been immune to the sound by now,  but each screeching grind of metal pierced through your eardrums and sent shudders down the length of your spine. not only did you wrap your arms around yourself to quell your fearful tremors but to find some sort of warmth. the farther down you went, the colder and colder it became. the creaking elevator was beginning to seem more and more like your designated spot in the mortuary cabinet rather than your transport. at least you were not alone, although, you may as well be. 

your companion was not ideal. 

you couldn’t tell whether or not sir nighteye was a comforting presence or a chilling one. his tepid demeanor unsettled you while still bringing you some sense of relief. 

so lost between the flashing images of your previous encounters and the fear of those that have yet to come, you hadn’t noticed the slowing of the elevator until it came to that familiar albeit jolting stop. it bounced for a moment, each vibration sent through you acting as an ominous countdown. dread bubbled deep within your core, threatening to release the bile just waiting to come up. what were you to expect? you were triumphant in the prior circles, but your ‘victories’ thus far felt hollow at best. while physically you had escaped each circle, you couldn’t help but feel that bits and pieces of your soul had been left behind along the way.

finally, the elevator’s motion slowed to a stop. you swallowed hard, balling your fingers into fists against your sweating palms. trying to center yourself, you forced your focus onto sir nighteye’s voice as he began to speak. “this,” a long, skinny finger gestured to the glowing red six above the elevator door, “is sloth.  you must remain vigilant here. whatever you do, you must not give in.”

his words were almost as chilling as the shrill screech of the elevator doors parting ways.

“oh, and,” that ominous glower appeared in his eyes once more, “good luck.”

you turned over your shoulder some, feeling the resolve you had tried so desperately to build crumbling away now that the doors were open. with a deep breath in, you willed yourself to move forward into the darkness. 

remain vigilant.

you scoffed internally at his words. easier said than done. the least he could do was give you some sort of help. he was the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, right? he should have just left you in those woods, you could have figured out--

you stopped dead in your tracks as you started to take notice of your surroundings. fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, some of which were shattered while the rest flickered and buzzed. a wall of broken windows laid to your right with only a vast darkness behind them. it was abysmal. in the reflection of the shattered panes, you saw the image of yourself scattered within jagged pieces. for a moment, you could have sworn you saw someone standing behind you but found no one when you turned. 

looking around once more, you continued on down the hallway, keeping an eye on the doors to see if there was anyone around. each door was marked with letters and numbers. you couldn’t help but be reminded of a school with each room that you passed. the further down the hall you went, the heavier the air felt. goosebumps infected your body and made every hair stand up on end. even your legs were beginning to feel weighted, as if they were starting to sink down into the floor with every step.

you must not give in. sir nighteye’s words pushed you to persevere against the gut instinct telling you to turn back. you had already come this far, you couldn’t stop now. to stop now would mean that every trial and tribulation you had faced already would be all for naught. you had to get to your mom. if she was somewhere in this place, past all these damned circles, you would find her and take her home.

your thoughts were halted by the sound of footsteps behind you. whipping around, your eyes searched frantically through the flickering lights to find whoever may have been following.

it was empty, save for the shattered glass and crumpled papers littering the floor. the pounding of your heart within your chest was deafening, but you tried to swallow it down with the lump in your throat. you just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching you. a malevolent, foreboding presence. having to resist the instinct to call out for whoever--or whatever--was shadowing you, you started to turn before you heard more footsteps coming towards you down the hall. they sounded close, too close to not be able to see the source, but the hall still remained empty. panic gripped your core and forced you into flight. your eyes just barely caught the chipped, red markings on the wooden door as you pushed your way into the classroom closest to you.

1-A.

muttered curses spat past your lips as you practically flung yourself over a desk after barreling  into the room. it slid across the linoleum with a jarring screech, causing you to wince both in pain and with fear that you had definitely given away your location. your body lay frozen, heaped over the desk in tense anticipation for the sound of the door opening. frantically your gaze tried to adjust to the dark, only having the light coming through the window in the door to illuminate the room.

it was definitely a classroom. desks were scattered all around in some sort of disarray. some of them were broken and laying in pieces while others were still assembled and in their rightful places. you slowly pushed yourself up from the almost toppled desk, subconsciously brushing the dust and dirt from your front. for now, you felt as though the danger had passed. no longer did you hear the phantom footsteps, only the familiar buzzing of the lights outside of the classroom. with a sigh, you turned to leave.

as you turned to step towards the door, you froze in place. a strange ruffling sound started from the corner of the room. cold sweat formed on your back as the sound just seemed to get louder. as you got the courage to turn around, your knees started to buckle. a tall, looming figure was slowly emerging from a yellow cocoon. a mass of inky dark hair shrouded his face from you. you squinted in the dark to make out whatever details you could, but jolted back when his gaze suddenly pierced through your own. it was glowering and red, baring down at you like the famished glare of a wolf. the thick locks of hair started to stand on end, giving him a much more malevolent appearance as he remained half hunched in the corner. a straight row of glimmering teeth were bared to you in a menacing smile, causing you to gasp and turn to make your way to the door. again, sir nighteye’s message rang through your mind: 

remain vigilant.

a material that was both metallic and malleable shot forth from the darkness behind you, wrapping around your ankle and dragging you back. you cried out as you fell hard into one of the desk chairs, struggling to see what had pulled you down through the darkness. your eye finally caught something, trailing it back to the figure encroaching on you as he stepped fully from the yellow sack.

eyes like embers pierced through you, anchoring you to the spot. you hadn’t noticed it in the corner before, but you cursed yourself for not looking more carefully. as he stepped forward, you felt your breath hitch within your throat, fingernails biting down into the wooden desk surface. your mind screamed for your muscles to move. internally, it begged for you to run or hide away, but the closer he came, the more you sunk down into the chair. 

you must not give in.

“so, you’re the one he sent.”

deep, gruff voice filled your ears and sent a shiver down your spine. it was flat and lifeless, but still holding the same baleful aura that radiated from him. it felt as though there was no effort behind his words, no emotion. just a cold, detached voice that glued you to the seat beneath you. as he stepped forward, you noticed his hands in his pockets. he was wearing some sort of dark jumpsuit that hung loosely around his form with a long, coiled material around his neck. it was stretched out on one end, leading down to your ankle.

he pulled me down with that? you thought, blinking up at him with parted lips. though you wished to speak, your throat was closed up in fear. he seemed familiar somehow, as if you had seen him before, but you were unable to place it. all you could do was stare at him, which only seemed to displease him further. the grip around your ankle tightened enough to make you wince, watching as he moved to stand just in front of you.

“why are you here?”

subtle disgust laced his tone, watching a very slight sneer form over his face. suddenly, the room came to life. a low buzzing hum started from above you both before the fluorescent lights flickered on. you squinted through it, blinking to try and adjust your vision to the sudden change. a hand raised instinctively to block your eyes, peering through the slits in your fingers to the man that had appeared from the once shadowy corner. now, you could make out the golden sleeping bag slumped against the walls, laying unzipped and deflated.

your attention was snapped back to him as he stepped directly into your line of vision. you could get a good look at him now, noting the way his long dark hair fell back down around his scruffy face. there was a scar beneath his eye, both of which were now just as dark as the vacant space outside of the windows in the hall. like a blackhole, you felt yourself getting sucked into the intensity of his stare. somehow, you finally managed to break away from his magnetism and force the words from your lips.

“i need...to find my mom.”

he noted your hesitation, something resembling disappointment reflecting in his eyes. for what felt like an eternity, he stared down at you, as if daring you to try and move. even if you wanted to, you weren’t sure that you could. the longer you held his gaze, the weaker your muscles felt. even willing a finger to move seemed to take more energy than you could expend. still, you tried to cling to what little strength sir nighteye’s words had given you before. you got through the other circles, you could get through this one…

....right?

“it’s too late for that.”

finally, his response came, and you couldn’t help the twinge of pain from within your heart. the devoid tone he held threatened to suck away the small sliver of resolve you had just made for yourself. you watched as he stepped around to one of the desks beside you, leaning back against the top much too nonchalantly. his movements were sluggish and tired, he too seemed bogged down by the energy of this place. it was a crushing weight that only seemed to grow more and more intense the longer you spent here. 

and it didn’t look like you would be leaving anytime soon.

“your mother is in the ninth circle. you won’t make it past here.”

the matter of fact manner in which he spoke sparked annoyance within you. with furrowed brows, you spoke determinedly against the crushing weight. your eyes narrowed at him, forcing yourself to meet his bloodshot stare with this newfound façade of bravery.

“i’ve made it so far. who are you to say i won’t make it out of here?”

you couldn’t tell whether your words displeased him or surprised him, for his features remained flat and lifeless the entire time you spoke. it was only the slight twitch of his brows that gave you the sense that his own annoyance was brewing. 

“you lack the conviction.”

his words took you back for a moment, lips parted and jaw slacked in the shock of his declaration. the...conviction…? did he think that you didn’t truly want to save your mom? your eyes remained narrowed slits as they stared at him, finding the strength to speak to him again.

“you don’t know me.”

“i know all who enter here. this is my domain.”

anxiety pooled in your stomach as he revealed himself. so, he was the one in charge of sloth? you had not expected to find him so quickly, but you also hadn’t expected someone quite so...gruff? was he supposed to be a teacher here? he looked...homeless. shaking the thought from your mind, you tried to focus on him again. for now, he was answering your questions, right? you might as well take advantage of that.

“your domain? so, you’re the one in charge here?” 

instead of answering, he just stared at you with that empty gaze. he seemed tired and lethargic, but, every so often, you saw a glimmer of something within him. something chilling.  you knew you should have been trying to make a break for it and run, or trying to figure out a way out of here, but you still couldn’t get yourself to move. all you could do was force yourself to speak and try and find some answers. figuring he wouldn’t answer that question, you spoke up again.

“what do you mean i lack the conviction?”

it seemed that was the right question to ask, as he kicked up from the desk and stepped forward until he was finally looming over you once more. again, your breath hitched in your throat, raising your chin so that your eyes could follow his own. despite his shaggy appearance, he was handsome. even more so than before, he seemed familiar to you, but you could not place him. all you could do was stare.

“you couldn’t do anything to save her before. what makes you think you can now?” his words took you aback, feeling the threat of tears building in your eyes. the omniscient way he spoke down to you was tearing away at your determination to make it through. how could he know anything about your mother? how could he even begin to understand what it was like to watch your rock in life waste away and having there be nothing you could do to help her? for your entire life, your mother was there for you. every hardship you came across, she was there to offer kindness, love, and worldly wisdom. if only she was here now…

“she was sick...there wasn’t anything i could do.”

your voice was barely a whimper, struggling to push past the emotion that had risen up your throat. countless times you had wondered whether or not there was something that you could have done differently. that somehow, some way, you could have managed some miracle to help her get better. realistically, you knew there was nothing you personally could have done, but the way he spoke down to you only rehashed those feelings of guilt and denial that you thought had long since been buried. “not anything?” his head fell to the side, tilting towards his shoulder and shifting long hair with it. “i've heard every excuse there is. regardless of your reasoning, you will end up here. they all do.”

at that, your head shot towards the door as you heard a wailing cry in the distance. more and more started to come forth, echoing down the long, vacant halls. they were just beyond the door, crying for someone to help them. for a moment, you thought you heard yourself among the cries. 

your attention only snapped back when another end of the scarf he wore wrapped around your neck and forced you to look back to him. fire burned behind his gaze as he stared down at you, pulling at his scarf to yank you to your feet. instinctively, your hands gripped the cloth around your throat, struggling to pull it away enough to breathe. he wrapped it around his fist and pulled you even closer, almost gagging you with the scent of brimstone that seemed to radiate from him. you shuddered at his closeness, feeling your stomach twist into knots, but you couldn’t look away. again, the magnetic pull of his gaze forced you to look at him. 

“do you hear them?”

meekly, you nodded, almost unable to hear him over the crescendo of wails coming from down the hall. you struggled to try and keep your head, desperate cries of agony drowning out logic and reason and replacing it with guilt. 

you lacked the conviction.

“they’re just like you. try as they may, they will never succeed to free themselves. what good is a hero without the strength to do what must be done?”

a...hero? 

realization hit you like a brick as you suddenly recognized the man before you. he was a teacher at ua high school. you had seen him on the news quite a few times trying to clear up the distrust for heroes that was growing in society. it always seemed that he was trying, so how did he end up here? the thought plagued your heart with dread.

if even a pro-hero could end up here, what would that mean for you? it was almost as if he could sense the dejection creeping in, the corner of his lips starting to twitch up into the ghost of a smirk. slowly, he started to circle around you, the part of his capture device around your ankle starting to coil itself up your leg as he did. your throat suddenly felt dry and hoarse, unable to even force yourself to speak. weakly, you tried to pull at the tightening cloth around your neck to no avail. was this how it would end? stuck in the sixth circle? you had barely been here for ten minutes, but it already felt as if you had been trying to escape for years.

“i was met with a choice once. i had a chance to help, but i didn’t have the confidence to do it, yet i still had the nerve to become a hero. i was a mockery, as they all are. as you are. your cowardice will bring your failure. there is nothing you can do to change it,” he stepped up behind you now, his voice low and sultry against your ear. it was the first time it had changed from its dull monotone, “so why even try?”

why try? you had to...it was the only way that you could get your mom back. it was the only way that you could survive everything that you had already been through. you had to try, but you couldn’t find the strength. your body felt heavy, like a sinking weight drifting into the depths of dark waters. sullenness was creeping in, nurturing the seeds of guilt he had sown within your mind and heart.

was there a point to fighting on? even if you could reach your mom, would you be able to bring her back? would bringing her back even be worth the struggle? he was right. you weren’t strong enough to do it before, what made you think you could do it now when the odds were stacked even higher against you? again, you cursed sir nighteye for dragging you into this mess.

your hands which still struggled to pull at the bind around your throat were starting to weaken in their fight against him. he pressed himself against your back, using the scarf to pull you flush to his torso. you could feel his hand at your hip, anchoring your backside upon his pelvis. a gasp betrayed you, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“stay here. where else is there for you to go?” 

the hand at your hip was shifting forward, slipping towards the hem of your skirt. you could feel the rough pads of his fingers just brushing the top of your thigh. the same goosebumps you got before infected your body like a plague once more, travelling down your spine with a little shiver. again, you found yourself at the mercy of inferno, becoming nothing more than a doll in the hands of a sinner. through the fog settling in your mind, you managed to pray for help. for someone to help release you.

“surrender to me.”

you were unable to fight against the pull of your leg by his scarf, parting your thighs for his hand that roamed you freely. it slipped between your legs, gripping the tender meat of your loin with the same hunger that had reflected within his eyes earlier. like a spider, he had laid his trap with ease and caught you swiftly in his tangled web. you struggled to move away from him, but your motions were half hearted and tainted with defeat. 

what was the point?

you could feel his hand slipping up to your panties, pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. you wanted to cry out for help, but all you could manage was a meek moan, once again betraying yourself. no, no, no, you thought, eyes desperately searching the room for some way out, this can’t happen. i need to get out of here.

i need to find my mom.

“w-what are you doing?” you just barely choked out, peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“for satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.” again, his words took on that headiness he had lacked before, running his tongue up the expanse of your neck and to your ear. it disrupted your thoughts, bringing out a soft groan from you.

each time your mind found some sort of clarity, he dragged you away from it with more devilish touches. his fingers started to circle you, sending another chill down your spine and tremor through your legs. whenever he spoke, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. his breath was warm on your skin, almost seeming comforting against the cool air. for a moment, you wondered how bad it would really be to just let it all go…

you must not give in.

again, those words plagued your mind and tried to force you away from the growing heat between your legs. he had warned you this time, tried to prepare you in some way for what was to come from this circle, but all you had done was complain. you cursed him for bringing you into this mess when you were the one who agreed to follow in the first place. again, you felt guilt twinging your heart. you were too much of a coward to do anything for your mom. you were a fool to believe you could have moved past this.

“surrender.” his voice in your ear was reeling you in like a siren’s song, dragging you further and further down into the depths. his touches made you feel like you were sinking almost into sleep. your legs gave out, the full weight of your body being supported by him. his attention turned to the silent tears that streamed down your cheeks as you stared absently up at the ceiling. you could barely register the feeling of his tongue sliding up your face to collect the salty trail that rolled down. with every touch, you felt more and more of your energy being siphoned from you. between this place and him, you were being drained of everything you had left.

i’m sorry, mom. i just couldn’t do it.

finally, your eyes closed. you couldn’t help but wonder how sir nighteye would feel about your failure. would he be disappointed? or would he remain indifferent? 

what would happen to your mom if you stopped here?

it was that question that brought your eyes to open again. you tried to ignore the starved bites to your neck and the hands that continued to touch you. to find your focus through the fog in your mind was a struggle, but you somehow managed as you continued to think of your mom. memories of her came flooding in, a lot of which you had buried deep since her passing. they hurt too much to remember before, leaving you too afraid to relive them for fear of ripping open the wounds again. now, you didn’t care. you forced them to come to the surface. with every thought of her, you felt your strength starting to return. you know he could feel it too, as his opposite arm started to circle around your waist and keep you pressed against him. as if trying to erase the strength you were building, his hips moved along your own, rubbing his arousal against your backside.

the temptation to fall back again was great, but you forced yourself to break past it. with a shove, you pushed yourself away from him. you hit the cold linoleum with a hard smack, feeling blood starting to drip from where your forehead had smashed into the floor. the fabric of his capture device had pulled you down, but it was loosened now. bleary eyed as you tried to catch your breath from the impact, you looked over your shoulder to see where he was. his vacant stare was alight with burning embers once more, smoldering down at you with such great intensity. again, his hair rose around himself. 

“you think you can run?”

you didn’t have time to answer before he was on top of you, trying to pin your arms down by your head. you screamed and twisted your body beneath him, crying out as he shoved his knee into your hip to pin you down. despite his strength, you still struggled and fought as much as you could. no matter how he touched you, or what words he said into your ear, you would not give up here. 

“you think you can escape me?”

his lips collided within your own, violently claiming yours and invading your mouth with his tongue. the heat that had radiated from him before was nothing like it was now. it threatened to burn you as he forced himself upon you, a bruising grip on your wrists as he tried to keep you down. 

you understood now that the bondage of guilt was self imposed, but you knew he was going to do anything to keep you beneath him. to keep you here in this place, stuck with all of the others who fell into laziness and apathy. those who lost their care to do what was right because they could not find the strength to surpass what they found to be too difficult. 

again, you heard the wailing cries of the students outside of the classroom, begging for someone to release them, but that was just it. no one was going to come to release them.

they had to find the strength to release themselves.

with all of your might, you shifted on the ground and pushed up with your leg. your voice was found again, yelling out as you propelled yourself up and threw him off of you and into the podium at the front of the room. his head smacked against the metal, grunting in response. in that moment, you felt the cloth around your leg and neck fully release itself, and you scrambled up from the ground while pulling away the ties. without hesitation, you ran for the door and pushed yourself out into the hall.

the halls were no longer empty, but lined with students. they were battered and bruised, their training uniforms practically ripped to shreds. you gasped as you stepped out from the classroom and felt your foot starting to sink into the ground. looking down, you saw that the floor was no longer the solid linoleum it was before but had become mud. the students struggled against it, weakly lifting their legs to no avail and crying out as they couldn’t release themselves. they reached for you, gripping your shoulders and begging for you to save them.

panic was settling in your heart, fearing that it would beat out of your chest from how fast it was pumping. you turned over your shoulder to see the man in the classroom starting to stand up, the red in his gaze seeming even more intense than it had been as it found you in the doorway.

it was now or never.

you forced yourself again to use all of the strength that you could muster to push past the suffering students and move down the hall. your muscles were aching against the pull of the mud trying to keep you back, but you pushed yourself to keep going. you couldn’t stay here. not with them. not with him. 

you couldn’t give up.

you knew he was behind you, moving through the thick mud with much more ease than you had, but you couldn’t turn back to face him. you kept your eyes ahead, shoving past those who were in your way. the hallway was starting to fade into darkness, the fluorescent lights going out one by one as you made your way beneath them.  at the very end sat the elevator, illuminated only by the numbers that were counting up to six. sir nighteye was returning for you.

“you won’t be able to save her. you might as well stop here.”

the man’s voice called after you, trying to lure you back to him. the temptation was great, especially as you felt your body start to slow, struggling to fight the exhaustion that was settling into your bones. you were panting; your chest heaving as you tried to force air into your burning lungs. fire was ripping through your body, threatening to seize your muscles, but you still kept on. you kept playing those memories of your mom over and over in your mind to help push you farther and farther away from the man. you could hear him behind you starting to speed up, angrily yelling for you to just give in. it almost seemed as if he was desperate for you to stay.

the elevator doors started to open as you got closer, the familiar face of sir nighteye looking at you from the inside. in some ways, it almost looked as if he was pleasantly surprised. with a final bound, you lept inside of the elevator shaft, just barely missing the end of the man’s capture scarf as the door started to close behind you.

with your chest heaving, you pressed yourself against the wall and watched as the doors closed just before his reaching hands made it to them. relief flooded you as the elevator began to descend, never thinking that you would be so thankful to hear the chilling grind of its gears once more.

“i didn’t think you would make it.” you scoffed at the words from the man beside you, shooting him a glare as you tried to readjust your clothes.

“gee, thanks.”

your gaze turned up towards the numbers before turning to him again.

“what’s next?”

[royallyjoon]

nephilim (deux)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violent behavior, manipulation

deep in the forest lies the home to the infamous, successful kim family. you steeled yourself to enter the lions’ den, where kind, masked souls surrounded you, welcoming you with open hearts and open arms. you, however, still keep your wits about you. you protect yourself by getting comfortable, but not too close. but it’s alright. put your guard up to your hearts’ content. you are their favorite past time, after all. either way, sooner or later, you will be theirs...

------------------------------------------------------

The five Kim siblings couldn’t be more elated, watching the object of their eye sleep without a care in the world.

They remained quiet, speaking in whispers as they strove not to wake you up. Your guarded attitude around them had escaped no one, and they, quite frankly, found it adorable.

You were the only one who didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve around them.

The sleek, black van turned corner after corner around the winding paths of Ichabod, passing homes, places of commerce, and office buildings.

The Kim family lived deep within the woods, not too far away from the base of the monthly gatherings. All of the other town dwellers would walk from their homes, located at various points in the city, into the twisting black woods in order to appear at the meeting on time.

For the Kims would accept nothing less than perfection.

After another twenty minutes, Driver Bin cautiously approached a narrow dirt path and he directed the car onto the incline, winding upwards on the hill. The car then veered off to the right, entering a secluded road that would lead specifically to the Kim family mansion. 

It stood, raised on wooden platforms with impressive glass windows. The exterior shone in the afternoon sunlight, polished cherry wood glistening through the orange and green leaves on the forest trees.

There was no ostentatious fountain or statue outside the front of the home, nor were there piled bodies of the forsaken lying around their grounds, contrary to popular schoolyard taunts and beliefs. 

Only a winding, wooden staircase that led to the front door. 

The boys stared out the window, gaze breaking away from you for only a moment as they watched the approaching front gate.

A black, iron-wrought masterpiece, as well as their father’s pride and joy: the front gate worked all too well at keeping unwanted guests outside and favored guests inside of the Kim household.

Each of the brothers had grown up detesting that gate. Whether on purpose or by accident, it kept them locked up from the outside world, ostracizing them even more than they had already thought possible.

But now, as the old iron monstrosity creaked open, and as they watched their beloved sleep ever so sweetly....

Why, they wouldn’t have wished for anything other than for that gate to close once and for all, leaving you with them forever.

The metal closed with an ominous clang, and the van pulled into the home’s garage as the sun began to set.

——————————————————————

You peeled your eyes open, disoriented for just a moment before pure panic bled through.

The last thing you remembered was getting into the Kim’s car on your way to their home.

But now, you lay in a queen size, four poster bed covered with soft (f/c) sheets. The dark brown, wooden frame had beautiful gossamer, white sheets hanging down, wrapped around each end so that you could sit up without them getting in your way.

You looked down and found your school uniform still on, albeit a bit wrinkled. There was a sweater a bit too large for you wrapped around your shoulders. Your shoes were no longer on your feet, and the thought of someone taking those off for you made you flustered.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten to the room, but logic reasoned that one of the boys must have brought you in here to rest...

Your face twisted into an unreadable expression...you weren’t particularly sure how to feel about that. 

You should thank them and apologize, of course, but still, the entire situation only heightened your unease.

Your phone and backpack lay on the table next to the bed, and you picked the device up, checking the time. To your surprise, it had only been an hour since you left the school grounds. 

You texted your mother that you had arrived before getting off the bed and walking to the door in your socks. Before you could open it, however, your phone began to buzz in your hand.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)! Is everything alright?” Your mother’s voice, tired but worried, sounded out from across the line. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine! We just got here. I had to use the bathroom so they led me to a guest room; that’s where I am right now.” You paced around the room as you spoke before sitting on the edge of the bed and fingering the silk canopy.

You decided not to tell your mother about the falling asleep part. What she didn’t know couldn’t worry her.

“That’s good. I get out of work in a couple of hours, I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Just tell me how the project’s going in the meantime, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure.” She cautioned you one more time before hanging up the phone.

You put it in your skirt pocket and pulled open the wooden door, relieved by the fact that it made no sound. It led you to a hallway and you carefully walked out into it, making sure not to disturb anyone.

You surmised that you were located on the bottom floor of the house. The room you were in had been situated at the very end of the hallway, and you found the lack of noise unsettling. 

At first, the only thing you could hear was the soft padding of your socked feet on the hardwood floor, but as you walked down the hallway, the sound of talking and laughing got louder and louder. 

You peeked your head around the corner to see all five of the boys seated in a sort of lounge with large, floor-to-ceiling glass windows. 

The Kims had somehow managed to perfectly blend the appearance of old money with the taste and style of new money artwork and design. The house looked like something straight out of a romantic fiction, young adult novel.

As you looked around the living room, it was somewhat hard for you to take in the amount of wealth in the home. The windows offered a splendid view of the surrounding forest from the inside, although clouded a bit by coffee voile curtains. Before them sat two settees with a small, rounded glass table between them. Closer to the entrance where you stood sat a gray sofa across from a much longer, L-shaped couch.

Taehyung and Jimin sat roughhousing passionately on the sofa while Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook sat on the longer couch opposite them. The former was laughing at the two’s shenanigans, clapping his hands in glee and the latter two were occupied with separate activities: Namjoon reading, occasionally pushing his glasses up on his face and Jungkook concerned with something on his phone.

You hesitantly walked out. “...Jimin?”

All five heads snapped up as they watched you approach.

Jimin’s face broke out into an even bigger smile and he jumped up to stand in front of you. “(Y/N)! How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“Did you sleep well?” Taehyung smiled mischievously from the couch, but you could tell from his tone that he meant well.

Your cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “Yeah! I’m so sorry about that, I just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I thought I had handled my fatigue pretty well, but I guess it never actually left. You could’ve woken me up, you know...” You spoke with your head down, looking at your hands as they wrung together.

You heard the room go silent for a moment, just as you feared it would. When you looked up, all five of the boys had an enigmatic expression on their face.

It sent chills down your back, just how quickly their attitudes had switched. They went from joyful laughter and peaceful content to emotions you felt were unstable...you sensed a bit of helplessness paired with indifference, and the slightest hint of anger and contempt. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to remind of them of the reason why they were ostracized so much, why they were seen as different. You mentally smacked yourself in the forehead, making a note to be more sensitive about the topic while you were in their presence.

The sound of a hardcover book snapping shut broke the silence, causing you to jump. 

Namjoon gently placed the book he was reading on the couch’s armrest and looked at you with a cordial smile. “You should take better care of yourself, (Y/N). It wouldn’t do for you to fall asleep in your classes or end up unwell.”

With that sentence, the spell was broken. 

Jimin gently took your forearm and tugged you into the direction of the sofa he was sitting on earlier, pouting as he spoke. “I should have known...you looked ready to drop since our break this morning.”

He seated you and took the place on your right as you waved him off. “It’s fine, it was my fault-”

“If you still want to rest, feel free to go back to the guest room!” Taehyung added, claiming the spot on the other side of you.

“Never feel like you have to hide how you feel around us, (Y/N).” Hoseok said with another winning grin, leaning forward in his seat. 

You blinked warily at all of their support. “Well...thanks, guys.”

Your eyes stopped on Jungkook, who was staring at you, and his heavy gaze made you itch.

You leaned back in your seat and felt the sweater you’d woken up with start to slip. 

You pulled it off of your shoulders, beginning to question how it even got there in the first place, and met eyes with Jungkook again. “Is this yours...?”

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak for the first time. “You were shivering in your sleep in the car. I thought you might need it, so I left it with you after I carried you in.”

You folded it and handed it back to him, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Thank you, Jungkook. Again, I’m sorry for falling asleep on you all like that.”

He took it from you, large eyes getting slightly wider in wonder. 

“It’s alright, (Y/N). We’re glad to help you out with whatever you need.” Namjoon nodded and smiled, the dimple in his left cheek prominent. You smiled, a bit more relaxed now but still cautious of your behavior.

“Thank you for welcoming me to your lovely home, then.” You replied, admiring the layout once more.

“Aww, she thinks our home is lovely.” Taehyung gushed. “Seokjin hyung would love to hear that someone finally appreciates his taste in design.”

You cocked your head at him. “Your brother designed this living room?”

“Our eldest brother,” Jimin gushed. “He threw a huge tantrum a couple of years ago, complaining to our parents about how much he couldn’t stand the decor, so they let him draw up a design plan...then they ended up going along with it.”

“He and Yoongi hyung, our other brother, are usually studying away at college,” Taehyung went on. “Our parents bought them an apartment in the city so they could be closer to the campus, but because they have to be present for the meetings, they come back home for a bit every month.”

“They were here last night, but then they had to leave immediately.” Hoseok added.

Before the discussion could continue, you heard the sound of sharp clacks approaching the room.

“My darling sons,” A tilting voice spoke from the entryway and out came one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen (aside from your mother, of course). 

She glided across the wooden floor in sensibly high heels, a silk dress complementing her figure and a tan blazer resting on her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a silver tray full of neatly arranged snacks. 

“I brought a little something for you all to enjoy! I know how hungry you all get-oh....who is this?” She slowed with a smile as she approached the couch.

Kim Eunbyul was not a person meant to be taken lightly. Her status in this town was no different than royalty, and she exemplified grace with every step that she took. 

As expected of the two time winner of the Pluton Actress Award.

You stared at her in amazement before you quickly snapped back to your senses and rose, giving a polite bow in greeting. “Good evening, Mrs. Kim! I’m (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” she hummed, laying the tray on the table. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Might I ask why you’ve decided to visit our humble home?”

“She’s here on my invitation, Mother.” Jimin spoke and your gaze snapped over to him in shock. His tone sounded so...flat, so unfazed, so unlike every other expression you’d heard him use today. “We have a group project for Mrs. Hargrove’s class, one that will be a considerable part of our grade.”

“Alright, I understand.” She chided him slightly, seemingly used to his attitude. She came to stand before you, leaning a good couple of inches above you. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You smiled at her—an actual smile this time, albeit a small one—as she grasped your hands in hers. 

To your surprise, you could feel them tremble slightly.

You stood there, making an effort to avoid eye contact as she studied you. When you looked to the brothers’ in an attempt for nonverbal help, your breath hitched.

The siblings gazed at their mother with something likened to...no, something that was utter detestation.

Jungkook payed her no mind, his thumb obsessively stroking the sweater he held in his possession once more. 

Hoseok and Taehyung openly glared at their mother behind her back, the elder’s lips frowning in annoyance and the younger’s twisting into a sneer.

Jimin’s eyes glued onto her, oozing indifference, his gaze all too similar to the one he’d sent Mrs. Hargrove earlier that day. 

Namjoon simply watched his mother with cocky amusement glinting in his eyes.

Mrs. Kim gave your hands a gentle squeeze and she smiled. “You have a wonderful energy around you, my dear. You possess a wisdom far beyond your years, and great power as well. I advise you to be wary of some of the people around you, though. They may want to steal your power for themselves.” She gave a small sigh and pat the back of your hands before lowering them gently.

“Thank...you?” You smiled at her in polite confusion. As far as you knew, Mrs. Kim was an actress. No one had said anything about her being able to tell people’s fortunes.

Your classmates would have called her a witch.

But with her husband acting as Wylynne’s divine messenger, would she truly have no powers herself...?

“Of course, my dear.” She gave you one last smile. “Please, enjoy yourself, and make yourself right at home. Our doors will always be open to you.”

She then left the living room, not so much as sparing a glance towards her sons. Not that they would have wanted it anyway, for they looked as though they couldn’t stand a second longer of her presence.

You watched her go, leaving with the same grace that she came in with, but much quicker than before. 

Your palm still tickled from the feeling of her trembling hand in yours.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon stood up, brushing off his uniform pants. “I wouldn’t take her prediction to heart. Our mother tends to do that to everyone she meets-”

“Are they true?”

“...What?” 

Just as you started getting slightly comfortable in this bizarre atmosphere, Namjoon’s intense stare brought you back to the present, reminding you of your place.

“Is there some truth to her evaluations?” You innocently asked, trying not to cave under the weight of the older boy’s attention.

“I must admit, I wouldn’t know,” he chuckled, his gaze softening, “we’re the only ones she refuses to do a reading on.”

You nodded, intrigued. “I see. I just find those interesting, is all...”

“Well,” Jimin interrupted, hopping up and clapping his hands. “we should get started on our project!”

“I left my bag in the room, I should go get it.” You turned to go in the general direction of the hallway from which you came but was stopped by Taehyung gently grabbing your elbow. 

“Here!” He stood up, toeing his sandals off and sliding them in your direction. “Jungkook took your shoes off and placed them at the front of the house with the rest of ours, so you might need these.”

“Oh! Thank you. I’ll be sure to return them before I leave.” You smiled at him.

He blushed and grinned in return. 

Jungkook's hair fell into his eyes as he looked down in shame. “I should have prepared a pair of slippers for you while you were sleeping, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it!” You claimed, just to watch his eyes light up again.

“Good luck on the project, you two!” Hoseok said, turning to leave.

“Let me come with you, (Y/N)!” Jimin said, taking you by the hand. “We’ll be right back, Namjoon hyung!”

He pulled you towards the entryway and you heard the boys start to disassemble behind you, heading off toward their respective locations with the exception of Namjoon, who sat back down on the couch to wait.

You traipsed down the hallway with Jimin. “I think your mother is a lovely person,” you quietly stated.

Jimin didn’t pause, but his grip on your elbow tightened before he turned to you, eyes scrunched together because of his wide smile. “I’m glad you think so! I think she likes you as well.”

You smiled back at him, carefully watching his expression, before turning your gaze to the wood floor. He stood at the doorway as you grabbed your bag and arranged the bed. 

When that was finished, the two of you walked down the hallway and met up with Namjoon, and ascended to the third floor of the home.

---------------------------------------------

The Kims’ library looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast, though it was nowhere near as grandiose in height. Your inner bookworm squealed at the sight of all the books lining the shelves, as well as the plush couch and beanbags resting in the leftmost corner of the library. 

You held on to the strap of your bag, following Jimin and Namjoon as they weaved their way through multiple bookcases.

Namjoon reached a dilapidated wooden shelf at the back of the room. His fingers trailed over the book backings and he backtracked and picked one up, blowing the dust off of it only to end up coughing. Jimin muffed his giggle as he covered his nose and mouth with his sweater sleeve.

“I believe this is what you were looking for,” he said once his coughing fit was over, “The Word of the Lost.”

What a fascinating title...

“Ah, yes, hyung! This is exactly what we needed!” Jimin’s eyes practically sparkled as he took the book from his brother. It was an old, leather bound thing and the glossy pages flashed underneath the dim library lights. 

It reminded you of the older bibles with illuminated pages.

“Thank you for helping us look.” You said. Namjoon nodded toward you with his classic student-body-president smile.

“Of course. I thumbed through this book many times as a child.” Namjoon said. “I’m sure you both will be able to find a fascinating creature to do your report on.” 

The three of you walked out from the labyrinth of shelves and you beelined toward the couch, making yourself comfortable.

Jimin came to sit next to you, placing the book on his lap and waving goodbye to his brother. While you were bent over retrieving your school materials, Namjoon returned the wave with a smirk and left the library, leaving the two of you to your work.

You pulled out your notebook and a writing utensil, turning to Jimin as your academic weariness set in once more. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” he stated, opening the book. “I don’t spend as much time in the library as Namjoon hyung, but I do remember there being a host of creatures in this book...”

UnFortunately, Namjoon’s recollection of the text was spot on. There were so many mythological creatures, you and Jimin were overwhelmed and didn’t know which one to pick.

“How about banshees?” Jimin suggested. 

“The harbingers of death?” You mused. “I know of them. They’re one of my favorites.”

“Ah...then what about the wendigo?”

You shuddered. “I know about them as well; their folklore is so interesting, but so creepy.”

Jimin nodded, paging through the novel again. “We could research golems?”

You smiled and shook your head. “I’ve heard about them before relative to Jewish mythology...and they’re somewhat similar to the Egyptian ushabti.”

Jimin playfully groaned and dropped his head back onto the couch. “You’re so learned, (Y/N)! How did you hear about all of these mythological figures?”

You shrugged and smiled a bit, doodling in your notebook. “I’ve just come across them in some way or another...usually through the media.”

You gently took the book off of Jimin’s lap and decided to thumb through it yourself, turning to the chapter list to see the different branches of creatures. Your finger ran down the list before stopping at a certain name. 

“...Jimin, have you ever heard anything about nephilim?”

He stiffened and his brows furrowed. “No. What are they?” 

You flipped the book to the demonstrated page number and began reading. “‘Nephilim are creatures conceived of humans and angels. These fascinating individuals are born with immense amounts of both angelic grace and the original sin of human beings.’” You beamed. “Perfect! This creature sounds the most interesting-”

You turned to speak to Jimin and found his face uncomfortably close to yours. Gone was the innocent, boyish expression on his face, replaced by an endearing and inquisitive stare.

You immediately turned your head to look back down at the page. “-of the creatures...and the least known,” you mumbled, hoping he couldn’t see the tint of red on your cheeks.

Rather than taking the book for himself, Jimin started reading it over your shoulder. You tried not to breathe too hard with his proximity.

He’s too close...

“‘As they mature, they must come to terms with their proclivity to sin and balance it out with their angelic nature. Nevertheless, this arduous task often leaves them with an identity crisis, and most succumb to their sinful natures.’” Once he finished, he turned to you with an impressed look. “You’re right! This sounds really interesting, and if you haven’t heard of these figures, then they should definitely be the one we research.”

“Yeah! So we should get started, then,” you said, pulling out your laptop and casually reseating yourself a couple inches away from Jimin. 

“Mrs. Hargrove wants us to do a presentation as well as write an essay for this project...which do you think we should we work on first?” You asked him, sending your mother your location, and opening a new tab. 

“We could write the essay first, and then pull information from that to combine it with what we find from our research for the presentation.” Jimin suggested, taking out a laptop of his own.

“Sounds good! I shared a document with you.”

The both of you spent the next two hours on your computers, researching as many articles on nephilim as possible. It was somewhat difficult, finding authentic sources about the creatures rather than commentaries on media representations of them, but working off of what The Word of the Lost gave you, there was enough to compile a hefty source list.

After that, however, you, still mentally exhausted, started to get distracted, and then Jimin decided to take a break as well. The project was due near the end of the semester, and the two of you had made enough progress for tonight. You deserved this break.

Outside, the light changed from the orange afternoon sun to the cool blue of evening. Before your very eyes, the sky outside was purple, and the oranges and greens of the leaves had disappeared in the dark, turning into obscure figures and shapes outside the window that left you wanting to pull the curtains closed.

A couple of minutes later, you were startled by the click of the library doors.

Mrs. Kim peered through the opening. “Ah, there you both are!”

She approached you and Jimin with two glasses of water, one in each hand. 

You took the glass she handed to you and expressed your thanks. Her hands didn’t seem to be trembling as much as they were earlier.

“How is it going?”

“We made a lot of progress--I think this project is going to be a good one.” You smiled at her and she returned it, relieved.

She raised a hand and paused, hesitantly lowering it gently into Jimin’s hair and stroking it lovingly. The boy froze, lowering the glass from his lips and turning to look at Mrs. Kim.

“Yes, thank you, Mother.” His tone remained flat.

She breathed out a sigh and nodded at him before turning to you. “(Y/N), darling, I believe your mother has arrived downstairs.”

Your eyes widened and you began packing your school materials. “Oh, really? She didn’t even tell me! I must have overstayed my welcome.”

Mrs. Kim laughed lightheartedly. “Not at all dear. It’s most likely because she encountered my husband along the way. They’re both seated downstairs, talking.”

On the outside, you managed to give Mrs. Kim a pleasant smile. On the inside, however, your thoughts were raging. 

Why, of all people, would Kim Moonsik want to have a conversation with her?

If that old man tries to sacrifice my mother to his creepy little moon goddess, I swear, I’ll-

“I can take you to meet with her, no worries.” Mrs. Kim stated, bringing her blazer closer around her shoulders. “I’ll just wait for you outside.”

She glanced at Jimin once more and turned away, heels clacking on the floor as the click of the door sounded.

You zipped up your bag, having nothing else to pack, and pulled it over your shoulder. 

Before you could stand to leave, however, Jimin gently took your hand in his.

“(Y/N), before you go, I just wanted to say thank you.”

The boy was looking down at his lap, his eyes covered by strands of his hair. You patiently waited for him to finish.

“I know everyone is suspicious of us and would rather not interact with us at all for fear of...” he paused on the last bit, “but you have been the only to one to approach us wholeheartedly.”

“Thank you for not treating us like freaks, or some sort of plague or disease like everyone else.” Jimin raised his head, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

You smiled and gently squeezed his hand. “Please, think nothing of it. Why would I treat you like something you’re not?”

“You and your brothers are all just people. You’re a family, just like how everyone else in this town has families.” You spoke quietly. “You may not be the most...orthodox of families, yes, but you’re hardly to blame for that. Who’s to decide what the norm is anyway?”

Besides, I have no reason to hurt you or yours, you thought. 

Jimin huffed out a sob and gathered you in his arms in a hug. You grunted, as it was unexpected, but hesitantly raised your arms to pat him on the back. 

“It’s alright,” you murmured.

Behind your back, Jimin did have tears falling down his face, but rather than a look of sorrow or suffering, sheer, hysterical glee appeared on his face.

He struggled to suppress the broad grin threatening to take over his expression.

The smell of your hair was intoxicating...

“I thank the goddess for you, (Y/N),” he murmured, low enough that you could not make out what he said.

He made sure he regained control of his expression and then pulled away from the hug with a soft smile. He stood up and took your bag for you, much like how you had taken his earlier that day, and led you to his mother, who was waiting outside.

The three of you walked down the two flights of stairs to find Namjoon, Hoseok, and their father speaking with your mother.

She was quite the visage in their home, sitting on the smaller gray sofa, still in her scrubs. 

Kim Moonsik sat in front of her, with one of his sons on either side, looking like interviewers for a job position, while she sat on the edge of the couch opposite them, her hands placed in her lap and looking extremely uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well, working at the hospital has its downsides, but it also has its valuable life experience,” you heard her say. “I truly enjoy caring for and working with all kinds of patients, as well as with the staff of the inter-professional team.”

You heard a hearty laugh, followed by the voice that you were supposed to only be subject to once a month. 

“Careers like yours are crucial in the eyes of the moon goddess, Ms. (L/N). It sounds as though you’re doing a wonderful job.” Kim Moonsik grinned and nodded at your mother, who forced a laugh. “Wylynne looks down on you with favor.” 

“Ah, thank you, Mayor Kim. Praise Wylynne...”

She made eye contact with you as you descended the staircase and quietly sighed in relief.

“There’s our guest for the evening!” Mr. Kim cheered and stood up, walking to stand in front of you and Jimin while his wife slipped by, pressing a kiss to his cheek, as she went to sit next to your mother.

Without the luminescent glow of the moon or the intimidating glow of purple flames streaking across his face, Kim Moonsik almost looked like any other successful businessman and father. He and his wife both had dark hair and dark eyes, and they appeared to be quite the happy couple.

But there was no way that the past several years of monthly meetings was a dream. There was plenty of reason for caution around them, no matter how pleasant they may seem.

Your mother had nagged enough sense into you for you to know that much, at the very least.

You bowed again, hoping your nerves weren’t showing through your voice. “Good evening, Mr. Kim. I’m (Y/N) (L/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He chuckled in a good natured manner. “The pleasure is all mine...I trust you and Jimin were able to accomplish what you needed for your project?”

How did he know? “Ah, yes...we made loads of progress today.” You smiled politely.

“Eunbyul told me all about our visitors just before I arrived,” he responded as though he heard your question and smiled proudly, gently clapping Jimin on the back. “That’s amazing news to hear.”

Jimin smiled cordially, pulling you away from his father and walked over towards his brothers.

“(Y/N)-ie is leaving us now,” Hoseok fake pouted. 

You grimace-smiled at him. 

“Please,” Namjoon scoffed. “She’ll be over here so many times, we’ll start to get sick of her, right (Y/N)?”

“As long as you don’t mind having me over,” you said. “We have until the end of the semester to do the project, so, yeah, I might be over a couple more times...” You slowed as the reality of the situation started to hit. “Actually, Jimin, can I see your phone?”

He handed you his phone and you put your number in his contacts and texted yourself. “Now you have my number, and I have yours.” You smiled at him and handed the device back.

Jimin’s eyes widened in glee and he grinned in return. “Thanks, (Y/N)!”

Hoseok’s fists tightened his pockets.

Kim Eunbyul stood to her feet, her conversation apparently over. “You and your daughter are welcome any time,” she emphasized, placing a hand on your mother’s back. 

“Indeed, Ms. (L/N), Our home is your home.” Kim Moonsik added, placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders.

“Thank you so much, we’re truly grateful for the invitation.” You heard your mother say.

You carefully slid Taehyung’s sandals off your feet and lifted them up. Jimin handed you your backpack in exchange for the sandals and you took it, swinging it over your shoulders. “Please tell Taehyung and Jungkook I said goodbye, and that it was lovely meeting you all.” You said.

“We will!” Hoseok smiled, waving goodbye.

“See you tomorrow at school!” Jimin called and waved enthusiastically.

You waved and bowed to the Kims one more time, then took your mother’s hand and walked down the front steps.

Her car was parked outside the garage (read: haphazardly strewn across the asphalt). 

Your mother got into the front seat and put on her seatbelt without saying a word. Even when she began to drive, she was eerily silent.

It was not until the both of you were outside of the gates, down the hill, and outside of the forest that your mother abruptly stepped on the brakes and unbuckled her seatbelt, exiting the car.

You repeated her movements in alarm, slamming the passenger door shut and running to the other side of the car.

You got there just in time to watch as she keeled over on the side of the road and began to throw up.

“Mom!”

-----------------------------------------------------

Back at the Kim household, the instant the two guests left, a violent chill swept across the room.

Hoseok went to stand threateningly in front of Jimin. “Don’t go around thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”

The younger boy’s grin morphed into a devilish sneer. “Be careful, hyung...it’s starting to sound like you’re jealous.” He shook his phone, still open to (Y/N)’s contact information, tauntingly.

Namjoon scoffed at their bickering before turning his attention to smile at Moonsik and Eunbyul. “Mother...Father...we bid you goodnight.”

Hoseok smirked, following Namjoon up the stairs.

Jimin made a move to go follow them as well, but he stopped in front of Eunbyul. 

“Mother dearest.” The sophomore gripped the woman’s chin, turning her gaze to land directly on him. “As the most talented actress in our county, your performance could have been a bit more...convincing.” 

He looked her up and down, and then released her, throwing her to the right and out of his direct path. Eunbyul stumbled to the side, her form quite visibly shaking.

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with in the future.”

Jimin shouldered Moonsik, climbing past him up to his room on the second floor.

-------------------------------------------------

Your mother had stopped throwing up, but you continued rubbing her back comfortingly. 

She stood up on wobbly legs and you supported her on the way back to the car. You reached in your bag for your water bottle and some tissues, handing them to her.

She cleaned her mouth off, swished some water around in her mouth, spat it out the window, and then drank some more.

Before you could even ask if she was alright, she turned to you with another stern look. “I was so worried about you.”

Your eyes widened incredulously, but softened just as fast. “Mom, you didn’t have to worry! We were just working on a class project, like I said.”

Your mother nodded and sighed, putting the seatbelt back on. “I understand. It-it’s just terrifying to realize how close you were to-” She trailed off and tried again. “I mean, what if....”

This was a first, for you, to see your mother so visibly shaken. 

She usually was, and is, the epitome of strength in your life. To think that seeing the Kims jarred her to this point...

You grasped your mother’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. They’re just people, Mom.”

“People can be just as dangerous as deities,” she whispered, putting the car into drive.

With that thought, the both of you sat in ominous silence until you had arrived at your home.

-----------------------------------------------------

Once you and your mother arrived, you both had dinner and you ensured that she was able to go to bed of sound mind and heart. From the way she pushed you off of her, you surmised she had collected herself enough to return to her usual temperament.

You made your way up the stairs to your room and threw your bag somewhere near you desk, booking it to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, after a refreshing shower and a change of clothes, you sat at your desk. It was already significantly late, and you still had to complete the other classes’ homework that you didn’t have the chance to start while at the Kim’s.

As you basked in the comfort of your home’s walls, you felt truly relaxed for the first time that night. 

Jimin and his brothers were, for the most part nice, although misunderstood. The student body usually stayed away from them because of their parents and the influence they had on this town.

 Perhaps if this town were normal...

You sighed and immediately chased the thought away. This town was far from normal, that couldn’t be clear enough. And with Kim Moonsik in charge, the sense of unearthliness clearly wouldn’t change any time soon. 

You spent the next couple of hours doing the other assignments to the best of your ability. When you deemed it enough, you decided to call it a night, packing your things away and climbing under the covers.

Just as you began scrolling through social media, your phone vibrated from an incoming notification and your brows furrowed. 

Who was still awake at this hour? And why were they contacting you?

Perhaps it was Mana, you thought, begging to hear details about what it was like at the Kim house before tomorrow. You probably should have texted them when you got home, considering school was no longer the most....open place to have these discussions.

Nevertheless, you opened your messages and, to your surprise, there lay a text from none other than Kim Jimin.

I’m really glad I met you, (Y/N) 😇

Aww, that’s sweet of him, you thought.

You paused, wondering if you should pretend that you’re asleep rather than text him back right now, as the conversation could always continue in the morning.

You also thought of how he might nag you should he discover you’re awake at this hour after passing out in his car and at his house, and winced.

Yes, it would be best to ignore that until tomorrow morning.

Having had enough of the day, you put your phone to charge and pressed your head to the pillow, falling asleep.

-----------------------------------------------------

As Jimin lay in bed that night, he thought about your comment earlier this afternoon.

“I’m so sorry about that, I just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night...You could’ve woken me up, you know...”

It wasn’t the fact that they were reminded of the sacrifice last night that made them pause.

No, it was the fact that that worthless scum caused their beloved to lose precious hours, minutes, and even seconds of sleep.

Almost every meaningful contribution Natalia Pierre gave life, served to make yours more difficult than it already was.

She should have been a sacrifice much, much sooner.

On the other hand, they should have thanked her, they supposed. For it was her demise that led you to sleep so silently, so soundly in their presence.

They had finally gotten the opportunity to see you at your most vulnerable, and they couldn’t get enough of it.

But they reined in their greed and held any dominating thoughts at bay. For patience was the art of the game.

Sooner or later, willingly or unwillingly, you would present yourself to them and their company.

And they would welcome you with open hearts and open arms.

---------------------------------------------------

~taglist~ 

@melaninkpops​ @loserwithapen​ @hellaspookystudent​ @ecillartto​ @omgsuperstarg​ @ace-angel-judas​ @jjamsbangtan​ @lovinggalaxies​ @lovesick-heart0​ @ksxmpoison​ @girlmeetsliv3​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @purpuravm​ @oneweirdbean​ @hopelessfountainjoonie​ @mazmaz30​ @enigmaticlove-03​ @uppiespuppy​ 

[lady-o-ren]

The Dig 

Part Two (Because I was bullied into this . . .)

//Which can be read (HERE) for easier reading// And Part One (HERE)

In a little rented room above auld Geordie’s pub, Claire Beauchamp stood in nothing but her silk undergarments as she flipped open her weathered suitcase (once belonging to her dear uncle Lamb) she had heaved atop her bed. She rummaged through the contents, blowing at her curls clouding around her face, before pulling out a single dress of pale blue.

It wasn't something she usually packed whenever she went off on a dig but the dress had caught her eye in a department store window in London just before coming to Suffolk. She reasoned one never knew when the occasion might call for her to dress in something other than dirt stained trousers.

And never had she been more relieved by an impulse buy.

Or thankful for a rainy day that halted her excavation.

It was a chance to be with the Scot who thought her more precious than the iron rivets they discovered a few days ago, proof that the burial site they were knee deep in was a ship to honor a fallen king. She would've kissed him on the spot if it weren't for Foster and Pound.

The kiss however did come later.

After her and the lads celebrated with too many pints, she and Fraser went back to Sutton Hoo, slightly swaying with every step beneath the twilight, until their arms found their way around one another. Soon they were laying side by side in the grass and dirt, the air cool on their whiskey flushed cheeks, and she wrapped in his coat. Big and warm and enveloping like himself.

"We may very well be unearthing a legend here ," said Beauchamp, leaning back on her elbows, eyes closed facing the moon.

Fraser grinned.

" Beowulf ?"

She laughed and turned her gaze to him. "Arthur, King of the Britons !"

He laughed along with her, a deep and hearty sound, then joking all aside said  -

"Anglo Saxon, ye think?"

She nodded and rolled to her side, nearly pressing herself against Fraser's chest, heaving from a sharp intake of breath.

"I told you before that something grand and marvelous was buried here . . ."

"Ye did."

Then shyly Fraser said -

"Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . . Remember that bit from my notebook?"

Her eyes softened and her features took on a pretty shade of pink remembering a great deal more of what that book contained.

How each page held a piece of his heart.

And laid a hand over his chest, against that fervent beat.

"Of course I do," she answered back, but frowned a little when Fraser bashfully kept his gaze to the small gap between them where a dandelion bloomed.

"Weel, I wrote it that night after we first met, from a dream I had. Sounds a great deal better in the gaelic though. . ."

Beauchamp raised her hand to cup his cheek, thumbing the fine cut bones beneath his skin, before pressing her soft warm mouth against his lips.

"Tell me," she insisted, when they managed to part and nudged her nose against his.

And so he did, voice low and more than a little breathless.

I dreamt about the mourning.

The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us.

They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave.

But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

He shrugged sheepishly then.

Just before she kissed him again. Knowing she'd never want anyone more than she did right then and there amongst the swaying trees and spirits of auld.

This man whose soul spoke to her own.

Too bad a crack of lightning had to ruin the night.

But at least the rain blessed them with a day to themselves in apology.

Taking one last glance in the vanity mirror (that was about as big as her compact) and another quick check that her nails were clean of dirt, Beauchamp left her room and walked down the hallway to Fraser's, knocking softly against his door. When no one answered she pressed her ear curiously to the door hearing voices and knocked again, just a bit more louder, tapping the toe of her slingback  heels against the beaten wooden floor. With still no response (and patience never being a virtue she ever possessed) she flat out turned the knob finding it unlocked.

She poked her head in and found a room even smaller than her own and the source of the voices coming from a small red radio playing an adaption of a film from the windowsill.

- I might have known you were here. I had a feeling just as I hit the floor.

- That was your hat.

- Oh, Susan! Just look at it! Look!

Fraser himself was fast asleep and spread out atop the bed sheets dressed for a date to the cinema with his long arms crossed above his head and his big feet dangling off the edge of his too small bed.

Beauchamp stood watching him for a moment, filled with a sudden tenderness at his sleeping innocence . . . and a bone deep wickedness that gave her an idea. She closed the door quietly behind herself and flipped the lock, grinning as she did so. She then slipped out of her slingback heels and crossed the room in two short strides (the floorboards creaking with the pitch of a mouse beneath her), to carefully lay down beside him.

Fraser turned to her in sleep, a throaty murmur on his lips, and laid a heavy arm around her slim waist, gathering her heart to heart. She sighed happily and reached to caress a curl hanging low at his brow, admiring the color that reminded her of the scorching sunsets in Giza she basked in with her uncle so many years ago. Her fingers then threaded through his thick mane down to where they began to curl at his neck and was rewarded with an unexpected smile. Pure and sweet.

"You're too perfect for words, lad," she whispered against his wide mouth, but before she could seal their lips together his long blonde lashes fluttered open.

Fraser gazed at her sleepily, his smile only growing wider as the word Sorcha was adoringly breathed against her cheeks.

She wanted to ask him what that one meant. It might be her favorite bit of gaelic so far.

But then . . .

"Claire!" Fraser exclaimed, and nearly toppled them both out of the bed if not for Beauchamp clinging to his shoulders, steadying him above her.

"How di' ye - Why are ye -"

Beauchamp giggled loudly at his befuddled face and at his hair sticking up in all directions like a sunflower crown. She coasted her hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders to cup both his scarlet cheeks.

"You're door was unlocked, and you know how cold I easily get . . ." she playfully pouted, and tugged his face closer, enjoying how his skin felt like a glowing hot coal between her hands.

But Fraser pulled away.

"Claire. . ."

She sighed yet kept her amused grin.

"You're not a lad of sixteen, you know. You can have a girl in your room."

"I ken that," he answered back, with a defensive spike in his voice.

Beauchamp ignored his tone letting her hands wander to his chest, the muscles taut beneath his crisp white shirt straining to contain his racing heartbeat.

"We even spent a night under the stars together."

"That was altogether different."

Her eyes flashed with mischief as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "How so?"

"For one," Fraser breathed hoarsely, placing a hand over hers lest she get too carried away. "It wasn't all night, the thunder made sure of that, and we mostly were talking anyway."

"Mostly?"

"And two," he said firmly, ears pink. "There wasn't a bed either of us could fall out of."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed, deciding he'd had enough of her teasing (and only because she had never taken anyone seriously enough to go slow). "But you can still keep me warm, Fraser. Virtue intact. I promise."

He arched a ruddy brow, doubtful of the lass with cheeky hands and a red cheshire grin that could lure a man to break every sin. Yet he eased himself beside her anyway and in the only way that worked.

With their legs twined together, nearly flushed against one another.

And his big hand braced along her back, the fabric soft against his callused palm as he smoothed it up and down, feeling the gentle rise of her ribs as she breathed in absolute contentment.

“Better than sitting in the cinema don't you think?” said Beauchamp, as she nuzzled her face to the crook of his neck, warmed by his skin that smelled freshly clean. Yet she found herself missing the scent of a hard day's labor on him.

“Aye, much - wait!” Fraser shifted to his elbow. “We missed the film didn't we?"

Beauchamp, a little annoyed at being jostled, shook her head and tugged at his collar to settle her lad back down.

"No, there's still some time left. Cary Grant just lost his intercostal clavicle bone to a dog named George. . . Or was it a leopard named Baby?"

Fraser stared at her like she'd gone completely daft until he noticed the radio playing in the background and heard the inimitable voices of Grant alongside Katherine Hepburn.

- Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.

"Oh,” he chuckled lightly, dropping his head to the side. “I must've fallen asleep listening to Lux Theatre . What I meant was the actual cinema though.”

“I think Judy Garland is merrily singing down that yellow brick road as we speak. But don't be sorry," she said, with a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, before the words could fall from his mouth. "It would've been far too crowded anyway."

“But you got yourself all dressed up," he protested, as his eyes traveled down to where her dress had been rucked up tight over her breasts and waist (and where his hand involuntarily flexed over the winged flare of her hip) before hastily clearing his throat.

"Ye look lovely by the way, mo chridhe. More than lovely actually. . ."

That shy and tender smile of his was her undoing and made her feel light-headed and reckless.

"Either that clever mouth of yours keeps on with the compliments, Fraser, or . . ."

Her voice carried off as her knee glided up between his thighs and her arms clasped around his shoulders so that any thoughts Fraser had of being a gentleman were forgotten in a wanton blaze of heat.

Some time later, with Fraser's cheek pillowed against her breasts, breath hot and seeping through the thin blue fabric thoroughly wrinkled now, he groaned.

"I wish we weren't in a room above a pub that reeks of cigarettes and wee."

She hummed softly, her fingertips stroking the back of his head, twirling around his curls. Admiring their beauty.

"Where should we be then?"

Fraser lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes glimmering with that undeniable emotion that should've scared her yet it only made her want to claim him forever.

"A woman like you. . ." He smiled. " In a tent somewhere outside the ruins of a temple or in a cave in the Himalayas."

Her chest bounced with sparkling laughter.

"How about when this is all over and our names are the talk of the town, you take me anywhere you please. Preferably with a bed we can both fit in."

It was a tantalizing thought yet Fraser couldn't help but think of Scotland. Of his home Lallybroch. With her hand in his passing through the centuries old stone archway as his lady of Broch Turach.

Someday, maybe. God willing.

"I can think of a place," he murmured, and tightened his hold around her lush frame and pressed a daring kiss of hope above her heart. Felt her shiver beneath his mouth.

- I've just discovered that was the best day I've ever had in my whole life!

- But I was there!

- That's what made it so good!

And together they drifted off listening to the rain and the silly, sappy music.

I can't give you anything but love, baby.

That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.

Dream awhile, scheme awhile

We're sure to find happiness . . .

//

A/N: There’s a lot of notes so I’ll keep them to ao3. And there’s probably mistakes galore but I needed to post this before cringe settled in and I deleted it, Thank you for reading!

[psychdelia]

billy doesn’t know what happened. he was running through the woods, still trapped in the shadow’s world. he doesn’t know how long he’s been there. the last thing he remembered before getting stuck here was facing himself. a dark, soulless version of himself covered in black veins and a look of murder. whenever he manages to find minutes, hours of sleep before the screams and screeches roar to life in search of him, he has vivid dreams. dreams of a girl crying beneath him, dreams of his mother, dreams of screaming in pain and anger and agony as his body gets ripped apart. he doesn’t remember much, but he dreams enough.

so he’s running away from the monsters he had to learn to fight and kill. his axe sticking out of his ratty backpack within arms reach if something caught him off guard. he looks back when he hears a roar and approaching inhuman footsteps. he doesn’t catch the tentacles and tree root he trips over, sending him flying into a huge, black puddle. he sees a bright, blinding light as he falls, eyes squeezed shut.

then he’s landing face first onto something hard, his body slamming down just as hard. he wills himself not to groan or whine, hands shaking as he slowly pushes himself up. he realizes he’s not on even ground when the mat beneath him begins to sway and water comes out from beneath. pool, he realizes distantly.

his body eventually gives out, laying on the mat. he knows he should keep running. doesn’t even want to know how he ended up here with all the weird shit that’s been going on since brimborn. it takes him a while to maneuver out of the pool without getting soaked, pausing before a sliding door, hand on the handle.

things look different now. there isn’t anything floating in the air, there are stars in the sky. the air around him smells like chlorine and not monster blood and guts. everything isn’t upside down. it’s, well, normal. and he hasn’t seen normal in whoever the fuck knows how long.

it’s a trick. an illusion. the world he’s in must be doing it. presenting a safe looking world and house only to reel him in and gut him like it’s been trying to do since he woke up from dreams of california beaches and his mother’s warm smiles to hell.

but billy’s never been the most bright when it came to his safety. talking back to his dad, kissing boys, going 50 down a 25. so he tugs on the door handle only to find that it’s locked. uses the last of his strength to climb through a window, slowly and silently dropping into the house. he’s grabbing his axe, gripping the handle tightly as he steps through the house, leaving blood and black goo-covered boot prints along the floor. he reaches the living room, surprised to find the place hasn’t been torn apart by monsters or rats. he finds a light switch, surprised to find the lights actually turn on. he’s inspecting the place when he turns around and finds a face he never thought he’d see again.

that’s when he decides the universe is actually fucking with him. testing him. the monsters have always been around but they’ve never shape shifted or messed with his head like this. they’ve never turned into people from his life, people he’s hurt. it must be a test. a monster using his weakness against him. they must know he can’t hurt the guy. not again. not after all the harm he already caused.

billy’s hands have begun to shake around the axe, staring back at the big brown eyes that watch his every move. one glance down and he finds he’s not the only one armed. he’s holding a bat. the same bat covered in spikes that max almost castrated him with that one night.

“billy?” he finally speaks, taking a few seconds to decipher whose blue eyes and matted blonde curls are just barely shining through blood and dirt and gore.

billy steps back, barely raises his axe. these things don’t talk. they scream and screech and roar and growl. never speak.

he also hasn’t heard his own name in. well. a while.

“holy shit.” he’s cursing under his breath as he slowly sets the bat down, propped against the couch, within reach if necessary.

“billy.” he tries again, barely stepping forward before his grip on the axe is tightening. “woah, easy.” he raises his hands in surrender. “it’s - it’s me, man. steve.”

billy’s guarded gaze and position is unwavering, hands still trembling yet wrapped tightly around his axe. he flinches when “steve” tries to step forward again, not wanting to have to hurt the thing posing as him. not again.

steve frowns, sadness overtaking his pretty face.

“i’m not gonna hurt you.” steve speaks softly. “and i don’t think you want to hurt me.” he catches the way billy’s expression falters for just a second, looking scared and unsure before his face hardens with false bravado.

that’s the billy steve remembers. that’s how he knows it’s actually him.

they never talked after the fight. barely looked at each other until steve watched him die on the floor of starcourt.

“billy, please.” steve tries. takes another step forward. counts it a victory when billy doesn’t step back or raise his weapon. so he takes another, then another. he’s standing face to face with the guy, getting a proper look at him.

“you’ve seen some shit, huh?” he murmurs softly as he gently takes the axe out of billy’s hand and sets it aside, surprised as how easily billy gave it up to him.

steve doesn’t expect billy to crash into him the next second. he’s frightened billy’s about to tackle and start swinging until he hears a sob and feels trembling hands cling to his shoulders and shirt. he catches billy as he breaks apart, strong arms around his middle keeping him up, holding him tight and close.

“i got you.” he promises, heart slowly breaking at the way billy cries and clings to him.

it takes him a minute to realize billy’s talking through his sobs, repeating broken i’m sorry’s into steve’s now damp neck and chest, billy’s tears seeping into his shirt. the guy’s barely breathing, hiccuping and wheezing for air, overwhelmed with emotion he hadn’t been able to release freely and safely.

hours go by. hours of gentle words and shushes, hours of holding billy up because his whole body seemed to have given out. hours of calming him down and trying to get him to just breathe. the sun is almost out when he eventually coaxes billy into the shower.

his heart breaks for the millionth time that night when billy grabs his wrist as he goes to leave the bathroom, eyes silently pleading to not leave him alone. steve doesn’t question him or say a word as he strips down to his boxers and gets into the shower beside him. he lets billy lean against him as he scrubs his hair and body, forgetting any social normalities or boundaries as he cleans the black off of golden skin and matted blonde. he keeps billy close when he dries him off and brushes through his hair. when he gets him dressed into steve’s warmest clothes. when he takes him into the kitchen and feeds him.

there’s no question or doubt when he brings billy up to his room and gets them both into bed. warm blankets up to their chins, his chest pressed against billy’s back, arms secure around his waist, billy manages a weak thank you before he drifts to sleep.

when he wakes up warm and still in the security of steve’s arms with no sign or sound of monsters, he knows he’s safe. they spend all day catching each other up and talking about everything, from the fight to the upside down to starcourt, still deciding if and how exactly to tell the others billy’s clone left him in the upside down. that billy’s mind and soul stayed alive while his body died in the real world. that he’s been fighting the whole time.

they’ll figure it out.

[clairdelunelove]

AOT Valentine’s Day Headcanons

eren jaeger x reader, jean kirschstein x reader, armin arlert x reader, levi ackerman x reader, erwin smith x reader, porco galliard x reader, genderneutral!reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort 

warnings: slight cursing, insane amounts of fluff 

synopsis: small scenarios of what some  aot boys would do for you during valentine’s day. 

a.n: enjoy the lovely day with some of these cuties! remember to take care of yourselves and know you’re all loved <3

-

-

eren jaeger

this man would definitely try to cook a nice dinner for you 

especially if you’re having a hard week 

expect him to be researching the best recipe a couple days beforehand 

“what are you doing, eren?”

he’ll glance up and nonchalantly mutter, “nothing, babe” while scrolling through fancy recipes 

on valentine’s day it’s his time to shine 

waits for you to leave the house and go to work before leaving to pick up the necessary ingredients 

gets in a verbal argument with a store clerk if he doesn’t find the exact name of what he’s searching for 

“are you deaf? I said I needed a bag of shrimp”

“and we have that, sir. you said you needed a bag of prawns right?”

“it’s shrimp! how many goddamn times do I need to repeat myself?”

gets home with bags full of groceries and gets to work 

slowly chops all the vegetables and curses when he nicks his finger with the edge of the knife 

puts too much oil in the frying pan and tosses everything in there 

scrolls through his phone while waiting 

spends fifteen minutes ogling at his screensaver 

of course it’s a pic of you 

ends up burning everything he made

orders takeout, plates it real nice, and attempts to brush off that it was his cooking once you’re home 

“this is so good, babe!” you exclaim while lifting the fork to your mouth, “tastes like the order we usually get at that one French restaurant.”

“glad you like it, baby”

cue his nervous sweating 

-

-

jean kirschstein 

simp energy!

makes previous reservations to take a painting class with you 

tells you to dress warm before the two of you head out 

so! happy!

has the goofiest smile on the actual date

tucks your hand in his pocket while walking to the art studio

spends the whole time checking over at your easel 

audibly approves of everything you do, even if you’re drawing a line 

“wow, it looks great sweetheart” 

scrunches up his brows while concentrating 

listens to the art instructor say to paint something that they love 

takes it quite literally 

paints you 

tries to get each pretty feature about you 

swipes his hand over his cheek and gets paint on it 

literally sweats out of pure focus and won’t want to leave until he’s done

“jean, babe, we gotta go” 

“five more minutes please. almost done”

five min turns into five hours 

jean’s painting of you is surprisingly amazing and he’s even lowkey impressed 

has a random stranger take a pic of you and him together while holding up the paintings

treats you to an expensive restaurant afterwards and pays

full stomachs = happy couple 

pulls you close while walking through the downtown streets 

whispers cheeky pickup lines into your ear and presses a kiss against your head

best. day. ever. 

-

-

connie springer 

did you say it was valentine’s day?

shit 

definitely forgets about the whole holiday but is quick enough to put something together for you 

you both aren’t super invested in sappy holidays but connie tries each time 

the morning of, he’ll run to the nearest shops and try to pick out a bouquet of flowers for you 

everything’s sold out 

will curse his luck and literally sprint out of there 

kicks himself for not planning in advance as he’s walking up the driveway of your house

notices the neighbor’s beautiful flowers 

idea!

he will dash through each neighbor’s yard and pick their flowers so a mismatched bouquet rests in his hand

“happy valentine’s day, my favorite goofball!” 

“thanks, babe,” your wide eyes stare at the uncoordinated bouquet in your hands, “I love it”

cue the mud that falls to the floorboards 

you scold connie about the dirt that’s still stuck on the roots since it dirties the floors 

he’ll take you out to watch a comedy show too!

whole evening of laughter while his arm is wrapped around your shoulder

you were both glowing in happiness (along with having a sore stomach) afterwards

wraps his sweater around you since the evening was getting chilly 

drives you home and gives you the sweetest kiss 

he’ll pull away with a, “wow” while being completely dazed out 

let’s you take his jacket home and texts you corny jokes the whole night 

-

-

Maro Bott 

desperately! wants you to be his valentine 

almost cries tears of joy when you accept his confession which only makes you confused 

“Marco, sweetie, we’ve been dating for two years”

“doesn’t matter, love” 

shows up extra early with a bouquet of roses 

“happy valentine’s day!”

expect him to walk inside the house and look through all your cabinets for a vase 

helps you pick out an outfit because he has the “perfect date” planned 

causes you to be wrapped in bundles of clothing 

won’t tell you where he’s taking you once the two of you are in the car

“an,” you tilt your head and albeit a bit puzzled, “ice rink?”

“time for some ice skating!”

laces up your skates before he even does his own so he makes sure it’s secure 

will ask multiple times if your feet are comfortable 

once he has his skates on, it’s game over 

can’t walk without holding onto your hand for a couple moments 

“this is harder than I thought,” he confesses with a nervous grin 

gets on the ice and falls 

hard 

the thump causes everyone to look at the two of you and he only responds with, “oh look (Y/n)! I’ve fallen for you! Get it?”

undoubtedly makes you giggle and onlookers awe

gets the hang of ice skating and teaches you how if you’re scared of falling 

makes excuses to pull you close and sweetly kiss your cheek 

“it’s part of the learning process”

the day was as sweet as Marco is 

-

-

Armin Arlert 

bookstore date!

will definitely plan in advance because he wants everything to be perfect 

expect a good morning text that’s a whole paragraph long <3

still asks you, “can I be your valentine?” even if you are both dating 

plan on wearing matching outfits for the day 

light academia style of white turtlenecks, beige pants, and cardigans 

will take a selfie with you and set it as his lock screen so he can awe at it every second 

“you’re breathtaking” 

intertwines your fingers with his when you’re holding hands 

swings it while walking 

lots of attention once the two of you step inside the bookstore

constant whispering about the matching outfits and innocent affection 

he’ll lead you to the back of the store and spend the entire day there 

sits on the floor, leaning against the wooden bookcase, and stroking your hair while you’re laying on his lap 

silence = peace 

piles of books around you both 

“how’s the plot, love?” 

will ask that when his head is resting on your thigh and inwardly loves how comfy you are 

buys all the books you want and waves away your credit card when you try to pay 

“consider it repayment for spending the day with me” 

holds the tote bag of books the whole time despite it being heavy 

stops by the cafe to buy cups of hot chocolate

notices a small amount of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth 

chuckles and stops to literally lean down to press his lips against yours in order to wipe it off 

whispers, “you’re so lovely, angel”

both of you will pull away with flushed faces and lovesick smiles 

-

-

Levi Ackerman 

“what’s this for, brat?”

frowns once he opens his front door and you’re standing there with a wide grin 

“happy valentine’s day, dear! I wanted to watch a movie then-” 

“yeah, yeah” 

lets you in anyways 

takes the large basket full of movies, snacks, and skincare out of your hands

sets it on the kitchen counter and you immediately pop a bag of popcorn into the microwave

your movements are quick as you’re scurrying around the kitchen retrieving bowls, plates, and napkins 

levi watches you from the couch, inwardly pleased that you’re able to memorize the layout of his house since you’ve been over so many times 

he’d never tell a soul though 

movies with levi!

he won’t pay attention to the movie at all but still comments film mistakes 

“he wasn’t even wearing that sweater in the previous scene” 

“levi, honey, who even pays attention to that” 

“people with eyes” 

allows you to cuddle close to him but his fingers itch to bring you even closer 

audibly groans when you move away to fetch something 

“self care time!” you exclaim while holding up a pack of face masks 

will not let you put one on him once he sees how silly they look 

“please?”

“no,” he states, “they look fucking ridiculous”

does it anyways once your puppy dog eyes are on display 

curses as you slick his hair back and put one on him 

hates it and voices his opinion 

but at the end of the day, he agrees with the saying, ‘happy wife, happy life’ 

and oh yes, you were going to be his wife one day 

-

-

Erwin Smith 

imagine sleeping in and waking up to breakfast in bed 

pancakes, waffles, bagels, raspberry streusel muffins 

and everything’s like 

in the shape of a heart <3

turns on some classical, romance music 

sweet candles that smell like vanilla = burning 

that’s what this man would do 

wakes up super early 

determined to whip everything up pronto 

folded all the laundry, cleaned the dishes, vacuumed the house 

amazing 

10/10 gentleman 

“good morning, love” 

edges the bedroom door open with his shoulder while holding a tray of delicious food 

definitely still in casual wear clothes 

a sweater and grey joggers that he wore to sleep 

loves the smile on your face

says “happy valentine’s day” and presses a kiss on the back of your hand 

sits on the edge of the bed while you eat 

chuckles when you feed him 

lets you though 

brushes your hair back each time you take a bite to eat 

amusingly shakes his head whenever you over-exaggerate a hum in delight 

pleased smirks!

definitely tried to swipe whip cream over your cheek just to hear you giggle 

it’s beautiful 

watches the way the sunlight pours through the window and creates a glow on your face 

serenity, calmness, and adoration 

discreetly pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming 

wouldn’t want this day to end 

-

-

Porco Galliard 

“you doin’ anything today or what?”

will be the first text you get from him in the early morning 

after a second passes, the little dots show up to indicate he’s typing again 

“nvm. lemme take you out today” 

shows up to your place unannounced and immediately notices what you’re wearing 

“you’re wearing that? like for real?”

“is there something wrong with it?”

notices the panic in your eyes and immediately stutters  

“nah, just,” he’ll bring his hand up to swipe at his noise while avoiding your gaze, “think you’ll be cold but you can wear my jacket or whatever.” 

leads you to his muscle car and opens up the passenger door for you 

surprisingly chivalrous for the day 

drives throughout town to pick up stuff like a blanket, picnic basket, pre-made food, drinks 

pays for it, of course, because he claims he’s the better man like that 

“only scummy men let their partners pay” 

spends the whole day driving around, hand on your thigh, while blasting your fav songs” 

rolls the windows down so other drivers look your way 

will also flip off anyone that suggestively gazes at you 

loves when you belt out the lyrics and eagerly want him to join your singing session 

rolls his eyes, “me? singing? gross.”

will sing 100% but only if you don’t call his bluff

pulls to the side of the road and sets up a romantic picnic spot nestled in an open field 

drapes his jacket over your smaller physique and only mutters, “wear it before you catch a cold”

spends the evening star gazing, letting you rest your head on his chest while his hands are folded behind his neck 

carries you back to the car once you’re asleep, snaps on your seatbelt, presses a kiss on your forehead, and mumbles, “thanks for lettin’ me take you out today, idiot.” 

[itsrayyyyyyyyyy]

Depths of Devotion (Yandere!Hellhound x GN!Reader)

TW: Stalking?? Kinda?, Kidnapping Wordcount: 2k

You had never seen something so beautiful in your life. You breathed in the crisp and clean air of the forest while your lips curled in a small smile.

You had decided it would be a good idea to escape home for a while and enter the spectacular landscape of Southern Germany. You exited the cab and paid the man for the fair before looking forward into the dark woods of the Black Forest. With high hopes, you walked forward in the direction of your cabin.

---

You hummed a light tune as you admired the towering trees and the wildflowers surrounding you. A small hum left your throat as you bent down, and picked up a flower, and the closer you inspected it, it turned out to be a tiny violet. You fiddled with the petals for a moment, before tucking the violet behind your ears.

The journey towards the campsite wasn't too long, but it took you longer since you stopped numerous times to admire the beauty that surrounded you. A huff escaped your lips as you approached the cabin, sitting on a log and digging in your bag for your keys. The silver of the keys gleamed in the sunlight, before being used to open the cabin door.

The first thing you noticed was that it was cold and damp. The cabin looked as though it hadn't been used in years. You groaned as you set your bag down at the door, and placing your hands on your hips. 'No wonder this place was so cheap; it's a dump!' Your eye twitched slightly in annoyance, but you still shrugged off your windbreaker and placing on the bed. The cabin was relatively small; just enough space for about two people. The wooden planks beneath you creaked with every step; along with the furniture. The furniture had a light layer of dust and when you swiped your hand against the table, the dust particles roaming the still air of the cabin. You let out a few coughs while swiping at the air, trying to clear your lungs of the irritation from the dust. An old broom sat still against the single kitchen cabinet, which was even dustier than the rest of the cabin. You reached out and held the broom in your hand, and slowly rubbed your thumb against the handle, which felt smooth and cold against your skin. You began to sweep the furniture with newfound vigor, hoping to make your home for the week easier to live.  

With the furniture and floor cleaned, you set the broom back in its original spot and sat down on the small bed, which let out a groan under the weight of you and your bag. A sigh left your lips as you heard the calling of birds outside one of the open windows, warmth from the light of the sun pooling into the cabin. The cool air and somewhat comfortable bed brought you comfort and helped relaxed your aching bones. You reached down and untied your heavy hiking boots, before dropping them on the floor with a loud 'thump'. The bed squeaked as you laid back against the red comforter and with a yawn, you closed your weary eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

---

As soon as you groggily opened your eyes, you were surprised to find yourself in an entirely new place. You were sitting on the ground and were surrounded by complete darkness, except the small flurries of red and orange embers flying around you, and a light orange glow far up ahead. "Where am I?" You whispered as you stood and wiped the dirt and ashes from your hiking outfit. You slowly began to walk towards the light ahead, then a feeling of sudden uneasiness washes over you. "Hello? Is someone else here?" You yelled into the endless void, but it was no use. The sneaky feeling of someone watching you never left as you walked closer to the light.

The smell of ashes burned the inside of your nostrils and entered your lungs, causing a series of coughs to leave your throat as you walked onward, the feeling of someone watching you never truly left you. A feeling of immense fear invaded your senses when you heard the barking of what you hoped was a dog and its footsteps coming closer. You began to walk faster towards the light, only for the steps to walk faster towards you, causing you to go in a panic. You broke out into a sprint towards the warm orange light ahead, with the thundering steps getting closer to you. A heavy feeling began to weigh you down as you had pushed forward as fast as you could to be rid yourself of the thing behind you.

You looked back as you ran, only to let out a scream at what you saw. You saw what seemed to be a wolf-like creature lung forward, its jaw snapping and its red eyes staring into your soul. But just before it reached you, Your eyes opened.

---

You sat up quickly with ragged breaths and clutching your shirt in fear. You looked around with tears blurring your vision, only to see the cabin dark with the only light was the silver moon shining through the window. Images of the creature raced through your mind and you tried to calm your breathing. "Never in my life have I ever had a nightmare that realistic..." Your voice softly spoke as you rose from the bed and turned on the lights. Your hands reached out for your bag and pulled out a can of soup, before pulling out a pot from the kitchen cabinet and heating the stovetop.

After you ate your dinner and cleaned up after yourself, you quickly changed into your nightwear and got ready for bed, or rather to relax. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep for a while after that hellish nightmare so you settled on reading a book while waiting for the need to sleep to take over your sore body. You closed the book and let out a stifled yawn while stretching your arms. You placed the book carefully on the nightstand before turning off the lights and climbing into the bed, and enjoying the silence.

But that silence didn't last long.

---

Unbeknownst to your sleeping form, the moon shifted until it was shining on your sleeping face, giving the figure outside a perfect few of you swaddled in the warm blankets; a peaceful look on your face. The figure moved from the window and crept towards the door before it opens on its own with its hinges squeaking. Heavy but quiet footsteps approached you as you slept until the figure hovered over you. You stirred in your sleep, the smell of ash filling your nose as you let out a small moan of discomfort at the feeling of something touching your cheek. Your eyes opened slowly, only to register the large and imposing figure looming over you. It took you a second to realize what was going on, before letting out a screech and scrambled off the other side of the bed. Your body hit the floor with a thump before scrambling on your feet and making a break for the open door. You pushed through the door frame and ran further into the woods, a feeling of dread overwhelming your senses as you heard heavy and thundering footsteps following close behind you.

Your lungs burned as you pushed forward away from the cabin and deeper into the dark woods with pure fear coursing through your veins. You had never been more scared in your entire life. The dream from before was scary sure but this wasn't a dream; it was happening, and you needed to get away as fast as possible. You looked back into the winding darkness of the forest and heard a howl causing you to let a squeal; not noticing the steep hill ahead of you, causing you to fall with a gasp. You were no longer focused on the figure following you but on the searing pain all around your body as you rolled further down, before reaching the bottom of the hill and hitting your head on a rock. You lay against the rock with your vision spinning and your ears ringing. Something trickled down the side of your face, but you paid no mind to it. But just before you fell into unconsciousness, the figure stood in front of you, leaning in closer to you before your vision went black.

---

Your head was pounding wildly as you woke. You sat up slowly, rubbing your head only to touch something wet. You retracted your hand only to see a bit of blood on your fingertips. "Shit what happened..." You exclaimed only to wince in pain, your brain seemingly pounding against your skull harder than before. You took in your surroundings only to realize you weren't in the cabin, but a cave of some sort. The cave walls and roof towered over you, and the sound of water dripping from the roof brought you to your senses. The figure, the hill. You desperately looked around only to find no entry to the cave, only darkness aside from the moon shining through a hole in the roof. You looked up at the moon with a sour expression. "Why must you tempt me so, the moon?" You whispered as you turned your head at the sound of footsteps nearing. You began to panic, but knew you couldn't get up, your body was worn from hours of hiking, running, and rolling down a steep hill.

You curled into yourself as the footsteps drew nearer, a strained whimper left your lips as you shook in fear. The figure stopped right in front of the light of the moon, before stepping into the light. Your eyes widened at the sight. A large, muscular man stood before you. He was incredibly handsome; He had tan skin and short hair black as ebony; his face structure was sharp and square, with many scars littering his face and body. But the most captivating about him were his blood-red eyes hooded by his long, dark lashes. He looked down at your balled-up form and knelt in front of you. "Are you feeling any better, meine Geliebte?" The man spoke gently. His voice was incredibly deep and saccharine, like honey. You gave the man a confused look before backing away at his large, scarred hand that reached for you. His calloused hand took your right cheek in his hand before wiping away the hot tears that rolled down your face. You hadn't even realized you were crying, just like how you didn't realize how much you were trembling before this broad man. "Who are you? Where am I?" Your voice trembled as he retracted his hand and gave you a sharp-toothed smile. "My name is Brenner, meine Geliebte. And I have taken you to our home." Your eyebrows raised in confusion at his words. "Our home?" You said with curiosity laced in your voice. "Yes, our home. Now, come here." His voice rumbled before reaching over resting one hand on your upper back while the other reached under your legs to lift you. "NO!" You screamed as you struggled in his arms, trying desperately to escape this large man's grasp.

Brenner was unaffected by your attempts to escape and continued to walk further into the cave, away from the silver moon's light. "WHY HAVE YOU TAKEN ME YOU-YOU BRUTE?" You screeched beating at his broad chest as he continued walking. "meine Geliebte, don't you remember me? You were walking towards the fire, and I was behind you! I saw you and I knew you were the mate I was destined to have, so I took you far from the horrors of this world." You stopped struggling as your blood ran cold. "The dog? No, that couldn't be...But how did he know about your dream?" You thought to yourself as you stared at Brenner. "That couldn't be...It was only a dream." You spoke fearfully as he looked down at you with a big smile. "Wait. His teeth..." Your eyes widened in fear at his teeth. They were sharp like a dog; or rather a wolfs.

An ear-piercing scream left your mouth as you struggled again in his hold, tears streaming down your face. "Don't worry, meine Geliebte! I will take good care of you!"

"I love you, meine Geliebte!"

[chaosmax]

Can You Hear Me Now?

A/N: @ofthepuzzle sent me a link to a piece of fanart of Seto holding the puzzle and then proceeded to give me many thots and emotions 8| and this was the result.

Error, error, error, beeped the A.I.

The millennium puzzle couldn’t be completed. There were two pieces missing, and Kaiba knew who to blame.

“Deactivate the antigravity chamber.”

Of course, sir.

The light inside the chamber went dim as one of the mechanical arms guided the puzzle out of the chamber, the near completed form rising to the top of the case the pieces were brought in, the eye on it now staring at Kaiba.

He didn’t reach for it right away, but as his fingers extended they hesitated before making contact with the gold. In the end he decided to pick up the artifact by the chain instead.

“Track down those other two pieces.”

The door to the chamber slid shut behind him.

Kaiba wasn’t in a rush. There was no need to go back down to Earth until the last two pieces had been pinpointed. But he still could start chipping away at the large travel time ahead of him. He’d at least have to go back to Japan to get the puzzle back to Yugi. He didn’t, however. Instead, he was in the observation deck, the vast expanse of space visible though the window.

Clunk.

The puzzle landed on the table right by the glass. It was heavier than Kaiba had expected—how had Yugi carried it around his neck all the time?

He stared at the artifact, as if expecting it to come alive at any moment.

The pharaoh was in there somewhere. Despite the puzzle being incomplete, was he conscious? Or was that only possible when all the pieces were assembled? Kaiba had never seen Yugi without the thing, never mind it being broken.

Did the other Yugi even know what had happened?

Could he hear him?

Noticing a smudge from the dirt of the tomb on the center piece, Seto brushes it off with his thumb.

What a stupid thought. Of course Atem couldn’t hear him. Just two pieces. Two damn little chunks of gold standing between him and—

He didn’t know. Answers. Victory. Closure—at least he hoped.

He grasps the metal, his nails digging into the puzzle as his fist trembled.

Seto was sure he was the only soul in the station, yet his mouth opens anyway.

“I hate you.”

The void of space is silent.

“You left. You gave up. Why… why?”

The eye on the puzzle stares at him.

Why did you leave me?

Atem, Yugi, all of them, they preached friendship and many other things Seto never quite understood. Rarely did that chasm between them ever grow to the point where it even appeared crossable. But sometimes…under the correct circumstances, in the flurry of a duel with him the ravine didn’t feel quite as large.

Only the memory of spending the last several hours waiting for the machine to reassemble the puzzle held him back from chucking it at the wall in frustration.

“I thought—”

Seto had no words. It was all too complex, what lay between him and Atem. Complicated, unresolved, and ambiguous. They never really got a complete chance to know where they stood aside from being rivals. And Seto Kaiba was a lousy wordsmith.

It was exactly why he sought out the puzzle. He needed this all resolved. The silent pyramid only strengthened his resolve. He’d get those last two pieces back, complete the puzzle, and they’d have their duel.

Then he’d be able to close this chapter of his life forever.

Seto snatches up the puzzle by the chain and strides back toward the elevator room.

If the pharaoh had any idea of what was occurring, he’d better be watching. Kaiba would challenge him one last time, and  with the world as his witness he’d finally get his closure.

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”