#anyway the story is very body horror heavy

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

 And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

*

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

[maythearo]

" Welcome back to Night Raven College's "Ghostly Gossip"! The school's unofficial main online source for the latest news, articles and trending topics circulating around campus! "

" now introducing our second student entry for the blog... 'some guy I found on my grandma's attic'-- huh..? Wait, who wrote that down?? "

Navigation:

R. Rosehearts - T. Clover - C. Diamond - A. Trappola - D. Spade - L. Kingscholar - R. Bucchi - J. Howl - A. Ashengrotto - J. Leech - F. Leech - K. Al Asim - J. Viper - V. Schoenheit - R. Hunt - E. Felmier - I. Shroud - O. Shroud - M. Draconia - L. Vanrouge - S. Zigvolt - Silver

Messy (but progressively getting better) design notes:

Epel was one of those designs that just clicked instantly with me, I had a vision of the basics I wanted all sorted in my head even before I gathered most reference pics. I don't expect this to happen again to a majority of the remaining cast though 😫

Watching those doll restoration/repainting videos while drawing helped me set the general mood I wanted for him, even though the final result doesn't show much of this inspiration, at least in my opinion... I love the makeup and face painting details these artists put on the dolls, but I was afraid too much of that would make his design too heavy-looking combined with the rest of the outfit. If I ever decide to design alternative outfits for this series, I'll try to show off more of this lost aspect there

For the character in itself now, I imagine him in this AU to be more free to do and act however he wants compared to his og universe counterpart. Still being supervised by Vil, but not in the same level as before. Probably the reason why he got all those scratches and cracks on his body, I like to think he's having a little more fun with being a gremlin and running around all he wants lol. And due to that, his skin care routine baisically consists in Elmer's glue, to stick any broken porcelain shards together. Vil is not exactly content about that, but he lets most of it slide at this point 👍

Epel's totally the type of kid who goes around the gardens to casually collect bugs like he's in animal crossing. Like this video I found on reels, which I don't reccomend watching if you have a phobia of spiders/insects/bugs/snakes/frogs/etc cause, you know. But anyway I think MH Epel holds this exact energy and it's- kinda terrifying! In a good way though. come on let this kid be a kid for once. I also think this more playful part of him fits well with the fact that he's a little doll. OH and the fact that og Epel grew up around the elderly back in his hometown kinda makes sense in this universe too, like, he's the type of doll some grandparents would keep in their old house as a family relic or something. Could very much be the beggining of a horror story.

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 10 - Terms and Conditions

Now that you're part of the crew, it's time to set some ground rules.

WC: 4k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

You sat sleepily in Heat's lap, well, not his lap really, more like the middle of his tail. It was coiled in a tight spiral, your rump sat firmly atop it, your back pressed against his warm chest and his warm arms around your center. His naturally hot body temperature soothed the aches you still had from yesterday, he was taking such good care of you, knowing how worn out you were from taking most of the crew. He graciously hadn't attempted to mount you, but he hovered close by, which was welcomed given his sweet doting and care you were very much in need of. Your joints ached from the positions you'd been in for such a long period of time and your pussy was raw and aching. You didn't speak more than needed and Killer had provided soft foods, knowing your jaw was stiff from all the pussy eating and cock sucking you'd done. You were happy though. You felt content, and finally safe and secure in your position here. Well, as safe as you could be, now that you were officially a pirate.

“Now then Mouse,” Kid grinned, “let's make things official, aye? We believe ya story now, or at least we're trying our best to. It's still hard to accept yer from another universe. But you've at least proven your usefulness to us, so ya can stay on the crew. How bout it, Mouse? Ya wanna join my crew?”

“Yes captain,” you smiled sleepily, “will my job here be as your… bed warmer?”

“Aye, you'll be our ship whore,” Kid smirked, “only for the four of us here though, unless we decide to give someone a night with ya as a reward. You good with that?”

“Yes captain, as long as my boundaries are respected,” you stated.

“Of course lass,” Kid replied, “Wire will draw up a contract for ya later. He's the most knowledgeable here, he'll make sure your boundaries are laid out for us. Everyone we let have you will be made clear of your conditions. You're still up for the four of us free using you, aye? It was your original offer. I did let you live, after all.”

“Within limits, yeah,” you responded, trying to not let your lust-addled brain distract you from an important conversation. Being free used by four big, strong, attractive, well endowed men? Ohhhh what a horror, the worst thing you could imagine. “I like what we've got going on. Will I be given a share of the loot like the others?”

“Of course lass,” Kid chuffed, “if anything you'll be paid better. You'll be saving us a great deal of money by servicing us instead of having to spend money on island whores. We'll give you your own room, for convenience. Everyone else shares but the four of us, but I'm not sure anyone is keen on losing sleep whenever we have need of ya. There's a lounge in the castle we barely use, we'll have it cleared out for ya. We're on our way back to Sabaody as we speak, you can go to the shops and get whatever you need to get set up once we dock. We'll back pay you for your time since ya started servicing us.”

“Thank you captain,” you replied gratefully. You didn't expect him to pay you for your time as a prisoner. “That's generous of you. I won't let you down.”

“You'll probably find your bed doesn't get much use, unless you're in need of a break,” Kid continued with a chuckle, “but it'll give you somewhere to keep your shit anyway.

“Speaking of resting,” you interjected, “I had a bit of an idea. In terms of the free-using. I was wondering if you'd make me a more long term wearable collar, something that won't irritate my skin, thin perhaps. With a tag that has your jolly roger. I thought maybe we could use it as a signal, if I'm not wearing the collar then I'm in need of rest.”

“EXCELLENT IDEA!” Kid roared, spooking you a little as he thumped his fist against the table, “I'll make ya a collar that'll make everyone jealous of ya!”

“Thank you, captain,” you smiled, nuzzling sleepily against Heat's bicep.

“Tired, Mouse?” Kid smirked.

“Mmm,” you mumbled, “I feel like I'm hungover from yesterday. Drunk on dick I guess. And pussy.”

Killer and Wire snorted while Kid made a boisterous laugh. “Before you fall asleep,” Killer jumped in, “is there anything we need to know for the immediate future?”

“Mmm,” you mumbled, trying to sit upright, to which Heat helped you, nuzzling his face against your back, “you need to get the ship coated before Ace's execution, cos after that the only coater I know will be busy.”

“Where do we find him?” Wire asked.

“You're all familiar with the coater already, in fact you met him the other day,” you alluded, “Silvers Rayleigh, he can coat the ship. You'll find him, or at least his wife, Shakky, in grove thirteen at Shakky's Rip-Off Bar. You unintentionally helped his friend rescue that mermaid by helping the Straw Hats escape, so he should be amenable to coating the ship.”

“He's the coater?” Kid exclaimed, “the fuck is the ‘Dark King’ doing coating ships?”

“Paying for his alcoholism, mostly,” you yawned, making the others snort laughs.

“Alright then Sleeping Beauty,” Kid laughed, before his smile fell to a more serious expression, “we don't have to worry about this whole execution shit, right?”

“There'll be a war, but your crew won't be involved,” you replied, “it'll all happen over at the marine base. You'll just see it on a screen on Sabaody.”

“Alright then,” Kid huffed, pleased and relieved with your answer. It was no secret that there was tension in the air regarding the execution and whether returning to Sabaody was even safe tight now. There were reports that Whitebeard was on the move to save Ace, and it made Kid uneasy, but he trusted your prediction, you hadn't let him down thus far. “Go get some rest then princess, we promise we'll behave till you're up to it. I'll have that collar for ya before your pussy is ready to get destroyed again.”

Kid winked as he stood and grabbed a boob as he passed by, making you squeal and slap his hand playfully as the captain chuckled. You started to stand as well, but Heat swung you onto his back to carry you, making you giggle as you grabbed his horns for support. “Giddy up!” You laughed. He pretended to buck you, which only made you giggle more, Killer shaking his head with a grin under his mask as Heat carried you out. He and Heat were in high spirits, overly relieved and happy that your story had been proven true and you got to stay. You'd promised Heat to do some sunbathing with him on top of the dinosaur skull while the sun was out, it was a good excuse for a nap and a cuddle really.

You hopped off Heat's back as he made it up, he was surprisingly fast and agile in this form. It'd made you curious as to why he didn't use this form more, to which he had told you that it ‘wasn't polite’ to go around in that form, whatever that meant. Maybe it was like how zoan fruit users usually stayed in their human form? Heat laid down first, making a pleased grunt as his head rested on the pillow he'd chucked up here earlier, his long tail stretching along the skull like an arrow pointed at the distant Sabaody that hovered on the horizon.

“I'm really glad you get to stay,” Heat hummed as you got comfy next to him, resting your head on his chest, tucked into the crook of his armpit.

“Yeah, me too,” you murmured back with a big yawn. Heat gave you a soft smile and a little squeeze before the yawn caught him too.

“Alright, ready to get started?” Wire asked, tapping the tip of the feathered pen against the page in front of him, “I've made a list of kinks the crew like to indulge in. You just let me know which ones you're comfortable with. Ready?”

“Yup!” You smiled back sweetly, leaning forward and resting your face in your palm, your elbow against the table. It was just you and Wire in the navigation room, he didn't want you to have the pressure of the others watching you and potentially pressuring you into things you weren't comfortable with.

“First item - free use for the four commanders, under the circumstances that your collar is on. That much I know you're good with, but what about outside of that?” He asked.

“A big maybe,” you replied, “I'm a regular woman without the collar. If they can seduce me, sure. But I reserve the right to deny them without consequence.”

“Okay, seems reasonable,” he replied, the pen making scratching noises as he jotted it down, “I have a list of things you've already participated in, so I'll just run through them quickly so you can confirm them for the contract. Touching of all body parts, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, cunnilingus, blow jobs, deep throating, face fucking, use of strap on, cum on body including face and genitals and inclusive of female cum, cum in mouth, creampies. Threesome, degradation, praise, bathing together, face riding, both giving and receiving, those are the basics, yes to all of the above?”

“Can we make an amendment for no cum near my eyes?” You asked him, “otherwise yes to everything else.”

“No cum near eyes, got it,” he wrote on the page, “the next set is things you've done that are on the more intense side. Gangbang, bukkake, self-wetting, humiliation, somnophilia, exhibitionism, bondage, pet play and master/servant dynamics, both as dominant and submissive. Amenable to all of those?”

“Somnophilia is the sleep one, yeah?” You queried.

“Aye,” Wire confirmed.

“Okay, yeah that's fine,” you confirmed, “but um… I don't want Heat watching me use the toilet anymore. And I'm not eating out of a bowl or shitting in a litterbox.”

“Noted,” Wire replied, scribbling that down, “you were fine with the self-wetting though? What about other watersports?”

“I've never tried but, I'm not not curious,” you replied unsurely, “the self-wetting was… enlightening.”

“I'll put it down as a maybe, for future experimentation. You can change your mind later if you want, same goes for anything on this list,” Wire assured you, “now for the requests. Anal fingering, mouth to ass, anal sex. Receiving and giving. Thoughts?”

“Yeah, those are fine. I've done a few on the giving end as well, but I guess that person wanted to keep it to himself,” you noted, “just uh… only receiving the whole way with proper lubrication. No spit as lube bullshit unless it's only fingers.”

“Got it,” Wire confirmed, “next up, use of toys such as dildos and vibrators, use of nipple clamps, impact play, with hands and equipment. Bondage such as shibari, cuffs, bed, wall and furniture mounted restraints. Sensory deprivation. Tickling. Forced orgasms. Edging. Thoughts?”

“No to the tickling, limited to impact play. I'm not a fan of pain,” you explained, “light smacking is fine, but you can cross off anything too painful, otherwise yes to everything else.”

“I'll cross off knife play and hook suspension,” Wire said as his pen ran a line through several items, “next set. Foot play, non-con roleplay, softcore roleplay such as maid, fisting, sex under the influence of alcohol and drugs, use of purpose built furniture such as breeding benches, double penetration, of separate holes and of multiple cocks in one hole.” Wire looked at you expectantly, his pen paused over the page.

“Uhh, no to fisting,” you ran through the list in your head trying to make sure you remembered everything, “um… yes to one in the ass, one in the cunt. Maybe to two in my cunt, I've never tried. Definitely no to two in my ass.”

“I think you could manage two in one,” Wire smirked, “as long as I wasn't one of them. You took me so well.”

“Mmm, I certainly want to try,” you hummed, “quit reminding me of your big beefy cock or I won't be able to concentrate.”

“We're almost done,” Wire snorted and shook his head, “anything else not on this contract, we'll ask first. You'll be paid the same split as Heat and I get. You'll use the colour system for safe words regardless of if your collar is on or not. Green when prompted to go ahead, orange if something needs to change or you need a break, red if you need to stop. No consequences will come from using the safe words so please don't be afraid to use them. By signing this you agree to remain up to date with your birth control unless an explicit agreement is made to impregnate you, you may expect that from Heat or Killer, Kid and I aren't the type to want babies. If an accident happens, Kid promises not to kick you off the ship. The rest of the crew will keep their hands off you unless you give them permission, otherwise a maximum of once a week we may choose to allow them a night with you as a reward. You won't allow anyone outside of this ship to touch you without permission from your captain. You will remain on this crew unless relieved of your contract by the captain. You'll also be given regular STI screening, as the four of us do, and all other crewmates will be required to use protection with you. Do you agree to all these terms?”

“Sounds good to me,” you hummed, openly ogling Wire's muscular torso, “you wanna fuck?”

“Sign here first,” he shuffled the page over to you and you quickly signed it, biting your lip as he stood and rounded the table. He loomed over you from behind your chair, running his hand up your neck until his hand was sweeping your chin up, forcing you to look at him. You pushed aside the page with its drying ink and sat on the edge of the table, spreading your legs for Wire to slot between them.

“What happened to having a sore cunt?” Wire mused, running his thumb over your lower lip, pressing against the soft flesh. He was all for fucking you, he'd been thinking a lot about your tight cunt and wanted to take his time with you. He worried though that you were ignoring your limits.

“Well you see there's this thing called ‘remembering how fucking big and hot your cock is’ and unfortunately I'm no good at disagreeing with my pussy, she wants what she wants,” you purred back up at him, peeking out your tongue to lick his digit before taking it in your mouth, humming as you sucked his thumb.

“You're so cute when you're being submissive,” Wire grinned, replacing his thumb with his pointer and middle finger and gagging you with them, “I have been wanting to get a taste of that pretty cunt of yours. No collar though,” he hummed, running his finger down your neck and tracing a trail of saliva over where the collar would sit, “so I have to ask, can I taste you, princess?”

“Please do,” you huffed, pulling your legs up so your feet rested on the table, showing off your flexibility as you sat back. You'd never properly redressed after waking up, still just wearing one of Heat's old shirts, large enough to fit as a baggy dress on you, your pussy exposed and inviting underneath. You tugged on the hem of the shirt to reveal yourself to Wire, who hummed appreciatively as he ran his thumb between your folds.

“Already wet for me,” Wire cooed as he knelt, “such a good girl.”

He kissed your thighs softly, making you giggle, before his teeth sunk into the soft flesh and the giggle turned to a moan. He nipped you a few more times before his tongue ran a fat stripe up your cunt, and your hand pushed away his hood to tug at his short hair. His tongue lapped against your pussy as he pulled your legs to rest over his shoulders, giving the occasional suck of your bud that made you whine. He was clearly enjoying himself as well, grunting against your cunt as his tongue bullied its way inside you, licking at your walls while his hand looped over your thigh to thumb your clit. You could feel his pointed sideburns against your thighs as he ate you out, his thumb making small, firm circles on your bud as his thick tongue wiggled inside you.

“Oh fuck that's good,” you moaned, laying back against the table, “just like that, fuck.”

His other hand weaselled up under his chin, the end of his middle finger toying with your asshole and spreading the slick and spit that had rolled down around the ring before sinking in. There was a spark of electricity in your clit as his finger pushed inside your ass, not quite finger fucking you, just toying with your hole for extra stimulation. It made that coil in your stomach pull tight, your back arching off the table as you fisted his hair, holding him tight against you. You could feel the coy grin he made against your cunt, and you made the mistake of looking down, immediately catching his eyes that were watching you carefully from between your legs. Those fucking eyes, they always did something to you, and you threw back your head with a groan, cumming on his tongue, his finger forced out of your ass by the contractions your orgasm made.

He gave you a few more greedy licks that made you shiver before he stood, making a show out of unfastening his pants and laying his thick erection against your stomach as his shorts and briefs pooled at his ankles. He rut his cock between your folds, getting his shaft coated in slick and spit and rubbing against your over-stimulated clit. “You're so pretty like this, blissed out with my cock laying against you,” he noted, “pull your shirt up, I wanna see your tits.”

You obediently did as he asked in your post orgasm daze, squishing and kneading your tits for his enjoyment. He groaned as you pulled at your own nipples, your hips rolling to grind against his shaft on their own accord. “You want it bad, huh? Cute little bunny, horny little thing,” Wire purred, putting more force into the rutting. He took himself in his hand and pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, pushing only the tip in and stretching you out. That on its own was enough to make you whine and try to shift to take more of him. “So greedy, trying to get more already. I'm gonna have fun taking my time with you,” he teased, pulling his tip out and sinking it back in over and over, making you whine at the emptiness each time he removed himself.

“Please!” You begged, “want it, want it so bad.”

“Yeah? You want this?” He asked, suddenly sinking himself in, to what he knew was your limit, before entirely leaving you empty again, his cock rubbing against your clit. “Use your words baby.”

“Want- want your fat cock,” you whimpered, “want it splitting me open. Wanna feel you filling me, please.”

“Such a good girl,” Wire cooed, bullying his cock back inside you, but not moving any further. You only said you wanted it inside you, you never said anything about moving. Wire was a master of restraint, any of the others would have already been fucking your brains out by now, while he enjoyed watching you writhe against the table as he warmed his cock. “That feel good, baby? You like keeping my cock nice and warm?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, “feels so full, hnng. Fuck me Wire, please, please please please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he toyed, before pulling out most of the way and slamming back in, prompting a scream from you at the sudden heavy thrust. He did it over and over, pulling out slowly, then pushing in hard and fast, driving you insane as you got enough stimulation to feel incredible but never enough to sustain the building orgasm, and you got the feeling that was purposeful. Wire was only doing exactly as you asked, he was testing you, teasing you to see how far you would go to beg for it. You reached between your legs to rub your clit, but he quickly grabbed your wrists and folded them against your chest, pinning you down.

“Please,” you begged, “more, please, wanna cum on your cock so bad.”

“How bad do you want it?” Wire teased, “what are you gonna give me in return?”

“Anything!” You cried, “please, anything, please fuck me harder!”

“You're gonna let me frost your face, and you're gonna wear it for the rest of the day,” Wire growled, “you're not washing it off till bedtime. Everyone's gonna see what a little slut you are.”

“Yes! Yes!” You whined, trying and failing to fight his hold to try and fuck yourself with his cock, “please, please, please.”

“Good girl,” Wire praised, before finally committing to a hard and fast pace that had you shrieking and seeing stars. Your pussy made obscene squelches as he fucked it, Wire making grunts and tightening his grip on your arms as he used you like a cock sleeve, loving the way your pussy was already fluttering around him, so desperate to cum, choking his cock like it was desperate for him to breed you. “You gonna squirt for me, bunny? Gonna make a mess?”

“Y-yes,” you moaned, unable to escape his hold as he started to overstimulate you, making you dizzy as you felt your orgasm rushing at you. “C-cumming!” You shouted before your thighs clamped around him and shook hard, cum dripping off the side of the table and on to the rug below, some of it drenching his abdomen. His cock never stopped pumping you, the wet sounds now increased tenfold with the added lubrication while you squealed and writhed before finally stilling with a heavy pant.

“Good whore,” Wire purred, “such a good girl.” You barely heard what he was saying, practically lifeless against the table, all you could do was whimper pathetically. Wire got close to his own peak and pulled out, climbing onto the table and straddling your chest. He pumped his cock over you, pleased by the half-lidded puppy dog eyes you were giving him, too weak and fucked out to do more than lick the end of his cock or feebly suck on the tip when he pushed it between your lips. “Close your eyes sweetheart,” he cooed. No sooner had you closed them did he grunt, and you heard his palm hit the table next to your face for support as the first hot spurts of cum hit your face, aimed mostly for your lips and cheek, some of it getting in your hair. It was a large load, and you could already feel it start to drip as he panted, rolling off you to lay on the table beside you, his legs hanging over the edge while yours were folded up, feet against the edge, knees together and still shaking.

“What do you say?” He teased.

“Th-thank you,” you whined.

“Good girl,” he huffed, before surprising you with his softness as he linked his hand with yours, “you're gonna do well here, and we're gonna take good care of you.”

“Mmm,” you replied sleepily, resting your eyes for a moment and enjoying his warm hand encompassing yours. Later you would go to dinner with Wire's cum still coating your face, sitting in his lap so it was clear to everyone who's cum it was. Everyone told you how pretty you looked, and promised they'd paint you too soon.

[Next Chapter] - coming soon

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All This And Heaven Too

Demon!Sylus x gn!Angel!Reader

Based on this post

Title from "All This And Heaven Too" by Florence and the Machine

This fic possessed me and would not let me go until I wrote it tonight (which is bad cuz I'm sick). Very very very vague spoilers for the end of Sylus's story

Also I'm not religious and I do not smoke but the vibes, y'all, I simply had to (I looked up a wikihow for smoking)

Warnings: heavy angst, angels + demons au, major character death, unhappy ending, hurt no comfort, blood, injury, crying, kissing, drugs + smoking, underage smoking, pet names, religious imagery + symbolism, swearing

Word Count: 2,557

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You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”

He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”

You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.

Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.

“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”

“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”

“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”

You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”

“I know.”

You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.

“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”

You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.

You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.

“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”

“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.

He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”

You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”

“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”

“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”

He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”

A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.

Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.

“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.

“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”

You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.

“The same for me.”

He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”

You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.

Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.

“If we fight each other-”

“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”

You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“I… I won’t hold back.”

He nods.

“Not even for you.”

He nods again. “I know, angel.”

You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.

“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”

-

The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.

You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.

If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.

Your body does not function that way.

Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.

A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.

Something sharp touches your neck.

You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.

“Hello, angel.”

You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.

A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.

The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.

“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”

Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”

He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”

Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.

He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?

Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.

You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.

You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.

It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.

At least, you wish it was.

Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.

He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.

“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”

All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.

“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”

Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.

“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”

The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.

“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”

You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.

You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.

“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”

“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”

He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”

“Shall I… demonstrate…?”

“I’d like that.”

He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.

“C’mere… angel.”

You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.

His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.

His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.

“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”

You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

“Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”

He doesn’t respond.

You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.

“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”

Nobody hears your prayers.

---

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[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: October 2024

hello, ahoy, and welcome to my October reading recap.

I made a real effort to focus on spooOOOoooky books this month, in the name of the season; you may even recall that I started early and read some spooky stories at the tail end of September. (read Carmen Maria Machado's comic The Low, Low Woods, btw.)

I've never been great at sticking to a theme but I think it helped that what gets classified as "horror" can vary greatly, so I never really got bored of the genre. I did get disappointed more than once by how Not Spooky some of these books turned out to be, but that's a totally different question.

right at the end of the month you'll notice a couple of outliers with Caped Crusade and Luster, which happened entirely because I was out of library books and on the road for a conference, so I was reading what I could get my hands on! I've been working on rereading Caped Crusade on and off for a couple months and I bought Luster at a cool indie bookstore in the town I was visiting and then inhaled most of it on the way home.

ANYWAY. to the books!

And Then I Woke Up (Malcolm Devlin, 2022) - this is a novella with an interesting spin on the zombie story, where the "zombies" are actually people who have started suffering hallucinations that fill them with paranoia and force them see other people as monsters. so, like, there were never any REAL monsters, but a woman looked at her young son and saw him as a cannibalistic monster, so she killed him. so who's the real monster? it's very deep. this story's explanation for this is "the narrative," an idea so strong that it simply seems to take hold of anyone who's around a sufficiently charismatic ringleader who drives them to join in their delusions and kill innocents who don't share their worldview. it's not a super subtle zombie metaphor, but I guess very few zombie metaphors are. it's fine.

Through the Woods (Emily Carroll, 2014) - I truly wholeheartedly wish I had more to say about this but it's just a very charming creepy collection of comics. my favorite was the one that was the scariest, involving humans getting taken over by body-snatching worm monsters, but on the whole it was a very minor creepy factor. the art's great the whole way through.

Happy Medium (Sarah Adler, 2024) - Happy Medium is October's romance novel as picked by my patreonites, and I will admit: my hopes were not high going in. a conwoman posing as a psychic clashing with a skeptical hottie goat farmer didn't ping me as a great mix, but honestly? HONESTLY? it kind of served. there was a much more well-rounded emotional core to this book than I often encounter in my romance novels; at risk of sounding like a cornball it genuinely had a lot of heart. the conwoman is actually extremely charming, I was rooting for her in a big way, and her emotional journey goes so far beyond just falling in love with the goat farmer. I'll happily claim Happy Medium as my #1 romance of the year unless a challenger arises in the next two months, but it's not looking likely.

The Ones That Got Away (Stephen Graham Jones, 2010) - this is a collection of Graham's short stories that was published long before he became a huge name in horror with books like The Only Good Indians and My Heart Is a Chainsaw. and as much as I hate to say it, I think I personally prefer his longer form fiction. none of these short stories were bad, per se, and they're incredibly stylized and polished, but I think I like Jones' work a lot more when it has time to simmer out. I may have also been biased by the fact that I was desperately seeking something scary to read, because while Jones plays with some pretty narsty concepts, the horror tends not to hit until a last page reveal that recontextualizes everything that's come before. which is cool! but not scaring me as much as I wish it was.

The Salt Grows Heavy (Cassandra Khaw, 2023) - a lot of people told me I should read this because it stars a killer mermaid and a plague doctor, which are two aesthetic archetypes I love, and I will give this to Cassandra Khaw: I liked this a lot more than their other book, Nothing But Blackened Teeth. which is clearing a very low bar, since I didn't really like that book at all, but I do think Salt is genuinely a pretty marked improvement. the prose is still kind of torturously overwrought in many places and I desperately wish that Khaw would put the thesaurus away, but there's like. a Concept here. the core is fun.

Tell Me I'm Worthless (Alison Rumfitt, 2021) - this book is by far the scariest I read, because the horror is hatred and bigotry and a fucked up, evil house that brings out the very worst of everyone who steps inside of it. this book gets so fucked up and bloody and downright nasty in its exploration of the characters and the underlying bigotries that turn them against each other and drive them apart. I don't want to spoil anything, but the book follows a white trans woman named Alice and her mixed race, cis ex-girlfriend Ila. in the past Alice and Ila entered the evil house with their friend Hannah; that ended with Hannah dead and missing and Alice and Ila both scarred and traumatized, each certain that they were raped by the other. so that's what this book is like! not a lighthearted undertaking, but one that I could. not. put. down.

A Sunny Place for Shady People (Mariana Enríquez, trans. Megan McDowell 2024) - what is there to say? Enríquez is my short story queens, and her new release absolutely lived up to the precedent set for me by The Dangers of Smoking in Bed, which was originally published in 2009 but not translated into English until 2021. this collection is sooo aptly named, because many of the stories are obsessed with the terror of places: hotels haunted by memories, neighborhoods filled with ghosts, junkyards where bodies are hidden, towns abandoned and taken over by something sinister. also, completely detached from the quality of the writing, this book has one of the most striking covers I've encountered this year. the screaming yellow cover and bold purple text looked SO COOL under the purple string lights in my bedroom, which was a little +1 to my mood every time I saw it :)

Thirst (Marina Yuszczuk, trans. Heather Cleary 2024) - I think if I had to pick a favorite book from my spooktober reading, Thirst would edge Tell Me I'm Worthless out by just a hair, because I'm just SUCH a sucker for a modern gothic. this novel is split into two chunks. the first is narrated by a vampire (hinted to be one of Dracula's infamous brides) who flees the Old World and crosses the sea to find safety in a young Buenos Aires, where she struggles to figure out how to slake her thirst and escape from loneliness while avoiding detection in a modernizing world. ultimately she seals herself away in a crypt to escape the relentless pace of change around her, and that's when our perspective shifts. here we join a modern woman with a young son, an ex husband, and a dying mother, who's struggling under the pressure of grief as she watches her mother waste away. she ends up accidentally reawakening the vampire from the first half of the book, and you can imagine things get weirder from there. honestly, for me, the part of this book that's most brilliant is the latter half and it's deep meditation on grief, but the historical portion of the book also plays the vampire gothic to the hilt. delicious!

The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture (Glen Weldon, 2016) - this is a really fun piece of pop culture history, tracking how Batman came to be DC's little #1 it boy alongside the developing prominence of nerds and fandom as a cultural force to be reckoned with. as I said above, this was a reread for me, because I wanted to circle back now that I've actually read most of the major comic events discussed in the book. Weldon weaves between Batman in comics, TV, and movies to examine on how one portrayal influences another - for instance: the goofy '66 TV series saw a huge backlash in comics, which went way dark to reinforce a grim and serious Batman for 'real' fans who objected to the show making Batman a joke to much of the normie population - and I think that's a really neat lineage to trace. while I think Weldon is sometimes a bit too transparent with his own disdain for certain adaptations, he overall has an extremely levelheaded approach to Batfandom and a conversationally informative approach that I really enjoy. of particular note is the fact that Weldon is himself a gay man, making him one of the only writers I trust to talk about why he personally dislikes Joel Schmacher's movies without getting homophobic about it.

Luster (Raven Leilani, 2020) - this book!!! this was one of three novels recommended to me by Bonnie at Snowbound Books, and Bonnie if you are on this website I owe you my LIFE because you were 100% correct. I was obsessed from the very first line and it only gets better from there; Leilani's prose is painting a searing, witty Sistine Chapel to render her protagonist's miserable life in vivid color and detail. the short version is that our 23 year old hot mess finds herself jobless and homeless and ends up moving in with her married boyfriend who's 23 years her senior, where she forms a powerfully weird connection with his rage-filled wife and develops a bond with the couple's nerdy adopted daughter, as the two of them are the only Black women in the excessively white neighborhood. (spoiler alert: she also realizes that her married boyfriend is a fucking loser.) it's a simple enough premise but the execution is bananas in its flair. I couldn't believe this is Leilani's first and so far only novel; if she ever drops another I'll drag myself through barbed wire to get my hands on it.

Juniper & Thorn (Ava Reid, 2022) - I first became aware of this novel via twitter thread of Reid's that made its way to tumblr, in which Reid bemoaned being harangued by readers who were shocked that her dark fairy tale retelling had, you know, dark shit in it. having now read the book, I have to say: these people are fucking pussies. going into this book I was under the impression that there was full on-page father/daughter rape happening, which is actually NOT the case, so you can breathe easy if incest is a hard no for you. what's actually here is a wizard dad who's emotionally abusive, non-incestuous sexual abuse in the backstories of the main character and her love interest, some moderately explicit consensual sex, some bulimia, and [spoiler alert!] admittedly a lot more cannibalism than expected. it's not a lighthearted romp but it's also like, come on. come on. grow up. in terms of the actual book, rather than its controversy, I didn't LOVE it but I'm still compelled enough by the world building (particularly Jewish author Reid's Hueli people, who are a fairly obvious stand-in for Jews down to people claiming that they have horns and using phrenology to prove the have an unfair advantage at making money) that I'm going to check out Reid's earlier novel, The Wolf and the Woodsman, a novel set in the same world. it felt a little repetitive in places and the characters were largely pretty predictable, both of which may be a byproduct of trying to encapsulate the vibe of a classic fairy tale, but I had a good time reading it.

[callsign-novara]

Hi!!

I love the stalker Valeria story so far and would def like to see a part 2!!!!

STALKER!VALERIA x READER PT.2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Content warnings: violence, Swearing, paranoia, stalking, dark romance, wlw, obsessive behavior, stalker territory, breif mention on Offing one self, terror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cigarette smoke wafts through the air, the smoke dancing away in the wind. Alcohol on the tounge of the hundreds around, music blaring in the back. Bodies move on the roof of the building, celebrating yet another victory, But she isn't happy, no.

Instead, her mind is filled with frustration, anger, and desperation. Her men are smiling, having fun, celebrating their rightful victory but still..her hearts heavy with hatred. She stands, brushing off her black shirt with her hands, she turns to a gaurd and tells him that she'll be back. She walks through the halls of the well kept building until she's outside roaming the streets of Las Almas, the closer she gets the less anger fuels the flame within her.

Dogs scurry past the woman, tails tremble between their legs. Her steps are confident, eyes calculating. She looks like sweet sweet death, a gorgeous thing but deadly and violent.

Her breaths become heavier when her eyes lock onto her target walking through the slight rain. Her hands are sweaty with excitement as her Prey was about to walk into see the little surprise she left. She's watched you for a long time. Months on end watching your every move, she knows when you leave for work, when you have classes, what classes, when you fall asleep, shower..she knows everything.

She loves how you've become frightened of the night, scared to turn corners waiting for her to pop out of the shadows. But she won't do that, no, she's not stupid. She'll carefully wait, leaving you small little gifts here and there letting you know she's always watching.

She'll make you fear going to sleep without checking your locks a thousand times a night, She'll make you have to check over your shoulder every minute, she'll have you go crazy and then she'll pounce.

She watches from a dark alley way as you make your way up to you apartment. A cozy little place, but it's small.

She could give you so much more. So much better.

She watches you with a wide grin, watching as you freeze when you see her little gift left on you pillow case. She watches the panic, the horror and terror rush through you and she ears it up like candy.

She watches as you check your locks, and close your blinds. She can still see you the gaps of the blinds prominent despite you closing them. The glint of a knife catches her gaze. Pretty and smart, huh? Clever little mouse.

She waits, lurks in the shows outside your apartment for hours on end, just waiting. Soon, she makes her move,stalking up the stairs of the apartment building until she gets yo your door. A couple Bobby pins and a little jiggle and she's in.

Not very safe, no. But nothing can keep her away from you. She glides through the shadows until she's in your room, her footsteps are silent, she's careful not to wake you.

She watches.

Counting the rise and fall of your breaths, you look like a sleeping goddess tangled up in the sheets, and the sight makes her hungry. Hungry for you. Hungry for more.

A smirk crosses her red stained lips, you're just a little mouse running through her maze of fear and Deception. She owns everything in Las Almas Anyway, why shouldn't she own you? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you all so so s much for the support on the first part of this, I wasn't expecting much but it seems alot of you like it. And thanks to the anon above, my first ask!! I appreciate it greatly and i hope this part lives up to your guy's standards, a little POV from Vals view.

This story is going to be dark, and I highly suggest you read all the cw before reading. This story will switch povs throughout it and it might get confusing, so I'll always put who's pov it is in the authors note!

Thank you so much again for the support, and the next part should be coming up soon. 💋

~Nova

[bucketsofmonsters]

The Witch's Apprentice - Part 6

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, size difference, body horror, forced transformation, self-inflicted injuries, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7

He brought you back into your room. Where else would he bring you? Your soundproofed, locked room that you had no way out of. 

You weren’t any less stuck than you were before. 

That wasn’t going to stop you, couldn’t stop you. You needed to get out. You needed to see Eden. 

You knew any attempt to reach her was pointless. She couldn’t hear you. 

It didn’t stop your desperate attempt to get to her in any way possible. You pounded on the door, the noise of your fists against the thick wood echoing in your ears and never reaching hers. 

You're not entirely sure how long you pounded on that door. It was hard to focus on anything. You weren’t seeing the door, you were seeing Eden’s face and her saving you from those god-forsaken woods and then Lucien doubling over again, hearing how his words got frantic as he tried to warn you about something he just couldn’t say and you’d start hitting even harder. 

An earsplitting, pained scream sounded and it took a second to realize it came from you. You hadn’t meant to scream but what harm could it do? It wasn’t like anyone could hear you anyways. 

You kept pounding until massive, gentle hands wrapped around your wrists. 

You looked down to find Lucien holding your now bloodied hands. 

His grip was soft. You could have pulled away if you’d wanted to, kept on trying to fight your way through a solid block of wood. 

You let him stop you. 

As soon as he realized you were done he released your hands and with that you collapsed to the floor, letting your head fall against the door. 

“You tire yourself out yet?” Lucien asked, watching you from above.

You glared up at him as you sucked in air. 

“I need…” Your voice came out nasally and wet. “I need to understand. I need to see her.”

“This is a bad idea.” He sounded resigned, as if he knew nothing he said was going to matter. You had to do this. 

“Says the demon I talk to every day.”

“Don’t do that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Sorry,” you said with a sniffle. “You weren’t a bad idea. I think summoning you might have been the only good idea I ever had.”

As you spoke you felt something being pushed under the door into your side. You looked down to see a plate of food. Your dinner. 

You shoved it back out. At least that was something Eden could see, somewhere productive your frustration could go. 

You heard a huff through the door and you knew she was projecting her voice through. “Fine, if you want to be that way.”

“Can I talk to you?” you called out, knowing it was never going to work. 

You didn’t know if she’d left yet but it didn't matter. She never lifts it on your end, never tries to hear you. 

A heavy sigh escaped Lucien as he stared at you with sad eyes.

“As long as you’re dead set on this, do you want to do something really stupid?”

You nodded instantly. At this point, you’d agree to just about anything. 

He held his hand out towards you and waited. 

You took a moment to gather yourself as best you could. There wasn’t much you could do at this point to stop looking like a mess but at the very least you could try to slow your breathing and blink some of the tears out of your eyes. 

When you reached out to take his hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze before you were feeling the same sensation you’d felt when he’d whisked you back to his home. This time you appeared a few steps away, right through the wall. 

Eden’s eyes widened in fear the second Lucien appeared in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed you yet, her eyes locked on his imposing figure. 

As she stumbled backward, reaching blindly for something behind her, her eyes fell to you and that fear turned to anger. 

“What did you do?” she hissed out. 

“What did I do? How about I’ll tell you that when you explain the runes that burnt their way into his skin when he tried to warn me about you.”

You watched all the blood drain from her face. “What has he told you?”

“He hasn’t told me anything,” you shouted. “He can’t, you’ve stopped him. So now you’re going to tell me.”

You felt Lucien’s presence behind you, his hand ghosting over your back as a faint reminder that you weren’t here alone. 

Eden stumbled back again, coming up against a table this time. As she did, she grabbed a handful of the rosemary you always made sure she had on hand and threw it at the both of you, murmuring something under her breath as she did. 

You could feel the empty space where he’d stood before as she banished him. 

There was a manic look in her eyes as you watched her strategize, planning out what she was about to say to you. 

“He’s tricked you,” she finally settled on. “You think he’s on your side but he isn’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” you said, and those words seemed to strike almost as much panic in her as seeing Lucien did. 

“You don’t understand. He’s the one who made the forest, he’s the reason you're trapped here at all. I saved you from that, don’t you remember?”

And then everything clicked into place. “Oh my god, you made him do it, didn’t you?”

She didn’t need to confirm it, you could see it written across her face, across the face that you knew so well. 

She floundered and you just watched in horror as your best friend unraveled in front of you. 

“No, no of course not,” she lied. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It would take a monster to do that to you.”

You remembered Lucien’s confusion when you told him you couldn’t leave the woods. “All this time you could have let me through.”

“I did let you through, don’t you see? I let you through to bring you here and I’ve kept you so safe.”

You fought not to glance towards the door, towards the woods. To not give anything away. You could make a break for it and from there, it was his woods. Maybe he could save you before Eden could command him to do anything else. 

“Lucien made it,” you said again and Eden nodded eagerly You knew exactly what she wanted. For you to blame him, to act as if this wasn’t entirely her doing. 

He could save you, you knew he could. You could run and summon him before his creation managed to swallow you whole. 

Tears pricked at Eden’s eyes but they never fell. She would never let them fall. “You will not leave me.” 

She said it the same way she commanded Lucien, with absolute authority

You weren’t falling for it anymore. 

Your cheeks felt wet again and you reached up to find you’d started crying once more without even realizing it. “I would have stayed. If you’d just asked me I would’ve stayed in a heartbeat.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“Why does it… What do you mean why does it matter? You imprisoned me and you lied to me and I trusted you.”

She scoffed. “You know what? I tried so hard to be out here on my own. I conquered so much, escaped every other weak person who was dragging me down. But something was missing, something I couldn’t run from. And then you showed up, all bright-eyed and grateful and you fixed it all. I was weak and I needed people, needed you. I need you. Is that what you want to hear?”

It fully settled that she meant every word. She needed you here, needed you to keep the sickening loneliness that you were intimately familiar with away. 

And never once did it occur to her to think about that feeling in you. 

Why would it? You weren’t a friend to her, a companion, a person. You were a tool to stave off an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her gut. 

Before you could even process the fact that you were running towards the door you were falling. You hit the ground with a thud as Eden watched on from behind you, her shaking hands pointed in your direction. 

She muttered something under her breath and then you weren’t falling anymore. Instead, you were floating slowly but surely upwards. 

It took a few moments to realize that while you might be floating, your body wasn’t coming with you. It was lying below you, cold and so very far away. 

You looked dead. 

You felt dead. 

And then you were being made smaller. Matter was being summoned up where there was none before and you were being forced into a body that you don’t want to be in, one too small for you that felt far too fragile. 

You could feel bones and tendons forming, snapping into place as Eden held you aloft in front of her. 

Skin started to form over your new, unfamiliar frame and then something else. Were they feathers?

As unfamiliar flesh continued to crawl over the bones and muscles were conjured from nothing, you tried to fight, to move, to do anything in your new form. 

You managed to lift what looked like a half-formed wing and the numbness was replaced with searing pain. 

You felt like you’d been skinned and every feather that wormed its way out of you was like a needle through this new skin. 

Eden plucked you out of the air moments before you’d finished forming into this new shape. 

She held you in her hands and you’d never felt smaller. 

“It suits you,” she said as she looked down at you, the wings she’d forced upon you being pressed into your sides by her fingers. “You were always more of a pet than an apprentice anyways.”

Before you can so much as gather your bearings you were being forced inside a silver cage.  

Functioning inside the mind of a bird was impossibly difficult. You couldn’t hold onto thoughts anymore. The closest thing you had was the fear. That much the bird could understand. 

You did your best to make out what was happening outside your cage. It wasn’t that your vision was worse now, if anything it was better. It was like the things you were seeing were losing their context and gaining a new one. 

You saw Eden summon Lucien, saw them look down at your body as Eden said, “This is your fault.” You could see his breath catch in his chest, the way he doubled over on himself.

But you also saw predators, looming shapes that you wanted to get far away from. Their voices were too loud, you needed to leave. 

Then a voice sounded not from outside your new cage, but from somewhere inside of you. “You're not dead. I can feel you. Where are you?”

You heard the words perfectly fine, you just couldn’t process them. As soon as the next would come the word preceding it was lost to you. 

They were just sounds. Why were there sounds coming from inside your head? That’s not where they normally came from. 

A panicked attempt to fly away was thwarted by this small metal prison. You couldn’t go anywhere and there were sounds coming from inside you and the creatures in the room just kept getting louder and louder. 

The voice in your head wasn’t as loud as the creatures were, and yet you could hear it so much better. It spoke again and you could feel the voice trying to calm you. “...need you to summon me… can’t get to you…”

You could barely process the words before they left you behind. 

You caught a glimpse of your side. You were gray. You weren’t always gray. Were you? It seemed strange. 

You leaned back to straighten your feathers, preening restlessly as your mind told you to get away when you knew that you couldn’t. 

The panic felt familiar in a way you couldn’t place. You knew this panic. It wrapped around your throat and stole your air with a practiced familiarity. 

You were trapped. 

You remembered this. You understood being trapped. 

The sounds started making sense again, if only for a moment. Lucien and Eden were shouting at each other over your lifeless corpse and his voice sounded in your head, pleading with you. 

“Just summon me, I can’t get out on my own.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t have long enough, didn’t have enough of yourself left. 

He’d known this would happen, had begged to take you away, for you not to do this. He had tried to save you, was still trying to, and you couldn’t get a hold of your own mind enough to help him do that. 

With your fleeting lucidity, you did the best that you could, praying it would be enough. You focused everything you had and with all your might sent him back one word. 

“Eden.”

It was difficult to parse what happened next. As far as you could tell,  it got very loud and everything moved very fast and then something exploded. 

You couldn’t tell where it came from. It was harder to place than the voices were. It felt like you’d exploded, like your insides had folded back apart just as quickly as they had formed but it just as easily it could have been the room around you, breaking apart as Lucien took revenge in both of your names. 

You probably wouldn’t make it out. You knew that much. You were stuck in an impossible body in an impossible situation in an impossible forest. You just hoped Lucien made it out, at the very least. That you did manage to free him. 

The next thing you knew you were lying in a strange bed in a strange room with Lucien looming nervously over you. 

You flexed your hand, your own hand, without so much as a single feather. It felt like a miracle. 

The first words you sputtered out were, “Eden… is she…”

You didn’t need to finish the question. 

He looked down at you, seeming like he was trying to figure out what answer you wanted. “She’s alive. I’d rather she wasn’t but I figured it should be up to you as much as it is me. Besides, I have her name now, she can’t make me do anything ever again. So I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said, a coughing fit overtaking you after you forced the words out. A gray feather escaped your mouth and you almost threw up at the sight. 

He graciously didn't mention it. “I really do.”

You shook your head but you didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now. 

As you did, you took in the room around you. It was somewhere foreign, the walls of the room a dull gray with beat-up wooden furniture scattered about the room. 

“Where am I?” you asked as you tried to peek out the window that sat behind Lucien without straining yourself too hard. 

“An inn. I would’ve taken you back to hell with me but after everything you’ve been through I figured you’d appreciate being clear-headed. And besides, it’s easier to leave this way, in case you want me gone.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why would I want you gone?”

“I’m the reason you’ve been stuck in your own personal hell for years, you literally have nightmares about something I did to you.”

You shook your head again. “No, that’s not right. She made you do it, didn’t she?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t change what happened to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You pouting about it won’t change anything either. You’re not going anywhere, understood?”

He nodded as a faint smile graced his face. “Understood. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pay for the room. I sort of just poofed us into the nearest inn I could remember as soon as I got a hold of you. You’ll be alright on your own?”

You wouldn’t be. How could you possibly be alright after all of this, after everything you knew had been ripped out from under you? 

You nodded. 

He took you at your word, stepping out the door with a final look in your direction. He closed the door softly behind him as if he was worried if it made too loud of a noise you’d spook. 

You collapsed back into the bed, letting your exhaustion take over you. 

As you fell into a fitful sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder what sort of nightmares you’d have now.

[vashs-ass]

TRIGGER WARNING // SA

Analysis of Vash and His Assault in Trigun

Now that I’ve finally finished the manga, I want to discuss why I believe the fifth moon incident in Trigun is supposed to represent sexual assault. Apparently this interpretation is somewhat controversial so I’m going to go over how I see it. If you have a different interpretation that’s completely fine, I’m not trying to say one is more correct than the other.

One other thing I will preface this with, is that I do not think Knives canonically SAed Vash. I think the situation is supposed to be metaphor for sexual assault.

So anyways, why do I think it’s supposed to represent sexual assault and not physical assault? In my opinion, Knives’ main objective is not to physically hurt Vash, his goal is to force Vash into preforming non consensual acts.

The symbolism in fifth moon is very heavy handed. This is the first time we see Vash be assaulted. Knives is depicted as completely naked. Yes, there is an explanation for this in the plot but I do think it was a deliberate choice.

Prior to the fifth moon incident, Vash has no memories of what happened at July. This is unusual because Vash does not have a pattern of shutting out distressing events in his life. He’s able to remember his childhood and Rem’s death in great detail. So something about what happened was particularly disturbing and violating to Vash in a way he’d never experienced before. Even Knives notes that this is unusual, apparently expecting the incident would have ‘after effects’ for his brother.

During this initial discussion Vash begins to recall some of the memories of what happened, or rather, what he felt. He describes the feelings surrounding what happened as ‘something horrifyingly sick’.

Now we will get into the meat of things.

The visuals of the actual assault are horrifying. Nightow uses some great body horror to amplify the severity of what is happening to Vash’s body. During this assault, Knives is constantly grabbing at Vash’s body, forcing it to do what he wants. This one particular panel I don’t see talked about much really hit me in the gut, with knives standing naked between Vash’s legs. This is kinda what solidified everything for me.

Knives is almost always seen holding a hand over Vash’s eyes and his heart. This is a very intimate gesture and I think this can have a lot of different reads depending on who you ask. For me covering his eyes further takes away Vash’s control over what’s happening to his body, Knives’ hand clawing at his heart representing his desire to violate Vash’s very being and take it for himself. To possess him. To objectify him.

He asks Vash how it feels, and Vash can be seen sobbing in what I think is emotional agony rather than physical pain. Having this happen to him again seems to have triggered the memories he had tried to burry.

Other people have pointed out that the angel arm can be seen as a phallic symbol. I’m not really sure where I fall on this idea but I thought I’d mention it at least.

I will also point out one more instance of assault after fifth moon because this is not the only time Vash is assaulted by his brother

I think this takes place towards the middle of the manga if I remember correctly. This scene (to me) represents the ‘loss of self’ victims often feel as well as the physical aspect of sexual assault. Knives briefly attempts to force Vash’s body into his. He stabs Vash through his arm, pinning him down in attempt to ‘merge’ Vash with himself. When it doesn’t work he rips it out of Vash which seems to cause him horrific pain.

The fact Vash goes on to use his angel arm to save people later on in the story is very powerful. It was once a reminder of the violations he had endured but he reclaimed it as well as his bodily autonomy.

After this there are a few other more minor instances of Knives violating Vash, but I won’t get into those because I feel I’ve made my point. If you have anything to add I’d love to hear it!

[gremlinmodetweeker]

In the Heart of My Mother I Laugh

So it's about time for some Summoned!König! I haven't done any in a while. However, I knew that I needed to do something for Summoned!König. My little eldritch horror needed to introduce at least one member of his family, and I've been thinking about Summoned!König's mom a lot. I think she'd be fascinating.

Anyways!

TW: None

Wordcount: 2.1k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

In the Heart of My Mother I Laugh

You practically skipped back to your room. Your thoughts were light clouds wafting through your mind, your body only weighted down by the mountain of chocolate you carried abc to your room. You were so ecstatic that you didn’t even care when the other soldiers commented on how much chocolate you were carrying, focussing only on the night ahead.

You poured the boxes over the table before standing back to admire your haul. Well, ‘your’ haul. There was no way you could ever eat this much chocolate, the thought was laughable. But, you had a feeling you’d be meeting someone who very well might like these chocolates.

Behind you, the lights flickered and popped.

You turned around with a smile.

“Ready?” you asked eagerly.

König groaned as he walked to your side, “I don’t think this is really necessary, Summoner. I insist that you reconsider this meeting.”

“But you met my parents!” you countered, “it’s only fair I meet yours!”

“Not parents,” König corrected you quickly, “parent. I only have a mother.”

“Did your parents get divorced?” you asked.

“No. I do not have a biological father,” König replied testily, “I have only one parent.”

“So I’m meeting your mom today?” you rocked back and forth on your heels.

“Again, I strongly encourage you to call off this arrangement. I am telling you now that it’s not necessary,” König crossed his arms over his chest.

“König,” you glared at your summon, “if you want me to be your ‘wife’ or whatever, I’m gonna need to meet your mom.”

“My mama already approves of your matching,” König grumbled.

“But I wanna meet her!” you complained, “it’s not fair that you met my parents but I’ve never met yours.”

“I assure you that meeting my mama would not be as pleasant as you think it would be,” König sniffed, “she is far, far above me in the summon hierarchy and, by extension, you. I highly doubt she would take kindly to meeting a mortal like you.”

“Then I need to change her mind,” you bundled the chocolates into your arms.

“You truly think this paltry offering would turn the tides of her favor?” König drawled.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, “it’s worth a shot.”

König rolled his eyes and took a long breath. On exhaling, he raised up one hand and flicked his wrist. The air crackled and hissed as reality tore in two before you. You were hit by the staggering smell of ocean salt and iron. You coughed on the heavy feeling of the air shifting in your lungs, but König paid you no mind as he dragged you through the portal.

Normally, you were surrounded by lights and colours of your world. In this portal, you were assaulted by a variety of sounds and tastes. Your eyes were blinded by a myriad of flashing lights in all different directions as you spun helplessly through the air. In the distance, you could make out the form of König as he leaned back and crossed his legs. You were about to spit curses when the taste of sour milk coated your tongue. You gagged, and the taste was replaced by the feeling of mushroom stalks squirming over your body. You tried to shake them off, only to shake out of the portal and into a great cavernous void.

You floated limply in the air. All around you, the world quivered in the darkness. Yet when you looked down at your hands, there wasn’t a single shadow on your body. You almost felt as though you were glowing, a firefly in the oppressive darkness.

Beside you, König curled through the air. He wasn’t anywhere near the form you usually saw. You could only tell it was König by the bright blue eyes that spotted his serpentine body. Long black tentacles unfurled around him, taking you by the wrist and tugging you through the emptiness to curl around you.

“König?” you whispered.

You felt more than heard his deep laughter. His normally high voice had dropped to abyssal tones, almost too low for you to be able to perceive.

“Is this your mom’s house?”

König paused. All his hundreds of thousands of tentacles froze in place as all his eyes spaced out. In an instant, all of his multitudinous narrowed as they stared at you.

“Did you just call my mama’s chamber, her palace of nightmares and dreams, her temple to the greater arts that arc above us, my ‘mom’s house’?”

“Uh-huh.”

Steam hissed out from the gills that slit across his skin, “So be it.”

His form curled around you further, drawing you onto his side to rest on what you suspected to be his back. You sat against the long black spines of his crimson back fin and crossed your legs. You put your bags of chocolate down on his slippery skin and put your hands behind his head.

“So, this was where you grew up?” you asked.

“No,” his voice echoed around you, “I grew up in her lungs. We’re in her heart right now.”

You listened close, but there wasn’t a single sound aside from König’s tentacles writhing over each other.

“I don’t hear a heartbeat,” you said.

“I’m doing my best to muffle it for you,” König replied.

“Let me guess, the sound of it would drive me insane? Have me marching to the mad cosmic waltz of Azathoth?” you snickered.

“No,” König huffed, “I just wouldn’t be able to hear you.”

“Oh.”

“Is it a crime to enjoy my summoner’s voice?” König asked.

“No, I just thought it would be some weird cosmic stuff,” you shrugged.

“My mother is surprisingly tame, Summoner,” König replied, “she understands that if you are to be my mate, she cannot eviscerate you before even speaking to you.”

“She wouldn’t do that to her son, would she?” you glanced up at where you thought König’s face might be, but his body extended far out of sight.

“I wouldn’t imagine so,” König replied, “I’m her favorite son, after all.”

“You’re the favorite?”

“Out of three-hundred thousand.”

You whistled, “Sounds like a big family.”

“You could hardly imagine,” König groaned.

You snorted and settled back against König’s spine. If nothing else, at least in his true form he was comfortable to sit on. A bit cold to the touch, but not nearly as slimy as you expected. In fact, his skin was surprisingly smooth to the touch.

“So, where is your mom?” you asked.

“She’s already here.”

On cue, billions upon billions of eyes opened up all around you. Each one was ever so slightly different from the others, be it in colour shape or size. They all blinked asynchronously as they looked down on the tiny human that sat in her heart.

You braced yourself for the volume to come, but she said nothing aloud. Instead, you heard her voice as a soft, creaking whisper in your mind.

“So this is my son’s mate?”

You glanced around, unable to fixate on one single eye until a curtain of eyes parted to reveal one giant squid eye staring down at you.

“You may speak.”

“Uh…” you stared at the eye in front of you, easily as tall as an apartment building and wide as a canyon.

“Tell me, what makes you worthy of my greatest warrior?”

You trembled as the voice curled through your mind.

“I’m his summoner?” you offered meekly. Your imagined meeting was quickly evaporating from your mind.

“You’re his summoner?” the whisper cackled, “not his mate then?”

“I…” you hissed. König tensed beneath you. You felt a sudden weight in your chest, like a hand curling around your heart.

You looked up at the eye, “I’m his mate.”

You felt your ears pop as the pressure swept away. The darkness receded to reveal a warm red glow surrounding you, strobing lightly with the steady beat of a heart.

“Good,” König’s mother whispered, “I would hate for a human to break his heart.”

“I have no intentions to,” you sat up straighter.

“You know, König was made from my atlas, yes?”

“No,” you admitted, “I don’t actually know much about your son.”

“You don’t know the roots of his birth, and yet you call himself his mate?”

The room darkened again slightly.

You cringed into your mate’s spine, “I… I think I am. Aren’t I?”

“That is not for me to answer.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, the only protection between you and the massive golden eye.

“I think I am.”

“Think?”

You swallowed, “I… I know.”

The whisper rolled around your skull before sitting back between your ears, “Interesting. So you know little of your mate. You met because of a twist of fate, and you think his mercy is his courting?”

“I thought he liked me,” you admitted.

“Does he?”

“Mama,” König grumbled, somehow not particularly disturbed.

“König, my precious hero, I am only asking for your sake,” She fussed.

König bristled slightly, flared his back fin behind you, but said nothing more. Evidently, you were alone in this battle.

“I think he likes me,” you declared as firmly as you could.

The eye scrutinized you further. You felt your head throb slightly. Just as you felt you might be snuffed out like a candle, the warm red glow came back.

“I’m glad to hear,” the voice subsided, “so tell me, why did you come to my home?”

“Um…” you glanced around before your eyes landed on the bags of chocolate, “oh! König told me you liked these! They’re chocolates!” you offered up the bag.

The bag slipped from your fingers and floated close to the eye. She scrutinized the bag before it disappeared into an inky void.

“Hold on.”

You waited with baited breath.

“Why does this one taste like vomit?”

An empty candy wrapper landed in your lap. You picked it up and scrutinized it.

“It’s a hershey bar,” you explained, “it’s an American chocolate.”

“It tastes vile.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t think-”

“Now this one,” a caramilk wrapper dropped down, “this is sublime. Tell me, where do you get such a decadent treat? Surely this must be one of the greatest delicacies of your kind!”

“Um, I actually just got it from the grocery store,” you admitted.

“The grocery store?”

“It’s where humans buy food,” you offered, “they’re pretty common.”

“So you’re telling me humans have such luxuries at their fingertips?”

“If you have the money, yeah,” you shrugged, "but this one's pretty cheap. I got a two-for-one deal on this."

She was silent for a moment.

“Your kind is more advanced than I realized,” She finally admitted.

“Humans can be pretty neat,” you replied.

“So tell me, you’ve been seeing my son for how long now?” She asked, her voice notably losing the cool edge it previously held.

“Um, about six months I think?” you frowned, “König how long has it been since I summoned you?”

“Six months, twenty days, six hours, fifteen minutes and eight seconds ago,” König replied calmly.

“Thanks!” you chirped.

“Ah, so your relationship has only just begun,” She hummed, “well, I must say if you’ve lasted this long, that must be worth some note.”

“I sure hope so,” you laughed awkwardly.

“And a jester! I do think that’s one of humanity’s finer traits. Your abilities to find light in darkness are always amusing,” She chuckled, “it’s fascinating. I rarely deal with humans. Most are greedy and thoughtless, so tiresome. They call on me to wage wars, move mountains, drain oceans, win love, all meaningless things. I simply can’t be bothered to notice them,” her eye rolled before fixing back on you, “you, however, are rather curious. You’re not nearly as arrogant as the others I’ve met.”

“I'm not?” you asked.

“So far,” She sniffed, “but time will tell. As of now, I am only sad that my son has kept so much of his life from you.”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Had König never told you about how his brothers used to take him haunting in other realms? Did he tell you his favorite food is volcanic ash? Has he ever even mentioned how when he was just fifty-thousand years old he used to put imps in his mouth and spit them into my lungs to make me cough? He liked to play with the stars I’d spit out.”

You snorted as König grumbled around you, his tentacles writhing irritably.

“Mama,” he groaned, “please do not discuss my younger years so freely.”

“Oh but I must!” Her voice was delighted, “you must know that for an avatar, he was the sweetest little youngling I had. He was always clutching onto my tendrils when he went to sleep in my fur,” a long tentacle swept out of the void to play with one of König’s many taloned feet, “such a sweet little one!”

“Mama! I’m an adult now!” König whined and recoiled childishly.

“Oh, if I could show you what he looked like when he only had one cell! He was truly something special.”

König groaned and curled around you further to try and put a barrier between you and his mother, but to no avail.

“My, if I knew how delightful you were, human, I would’ve insisted on meeting you earlier! There is so much I need to tell you about.”

You grinned. You hadn’t expected much when meeting König’s mom, but you already knew she was your favourite god in the pantheon.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[hellinistical]

Minors dni. Reblogs highly appreciated.

Tw: cannibalism, fingering, oral (fem receiving), non-con, sub-reader, afab reader, stalking, kidnapping, blood, descriptive body horror, unprotected sex,

gojo, sukuna, childe, rafayel, xavier, knives.

Wc: 2.8k

He didn't mean to stalk you.

He didn't intend for it to go this far.

But he definitely didn't want to stop.

Behind the bushes in front of your window, he watched.

Watched you clean. Watched you eat. Watched you sleep.

What a pretty thing.

His fingers curled around the Japanese knife in his hand, but he took a deep breath, goosebumps rising on his skin as he imagined it all: First, the knife in his hands would glide through the skin on your cheeks, right by your lips. He'd give you a kiss and a permanent smile, digging his thumbs into the raw dermis. He'd take the two pieces and taste them. Would it be warm and savory? Maybe a bit tangy? The blood would surely be. Maybe he'd take a strip from your thighs next. The fatty areas would surely be delicious. But no, he wanted this to last longer, see where it went.

⁛⁛⁛

He saw you again- at the Walgreens this time.

He knew when you went to pick up your prescription- the one for the migraines. The anxiety. So he grabbed a job. Just as a cashier, nothing big, nothing special. Just enough to make small talk.

Though you'd usually only come for your medication, sometimes you'd grab yourself a treat. Press ons, the ones with the French tips. Maybe just for a day, for a party. Chocolate, the one with the hazelnuts. Never minded which brand it was, so long as it satiated that sweet tooth.

He remembered the thought he had that first day, when he imagined you. Bare, splayed out in the table, his hands in your blood, a toothpick in his mouth.

He wondered if you'd be as sweet as the chocolate you bought.

⁛⁛⁛

When you spoke to him the first time, it was with a sympathizing tone. Did he make up a sob story for the masses? Was it highly unlikely? Yeah, but he was just a stranger, so who cared? You gave him the benefit of doubt, and he bathed his mind in it.

You leaned in closer, only to read his name tag really, but he made his move anyways, pulling you into a little dip, as if he were wanting a dance. And he did. But the way his name rolled off your tongue, he needed it.

That was what he got this job for.

So he quit the very next day.

⁛⁛⁛

You asked him out. A small date, just to the movies. He found out you liked horror.

He remembered it.

⁛⁛⁛

You've been feeling…off lately. Like you were being watched, even in the bathroom. Your anxiety rose, and so did your stress.

So did your migraines.

⁛⁛⁛

You were running. Just a morning jog, something to clear your mind. But your adrenaline was pumping. You couldn't think straight.

The feeling- that stupid feeling that you were being watched! It crawled up your legs, your chest, gripling your heart before it got to your brain.

Then it was dark.

⁛⁛⁛

How did you get here, with your fingertips begging for clearance on the edges of the protruding, crumbling brick wall? With stale air, heavy with a metallic scent?

His breath was hot on your skin, trailing up your neck to your jaw to your ear. His right hand rested under your breast, the left on your hip, holding your backside against his pelvis.

"Pretty thing, what do you want?"

His voice was teasing, the hand on your hip now playing with your waistband, his cold fingers threatening to dip past the fabric, to graze your probably more-than-warm skin.

Your grip falters, but before your chin can scrape against the brick, his hand is on your throat. He catches you lightly, the pads of his thumb, index, and middle squeezing your skin gently.

A dry chuckle leaves his lips, the hand under your breast moving to your ass.

"Little love,"

You know to stay quiet, that if you were to even swallow hard his grip would tighten.

Goosebumps litter your skin, and you feel an odd thrill from it all; the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you still your body, your vision hazy but the knife on the table is still very much within his reach.

His hair is soft as it brushes against your shoulder when he leans over. Lips pressed to your skin, they whisper silent promises, not threats. A hand pulls on the waistband of your underwear, and it’s promptly pulled down, a harsh smack landing on your ass. You bite back a yelp, humiliation stinging as tears prick at your eyes. He chuckles, groping the fatty flesh for a moment before resting his hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

“And to think you tried to run- although I suppose praise is in order…you managed to surprise me.”

You feel something. Something cool and wet and gliding down your backside; spit. It goes down the curve of your butt, but he takes his hand, smearing it down to your folds, his thumb pushing past for a mere second before pulling away. He licked his thumb, and an airy laugh left his lips. His thumbs move down to your hips, pressing into the dips as he leans onto you, pushing your stomach into the bricks even more. It hurts, your chin is probably scratched, and you're cold, but damn it, you don't feel shame as you feel your knees shake in anticipation.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to actually believe that I was the pizza guy. Then again, I suppose having the prop did help. But still, you didn’t even question why the box wasn’t warm. Say…”

His voice trailed off as he pulled you away from the wall. Turning you over onto your back, he grabbed your chin softly, a faux kind smile on his face.

“You seem pretty flushed out, Y/n. You got goosebumps all over you.”

Taking your wrists with one hand, he guided you to the table, sliding the knife carelessly off of it as he laid you down on it.

"I wonder- and you can speak this time baby, I won't do anything, promise… I wonder if you're actually enjoying my touch. Maybe not the situation- I'd hope not the situation cause then you'd be a little fucked up- but maybe the touches." He giggles again, and you feel your stomach churn.

"I'm not fucked up."

"Oh? So you like my touches then?"

"I didn't say that."

It's like he can't stop laughing, and it seems mocking as he gets onto the table halfway, hovering over you.

He leans close to your face, close enough that you can see all the small blemishes on his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I can feel it."

As if to prove a point, his hand goes to your thighs, sliding to your labia. Your legs instantly close around his wrist, thighs clamping down. He disregards it though, instead just pressing a kiss to your lips swiftly as he pushes two fingers into you to the knuckle. He swallows your gasp, the hand that was supporting his weight sneaking behind your neck, pushing you deeper into the kiss, the two fingers in you making a scissor motion widely, slowly.

Your eyes couldn't get any wider, truly. It was comical, how he managed to do just what he imagined: get you splayed out, bare and ready.

Though his appetite was gone, another one was readily introduced, and he gladly welcomed it.

He leans to kiss you again and you turn your head away, but he chases your lips anyways taking one, two, three kisses from you. He pulls his fingers out of you, disregarding the involuntary whine that left you as he licked his hand clean again.

You try to clamp your legs shut for good this time, but he forces them open, cupping your heat, pushing his palm where your clit was.

You all but hiss, back arching off the table before he pressed his free hand into your stomach, pushing you back down into the wood.

Your skin was ridiculously soft, and he thought about just how truly thin the layers of the skin were…. Why if he could just-

No, he couldn't. He needed to save this.

Instead, he nips at your neck, exhaling slowly.

"You know, I've been watching you- you probably knew that, right? You're a smart girl. I know; I've seen you study. You work hard, it's admirable. A shame there won't be any more of that."

His pinky and thumb separate your lips, and he pressed his index and middle finger in, not waiting for a response.

You didn't notice it till now: his skin was oddly cool, a stark contrast from your hot skin.

Mouth falling open, you inhale sharply, refusing to cry, to give him a sense of what you think would give him satisfaction.

His fingers go at a leisurely pace again, curling occasionally, searching, searching…ah, there it was. That spot.

He grins into the crook of your neck as he feels you tense up.

"That easy, huh?"

He doesn't allow you to talk, too busy abusing your cunt. Feeling the drool slide down the corner of your mouth to his cheek, he giggles again- that damned giggle.

You reach for any purchase, anything but him. Wincing as splinters dig into the skin of your hands, you don't ignore the pain, wanting the distraction from the man above you. Your heart beats faster, and he hears it, taking it as an opportunity to have the hand on your cunt move to rub up and down your slit.

Your lips part, your eyebrows try to meet. It was too many sensations; the fear of what was happening, the pain from the wood digging into your skin, the pleasure from the unwanted persistence of him. And that smile he wore.

There was something unnatural about it.

But whether you were more scared of him or the fact that you were enjoying this…that was what terrified you. Maybe you were fucked up.

But something surprising happened.

He stopped. You stopped.

"If you want me to stop, all ya gotta do is say so."

His hand almost retreats before you protest.

⁛⁛⁛

It's the first good look he has at your cunt. It's glistening, and pretty, and that feeling of hunger rises again. He salivated.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes himself off the table, opting to wrap his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge, bringing your legs to his shoulders. He bites your thigh, pressing his nose into it. The smell is dizzying. Sweat, arousal, and something else he can't quite name. But he loves it all the same.

His attention goes back to your pussy, and he levels with it, hot breath fanning over your folds.

Again you pull back, and again you're pulled back.

A low moan vibrates through him, almost muffled as he presses his tongue flat, licking a long stripe between your folds to your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves. You try your best to be quiet, small whimpers and pleas escaping every now and then. It spurs him on, his tongue curious, messy as spit and juices mix, the sounds coming from the combination disgustingly hot. Your walls clamped down onto his tongue, and his eyes rolled back.

He knew to save you.

His mouth wraps around your more than puffy clit, and as if he were making out with it, he sucks it hard before releasing it with a delightful pop, only to grab it with his teeth, biting gently. And again he brings his fingers, burying them again into you. A chuckle escapes him as you spew obscenities. He pulls back for a breath.

"I watched, you know. Your fingers… they weren't cutting it. You need this. You need me…you do. You really do…"

The pads of his fingers are rough, you can feel the callouses against your walls, but you can't seem to care.

A knot was forming in your stomach, and when he pressed his hand down right below your naval you choked on your breath, releasing.

With a content sigh, he drank you, a sheen of what was left resting on his chin when he rose up.

Tired, nearly overstimulated, you push yourself up, wary.

"Enough, you, I won't tell, I swe-"

"Shh, shh, shhh." He pressed a finger to your lips. You can taste yourself.

Rising back to his feet, he stands, unbuttoned his pants. Your eyes widened and you backed up, only for him to grab your ankle hard. It would bruise, his grip stronger than you expected.

"I'm not done. Stay still."

His tone briefly reminds you of the knife on the floor.

Your mind is still reeling, your legs still twitching from the abrupt orgasm. But he ignores it all, slipping himself out of his briefs. It's too fast, all of this. Too much, when his grip on your ankle hurts. Too much, when he twists it hard, no doubt spraining it as he holds it high to his shoulder, your other leg around his hip. Too much, when he swallows your scream with a kiss, pressing the head of his cock into you.

He shudders, the first sensation of your walls around him euphoric. He felt a high, and he had half a mind to just taste more of you right there.

The knife was on the floor though, and he was too engrossed to be bothered to grab it. Instead, he bit into your calf, his cuspids breaking the skin. Oh, how he loved that look on your face. The bleach eyes, the tears, the snot cause you can't stop crying…it was beautiful to him. All of it.

Warmth flooded his mouth the same as it engulfed his cock, but he wanted more. So again he bit, tearing the bite in your calf a little wider, the piece he managed to rip off resting on his tongue. It was like veal, or pork. Sweet, savory, firm. He moaned at the taste, swallowing slowly, savoring the remnants of the flavor that rested on his tongue. You mewled, terrified, excited, tired as his hips began to move.

It was awful, yet amazing. Contradictions and hypocritical all at the same time. It didn't matter to either of you, not when he pushed into you further, his shaft dipping in and out as you spread for him. Your clenched tightly, almost too much so before he tells you to relax, as if he hadn't just taken a bite from you. But you try. You really try. But it's not until he gets to the hilt that you release the tension. He grins, teeth faintly red from your blood. You can see a part of your skin in his mouth, but you don't have time to think, not when he thrusts in, and out, in, and out again and again.

He looks at your face, your slack expression making him giddy, more so than he's been the entire night. Something tugs at the back of his mind, telling him to take what he wants.

So he does.

He takes, and takes, and takes till your convulsing, eyes nearly rolled to the back of your sockets, bloody and drained, ready to meet your maker. But he's not satisfied yet.

Close, but not yet.

You look at him, pleading for him to let go, but it's impossible to, not when you look so pretty like this.

Hands on your hips with a bruising grip, your ankle is swollen, medical attention disregarded as it rests on the edge of the table, your leg off his shoulder. Your fine leg is still on his hip, your heel digging into the end of his back, right above his ass. You arch your back, becoming desperate to finish this already, but you know that's not your purpose right now.

"Can't…" He starts between skipped breaths, the adrenaline finally catching up to him, "can't believe no one's had the thought… they're all blind. All of them- you... you're perfect. Pretty, delicious. Sustainable. The rest... They're animals."

You didn't get it, too busy chasing a high you might not get.

He moans, leaning down into you, his arms on either side of you, his face pressed into your stomach. He'd surely go crazy from you. He was close, you both knew it. The way his movements became uncoordinated and sloppy, it was all telltale signs.

"When I'm done- I'm coming back, and don't you forget it. 'Kay?"

You nod yes. Of course you do.

And even if you didn't, he'd take it as one.

His balls tightened, and he felt it, the familiar sensation of release. Except instead of being on pictures of you, it was in you. He bit into your stomach, his arms slipping underneath you, pulling you closer as he came deep into you. You gasped, your palms digging into his shoulders, attempting to push him away, but he would not let up.

He laughs, loud, rambunctious, victorious.

And bile builds up in your throat. You swallow it back, demanding yourself not to throw up.

Salty tears stream down your face, but he ignores it. Soft, he pulls out. Happy.

And before you can get up, the knife is in his hands.

[tyrantisterror]

What are your top favorite fairy tales? Either classic literarily stories, adaptations of literary fairy tales, wholly modern fairy tales, or even just stories that you think are structured like fairy tales. (Roald Dahl books, Studio Ghibli movies, even Shrek and Puss in Boots movies, etc.)

That is an unfathomably vast genre of fiction to try and condense into a ranked numbered list. I think... I think that may be impossible to actually answer as requested. But I can ramble about some of my favorites I suppose.

Let's do this sorta like the Oscars and divide things into categories.

Category 1: The Heavy Hitters

Some fairy tales are significantly more famous than others, so this category is for them: the heavy hitters, the classic fairy tales that are most well known, as defined by my own nebulous perception of which fairy tales are more popular than others.

Of the heavy hitters, my favorites are Little Red Riding Hood and Jack and the Beanstalk. Little Red Riding Hood is such a spooky story no matter which telling you're looking at, and has contributed a lot to both the fantasy and horror genres thanks to its simple yet evocative premise and visuals. Jack and the Beanstalk, meanwhile, is just a really solid story of a trickster fool, which is one of my favorite archetypes in all of fiction. Love a good trickster fool.

Category 2: The Obscurities

As I said, this ask is covering a HUGE amount of fiction in its topic, especially since the border between a fairy tale and, like, ANY folklore isn't really well-defined (not in a way anyone can agree too, anyway). But there are a lot of obscure folktales I love that are at least sometimes lumped in as fairy tales, and I'm gonna list them here:

The Lambton Worm - a classic tale of dragon-slaying and getting fucked over by prophecies

The Lindworm Prince - queen can't concieve and consults a witch, ignores witch's directions, gives birth to human baby and dragon baby. Dragon baby grows up and demands a wife before human baby can get his, and a clever girl decides this is her chance to get rewarded for monster fucking.

Maud and the Dragon of Mordiford - the story of a girl who adopts a dragon only for it to end tragically, which inspired one of the novels I'm gonna write one of these days

Tam Lin - the story of a woman who wanted that elf dick and wasn't afraid to do some weird shit to get it

Biancabella and Samaritana - a story about a girl and her sister who is a snake because her mother had trouble concieving

King Odd - a story about an odd king who's actually an exiled fairy queen in disguise, and the man who wins her heart after surviving her attempt to execute him. It's like a Nordic medieval Tenchi Muyo.

You've probably noticed some themes about my favorites right now - lots of stories with dragons, people being transformed into monsters, and heroes who are into that monster shit.

Category 3: Archetypal Pieces

Ok, so for this I'm going to focus less on individual folktales and more on recurring plotlines, character types, and story beats, which you begin to notice the more you read up on Fairy Tales in part because many of the more obscure ones take beats from ones you're probably more familiar with and mix them together in new ways. So, my favorite plot beats in fairy tales:

Any sort of monster, obviously

The villain who literally removed their heart out of fear of being vulnerable

The baleful polymorph (i.e. a human who inhabits a beast/monster body against their will)

Monsterfucker protagonists

Trickster Fool protagonists

Disobedient Girls (examples: Little Red, Goldilocks), though I don't like how this archetype is treated

You want to have a baby and seek a witch and she gives you VERY SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS which you ignore because you really want this baby and oops you've got twins and one of them is some sort of monster good job asshole

The hero helps three (or more) people/creatures in need, and when shit hits the fan, they return the favor

Category 4: Modern(ish) Adaptations

Our penultimate category focuses on adaptations of fairy tales from, like, the 1900's on - anything made in a century I've lived in part of, basically. These arguably shouldn't be divided from "normal" fairy tales, but my brain regards them differently than, like, Victorian era fairy tale retellings, because hey, I lived in the age of these, more or less. They're "modern" for whatever nebulous definition of that word my brain's decided on.

And there's a lot for me to put in this category. Sleeping Beauty might be my favorite of Disney's fairy tale retellings, though Beauty and the Beast is a strong competitor for that role (and maybe Mulan, if we count its source material as a fairy tale, but I'm not sure we can). I think overall I like Sleeping Beauty's more stylized animation and character designs as well as its less conventional story-telling structure a bit more than B&B's, but Beauty and the Beast is still gorgeous and kind of perfectly scripted, so it's a tough competition.

My alltime favorite adaptation of fairy tales, though, would be Jim Henson's The Storyteller:

Using the magic of 1980's muppeteering, it adapts several fairy tales, many of which are more on the obscure side, and sometimes mashes a few different ones together to make sure each episode has a good three act structure. It's wonderful and fully captures the weirdness of fairy tales, while also having a lot of heart - The Heartless Giant is my favorite of the whole series.

Category 5: Works Inspired By Fairy Tales

I almost lumped the following stories into the above category, but while the division is, again, purely in my mind, there's something different about modern works that claim to adapt fairy tales 1:1 and ones that take fairy tale characters or concepts and throw them in entirely new tales with different directions, so that's what our final category will be.

I've gushed about Puss In Boots: The Last Wish enough that I don't think it'd surprise anyone that it would end up here - the same goes with the works of Rankin Bass, which is why I doubt anyone is surprised I'd put The Last Unicorn here too (technically based on a book, but it still fits the "has big fairy tale vibes despite not being based on one specific one" that I'm using to justify this category).

Pan's Labyrinth would also go in this category, with a protagonist who's both a trickster fool AND a disobedient girl, as well as a beautifully gothic take on fairy tale motifs. I'd put Company of Wolves here as well, being a very multifaceted riff on the Little Red Riding Hood story and a movie that sets both my analytical and creative parts of my brain on fire each time I want it.

I'd also put The Path, a short video game explicitly inspired by Company of Wolves, on this part of the favorites list. It's a game about, like, a DOZEN or so different takes on Red Riding Hood and her story, all with different flavors and subtext to analyze. It's unsettling but good.

Dimension 20 had a whole season focused on a horror-themed crossover of fairy tale characters called Neverafter that was fantastic, with one of the best riffs on Little Red Riding Hood I've ever seen, Puss in Boots and Pinocchio working together as con artists, and a vampire Snow White, so yeah 10/10 there, no notes.

And while I've only seen scattered bits of it, what I've seen of Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, a sequel series to Disney's Rapunzel adaptation, is pretty great, though maybe I just think Cass is hot.

If you put an angry woman with a sword in your work of fiction I will at least stay for a few episodes to see what you do with her.

Given how much it consumed my brain in so little time, Revolutionary Girl Utena has to rank among my favorite Fairy Tale things ever - like, this is too chaotic a list to really rank things, but if I were to try, it'd at least be in the top 10. The same is true for Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods, which in addition to being a big fun crossover between a bunch of the Heavy Hitter fairy tales, is also one of the best musicals ever written - and indeed, one of the best stage shows of all time.

Shit, where do I put A Midsummer Night's Dream? It feels like it should be here, but it predates the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, whose works my brain categorizes as "old fairy tales" rather than "modern fairy tale retellings." Well, it'd be somewhere among these categories, being one of the best tales with fairies in it ever told.

The Princess Bride would be up high like Utena no matter what - it's one of the best works of fiction about love that we've got. Same goes with Galavant, which I consider its spiritual successor, although I think one could argue Galavant isn't specifically a fairy tale pastiche and is more just a lampooning of fantasy in general.

Oh, and The Hazards of Love, a concept album by The Decemberists, should be here too. That's the last one I can think of right now, but I'm sure I'll think of a few others later that I like enough to regret not putting on here.

[komipacket]

knock knock knock hi im curious to know more about your au with charlie as a fish… is he like a triton? a merman? a siren? what kind of fish is he? how’d he and mariana meet? sorry im just silly about slimeriana sooooo :3

OH DAMN MY GUY you asked me the right thing! I can talk about this AU for HOURS! Anyways, the whole idea is that some characters are sea creatures some people. The main characters are Charlie and Mariana (OF COURSE lmao)

[sorry ill reuse some stuff from my other post]

Charlie is a moray eel merman, so hes a carnivore. Also (remembering one chuckle sandwich episode) he has a second smaller set of teeth. His tail is really long and massive and he has some fins on his body.

So now its time for the story!

Mariana was a simple fisher doing some different little jobs connected with the sea. Basically he and his best friend Roier were sailing around different places delivering things or selling fish. Everything they could to make money yk. One day something really unsual happens. Their net caught something big and heavy. At first he fears it's a shark, that would be bad. But then... Mariana realises its literally A MERMAN he looks at him in shock like what the hell. At the same time Charlie is SCARED looking at the fisherman like in "i guess ill die" way.

He had heard of mermaids and mermen, but he always considered them a myth. He had seen a megalodon, he had seen a kraken, but not them.

Mariana sighs. If he brought him to the port. He will become a rich man, a lucky man. But….something inside unpleasantly gnawed at his heart

The guy took out a knife

"Hoy es tu día de suerte, muchacho." (Today is your lucky day, guy.)

He went to the net and cut the ropes to let Charlie go. The creature's pupils narrowed as it looked at the knife, but then the words caught it off guard. Once the ropes were cut enough to get out, Charlie looked at Mariana in genuine surprise, and then with one movement he dived sharply into the water. He quickly disappeared from sight into the depths.

"¡Oye, qué estás cortando ahí! ¡Сomprarás una red nueva!" (Hey, what are you cutting there! You'll have to buy a new net!)

An old friend of Mariana's comes up from behind. Very annoying and completely useless. However, better than alone. Roier chuckled and looked at the net with confusion.

Mariana winced, turning around and looking at Roier

"si…si si! Se acaba de formar un nudo, ¡así que lo corté! ¿Ya has revisado las velas? Pensé que estaban rotos" (Yeah…yeah, that's right! There was just a knot here, so I cut it! Have you checked the sails yet? I thought they were damaged)

Royer picks his ear with his little finger and glances at the sails.

"No, servirá. ¡Veo una buena capturado!" The guy smiles, "¡Ya quiero ir pronto a la orilla! ¡Y a la barra! Espero que estés conmigo, ¿eh?"

(Nah, they're fine. I see there's a good catch today! I wanna to go to the shore as soon as possible! And to the bar! I hope you're with me, huh?)

Roier playfully pokes Mariana with his elbow and giggles mysteriously. It seems he already had plans on where to spend all the money.

The return to the shore turns out to be quite calm. Seagulls occasionally screamed over the ship and the scorching sun forced their eyes to close from the bright light. Only rare dull knocks under the ship raised some questions. Perhaps it was some garbage there…

Charlie swam on the heels of the ship. At first, he thought of hiding at the bottom and never returning close to the surface of the water again. But then the beautiful face of the fisherman flashed in his head and the merman, as if enchanted, swam closer to the surface to look at the man again. He let him go. It was so sweet of him. The last time he saw people, they either screamed in horror or tried to kill him. And this one… is different. Maybe this is a chance? Charlie really decided to watch his new acquaintance for a while… Just… Out of interest…

===

So that was their first meeting. After that Charlie swam after them and basically stalked Mariana for some time lmao. There's a lot of things happening in this AU. I made it up with my close friend Cherry and we really enjoy it. If you wanna learn more about this story just let me know!

So yeah sorry for my spanish i used translator hope it's not mierda yk

Must adress that later in the story there's one OC that becomes another daughter to Slime and Mariana (Yes we also have flippa too), but basically all the characters are from MC RP thingy there's qsmp mainly but somehow we have Schlatt as the villain pirate lmao anyways, it's pretty funny

[mochamamii]

siesta. | s. myeong-oh

▹ a/n : hello loves, long time no upload. I have missed you dearly *virtual smoochhhh* I never write for dramas but I enjoyed the glory so much I had to write something for it, you don’t really need to have watched the show to understand this. sidenote, if you already know you don’t like son myeong-oh’s character and are about to send me a rude message or comment just remember that YOU alone are responsible for the content you consume! in other words keep it pushing or you will be blocked.

▹ triggers : dubious consent, detailed smut, unprotected sex, creampie, mirror sex, overstimulation, slight size kink if you squint, myeong-oh’s character alone is a trigger tbh..

▹ pairing : son myeong-oh x fem!reader

▹ synopsis : there’s a living, breathing reason that you hate going to siesta, it’s six foot and attached to a man bun.

••

You released a shaky breath as you craned your neck back to peer up at the bright neon sign that hung above the expensive department store’s grand entrance. Your feet remained bolted to the pavement beneath you, unwilling to inch forward and enter the store. Not even the unforgiving cold and heavy rain that was pouring down on you was enough to will yourself to push through the shiny glass store doors.

You grimaced as you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the glass.

You looked a right mess. It was nearing the end of your busy work day, only one final task lied ahead of you before you could go home to a hot shower and a meal. Your bangs were sticking to your forehead unflatteringly, due to a mixture of sweat and rain. Your clothes were sticking to your body in an uncomfortable manner as well. You had fallen into a daze as you grimaced at your unkempt appearance.

It was the vibration of your phone stuffed deep in your coat’s pocket that made you jump. You fished the device out of your pocket to see a new message from Yeon-Jin.

‘pick up more stockings on your way back, these are too dark.’

You had begun working for newscaster Park Yeon-Jin a few months ago. Her last assistant inexplicably quit on her, or at least that was the story you were given by Yeon-Jin’s driver your second day working for her. After a few months of working for someone like Yeon-Jin you knew there was more than likely a more sinister reason that the last girl quit. You had come to realize that Yeon-Jin was a viperous individual. It was a marvel that you had managed to last this long working for her, none of her other assistants seemed to last as long as you had. 

You didn’t think that had anything to do with your resolve or patience and more to do with the fact that Park Yeon-Jin was in the middle of a very public divorce from her former husband Ha Do-yeong. Coupled with the fact that there were rumours circulating that she was a bully in high school. She was under more scrutiny than ever, everyone watching her actions closely. With that being said, Yeon-Jin was more than likely more tolerable these days than in the past. She was more dismissive of you than anything else, although you had heard the horror stories of how she treated her hired help in the past. You weren’t really in a position to complain about having to work for her anyways, the ever present threat of homelessness was enough to motivate you to keep this job. Your work consisted mainly of running errands for her. Which is the reason you were standing outside in the rain in front of this store.

Yeon-Jin’s last task for you today was to pick up her dress and bring it to her so she could be prepared for tomorrow. 

A simple enough task. The only issue being the store in question.

Siesta.

You hated coming here. In your short time working for Yeon-Jin you had been called to come here numerous times for a plethora of reasons, mostly picking up her clothes or whatever else she needed. You hated this place for two reasons. The owner, Jeon Jae-Jun had immediately proven himself to be just as elitist and callous as Yeon-Jin within the first few seconds of meeting him. Your chest still tightens as you recall the first time you met him here at Siesta and he had mocked your simple ballet flats. From that day forward Yeon-Jin had required you to be wearing heels to work every day.

The second reason being Jae-Jun’s driver.

Son Myeong-Oh.

You had grown to dislike all of Yeon-Jin’s friends in time. But Son Myeong-Oh left a particularly bitter taste in your mouth. He made you uncomfortable in a way you couldn’t describe. 

You especially did not like that he always seemed to be there whenever you needed to go to Siesta. Like, he was waiting around lingering for the chance that you might show up. 

Feeling that you had wasted enough time loitering around outside you shuffled inside after typing a quick reply back to Yeon-Jin confirming that you were picking up her dress now.

The door dinged cheerfully as you crossed the threshold into the store. It was long past operating hours, but you knew that Myeong-Oh was without a doubt here and waiting for you. His bike had been parked out front, taunting you silently as you worked up the courage to go inside.

Your Yeon-Jin issued heels clicked satisfyingly against the marble floor as you moved through the store, stopping at the door of the dressing room.

You hadn’t even been standing there for more than a second before the door opened to reveal the man who made the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the sight of him. He had his long hair down instead of in his usual bun. He was donning a mink coat you were almost certain belonged to Jae-Jun. His usual sick smirk already plastered on his face. 

“You look like shit, how long were you standing out in the rain for?” He asked, his lips curling up to reveal his pearly whites.

You scoffed, it was true, you did look awful, you had spent the day running around behind Yeon-Jin, helping her prepare for a big day in court tomorrow, you didn’t even have time for a lunch break. 

“I see you’ve been playing in Jae-Jun’s closet again.” You answered flatly, your eyes falling to the expensive furs. 

Myeong-Oh cut you a sharp glare to which you ignored. That was the best way to deal with Myeong-Oh. Ignore him a much as possible and engage with him for as little as possible when forced. 

“I’m here for Yeon-Jin’s dress.” You announced.

And just that quickly his smile had returned, he pushed opened the door to the dressing room further allowing you a peek in.

Your eyes immediately landed on Yeon-Jin’s dress for tomorrow, carefully wrapped in plastic and draped along the couch. 

Myeong-Oh leaned against the frame of the doorway, “Come on then.”

You waited a second to see if he had any intention of moving and to your dismay he did not. Cautiously, you stepped forward and slid past him.  Quickly ducking your head underneath his arm to get by. You scooped the dress up in your arms, doing a quick inspection to check for anything wrong with it.

Satisfied with the state of the dress, just as quickly as you had entered the dressing room you turned on your heels to exit.

You knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Not with somebody like Myeong-Oh involved and as expected, he stopped you in your tracks before you could reach the door. His tall frame blocking the doorway like a brick wall. 

“You’re always in such a rush to leave. Stay and have a drink with me at least.” He suggested, his gaze moving from your eyes down to your body. 

He was always so honest with his thoughts without even trying. You hated that. He never made any effort to conceal the fact that he was undressing you with his eyes. He was completely shameless.

“Yeon-Jin is waiting for me.” You stated.

And even if she wasn’t, you could think about a million other things you’d rather be doing with your Friday night then sitting at Siesta drinking with Son Myeong-Oh of all people.

“I just talked to Jae-jun, the two of them are together now, trust me you have plenty of time.” Myeong-Oh countered with a dry chuckle.

You realized now that Yeon-Jin’s text from earlier about picking up more stockings was probably just to get you to take more time. Which you were actually grateful for. You still cringe whenever you think about the first time you’d accidentally walked in on the two lovers here at Siesta.

Before you could come up with another excuse, he was already at the makeshift bar in the corner, pulling a bottle off the shelf along with two glasses. 

“Just one drink.” He said, holding the bottle of expensive brandy out for you to inspect. 

You glanced down at your watch on your wrist and then to the window. It was still pouring out there and you weren’t thrilled about having to go back out there again anytime soon.

Not wanting to satisfy him with an answer you quietly shuffled over to the couch, taking a seat.

You watched closely as Myeong-Oh filled the glasses with ice before joining you on the couch. Even after deliberately isolating yourself to the far end of the long couch Myeong-Oh’s cologne invaded your senses. That was very characteristic of him even though it wasn’t purposeful.

Myeong-Oh always insisted upon being the loudest person in the room, and always the flashiest, like him adorning himself in flamboyant stolen mink coats from Jae-Jun’s closet. Even him driving a motorcycle instead of a regular car felt very on brand for him. He’s so painfully transparent and predictable.

You must’ve started zoning out again because you felt a slight pinch on the exposed meat of your arm.

“What was that for?” You questioned, looking over to meet his gaze.

“You started ignoring me. I don’t like that.” He answered frankly, he slid your glass over to you.

You watched as he cracked the bottle open, peeling it’s waxy wrapper off the neck of the bottle. He filled your glass first. The brandy was a beautiful shade of amber. You weren’t much of a drinker and even when you did it wasn’t ever anything fancy. You were a simple girl in that regard.

“Thanks.” You said as you brought the glass to your lips.

You could feel his burning gaze on you as he waited for you to take the first sip. The brandy had a surprisingly sweet, almost caramel-esque aroma but it burned the minute it hit your throat.

You forced the liquor down, unable to hold back a cough and the disgusted look that took up residence on your face.

Myeong-Oh let out a laugh, even clapping for added flair.

“It’s terrible, right?” He asked as he leaned back, sinking further into the couch cushions. He took a sip from his own glass.

“You knew what it tasted like already? Why are you still drinking it?” You asked, puzzled.

He shrugged his shoulders, “It tastes awful but it’s expensive, a single bottle of this would cost me two months of my salary.”

You hummed, “Well, it wouldn’t be worth it anyway.”

Your mouth still felt like it was on fire from the first sip but you were compelled to try it again.

The second sip went down smoother. Still just as terrible though.

You felt his lingering gaze on you once more, he was always doing that. Always staring at you for far too long, he did it so often that Yeon-Jin of all people was the first one to bring it your attention, only to laugh at your expense of being preyed upon of course, not because she was genuinely concerned or anything.

“Why do you always do that?” You questioned, turning slightly to look him in the eye.

“What?”

“The staring. Don’t you know that it’s rude?” You asked,

He laughed again, “Sure it is, but I don’t care. You have a lot worth admiring.” He answered truthfully,

He leaned in closer, “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Of course the answer was yes but making that admission felt like letting him win. You felt frozen in place under his intense gaze. You felt like he could read all of your thoughts even before you spoke them.

He took advantage of your silence and boldly placed his hand on your thigh. You suddenly felt more exposed than you truly were in your skirt that left you vulnerable to his wandering hand.

His hand was warm and big, large enough to completely encapsulate your thigh in his hand if he wanted to. Your breath hitched as he gave you a gentle squeeze on the thigh. You tore your eyes away from his to peer down at the hand that was now moving down your leg. 

You gasped as he suddenly in one swift motion brought your leg to drape across his lap. 

The familiar feeling of goosebumps rested across your skin, this time felt a little different. There was an unfamiliar gentleness in the way he was handling you. Perhaps it wasn’t goosebumps you were experiencing, maybe the word you were looking for was anticipation.

“You should take these off. Get comfortable.” Myeong-Oh suggested, already sliding the heels off your tired feet before you could answer.

Using your ankle he pulled you down the length of the couch until you were pressed as closely into him as you thought possible. He used his free hand to place a hand on your neck in a subtle show of dominance. 

The room suddenly felt three times smaller, the air between you growing in temperature. 

He leaned in further, his lips immediately finding your neck. He peppered sweet pecks along the expanse of the sensitive skin there. You had to grip your hand on his shirt to stop yourself from tilting your head further to provide him with more access.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket again, drawing you out of your enchantment, “Yeon-Jin’s probably waiting for me.” You said, sliding your leg off of his lap.

He caught your leg in his hand again before you could pull it away entirely. His grasp on you tightening as he whispered in your ear, “Let her wait.”

“I really should go, she’ll be mad if I keep her waiting-

Myeong-Oh ignored you and pulled Yeon-Jin’s dress away that you were still clutching protectively and carelessly tossed it to the floor, “She won’t melt if she’s left waiting for a little longer.” He answered.

“I know, but she’s still my boss-

He cut you off by shifting his weight to lean into you further, pushing you down onto the soft couch cushions. Myeong-Oh hovered over you, his gaze traveling down to your cleavage.

“And so what? she’s a bitch, so let her wait.” His gaze only lifting momentarily to meet yours.

You parted your lips to make a rebuttal but he silenced you by crashing his lips down onto yours. The kiss was eager and hungry, your teeth almost clashing a few times. Naturally, your hands found themselves tangled in his long locks.

He didn’t waste too much more time on your lips before his wandering hands started moving again. 

“You look pretty like this, small and tiny under me.” He said as his hand slipped under your shirt.

He moved down your body, raising your shirt to plant kisses along your midriff. He leaned back slightly to shrug the mink coat off of his shoulders, exposing his bare chest and arms to you. The muscles under his skin moved as he did, the tattoos that painted his golden skin dancing with subtlety. You released your hold on his hair to drag your fingertips across the lion that resided on his chest.

He grasped your hand, pressing your hand flat against his chest. His heartbeat thumping against the palm of your trembling hand.

You took over this time, making the move to peel your still damp clothes from your body, starting with your coat. You felt powerful as he looked down at you with desire, his breathing pattern changing as you lifted your shirt over your head. You took a large inhale, reminding yourself to remain brave as your hand fumbled with the clasp of your bra.

He released a deep guttural groan at the sight of your breasts falling free from your bra. His hands raising to cup them in his hands, kneading the flesh in his strong hold. You sat up some to rest on your elbows to watch as he toyed with your chest. Between your legs heated up with arousal the moment he rolled your sensitive nipple in his thumb. 

He picked up the pace again, his movements switching from sweet and gentle to feverish and greedy as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, intentionally nipping at the skin there with his teeth. You gasped, instinctively one of your hands raised to push his mouth away from your chest.

He grabbed a hold of your wrist, never ceasing his assault on your sensitive nipples. Releasing a chuckle that vibrated against your skin. His tongue expertly flicked at your nipples, obsessed with the squeals you were making.

He pulled away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting from your breasts to his mouth.

“If you look away, I’ll stop.” He warned.

He began moving further down your body, hiking your skirt up enough to reveal your cotton panties. He leaned in, inhaling your scent before planting a kiss on your clit that was still trapped under the suffocating fabric of your panties. You whined, needing more. He didn’t give in so easily, teasing you a bit more, giving you gentle kitten licks. 

You knew what he was stalling for, you didn’t want to give in either but your core ached, desperate to feel his tongue flat against your dripping folds.

“Myeong-Oh...” You moaned, peering down at him with pleading eyes.

He lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his hands. He toyed with the waistband of your panties and your eyes lit up for a moment, hopeful that he might finally rip them away from you to resume ravishing you.

“Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that?” He asked, pulling at the waistband of your panties, forcing the fabric to wedgie itself in between your folds, rubbing right against your throbbing clit. The friction felt heavenly, you tried to rotate your hips in hope of finding some relief but it still wasn’t enough.

“Please...” You whined, jutting your bottom lip out in a pitiful pout.

He tugged harder on your waistband, biting your inner thigh as he wedgied your panties further against your clit, “Please...what?”

“Please...I want you to...lick my pussy.” You breathed, your face heating up with embarrassment.

Satisfied with your answer he didn’t waste anymore time in yanking your panties to the side and diving in, his tongue instantly finding its way to your clit. You moaned, your hands finding their way to his hair again. He held your legs back with a tight grip to keep you from closing them. He had no shame in hungrily lapping at your folds, humming against your clit. Your back arched off. the couch, leaning into him. Your hips started to rock, finding a rhythm of their own as you felt your stomach tighten with anticipation for your impending orgasm.

He could sense how close you were and took the opportunity to circle his lips around your swollen clit entirely, sucking on your pearl.

Your head fell back and your grip on his hair tightened causing him to groan, the vibrations on your clit sending you over the edge. Your orgasm momentarily paralyzed you, breathing included. Your abdomen tightened to brace yourself. You could feel your thighs shaking as you rode out your orgasm. You tried to untangle yourself from him so you could fully come down from your high but his grip tightened, his tongue never stopping. He ruthlessly lapped at your clit, overstimulating you. 

You whined and pushed at his shoulders trying to wriggle out of his grasp but he wouldn’t let you. Additionally, your muscles were still so relaxed from your orgasm that you couldn’t put up much of a fight. You huffed and collapsed back down flat against the couch as you resigned yourself to accepting whatever he would give you. Tears sprang from the corner of your eyes as he worked a second orgasm out of you, dipping his long fingers into your warmth to collect your stickiness. 

Your mouth fell open as you watched him bring the fingers to his mouth, tasting your arousal. 

He sat up, leaning back on his haunches to admire his work. Your eyes were hazy and out of focus, still reeling from the two orgasms he just gave you.  He raised your legs, pushing them back as far as they would go, leaving your ankles resting at the side of your head.

His dick twitched at the sight of your creamy juices spilling out of you. He used the same two fingers to work the lost juices back into your quivering hole. He maintained  a slow pace, pumping his thick fingers in and out of you.

“You opened up so nicely for me..” He praised, watching your cheeks flush a bright red.

You were embarrassed at how easily he was able to slide in and of your slick walls, fully stretching to accommodate a third finger from him. 

He pulled his fingers out, suckling on them quickly before moving to undo the belt to his pants. He freed himself from his briefs, his dick bobbing freely, a bead of precum present on his tip. He manhandled you into the position he wanted before lining himself up with your entrance, he captured your lips with his, kissing you. He slid inside easily, thanking himself for taking the time to prepare you.

You welcomed him in, your walls expanding to adjust to his thick length. You moaned, feeling him stretch you out further with each thrust. They started slow, sheathing himself fully inside of you before pulling back out, his dick glistening with your arousal. He grabbed a hold of your neck again, forcing you to turn your head to the side to watch in the large mirror adjacent to the couch, his other hand held your leg back, letting him sink deeper into you.

“Look at you, look at how well you’re taking me. You’re still so tight, fuck..” He moaned in your ear, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he pressed his hips into yours.

It was so dirty, you were so embarrassed and wanted to tear your eyes away from the lewd sight but he refused. 

“Myeong-Oh...” You moaned, your eyes getting blurry as tears filled them.

“Yes, let me hear you...I want to hear your pretty moans as I fuck you.” He said, a subtle hint of a whine at the end.

Picking up the pace, he kissed your neck, licking up the tears that were falling down your cheeks, his grip on your leg tightening. He was trying so hard to hold back, wanting to be gentle with you. But the second you reached around to claw at his back, your legs locking around his waist to push him in deeper sent him over the edge. 

“Fuck..” He cursed, his jaw clenching as he snapped his hips into yours. 

He was giving you long and deep strokes, the head of his dick kissing your cervix as he pounded into your swollen cunt. Your eyes started to roll back, and your breath quickened.

You were suddenly pulled from your state of bliss when you felt a smack on your outer thigh, “You should say sorry, don’t you think? For keeping this tight, wet pussy all to yourself this whole time.”

Your voice was shaky, and you struggled to make coherent sentences as he started to slam into you harder, “I-I...I’m sorry..” You answered pitifully in between moans.

He rewarded you with a kiss to the neck, rubbing the flesh where he had striked you.

“Good girl. Listen to you, listen to how wet your pussy is.” He said, angling his hips to hit deeper inside if that was even possible.

Wet squelching sounds reverberated around the spacious dressing room, coupled with both of your heavy breathing.

You rocked your hips into his, meeting his hard thrusts, your titties bouncing up and down as you did so. You didn’t think you could cum again so soon but it wasn’t long until you felt your stomach tightening again. You could tell he was close too because his thrusts were getting sloppy but quicker.

Your nails dug deep into his skin making him hiss. You needed the leverage to brace yourself for your inevitable orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come...!” You warned, still watching in the mirror as he fucked you.

He reached down to rub at your clit, the rough pads of his fingertips felt like electricity on your cute little pearl. It was enough to send you right over the edge and soon you were coming again, your thighs shaking in his hold.

He maintained the same pace, chasing after his own high. It didn’t take much longer, after a few more thrusts, he sunk all the way deep inside you before releasing, his cum filling you up nicely.

He pumped into a you a couple more times as he breathed in deeply to catch his breath. He collapsed on top of you, trapping you under his weight. The two of you lied there together catching your breaths. It was actually kind of nice, you felt safe and warm under him, you didn’t want to move. 

But then your phone buzzed again and without even looking you knew it had to be Yeon-Jin.

Even now, as you lied under him naked and exposed, you still felt shy as you tapped him on the shoulder, “I’m sure that’s her...I should go now.” You sighed.

Myeong-Oh raised himself off of you, looking down at you once more, “Don’t look so sad, you’ll be seeing me again soon.” He winked, that smirk returning to his face.

You rolled your eyes and peeled yourself away from, gathering your clothes.

And just like that he’s back..

You left soon after cleaning yourself up, doing your best to make yourself look presentable. Myeong-Oh was kind enough to leave hickies and bite marks along your neck that were already on their way to turning a deep purple.

You did your best to cover with your hair and silently prayed Yeon-Jin wouldn’t notice.

[mint-yooxgi]

{25} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 18,000

Warnings: Heavy Angst. PTSD and Trauma. Heavy Guilt. Talks of what happened between OC and Miyeon when the boys were gone; descriptions and recollection of past torture. Mental illness: description of suicide and a failed suicide attempt, depression, anxiety. Hurt/comfort. Talks of insecurities and uncertainty. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Please heed the warnings carefully, this is quite an intensive chapter. I almost started crying while writing out a certain part of it, so be warned. Anyways, I wasn’t expecting for it to be this long, nor was I expecting to end it where I did, but I promise the next chapter will be full of an insane amount of fluff. I still have a lot planned for this series, so I really hope you all like this chapter! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty - Part Twenty-One - Part Twenty-Two - Twenty-Three - Twenty-Four - Mini Masterlist

Darkness surrounds you. A calming, quiet darkness that settles within your mind as you rest. One that you allow yourself to get lost in, drowning in the stillness for however long that you can.

Time passes, you’re sure of it. Though, you’re not quite sure how long you spend within the confines of your own mind. What you think you do know, however, is that you are safe. No sense of danger forebodes within your subconsciousness for the moment. A fact of which makes breathing all the easier.

Or perhaps you’re already dead.

No. That’s not right.

Through the darkness, memories begin to appear. Vaguely, you see the remains of a completely decimated dance studio, an almost unrecognizable corpse twisted off to the side. In the back of your mind, you recall being surrounded by eight sobbing figures, holding onto you as tightly as you had been clinging onto them.

It wasn’t all a dream, was it? You hope beyond everything that it wasn’t. That when you wake up, you’ll be back in your room, surrounded once more by all eight of Your Kings who are sure to be watching over you right this very instant.

You don’t think you’d survive if that isn’t the case.

Slowly, you feel yourself walking somewhere within the confines of you mind. A faint glow begins to get brighter and brighter, drawing you towards it with every passing second. Once you reach it, and without any hesitation, you step through the blinding threshold, allowing the warmth to embrace you once more.

The soft light of the afternoon sun filters through your room, casting a faint glow over the entire area. Eight males are scattered around your sleeping figure, some sitting on chairs, while a few lay on the couches just off to the side. Two males lay beside you, gently cradling your resting form in their arms as two more shapes lay on top of your body in whatever ways that they can.

To the side, your door rests open just a crack.

A soft groan draws all of their attention to your form beginning to move on the bed. Immediately, Yunho is sitting up from his position on your one couch, while Mingi pops up to peer over the back of the other, eyes locked on your figure. San shifts to the edge of his seat, of which he had pulled right beside your bed in order to rest as close as he could to you. It was no longer his turn to lay beside you for the moment, so this was the next best option. Seonghwa sits right next to him, mirroring the younger male’s position as he leans forward, hands desperately clinging onto the arms of his chair.

All of them watch as your eyes begin to flit around beneath your lids before blinking open.

“Dearest,” Yeosang chokes on a sob as he clings to you, immediately pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips against the side of your temple.

In the blink of an eye, both Mingi and Yunho are there, sitting on the end of your bed and staring at you with tears in their eyes. A sight which you notice both San and Seonghwa mirror in the next moment.

A hand seems to be held in yours, resting carefully over your heart as you feel it squeeze your own. That’s when you notice Hongjoong resting on your opposite side, tears streaming down his face as he holds onto you for dear life.

Sparing a glance downwards, you notice the small lumps you feel resting against you seem to be two unfamiliar animals. A snake curls around your lower stomach while a large, brown rabbit rests over your thighs. You’d bet anything that they’re Jongho and Wooyoung, having shifted into animals to be closer to you for the moment.

You blink, heart pounding in your chest as your memories finally all catch up with you. Shakily, you raise your free hand to cup the side of Yeosang’s face, tears springing to your eyes as your whole body begins to shake.

“Please,” your voice comes out low, brittle and raw as your eyes squeeze shut, “someone tell me this is real.”

Their hearts all break for you once more, seeing you trembling within both Yeosang’s and Hongjoong’s embrace.

“It’s real, Starlight,” Mingi whispers, resting his hand softly over your foot still beneath your covers. “We’re right here.”

“You’re safe now, My Divine,” it’s Seonghwa’s gentle voice that draws your attention to him next. “She cannot hurt you anymore.”

You nod softly, blinking once more as a single tear begins to trail down the side of your one cheek. Slowly, carefully, you begin to sit up with the help of both Yeosang and Hongjoong. 

You don’t feel like they’re lying to you, but you’re not sure if you can trust your own mind right now. Your thoughts are all over the place, and all you can focus on is how it felt for Miyeon to smash through your void, shattering your mind until you almost lost yourself.

Thoughts which echo freely through all of their heads as you don’t bother to put up your void. Not that you’d have the mental strength to for the moment, anyways.

Crossing your legs beneath the blankets, you find yourself half curling into your own body. The rabbit - Jongho - is quick to shift right into your lap, settling against you and rubbing his face softly into the palm of your one hand. It’s as if he’s saying that he’s right here, and that nothing will take you away from him again.

Meanwhile, the snake - Wooyoung - slowly winds himself around your stomach, slithering up your back so that his head is resting right beside your own. Gently, he nuzzles his snout against your jaw, as if assuring you that you’re okay, and that this is real.

Glancing up, you meet Yunho’s gaze.

Throughout it all, there was one memory you desperately fought to protect above all others. A memory that was to be your failsafe incase something like this were to happen. Even if you cannot trust in your surroundings, you can trust in him. In all of them.

“That day,” you begin, keeping your voice low so as not to strain it for the moment. “How many symbols did you draw on my body?”

You ignore the glass of water offered to you by Yeosang for the moment as you continue to stare into Yunho’s eyes, watching as he blinks back at you. His breath hitches slightly in his throat.

“Two,” he breathes, searching your features intently. “One on your front, and one on your back. Both directly over your heart.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. You have to be sure.

“What was the symbol you drew on my back?” You push, noticing how the room remains absolutely still for the moment as the silence settles around you.

Yunho goes to answer, but your hand raising in the air stops him.

There’s only one way you know to be absolutely sure.

“Please,” extending your hand out to him, you keep your palm facing upwards, “Draw it.”

If you truly are still trapped within Miyeon’s mental prison, and the memories of them saving you have been all fabricated, there’s no way in hell she’ll know about the symbol he drew over your back. She only knew of the one on your front, because you would have died before you let her know of the first one he ever painted over your skin.

Carefully, Yunho shifts closer to you. He can feel his brother’s gazes locked on him as he reaches forward to gently grasp your hand within his own. His thumb caresses the side of your palm before he’s raising his other hand, using his index finger to trace a design over your skin. The whole time, his eyes never leave your own.

The moment the final line of the symbol of his name in the ancient tongue is drawn over your palm, you’re breathing a tremendous sigh of relief. Your shoulders sag, whole body relaxing as you nearly collapse into Yeosang’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I had to be sure.”

“Whatever helps to ease your mind, My Love, we are more than happy to provide for you,” Hongjoong assures you, reaching over and tenderly cupping the side of your cheek.

However, you do not fail to miss the way he hesitates slightly. Almost as if he’s nervous to touch you. Though, the moment you lean into his hold, his own shoulders seemingly relax.

A small giggle escapes your lips, feeling the snake begin flicking his tongue against your skin, just below your jawline. You turn your head, noticing a small beauty mark below the snake’s left eye, confirming just who you thought he could be.

“Wooyoung,” you meet his gaze, feeling his tongue flick out against your skin once more. “That tickles.”

I’m just glad to see you’re okay, Angel, his voice resounds throughout your head, and you can hear the worry still clinging to the edges.

A brief pause where you attempt a weak smile as you finally grab the glass of water from Yeosang’s hands. You take a sip, almost instantly downing half the glass.

“Are you-“ San clears his throat. “Are you okay, Baby?”

You meet his gaze, and the broken look he can see shining behind your eyes has his heart faltering in his chest.

“No,” you barely manage to get the word out, the glass in your hand beginning to shake as your whole body trembles. You squeeze your eyes shut, leaning further into Yeosang for support. “I-“ you swallow, “I-“

You can barely get the words out as your emotions begin to choke you.

“Take your time, Dearest,” Yeosang comfortingly rubs a hand along your back, caressing your spine like he so often does whenever he holds you in his arms.

“We’re right here,” Yunho assures you, nothing but concern shining in his eyes for you.

“You are not alone,” Mingi adds, keeping his tone soft as he looks at you.

You feel Jongho nuzzling the crook of your knee, nosing at your one hand resting just beside his face. You’re safe now, Darling. We won’t let anything else hurt you.

You nod along softly to his words, tightening your grip the slightest bit on that glass of water in your hand. Bringing it up to your lips, you down the rest of the liquid.

“Can we get you anything, Baby?” San’s voice is soft, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort you in his arms, but he knows his brother’s have got it covered for the moment.

At your soft nod, each male shifts the slightest bit closer to you.

“A few things,” you begin, clearing your throat lightly of your emotions in the next second. “Can I get more water-“

The words are barely out of your mouth when Mingi has another full glass in his one hand. Reaching over, he hands it to you, taking your empty one without a second thought.

“Thank you,” you send him a small smile.

“Of course, Starlight,” he sends a soft one back. “Anything for you.”

Taking a few sips from the fresh glass in your hand, you let out a low breath.

“Mars?” You turn to one of the males sitting on your left.

“Yes, My Divine?” Immediately, he leans forward, body eager to spring into action for whatever you need him to do.

“Can you open the doors to the balcony?” The moment the words leave your lips, he’s moved. “I could use some fresh air.”

Seonghwa has to physically restrain himself from tearing your balcony doors off of their hinges as he nearly flings them open. Luckily, he’s able to take a deep breath, slowly opening each side one by one. A gentle breeze curtesy of both Yunho and Hongjoong flits through your room in the next second.

The gentle smile you send him as he sits back in his seat has his heart pounding inside his chest, happy he could do something that eased your discomfort. Even if it’s only slightly.

Taking another sip from your glass of water, your let out a long exhale through your nose. Your eyes fall shut, allowing the way you feel your lungs to fill with air to ground you for the moment.

Keeping your eyes shut, you begin to speak once more.

“Inside-“ you swallow the dryness of your throat, “inside my closet, top drawer on the left, there’s a small stone buried beneath a few of my shirts. I-“ you take a deep breath, “can someone grab it for me? I need it.”

Yunho is already halfway across the room before you finish speaking. Stepping into your closet, he’s quick to pull open the aforementioned drawer and grab that stone.

It’s not a very large stone by any means. In fact, it’s about the size and shape of those small rocks you can find at any of those children’s stores where they allow you to fill a bag full of gems to buy. It’s light blue in colour, smooth on one side while the opposite is slightly coarse.

The moment the rock is placed into your open palm, you let out another sigh of relief. Instantly, you’re shifting it slightly in your hand, thumb beginning to trace over the smooth side of the stone.

You can feel their curious gazes on you, even as you close your eyes for the moment to let the feeling of the stone in your fingers ground you. You’ve sat up fully by now, too, no longer leaning into Yeosang’s side. The one hand holding the rock rests on your one knee while the glass of water you still hold rests on the other.

You take another sip of water.

Movement from your lap catches your attention, and you crack an eye open to see Jongho shifting to face your one hand now toying with that small stone between your fingers. At the way you can see his nose sniffing at it, you can tell he’s more than curious as to what it could be.

“It’s my therapy pebble,” you explain, noticing how you have all of their attention on you for the moment. “My therapist gave it to me our very first meeting for me to use when my anxiety acts up. It grounds me. Though, I haven’t used it in quite a while. Not since-“ you cut yourself off, exhaling a long breath, “not since the worst night of my life.”

Each male does not fail to notice the way you avoid their gazes for the time being. The way they can all feel their chests squeezing as their hearts suffocate for you has their breaths hitching in their throats.

“What can we do?” Hongjoong makes sure to keep his voice low, hand carefully caressing the skin of your upper back as he swallows thickly. “What can we do to make it better?”

“Just sit with me? Please?” You lean back onto your pillows which Yeosang has conveniently fluffed up behind you. Of course, you’re careful not to squish Wooyoung’s body, of which is still wrapped around your waist in snake form. “That’s all I ask. For now.”

“Of course, My Love,” Hongjoong smiles softly at you, both him and Yeosang leaning the slightest bit into your either side.

You smile back faintly, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you relax yourself into this moment. Still, your thumb traces over the contours of the stone in your hand.

“How long-“ you swallow, “how long was I out?”

A brief pause.

“Three days.” The airy rasp of San’s voice reaches your ears.

Your breath catches in your throat. “I see.”

Then, a thought crosses your mind that immediately has your eyes flinging open. Your form shoots up from your resting position as panic washes over your features.

“Kuroo, he-“ your breathing begins to come in jagged pants, fresh tears springing to your eyes, “is he-“

No. He can’t be dead. He couldn’t have died. All he ever wanted was to protect you, and you barely even remembered that he had been injured until just now. How could you ever forget?

“Shh, it’s okay, Dearest,” Yeosang immediately wraps you in his arms, one hand stroking tenderly over the top of your head.

“Kuroo is fine, Starlight, don’t worry,” Mingi assures you, a weak pull of his lips upwards as his heart pangs inside of his chest at seeing you so distraught.

“But he-“ you choke on your breath, hands beginning to shake.

The last time you saw him, he was barely breathing. His whole body had been crushed by whatever invisible force Miyeon had control of. You can still hear his whimpering mewls echoing in your ears. A sound which causes you to squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to clear it from your mind.

Vaguely, you feel Jongho hop out of your lap, only to return almost immediately afterwards. His head brushes against your stomach, and you swear you feel the faintest swish of a tail over your legs as well.

The soft mewl you hear from below has your eyes flinging open to see little golden orbs staring up at you in worry.

A single tear traces a line down your cheek as you choke on a sob, “Kuroo?”

A warmth is suddenly at your back, and you feel arms wrapping themselves around your waist. 

“He’s a lot stronger than he looks, Darling.” Jongho’s low voice rumbles out right beside your ear.

Slowly, Kuroo begins to attempt to crawl up your body, his little face sniffing at the tear that clings to your jaw before dripping lightly onto his nose. He pulls back the slightest, only to return to sniffing gently at your face in the next moment.

Slowly, you hand the glass of water to Yeosang who takes it from your trembling grasp without hesitation.

As soon as the glass is out of your hand, you’re wrapping your arms around that little black cat and clinging onto his form for dear life. A sob tears from your throat, more tears escaping your eyes, and you feel Kuroo beginning to lick at your cheek. The purrs he lets out are the loudest you’ve ever experienced from him, and you cannot help the way you hold him the slightest bit tighter in your grasp in response.

“I thought she killed you,” you sob, pressing your face into his fur and leaving a few kisses against his side. “You wanted to protect me, and I thought she killed you for it.”

Just as tightly as you cling onto Kuroo, your left hand still holds onto that small rock for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as your whole body shakes from the intensity of your sobs. “I couldn’t protect you.”

“Baby-“ San shifts forward, nothing but concern reflected in his eyes, only for him to get ignored for the moment.

Guilt so fierce begins to consume you, washing over all of them as they are still privy to every single thought you are having for the moment. A fact which has all of their hearts breaking for you that very instant once more.

“I’m so sorry,” it’s then that they realize that you’re no longer just speaking to the cat. “I couldn’t stop her. I tried, but I couldn’t protect anything. She-“ you hiccup, “she-“ your breath hitches, “I’m so sorry.”

Your throat burns, tears continuously falling freely down your face as your entire body trembles uncontrollably. You don’t even register that you’ve released Kuroo until you feel yourself being pulled into someone’s chest. Two more bodies surround you on either side, heads pressing against yours as they attempt to calm you down.

More frantic apologies escape you in pain filled cries, chest feeling as if it’s caving in with each breath you take. If three days truly have passed since everything went down, then obviously they’ve had time to see the ruined remains of the house. The house they so carefully and meticulous crafted for the nine of you to live in together. The house you failed to protect from Miyeon’s destruction.

You sob harder.

“I can’t-“ you begin to wheeze, chest heaving with every breath, “I can’t breathe.”

Your emotions are overwhelming you, and the intensity of your wails are taking up the majority of your energy. With each expansion of your lungs, you find less and less air filling them, choking you from the inside out.

Frantically, you push the males surrounding you off of your body as you attempt to heave air into your lungs. You don’t know how, but you manage to pull yourself onto your feet, jumping over all of them and landing on the floor. You rush passed both San and Seonghwa and onto the balcony, hands clinging desperately to the railing as you lean against it for support. Lowering your head, you attempt to catch your breath.

Faintly, you register worried footsteps following behind you, seven figures standing around you in a semi-circle as Wooyoung shifts slightly against your body. Still, he remains wrapped around you in snake form, his snout pressing against your cheek lightly.

We’re right here, Angel. His worried voice echoes throughout your head. Just breathe.

A hand on your back has your whole body jumping. Turning your tear filled gaze, you see Yunho standing there with tears lining his own vision. Only, you misinterpret the real reason that he’s crying.

You fall to your knees, hands desperately clinging to his form as you rest your head on his thighs.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob harder, clinging onto Yunho for dear life. “I tried-“ your breath stutters, “I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. She tore apart everything without a second thought. I couldn’t stop her.”

Out of the corner of your blurry vision, you see Seonghwa step beside you.

Your whole body shudders, chest heaving with every failed breath you attempt to take.

“She tore your passions apart, and I couldn’t stop her,” you shift the slightest bit, grasping one of both of Seonghwa’s and Yunho’s hands in each of your own. “I’m so sorry,” you just hope that they can forgive you for your failed misdoings, “I was too weak.”

Collectively, they all inhale sharply.

“No, Petal,” Yunho kneels in front of you, cupping your face gently in his hands as he notices that you’re still having difficulty breathing. The worst part is, you avoid his gaze in shame. “Hey, look at me.”

Cautiously, your eyes flick over to meet his own as Seonghwa kneels beside his brother.

“Breathe, Petal,” Yunho keeps your gaze locked on him, helping you through some exercises to calm your breathing for the moment, and catch your breath.

“We’re right here,” Seonghwa repeats, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, rubbing it up and down your arm shortly afterwards as you begin to calm down, even if only slightly.

“But-“

“Shh,” Yunho coos, thumbs stroking tenderly over your cheeks. “Our stuff is replaceable. You are not.”

“So, not another word of apology from you,” Seonghwa’s hand returns to your shoulder, drawing your attention to him for the moment. “You have nothing to be sorry for, My Divine.”

“It is us who have failed you,” Hongjoong’s voice has your gaze shifting to him now, seeing as he walks over to your side and kneels beside Seonghwa.

You blink, another tear escaping your one eye as his words completely catch you off guard. You fully turn to him now, an image of the destroyed garden flashing through your mind as pain clutches at your heart.

“If we had only made our wards stronger,” he begins, and you notice all of them now avoiding your gaze in shame. Even Wooyoung loosens his hold slightly around your waist as Hongjoong says this. “If only we had been smarter, then none of this would have happened to you.”

You manage to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, shaking your head all the while.

“Please tell me you seriously don’t believe that,” your voice is strained from the heaviness of your emotions.

One look into Hongjoong’s eyes says it all.

“No, My Kings,” you’ve finally managed to calm down enough to begin thinking clearly again for the moment. “Because of your wards, she couldn’t leave, and I’d hate to think of what would have happened to me if that were the case. I don’t think-“ your breath catches slightly in your throat, another tear escaping your eye, “I don’t think I would have survived if that were the case.”

Tears begin to fall from his own eyes, and you are quick to cup his face in your hands.

“You saved me.” You spare a glance at all of them. “You all did. I am still alive because of you.”

“You had to endure her for two hours, Dearest,” never have you seen Yeosang with such a broken look on his face before. “Two hours.”

“I won’t lie and say that they weren’t the worst two hours of my life,” you reply lowly, noticing how he, San, and Mingi all flinch in response to your words. “But, I am still alive. My heart still beats, and I am still breathing. All thanks to the eight of you, I am alive.”

You feel Wooyoung slither off of you for the moment, only for arms to wrap themselves over your shoulders as a body collapses into your back in the next. You can feel his muffled sobs against your spine as his chest shakes with every breath. His head buries itself into the side of your neck as he clings onto you for dear life, holding you tightly as if you might disappear at any moment.

“Does the fact that I-“ you take a deep breath, “that I almost died terrify me?” You blink, your tears briefly stopping for the moment as your whole body continues to tremble. “Yes. It did. It still does. For the first time in my life, I was terrified to die. Would you like to know why?”

“Please, My Divine,” Seonghwa breathes, silent tears creating trails down his cheeks as he continues to kneel before you.

“Because I finally felt like I had a reason to live for myself.” You reply. “Eight reasons to live.”

The way their breaths all hitch simultaneously has a weak smile tugging onto your features.

“Instead of choosing to die, like I have so often been known to do, I chose to live.” You tell them, watching as silent tears begin to streak down all of their faces. “I never thought much of my own life before. Until recently.” You share a brief look with Seonghwa, the faintest of smiles pulling at your lips. “So, for the first time, faced with the option of death, I wanted to live.”

“That’s what made this situation so terrifying to me,” you explain, voice becoming no more than a whisper. “For the first time, it felt like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Yet, I knew what I wanted. I knew what I had to do. I had to survive. I would survive. Not just for you, but for me.”

“Petal,” the soft call of your name from Yunho’s lips has you turning to look at him in an instant.

“I care about all of you. Deeply.” You take the time to meet each one of their gazes, raising a hand to squeeze one of Wooyoung’s own, which are still wrapped around your shoulders. “I wouldn’t have fought so hard to live if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have tried to protect our home so viciously if I didn’t.” Your eyes flash slightly as you continue to look at all of them. “I wouldn’t let you touch me if I didn’t. I wouldn’t let you experience me in certain ways if I didn’t. I wouldn’t do a lot of things that I do now, and I sure as hell know I would not have survived that day if I didn’t.” 

“So, please, do not blame yourselves for what happened. For what she did.” They’re all crying at this point, and the four that had been standing have all fallen to their knees. “Because I never did. Not even for one second.”

You see them all nod faintly in your vision, feeling Wooyoung nod against your shoulder as he buries his face deeper into the side of your neck.

Softly, Hongjoong brings his one hand up to cover your own, of which is still cupping his face so tenderly in your grasp. Right now, he leans into that touch more than you’ll ever know.

“My Love, please know that we feel the same,” Hongjoong stares deeply into your eyes. “Know we would never blame you for what she did to our home.”

Despite the way your heart still squeezes in your chest, you find yourself nodding along to his words. You expression falls the slightest, and each male swears to do whatever he can to comfort you in any and every way they can.

“Okay,” this time, it’s your turn to nod softly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’d like to take a bath, and perhaps meditate for a little while. Then, I’m going to drink a gallon of water, eat something, and then we can talk more about what happened. I have some things I want to share with you all, anyways.”

Slowly, Wooyoung detaches himself from your back, helping you stand to your feet in the next second. You notice San perk up the slightest bit out of the corner of your eyes.

“What can I make you, Baby?” He asks, a little eagerly.

You begin to make your way back inside your room, stopping only briefly beside San as you shoot him a faint smile.

“Surprise me,” you reply, placing a tender kiss onto his cheek. “Nothing too heavy, though, okay?”

“Of course,” the tender look he sends your way warms your heart.

Walking back over to your bed, you briefly search over the blankets until you find what you’re looking for. Once you spot that little stone, you’re quick to snatch it into your one hand, standing back to your full height instantly.

“Would you like some company?” Yeosang asks gently as you begin to walk towards your bathroom.

Just as you reach the doorway, you turn to glance at them from over your shoulder. A soft smile graces your features at the care they continue to show you.

“Not this time,” the fond look you send their way eases some of the tension in their shoulders. However, a loud mewl draws your attention to a little black blur that darts inside of the bathroom in the next second. Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Well, I guess Kuroo can join me.”

A few chuckles sound around the room, watching as you shut the door softly behind you as you enter the bathroom.

The whole time you relax in the tub, Kuroo rests on the edge beside you. Dutifully, he watches over you, making sure that you’re well protected and safe. The way you place a soft kiss onto the top of his head has him looking at you with those big, golden eyes of his, nothing but affection dripping from his gaze.

True to your word, you spend about half an hour meditating in the bath. That pebble never leaves your hand, thumb running over the contours as you clear your mind. Of course, you leave your void down for the moment. Just in case. The way you can feel them all occasionally brushing up against your mind as if to say that ‘you’re okay; we’re right here’ lifts a weight from your shoulders you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying. Though, you know for a fact that none of them are overstepping any boundaries for the moment, leaving you to your thoughts as much as they can.

Once you’ve finished washing up, you’re quick to dry yourself off. Wrapping your fluffy robe around yourself, you begin to do your usual routine after you finish bathing. Only, the moment you lift your head to look at your reflection in the mirror, you notice a faint glowing figure out of the corner of your eyes.

Your breath hitches, a scream nearly tearing from your throat. Immediately, you turn around to look in the exact spot you saw the figure. 

Except, nothing is there.

You blink. Funny, you could have swore you saw someone standing right beside the edge of the tub.

Perhaps you’re just seeing things. You have been through a lot lately, so you wouldn’t be surprised. It’s probably just a lingering effect from everything you’ve gone through in the past few days alone.

It’s that thought that helps you to manage to get your breathing under control for the time being. Again, that stone is held in your one hand as you finally exit the bathroom. Kuroo happily trots beside you as you make your way over to your closet, shutting the door behind you as you pick out some clothes to wear.

Grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, you’re quick to change. Before you exit, you grab a hoodie, throwing it over your body before turning to grab your robe once more. Swinging the door open, you’re quick to return to the bathroom to hang your robe back in its place before returning to your room.

This time, you begin to roll the stone between the tips of your fingers as you exit your bathroom. You notice all eight of them scattered throughout your room waiting for your return. A jug of water and a bowl of food rests on the little table in your sitting area. So, you begin to make your way over to the couches, seeing Mingi, San, Yunho, and Jongho already sitting there.

The other four are quick to join you, and as you pass by your bed, you notice that it’s been made. Someone’s probably changed the sheets for you, too.

Sitting on the floor, you stretch your legs out beneath the table. Of course, you make sure to grab a pillow to rest upon before you do, leaning your back against the couch in the next moment. Only, instead of feeling the cushions like you expected, you feel somebody’s legs behind your back. In the next moment, you feel them shift beside your body on either side, letting you lean further into the couch behind you.

Turning your head, you see Mingi smiling softly down at you. His hands reach out for you in the next second, gently placing them onto your shoulders. Slowly, his thumbs begin to rub tenderly against the back of your neck, massaging you gently.

A tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding onto slips from your body. A soft hum escapes you in contentment, eyes fluttering shut as Mingi continues to rub your neck. With each passing second, you find yourself relaxing more and more.

Blinking your eyes open, you notice that none of them sit on the couches around you. No, they all opt to sit on the floor with you, save for Mingi who rests behind you in order to continue massaging your neck and shoulders gently.

Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa sit directly across from you, leaning against the opposite couch. Yunho rests beside Hongjoong on his right, San to the right of Yunho at the one end of the table. Beside Seonghwa on his left sits Jongho. Wooyoung rests to your left, while Yeosang is to your right.

“I don’t expect you all to sit on the floor with me, you know,” you chuckle, reaching out your hand to grab the full glass of water in front of you.

“We know, Dearest,” Yeosang smiles at you, placing a tender hand onto your one thigh. “We want to.”

“Besides,” Jongho adds, “we don’t want you to think we’re looking down at you in any way. Especially if you’re the only one on the floor.”

Their answers warm your heart.

“You know I would never think that,” you reply, drinking the rest of the water in your glass until there’s none left.

Wordlessly, Seonghwa begins to pour more water into your glass as soon as you place it back onto the table.

“We know,” this time, it’s Hongjoong who answers you with a soft smile pulling at his own features. “It is simply one power dynamic that we do not like. Not when it’s you.”

Again, your heart warms at his words, only further serving to solidify the fact that you know that they’ve always seen you as their equal. A fact which you continue to remind yourself of every time those nasty words Miyeon had spat at you make a reappearance in your mind.

You tilt your head back, quirking a teasing brow at Mingi above you. “I suppose there are certain exceptions to that?”

“It’s easier to rub your shoulders this way, Starlight,” he grins cheekily, thumbs pressing the slightest bit firmer into your skin as if to emphasize his point. “Though, you know I would be on the floor with you in an instant if you asked.”

“I know, Moonlight,” you hum, placing a hand on top of one of his own for a moment. “I’m just teasing you.”

You can feel him squeeze your left shoulder gently beneath his fingers, that all too familiar smile of his pulling at his features. Though, before he can continue massaging you, you’re telling him to wait a moment.

“I need to crack my neck,” you warn them all.

In the next second, you’re tilting your head side to side. Quite a few satisfying pops can be heard from either side as you stretch your neck out. A pleased sigh leaves your lips, as you arch upwards, stretching your back out for good measure.

Settling back down into your spot, you place your stone upon the top of the table. Your hands reach for the bowl of food next, pulling it towards you. Once you see the fruit piled high within, a tender smile is pulling at your lips, the fork now grasped in your hand.

You shift your gaze to meet San’s. “Thank you, Baby.”

“Of course, Baby,” San smiles, tugging your hoodie that he still wears closer around his body. He’s just content to know that he could make you happy, especially right now. “Anything for you.”

Slowly, you begin to eat the fruit from the bowl in your hand. You can still feel Mingi softly massaging over your neck and shoulders, a fact which allows your body to relax the more tension is alleviated from your body. You can feel Yeosang gently brushing his thumb over your thigh where his hand still rests, furthering your sense of relaxation as you settle into this moment with all of them.

Honestly, you’re not quite sure where to begin, but the more you think about it, the heavier your mind becomes.

The soft caress of Yunho brushing against your mind with his own has your gaze shifting to his in an instant.

A tender, reassuring smile is sent your way. One which has the corners of your own lips quirking upwards slightly.

“So, I was really out for three days?” You ask, biting into another piece of fruit.

“It was the worst three days of our lives,” Seonghwa breathes, nodding in confirmation all the while.

“We hardly left your side,” Wooyoung adds, and you shift your attention to see him looking down at his hands in his lap. “We couldn’t.”

“Never before have any of us felt fear like we did on that day,” Hongjoong admits lowly, gaze locked on the top of the wooden table separating the two of you.

“What-“ Jongho’s voice catches in his throat as he looks towards you, that same fear shining within his eyes. “What happened?”

A slight silence lingers over all nine of you as you stare down at the now empty bowl of fruit in your hands.

“You don’t-“ Yeosang’s tone is soft as you turn to look at him, his one hand coming up to caress the side of your face tenderly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

You shake your head, exhaling a sigh through your nose as you place your empty bowl back onto the table before you. Again, you grab that small stone into your one hand, beginning to feel it with the tips of your fingers.

“No,” you reply. “If I don’t talk about what happened, it will just consume me. I’m not about to let that happen. She doesn’t get to throw me back there. I won’t let her.”

You notice Wooyoung reach out for your left hand, and you’re quick to switch your pebble to your right so that he can loop your fingers through his own. He shifts closer, squeezing your hand firmly in his and reassuring you that he’s right here. That they’re all right here.

You take a deep breath, and then you begin.

“She appeared practically a minute after you had all left.” 

As soon as the words leave your lips, they’re all thrown into your memories. They see you turn around to face her, you attempting to reach out to them, only for that damn mental block to be slammed over your mind, and Kuroo lunging at her instantly. They watch as you try to save Kuroo, only to be shoved against the wall by your neck in the next second.

Growls threaten to escape their lips as they watch Miyeon sink her nails into your throat, only to pull a dagger on you soon afterwards. Though, each male cannot deny the sense of pride that builds in their chests at the way you stood your ground, taunting her all the while.

“Just as I said before, your wards saved me from whatever sick manhunt she had planned,” you say, feeling the way Yeosang’s fingers tighten ever so slightly over your thigh.

Each of your thoughts during the moment washes over them now, and each man cannot help they way they stiffen. You were right. If Miyeon had managed to kill you right in front of their very eyes that day, they don’t think any of them would have survived.

Yeosang, San, Mingi, and Yunho all flinch when they see her step on your ankle, shattering the bones beneath her foot with a twisted sense of glee on her lips.

“The way she was convinced she was going to be living with you all after everything drove me insane.” Your brow furrows, your body beginning to tremble as that same anger you felt before begins to bubble beneath the surface of your skin. “She thought she could own you, and that’d you’d all just be okay with it.”

“She made you give her a tour of the house?” San can barely control his own anger as your memory continues to play through their minds.

You meet his gaze, the tight smile on your lips saying it all.

Snarls escape their throats as they hear what Miyeon spoke to you while in this very room.

“Every word she said to you was a filthy, fucking lie,” Seonghwa hisses out, his eyes shifting black for the briefest of moments.

Your breath catches slightly, and you find yourself blinking in response, not realizing how badly you needed to hear those words for the moment. You nod, slowly, allowing your memories of that day to continue.

Again, Yeosang’s hand over your thigh tightens its grip slightly as he sees you reach the music room. Of course, he saw the debris of the smashed piano when he went to briefly explore the house after everything. He can still remember the way tears leaked from his eyes as he cleaned the drops of your dried blood scattered along the floor before replacing the piano with a brand new one.

His breath hitches in his throat the moment he sees you prevent Miyeon from touching his violin. Even his brothers cannot help the way they shift their gaze between the two of you for a brief moment, and he knows that they all feel the exact same way as he does at seeing you protect his prized possession. Well, other than you, of course.

Only, the moment he sees Miyeon fling you into the piano in retribution, Yeosang cannot prevent the way tears are quick to gather and fall from his eyes.

So, that’s how the piano got destroyed.

You got hurt because of him. This is all his fault. Miyeon. Your injuries. How you almost died.

The moment you turn your head to see Yeosang’s blank stare, his eyes not even being able to look at you, you gently shake your thigh to grab his attention. As soon as he shifts his gaze to meet your own, you shoot him a small smile. It’s as much as you can muster for the moment, but from the way he blinks, you can tell that you at least have his attention.

“I don’t regret what I did,” you tell him, nothing but sincerity reflected in your tone. “I would do it all again, too. Without hesitation.”

The way you turn to meet Yunho’s, Hongjoong’s, and Seonghwa’s eyes says it all. Yet still, those three have yet to discover what exactly happened between you and Miyeon in regards to them. That does not mean that they believe you any less.

The scene shifts, and more growls are escaping their lips as they hear her disgusting words spat at you while observing the dining room. Then, you’re quickly making your way across the house before stepping into the tailor shop.

The way your entire body tenses as you relive this one part of your memories does not go unnoticed by them. Mingi even stops his movements over your shoulders for the moment in order to begin stroking a tender hand over the top of you head in comfort.

“The dress was beautiful,” you can barely manage to meet Seonghwa’s gaze, but you do.

The moment the first slash is made into the material, you avert your eyes. That same shame washes over you, guilt beginning to consume you as you observe Miyeon destroying Seonghwa’s own space for the second time.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The whole while, Seonghwa sits there across from you, tense and heart aching. What hurts him the most is seeing the way Miyeon gleefully tore apart his things in order to hurt you. That is the worst part of all of this, because Seonghwa just knows you are still blaming yourself for the destruction that she caused.

A gentle hand placing itself onto your ankle beneath the table draws your attention to the male sitting across from you.

“My Divine, the fact that you cared enough to even attempt to stop her means more to me, to us, than you’ll ever know. I need you to know,” his intense gaze keeps yours locked on his own, “I don’t care that she destroyed my workshop. I care that she hurt you, and I care that she’s still hurting you.”

Tears begin to line your eyes, and you find you can only nod along to his words. You fear that if you open your mouth, the only thing that will escape you are sobs. Especially since you know what has still yet to come.

They all watch as she leads you into the library, and after the small exchange of words between the both of you, your entire form begins shaking in rage. Wooyoung can feel it as your hand trembles within his hold. Mingi can feel it against his legs, and Yeosang can feel it beneath his hand that he has resting on your thigh.

“I wanted to tear her apart,” you voice lowly, glaring at the top of the table before you. “Especially after what she told me. After what I learned.”

Before any of them has a chance to ask you what you mean, they watch her walk over to the garden. Again, a sense of pride builds in their chests as they hear you snap back at her with some smart remarks of your own. A pride that quickly dulls into nothing, though, as they hear her threaten to burn you alive.

“Don’t worry, Starlight,” Mingi continues to caress your upper body, hands trailing comfortingly along your shoulders for the moment. “We made sure to burn her corpse to a crisp. There’s nothing left but ashes, now.”

You can only nod your head in response before your memory is cutting out for the moment. You blink, seeing them all staring at you in worry.

“I can’t-“ your breathing deepens, bringing your one arm to rest against the top of the table for support as you lean forward. “I can’t-“

You can barely get the words out, your hand desperately clinging onto that small rock held within your right palm.

“Hey, hey,” it’s Wooyoung who draws your attention to him this time, releasing his hold on your hand in order to cup your face and turn your head to face him. “It’s okay. You’re safe. She cannot hurt you anymore.”

He holds your gaze, eyes staring deeply into your own as his thumbs tenderly caress the sides of your cheeks. Slowly, Wooyoung gets you to sync your breathing with his, managing to calm you down all the while. Against the skin of your back, you register a soft touch caressing your spine, and you just know that it’s Yeosang.

“We’re right here, Starlight,” Mingi’s voice rumbles out from above you, nothing but concern reflected in his eyes. A look he knows is mirrored on all of his brother’s faces for the moment.

Slowly, your left hand comes up to place itself over Wooyoung’s own that rests on the one side of your face. You find yourself leaning into his touch more than you realize as you manage to get your breathing back under control.

“Take your time, Darling,” nothing but worry is on Jongho’s face as his heart aches for you. 

Oh, how he longs to be able to pull you into his arms for the moment, comforting you in any and every way that he knows how. All he wants to do is assure you that nothing will ever harm you again as he whispers sweet words of love and assurance into your ears. A sentiment he knows is shared by all of his brothers right now.

Taking a deep, albeit shaky breath in, you close your eyes.

“I can’t-“ your voice catches in your throat and you find yourself swallowing thickly. “I can’t relive what she did to me in there.”

“We understand,” it’s Hongjoong who answers, almost immediately, his own hand being placed onto the ankle of your other leg beneath the table.

“That doesn’t mean I still cannot tell you,” you breathe, keeping your eyes closed for the moment.

“You don’t have to, Petal,” Yunho assures you. “If the memory is too traumatic for you to remember-“

“No,” you cut him off softly. “I need to-“ you take another shaky breath in, “I need to talk about it to begin processing it. It’s the way I’ve always been.”

“Alright, Darling,” Jongho’s tone is gentle as he shifts slightly in his spot, as if to move closer to you for the moment. “Whenever you’re ready. We’re right here.”

A slow nod of your head is all that they receive in response as you turn your gaze to your hand resting on top of the table.

A brief silence.

“She-“ you hesitate. “She-“ you swallow, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. “She tried to drown me.”

A stillness so deadly settles over all of them as they let your words sink in.

“In the fountain.” You continue. “After killing all of the plants, and threatening to burn me alive,” you pause only briefly, “she tried to drown me.”

“Baby,” San’s worried gaze immediately fills with tears as he looks towards you.

A look which is mirrored on Mingi’s, Yunho’s, Jongho’s, and Yeosang’s faces. However, none of them are as bad as both Hongjoong and Wooyoung are.

Wooyoung’s whole body begins to tremble and he pulls himself up from his spot in order to begin pacing in the open area right beside the couch. His hands are clenched into fists, shaking all the while as he holds them at his sides. His chest rises and falls dramatically with each inhale, eyes flashing black for the briefest of moments.

Hongjoong, on the other hand, goes unnaturally still. His gaze loses focus as he stares directly in front of him for the time being. That is, until his entire body begins to shake.

Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his feet, and he can feel your dull eyes watching him the whole time. A fact which shatters his already fragile heart even more than it already is. Desperately, he tries to keep his tears at bay, but Hongjoong finds that he can no longer prevent the first from slipping down his face as he sees you gazing at him with your own sense of worry in your eyes.

A small sense of regret begins to linger throughout your mind at telling them this piece of information, given the way that they all seem to be reacting now.

“We should have done more to her,” Wooyoung is seething as he continues to pace back and forth. “We should have fucking torn her flesh right from her bones.”

“Wooyoung,” Jongho warns.

“It wasn’t enough,” Wooyoung continues. “It will never be enough.”

“Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s firm voice manages to draw the younger’s furious gaze to him for the moment. “Calm yourself.”

“You can’t seriously be telling me that-“

“We all feel the exact same way,” Yeosang meets his brother’s gaze from over your shoulder, and the darkness he can see swirling within the elder’s own has him halting in his tracks.

“However, right now, your anger is not helping,” Yunho frowns at the man standing almost directly across from him. 

At the way the elder flicks his gaze to your slightly trembling form held in Yeosang’s arms, Wooyoung is immediately back at your side.

“I’m so sorry, Angel,” Wooyoung’s gaze holds nothing but concern for you as he grabs your hand in his once more. “I’m not angry at you. Please, don’t think I’m angry at you.”

You shake your head slightly. “You’re allowed to be angry, Woo. You all are.”

He squeezes your hand in response.

“It’s just-“ you sigh, shifting your position slightly. “I’ve never been good with other people’s anger. Or shouting. Especially not when I’m in this sort of mental state.”

“We appreciate you telling us, Petal,” Yunho smiles softly at you from across the table.

“We promise to keep that in mind going forward,” San assures you gently, watching you nod in response.

Briefly, your eyes dart around the area, a frown pulling at your features. “Where’s Joong?”

Wordlessly, both Yunho and Seonghwa share a look between each other before the eldest is motioning with his head over his shoulder. At the way your brow furrows even deeper, eyes darting passed the couch and still not seeing Hongjoong anywhere, you begin to stand.

Once you’re on your feet, with a little help from Yeosang, Mingi, and Wooyoung, you’re carefully weaving your way through the sitting area to find your missing King. When you step passed the couch, you turn your head slightly from side to side, scanning the room. However, what you don’t expect is to see Hongjoong crouched behind the sofa, tears streaming down his face as he covers his mouth with his one hand in order to muffle his sobs.

“Oh, Hongjoong,” your expressions falls, synonymous with the way you drop to your knees before him. “My King, why are you crying?”

Your question, in that soft tone of yours filled with nothing but concern for him, only makes him sob harder. The way you pull him into your embrace in the next second has him clinging onto you for dear life, entire body shuddering as he buried his face into the side of your neck.

“How can you even stand to look at me right now?” He chokes on his breath, hands clinging desperately to your back despite his words. "I’ve failed you.”

“Why?” To say you’re completely caught off guard by his question would be an understatement. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s all my fault,” Hongjoong’s voice trembles as he inhales a shuddering breath. “The fountain-“ he chokes on a sob, “in the garden,” his grip tightens around you, “it was my idea.”

You stiffen the slightest bit beneath his touch, and it’s enough to have him clinging onto you harder, afraid that you may slip between his very fingers at any moment.

“She tried to kill you using everything of my own,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, and it’s like he confesses to the darkest of sins right then and there. “It was my blade she used to torture you with. It was my fountain she tried to drown you in. It was my wards that she broke through.” His voice is but a mere rasp, overcome by his emotions for the time being. “It’s all my fault.”

You take a moment to collect your own thoughts, tightening your grip around him as you begin to thread your fingers gently through his hair with your free hand.

“You know I don’t believe that for one second, right?” You keep your voice calm, much steadier than you thought you’d be able to for the moment. “I thought I told you that I don’t blame you, any of you, for what she did.”

“I still gave her the means to hurt you.” He replies, somewhat bluntly.

“Was that ever your intent?” You turn his own words back on him.

A brief pause in which he pulls away only the slightest in order to meet your gaze. His eyes shine with a fear unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him before at the mere suggestion.

“No,” he shakes his head slightly. “Never.”

“Exactly.” You brush your hand over his cheek tenderly. “You swore yourself that you would never hurt me, and My Love, you never have. None of you have ever hurt me, nor could you ever hurt me in the ways that she did. I know for a fact that none of you would ever forgive yourselves if you did.”

You fail to see how all males stiffen behind the couch both you and Hongjoong are hidden behind. Though, you most certainly hear the way all of their breaths hitch in their throats, including the King before you.

“You did not hold my head beneath the water. You have never raised a blade to my skin,” the way the thumb of your right hand caresses over where that all too familiar scar rests over his own chest has a shiver running down his spine. You meet his gaze. “I know you never will. At least, not with the intent to hurt me. Not like she did.”

“The reason I lasted so long,” you continue. “The reason I was able to hold out against her for as long as I did, was because I knew. I knew that the second you got back that you would come to save me. You would protect me with everything that you are like you always have. All of you. It’s the reason I am able to talk about what happened right now, so quickly after everything. Sure, I’m fucking traumatized, but at least I’m speaking about it. I can begin to process these emotions because I know you’ll all be with me every step of the way. A thing that I’ve never done before so soon after such an incident.”

“My Love,” he breathes, and you notice how he’s beginning to calm down more and more with each word you speak.

“I know it’s hard not to blame yourself for every little thing that goes wrong,” you place your chin atop his head as you pull him to rest against your chest so that he can hear the sound of your beating heart. “Believe me, I’ve been there. I’m still there. What we all have to realize is that we can never control the actions of others. We can only choose how to react to what they do around us. We can either let their past wrongdoings consume us, letting those memories control our every thought and feeling, or we can grow from it.”

“I am tired of letting her make me feel powerless, even in death,” you exhale a long breath. “It’s even worse knowing the hold she still has over all of you. There is nothing I hate more than seeing the people I care about in pain, or blaming themselves for something that is completely out of their control.”

“So, please, My King, do not waste any more time crying over a matter that does not deserve any of your tears.” Slowly, you wipe the remaining droplets away with your thumb as he pulls back to meet your gaze. “Do not allow her the satisfaction of seeing you break, even after death. It’s exactly what she wants, and I’ll be damned before I let her get her way ever again.”

A small silence settles over the room as Hongjoong stares deeply into your eyes. His hands still desperately hold you close, gaze shining with nothing but the deepest form of love you’ve ever seen from him. Not only that, but gratitude.

Slowly, you tilt your head forward, pressing your lips to his forehead in a lingering kiss.

Hongjoong absolutely melts into your embrace, sniffling softly as he blinks away his remaining tears.

“Here you are comforting me when I’m the one supposed to be comforting you,” he jokes lightheartedly, hearing a soft chuckle fall from your lips.

“Grief is a two way street, My Love,” you reply, and you do not fail to hear the way his breath hitches this time as you say those two little words.

Once more, Hongjoong’s gaze absolutely shines with adoration as he looks at you, revelling in this moment for as long as he can. Your words have reassured him more than you’ll ever know, and he knows, along with all of his brothers, that he has only just fallen even deeper in love with you.

“Now, let’s go back and sit on the couch,” you begin to stand, stretching out your legs all the while. “My butt is getting numb.”

The way you see a few of their brows raised in slight amusement as you turn back towards them all has your eyes flashing in amusement.

“No suggestive ass jokes from any of you right now,” your glare is playful as you walk hand in hand with Hongjoong back over to the one couch. 

Sitting beside Mingi, you notice that he oh, so innocently averts his gaze from you for the time being as you hear Wooyoung’s laughter coming from the ground at your feet. In the next moment, they’ve all pushed themselves up, sitting in spots around the various couches and chairs lining the area. All except for the two males that still sit on the ground near your feet.

You hold onto Hongjoong’s hand, pulling it into your lap as you lean into Mingi’s side. Your legs come up to rest across the elder’s own, smiling faintly as you feel him wrap an arm around them soon after. Even Mingi’s arm wraps itself around you, pulling you that much closer into his side for the moment as you find yourself relaxing beneath their touch.

Still, that pebble of yours rests in your free hand.

Sparing a glance downwards, that’s when you notice that Yeosang still sits on the floor in front of you. He faces towards you, resting his arm against the side of the couch as it supports his chin. The way he tenderly looks up at you has you placing your stone onto your one thigh for a brief second in order to reach out and caress the side of his face. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your thumb stroking gently over his cheek.

“I could tell all she ever wanted was you,” your voice is a bit smaller than before as you continue to recount the events that transpired while they were gone. “No one else mattered more to her than you.”

A pointed line from Miyeon echoing throughout all of their minds has them inhaling sharply.

“Sure, she would take all of you in the end,” you say, keeping your tone low as you dive back into those emotions once more. “If only to prove that she could. Yet, it was always you she desired above all else. Until the very end.”

“I would never have let her have me,” he replies, staring deeply into your eyes. “Not in a billion years.”

You smile sadly, “she wasn’t going to give you a choice.”

Before they can even ask you to elaborate further, they are dropped back into your memories. The pain alone that they can feel echoing through your past thoughts has all of their chests squeezing tightly in response. Already, you were hurt so badly, and you still had to endure everything else that Miyeon had in store for you.

The moment you fling yourself in front of Yunho’s art room, their breaths are hitching in their throats. Though, none are as loud as the artist himself.

“Petal,” his voice trembles as he stares at you from across the table. You sit nearly diagonally apart from him, gaze fixated on that stone now back in your one hand as your thumb traces over every little bump and crevasse.

Nothing could have prepared him for the ferocity in which you had tried to protect his space with. The sheer desperation he can hear in your voice, even after you continuously got the wind knocked out of you by being smashed through the door has a feeling unlike ever before swirling in his chest.

“She tore everything apart without a second thought,” your eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears lining your lashes as you attempt to keep them at bay for now. “I tried to stop her, Universe. I really did.”

“I know, Petal,” instantly, he’s right beside you, kneeling on the ground as Yeosang moves the slightest bit over to give him some space. “I know.”

“She desecrated everything you worked so hard on,” a heart wrenching sob tears from your chest, and you cannot bring yourself to open your eyes to even look at him for the moment.

Yunho can still remember the moment he walked into his art room to see the shattered remains of the door, your blood soaking into the torn pages of his sketchbook littering the floor. The worst of it was the dried smear right in front of the canvass on display in the corner of the room, and he just knew something terrible had happened to you for that painting to remain perfectly intact.

The flower crown can be remade. His sketches can be redrawn. Hell, even that canvass he could paint again. But you? You?

Irreplaceable.

The moment they see Miyeon turn the sketchbook around in your memories, a blank page greets them. Immediately, they all understand that this is you respecting Yunho’s art in your own way by not showing them a picture he potentially hadn’t yet. Yunho knows that though this fact is unquestionably true, it is also you keeping your shared intimacy of that day the two of you claimed one another private.

A fact which warms his heart more than you’ll ever know.

Tears spring to his own eyes the instant he sees you lunge for Miyeon in order to protect that painting in the corner of the room. Even some of his brothers cannot help the tears that line the corners of their vision as they watch you do whatever you can to protect Yunho’s art. The second they see Miyeon slash your body as you jump in front of her blade to prevent it from ever striking the canvass, the tears are flowing freely from San’s, Mingi’s, Seonghwa’s, Yeosang’s, and Wooyoung’s eyes.

“You got hurt protecting the painting.” Yunho nearly chokes on his own voice. “For me.”

Finally, you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him as tears slide down your face shamelessly. Slowly, you nod your head.

“I wouldn’t let her touch it.” You swallow thickly. “I couldn’t.”

“You got hurt because of me,” Yunho practically collapses on top of your stomach, arms desperately wrapping themselves around your torso as he sobs into you.

“No, Universe,” immediately, you drop Hongjoong’s hand in favour of running your fingers gently through Yunho’s hair. “I chose to try and protect your art, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I’m only sorry that I failed you.” You avert your gaze. “I was too weak.”

You feel both Mingi and Hongjoong shuffle the slightest bit closer to you, a hand that you’d bet anything belongs to Yeosang coming to rest on your lower thigh. Even Yunho raises his head to look at you, shaking his head in your direction as his arms tighten around your waist.

“No, Petal,” he meets your gaze. “You were so brave. So, unbelievably, brave. The fact that you so desperately wanted to save my art, that you wanted to protect all of our things, means more to me, to us, than you’ll ever know. We don’t care about the things Miyeon destroyed. They can be replaced. You cannot.”

You hand shifts to cup the side of his cheek, thumb stroking tenderly over his skin. You can feel your emotions catching in your throat, and you swallow thickly, especially when you feel Hongjoong squeeze your legs tenderly in his lap.

Slowly, you begin to nod.

Yunho sends you a small, relieved smile. One which you weakly mirror as you raise a hand to dry your eyes.

“Do not feel guilty for the things you cannot control, Petal,” Yunho softly reminds you. “Know that we do not blame you at all.”

Again, all you can do is nod, smiling faintly as you wipe the lingering tears from your eyes. Your emotions begin to settle, even if only the slightest bit, and you find a weight lifted from your chest that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding on to. The way you can see all of them still staring at you so tenderly, eyes full of nothing but love and worry for you makes your heart warm. You feel comforted, protected, and safe, especially as you continue to rest in their arms.

Carefully, you begin to sit up once more, resting your feet on the ground as the four males surrounding you give you the space to move. Blinking, you turn your head to the other male who still sits on the floor, arms crossed against the cushion of the couch as he stares up at you with nothing but worry shining in his eyes. 

Slowly, you stand, stepping over Mingi as you reach your hand out to Wooyoung. Immediately, he takes it, and you’re helping him to stand, only to pull him down to sit on the couch with you on Mingi’s opposite side. You wrap your arms around his waist, holding him in your lap as you feel him bury his face into the side of your neck.

“I’m sorry that she chose the room of your passion to hurt all of us in,” you whisper, feeling the way he tightens his hold around you almost instantly.

A tear lands on your skin, followed by another, and then another. Even though Wooyoung does his best to muffle the sounds of his sobs, you can tell how badly this fact affects him, given the way his entire form begins to tremble in your arms.

You spare a look around at all of them as you begin to thread your fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, offering him any sort of comfort that you can for the moment.

“I don’t think I need to go into explicit detail as to what she did to me in that room,” you begin, swallowing thickly. “You all saw the state of my body.”

“It is a sight we wish we’d never have had to behold,” Seonghwa breathes, as if recalling that very image now. “Nor do we ever want to see you in again.”

“I never knew fear before until I heard you scream that day,” Jongho admits, hands trembling as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t think any of us did,” Hongjoong blinks, staring down at his hands in his lap with wide eyes.

“If it’s any comfort to you,” you briefly spare a glance around at all of them, “that was the only time she made me scream. She only succeeded once.”

“She did?” San sits slightly forward in his seat to your left.

“I swore to myself as soon as she appeared that I would not let her see me cry, or hear me scream.” You tell them. “It worked, for the most part. Until she got inside my head. I don’t physically remember much after that. Not until Yunho found me again.”

The way you shift your gaze to send the male to your right a small smile has a faint one of his own tugging at his lips.

“But, while she was-“ you take a deep breath, “while she was torturing me, I managed to get quite a bit of information out of her. She was more than happy to boast of her achievements to me.”

“Did she, now?” Seonghwa quirks a brow in your direction.

You nod, immediately launching into an explanation of everything you were able to find out from Miyeon over the course of your little conversation with her. You can see the way each male takes in the information, some of the facts physically repulsing them.

“She was going to brainwash you all into loving her after she had killed me in front of you,” you tell them. “She used Dimitri as a test run, proving that such a monumental loss of love could break someone enough to allow her control over their minds. Even now, that fact alone makes me sick. She wasn’t going to let any of you have a choice. She-“

Your breath catches in your throat as you instantly shut your mouth. A thought so terrifying flits through your mind as your fingers dig into the skin on Wooyoung’s back.

Of course, each male instantly notices your shift in demeanour. Worry tugs onto all of their features as you go unnaturally quiet, entire body still as you stare into the open air beside Seonghwa’s head.

You blink, keeping your voice low. “She is what all of you could have become.”

The briefest of flashes of that one conversation at the mall flits through all of their minds, and they all inhale sharply.

“I don’t mean to ever be insinuating that I’m comparing any of you to her,” you are quick to add. “You all are nothing like her, and please know that I realize that. You let me keep my autonomy. You chose to let me keep my own mind. She was the one willing to take that all away due to her own twisted sense of obsession. That, and she wasn’t afraid of hurting you to get what she wanted. A fact which I know none of you would ever do to me.”

You’re beginning to ramble at this point, anxiety clawing at your chest as you’re worried you’ve offended them for the moment.

“I-“ you blink, attempting to find the words to say, “I-“

“Shh, Starlight,” Mingi’s reassuring voice sounds right by your ear, his hand stroking along the back of your head. “We know you meant no offence.”

The sigh of relief you breathe is bigger than you anticipate, feeling Wooyoung chuckle against you in the next second. At least he’s stopped crying for now.

“Don’t worry, Angel,” he whispers lowly, his breath tickling the shell of your opposite ear. “You were just stating an observation you had made. A brilliant one at that.”

“I can’t believe she killed his family to try and get what she wanted,” San breathes, leaning further back into his seat.

“Shouldn’t that mean her hold over him is gone?” You inquire, eyes briefly flitting over all of them before locking with Yunho’s.

“Not necessarily,” Yunho frowns. “It depends on how strong the manipulation runs, and from the sounds of it, she altered his entire conscience. Mina did incur that whatever Miyeon had planned would still guarantee her victory, even in death.”

“Then, is there any way to free his mind? Or Mina’s?” You briefly recall what they told you about that locked knot of memories inside Mina’s head when they got back from their council the other day.

“If we managed to free Dimitri, he could free Mina instantly,” Yunho explains. “However, freeing Dimitri could require a lot of time and effort. Not to mention wards to keep him from lashing out, that we just don’t have right now.”

“Malik, though, is a completely different story.” Seonghwa sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“He’s dangerous, even without being a man in love,” Hongjoong adds, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, perfectly mirroring the exact position of the youngest who sits across from him.

“I bet neither will take too kindly to us after finding out Miyeon is dead,” Mingi crosses his arms over his chest as he sits back on the couch.

“Considering she managed to convince him to stage a coup twenty years ago despite being one of the most loyal generals we ever had,” San huffs. “Yeah, I think we’ve got some bigger issues than we think.”

“I’m surprised he ever fell for her.” Jongho adds. “Do you think she even cared for him?”

“I don’t think she was capable of loving anyone other than herself,” Wooyoung spits, quite harshly.

Soothingly, you rub a hand down his spine, feeling the way his whole body relaxes beneath your touch.

“She is the most vile, disgusting, loathsome creature I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” you hiss, tightening your hold the slightest bit around Wooyoung’s waist.

Eight low growls of agreement echo around your room.

You go to speak once more, only for your voice to catch in your throat. That same glow that you saw in your bathroom earlier that day now rests right behind the couch Seonghwa and Jongho sit on. Vaguely, you can make out a shape, and it really does look like a person.

“Who-“ your panicked voice reaches all of their ears, “who is that?”

Immediately, all eight of them are turning to look in the direction your frantic gaze is in. Wooyoung even goes so far as to hop off of your lap, crouching in front of you protectively as all eight of them snarl threateningly at whatever presence seems to have caught your eye.

Only, a moment later, their shoulders are relaxing, eight heads turning back to look at you.

“You can see them?” Jongho inquires, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

“See what?” Your gaze never leaves that shining figure as it takes a step towards Seonghwa’s right, standing directly behind his one shoulder.

“Spirit souls, My Love,” Hongjoong answers you.

“Who-“

Turning his head once more, Seonghwa smiles softly, recognizing the figure instantly.

“It’s your grandmother, My Divine,” he turns his gentle gaze back towards you.

Sure enough, focusing a little more intently, the figure of your grandmother becomes clearer and clearer.

“How?” You breathe, sitting forward slightly on the couch as you see her smiling so fondly at you.

“We can all see them, but only Hwa can usually make out who it is,” Mingi explains.

“It’s most likely a side effect from ingesting his blood, My Dear,” Yeosang’s voice is gentle, and you glance briefly at him out of the corner of your eyes before your gaze is being drawn back to your grandmother.

“She’s been around this whole time, though she doesn’t appear as often as you’d think.” Seonghwa adds, noticing how you blink in awe. “Gave me a massive scolding after we came back from visiting the dragon’s nest, though.”

“You can talk with her?” The wonder they can all hear lingering throughout your tone has all of their hearts warming in their chests.

Seonghwa nods. “Only sometimes, though. Mainly when her emotions are extremely heightened. Otherwise, it’s mainly feelings that I pick up on.”

“Oh, goodness,” your eyes keep flitting between both him and your grandmother who stands resting with her hand on his shoulder. “I hope she hasn’t told you anything embarrassing about me.”

At the way he smiles, your eyes widen.

“Mars!” You nearly throw a pillow at him as you watch him chuckle across from you.

Then, as if deciding that she’s done checking on you, and making sure that you’re okay for the moment, your grandmother shoots you a cheeky thumbs up before vanishing into thin air.

“I think you just got my grandmother’s approval,” you blink, slightly stunned for the moment.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he grins, loving the way your eyes widen significantly at this fact.

“I don’t want to know,” you shake your head playfully. Then, as if realizing something, “wait, if Hwa is the only one that can make out the figures, what do they all look like to you?”

The question you pose is for all of them, and you watch them smile at you from around the sitting area. That all too familiar curiosity tugs at your mind once more. A feeling that they haven’t experienced for quite some time, but are each more than happy to revel in it now.

“Usually just a faint glowing orb of some sort,” Mingi answers for you, noting the look of wonder still shining within your eyes.

“Huh,” you nod, clearly impressed. “Neat.”

You blink, subconsciously beginning to run a thumb over that stone still held in your one hand.

“Do you know if I’ll get any other side effects specific to the eight of you when I ingest your blood?” You ask, nothing but curiosity reflected in your gaze.

They all share a look between each other, your choice of words sending pleasant tingles down their spines.

“Honestly, Darling, we have no idea,” Jongho says. “We didn’t even know it was possible to have any personalized side effects from any of our blood. If at all.”

You nod once more. “A bit of a weird question, but what does blood taste like to you?”

“It can taste like a variety of things, depending on the type and rarity,” Wooyoung explains. “Though, the majority of it will just taste like iron to many.”

“Type?” You quirk a brow, noticing how he didn’t really answer your question.

“It mainly just tastes sweet to us, but it can still be addicting,” San adds, sharing a knowing look with Mingi who still rests beside you on the couch.

“Do you know what your own blood tastes like?” You ask, eyes glancing around at all of them.

“Just tastes like blood to us,” Wooyoung shrugs, back to sitting on the floor by your feet. “Why? Did Hwa’s blood taste like something to you?”

Eight pairs of eager eyes watch you closely as you shift slightly on the couch.

Curling yourself into the corner of the cushions, you cross your legs, pulling a pillow into your lap in the next second to hug it to your chest.

“Tasted like dark chocolate.” You shrug. “And a faint bit of iron.”

Slowly, you watch a smug smirk pull at Seonghwa’s features as his brother’s heads all whip around to look at him. He can feel the content rumble building within his chest that wants to escape him at learning of this revelation. He only wishes that the context were better.

“So, I’m also assuming yours,” you motion to Wooyoung with your head, drawing all of their attention back onto you for the moment, “tastes like cranberry juice, and a little bit of iron. Based on that tonic you gave me.”

“It’s possible,” Wooyoung nods. “Though, my blood was quite diluted in that.”

You nod, blinking a few times in wonder. “Did my blood taste like anything?”

Immediately, all eyes are on Wooyoung, his brothers waiting for his response with bated breath.

“To be quite honest, Gorgeous, I wish I could tell you.” Wooyoung notices the way his brother’s shoulders all deflate in disappointment at his words. “I didn’t take enough to fully taste anything other than to check for poison. I also had a few, more important things on my mind.”

“Fair enough,” this time when you nod, your eyes seem to zone out, the reminder of the state that they found you in enough to have your mood plummeting once more.

Beside you, Mingi tenses, feeling Yunho digging his fingers into the skin of his knee. Sparing a glance at the elder male shows Yunho subtly shaking his head in Mingi’s direction, the faintest of warnings lingering in his brother’s gaze.

Subtly, Mingi nods back, body relaxing once he feels Yunho remove his hand from his knee.

Of course Yunho would warn Mingi to keep his mouth shut for the moment. The younger only wanted to joke about tasting your blood for you to know whether it had any particular flavour to it. A curiosity which is mirrored in each male, but now is not the time for such inquiries given the way your whole demeanour has just dropped.

Pulling the pillow closer to your chest, you rest your head against the edge. Desperately, you cling onto the material, thumb back to tracing along the side of your pebble. Your eyes stare, unfocused, at the table before you, seemingly lost inside your own head.

“I thought she was going to split my skull right open,” you admit, keeping your voice low. “I don’t know how I managed to fend her off mentally for so long, but I did. She jumped at every opportunity to smash through, and once I started slipping, she-“ you squeeze your eyes shut. “She used my own darkest fears against me. That’s how she was able to break through.”

“Baby,” San sits forward once more in his seat, reaching out for you worriedly. “You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable. We don’t want to push you.”

“You’ve already shared so much with us today,” Seonghwa does whatever he can to get you to meet his gaze for the moment, but you keep your eyes shut, trembling breaths escaping your figure with each passing second. “Please, don’t push yourself.”

“I-“ you stop yourself, taking a long and slow breath inwards to steady your nerves. Finally, you open your eyes, and the faint determination they can all see shining behind your broken gaze says it all. “I think it’s time for you all to know some things about me that I have kept hidden for so long. I want to share them with you. I need you all to understand just how she broke me, and why I always say that I cannot go back there again.”

A collective stillness settles around the room as they all inhale sharply. Each male’s gaze is filled with nothing but worry for you, hearts pounding inside their chests as they observe you carefully.

“Before I begin, I need to know that you’re all okay with hearing this,” at the way you see Jongho shift forward, lips parting as if to answer you, you’re raising your one hand slightly to halt his response. “There already has been a lot of heavy topics discussed today, and what I’m about to tell you is no exception. I don’t want to just dump this on you all given everything that has happened recently. That’s not fair to you in the slightest if you don’t have the mental capacity to be able to process the information I am about to share with you. I do not want to overwhelm you.”

“Your consideration means more to us than you’ll ever know, Dearest,” Yeosang smiles softly. A pain filled smile that reflects the way his heart aches for you inside of his chest for the moment. Even still, after everything that has occurred, you’re looking out for them before considering yourself and your own needs.

“You will find, My Love, that we always have the ability to listen to whatever it is you would like to tell us,” Hongjoong’s soft voice draws your attention to him at the opposite end of the couch. “No matter the topic.”

“Whenever,” Jongho adds lightly.

“Wherever,” Mingi breathes.

“We are right here for you,” Seonghwa finally manages to get you to meet his gaze, smiling tenderly in your direction all the while. “Always.”

The way fresh tears begin to line your eyes has each male shifting closer to you instantly. Both Mingi and Wooyoung place a comforting hand onto each one of your knees, letting you know that they’re all here for you in whatever ways they can be for the moment. Never do you have to suffer alone. Never do they want you to suffer alone anymore.

With all that they are, and with everything they can, they will comfort you, protect you, and love you unquestionably until the end of time.

“You really all don’t know how much that means to me,” you smile weakly. “I mean this from the bottom of my heart: the eight of you are everything I could have ever asked for.”

Gentle smiles greet you from around the room, tears springing to each male’s eyes as your words wash over them.

A moment of silence settles over all of you as they let your confession sink in.

Then, Yunho clears his throat, voice still rough as he speaks, “whenever you’re ready, Petal.”

Softly, you nod in response, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves once more.

“I’m sure you can all remember how I broke down that one day,” you begin, noticing how they all seem to stiffen around you in response. “That voice had been with me for over a year before I almost let it win.”

The way you squeeze the pillow tighter is synonymous with they way that they all inhale sharply once more. You can feel the way Seonghwa looks at you from across the table. A concerned look shared by all of his brothers, but you can tell that his is slightly different. Different, because he understands.

“I never thought that I was capable of being loved.”

Your confession knocks the wind right out of them.

“I hated myself so deeply. I thought that there was always something wrong with me.” You go on to say, keeping your voice low for the moment as you avoid all of their gazes. “While my friends would be going on dates, or texting me about their relationships, I was always alone. Nobody wanted me. How could they? I wasn’t beautiful like everyone else. I could barely hold someone’s attention long enough for them to be interested in me, and when I finally found someone who bothered to spend time with me, it never worked out.”

“Perhaps it was because I’ve always been a hopeless romantic at heart, or maybe it was all the stupid ideals surrounding love that I had. Yet, despite everything, I had such high standards. For myself. For this supposed mystery lover I always dreamed about having. For everything.” You explain, eyes now fixed on the way your thumb rubs over the smooth side of that rock in your hand.

“Yet, whenever someone did genuinely express interest in me, I couldn’t help but always doubt.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “I was never the most popular girl, and everyone thought I was just this ugly weirdo who tried to get any sort of attention that I could. So, of course, no one thought anything of it to pretend to like me. I laughed it off at the time, sure, but hearing that someone you thought cared about you only asked you out as a dare, or for a joke, or to prove how nobody actually likes you, or will ever like you, is so mind-numbingly heartbreaking that it completely destroys you inside.”

Eight low growls build in their throats, anger bubbling beneath the surface at whoever so much as dared to play with your heart like this. Once they find out who it was, they’re dead. Though, for now, they’ll stay with you. They’ll listen, even if their hearts are suffocating from your every word.

Knowing you have felt like this, that you have continued to feel like this for quite some time, pains them beyond belief.

If only they had met you sooner. If only they had known.

“I never believed that anyone could love me, let alone be in love with me.” You breathe, silent tears beginning to make their ways down your cheeks. “My depression just made everything worse. I had so much self-loathing for myself, I could hardly look in the mirror without being disgusted by everything that I saw.”

“I have always sought approval from those around me. So, if no one could love me, why should I bother to love myself?” You smile faintly, a broken tug of your lips upwards. “Which is when I realized something about myself that must have been unquestionably true. Something that became my biggest fear the more I realized it to be real.”

You take a shaky breath inwards, eyes squeezing shut as you refuse to meet any of their gazes.

“I was unlovable,” shame washes over your entire figure as you curl in on yourself, voice no more than a whisper on your lips. “I always had been, and I believed I always would be.”

Carefully, you feel yourself being pulled onto somebody’s lap and a choked sob escapes you. Still, you are unable to open your eyes to look at them, clutching that stone desperately in your one hand as you cling to the pillow in your arms for dear life. However, what you fail to see is how all eight of them surround you.

Mingi gently cradles you in his arms once more, keeping your head tucked just below his chin. Tears stream freely down his face, a few falling against the crown of your head as you lean into him.

Wooyoung rests beside you to your left, his hand placed comfortingly onto the skin of your back, along with San’s, who rests as close as he can to you on the floor by Wooyoung’s feet. Yunho sits right beside him, his hand placed gently onto your waist for the moment as he silently chokes on a sob. Seonghwa kneels to his left, hand trembling along with his whole body as he keeps his fingers pressed against your hip for the time being.

Against your thigh, you can feel someone resting their forehead. Their hands desperately cling onto you as they sob against your skin.

Never has Yeosang felt his heart break more for you in this moment. He feels as if he has failed you, especially now that he knows that you went through this. The fact that you had ever felt like this, that you had continued to feel like this for a large portion of your life devastates him. He only wishes he could have done something sooner, to both ease your insecurities and tell you, show you, how those thoughts have never been true, nor will they ever be.

Kneeling on the floor right by your shins rests Jongho. His one arm is wrapped around your lower leg, hugging you to him as much as he can as the lower half of your body is held within Hongjoong’s own grip. Your legs drape themselves over his lap once more as silent tears escape his eyes.

“My mental health was at an all time low. I felt worthless, and completely and utterly useless.” You continue quietly, resting your head against Mingi’s chest. “Continuously finding my sister so close to death at her own hands took it’s toll as well. After all, if she could do it, why couldn’t I?”

Eight choked sobs reach your ears, and you can feel the hand placed over your hip tighten its grip even more so than the others.

“I felt as if I had no reason to live anymore. I didn’t want to,” your entire body begins to shake in their hold. “If no one desired me, then obviously I had no value in being alive.”

“Not to mention, that voice just made everything worse,” you go on to say. “I blamed myself for everything. My sister, my depression, the fact that I was unlovable. I was weak, and I let those voices win.”

Suddenly, the eight of them are thrown into a memory. Not just any memory, though. The memory of the worst night of your life.

Tears stream down your face as you look into the reflection of your mirror across from your bed. Your entire body trembles as you clutch a pillow to your chest, hand fumbling with that little stone desperately as you attempt to ground yourself to no avail. Briefly, your eyes keep darting to a folded piece of paper resting beside you on the bed before glancing back up at the vanity with the mirror across from you.

That’s when they notice where your gaze truly lies. For on the vanity rests a bottle of pills, a glass of water practically glaring at them from beside it.

Your emotions begin to flood their every sense. Shame, disgust, despair, and hatred wash over them unfiltered. A pain so great echoes in their hearts, feeling as if they are being suffocated with every breath they take, and they just know that this is exactly how you felt in this moment as they watch you begin to shift off of the bed.

With every step you take towards the vanity, they can hear those vicious voices spewing the harshest insults at you, taunting you with every breath. The most vile lies they have ever heard about you are thrown at yourself without a second thought, though the one they hear resound through their minds as you reach your vanity has sobs tearing from their chests.

It would be easier this way.

They can do nothing but watch as you slowly begin to take the pills before walking back to your bed. Crawling on top of the covers, you lay yourself down on your back, gently clutching that letting in your hands and resting them on top of your stomach.

You close your eyes.

You don’t know how much time had passed, and neither do they, for the next thing they know, your blurry vision is back and you’re throwing up into a bucket. Your sister sits worriedly beside you, tears streaming down her face as she sobs into her phone, a trembling hand rubbing over your back. Your letter rests open on the floor at your feet, stains lining the page in splatters as the ink smudges from your sister’s tears.

“My parents had gone away for a weekend trip. They would have been back the following morning,” your voice manages to pull them back to the reality in front of them, chest heaving with every breath. “I planned it so they would find me as soon as they got home, but my sister decided to come over that night instead.”

“How wonderful a sight that would have been.” You laugh humourlessly, dull eyes finally open as your broken gaze stares forward, refusing to look at any of them for the moment. “My parents go away for a weekend to celebrate their anniversary, and they come back to the gift of a dead daughter.”

“My sister rode with me in the ambulance, and she stayed with me the whole time I was in the hospital. My parents still think I simply got alcohol poisoning from drinking too much that night, because that’s what we told them. Before they got home, she went back and burned my letter so they wouldn’t find it, and that’s when we vowed to each other that we would get through this together.” You breathe out, sniffling lightly. “And we did.”

“It took a while, and a lot of therapy, but I got better.” There’s a slight shift in your tone. A sort of lightness that wasn’t there before. A lightness that reflects hope. “Slowly, I learned to quiet those voices, and manage them until I could learn to reason with myself. I may not have been fully able to love myself, but at least my depression was under control. The world finally started to have some vibrance to it again.”

“Now you see why I never want to go back there again,” you bring your hands up to rub at your tired eyes. “I couldn’t. I promised my sister I never would. I promised myself that I would never let my depression get that bad again. I would never let those fears, those voices control me again.”

For the first time in over twenty minutes, you finally begin to meet their gazes.

“I never believed someone could be in love with me.” You repeat, shoulders relaxing the slightest bit as you settle your hands lightly back onto the pillow in your lap. “Until all of you.”

The way they all softly gasp your name has your heart warming in your chest.

“You all made me believe in love again. You made me believe I could be loved.” Still, you keep your voice low, nothing more than a gentle whisper on your lips. “You have made me believe I am beautiful. You have made me feel desired. You have all made me feel so incredibly special in every way imaginable, but more than all of that, you have made me feel loved.”

Soft, affectionate rumbles build in their chests, each male shifting closer to you as much as he can.

“There was always a reason that I replied to you with ‘I believe you,’” you continue, feeling your heartbeat thumping from within your chest, “and this was it.”

You can feel the love pouring out of all of their gazes as they continue to stare at you with nothing but fondness in their eyes. Yes, there is still undoubtedly that concern mixed within, but each male cannot prevent the way their hearts absolutely soar at your confession in this very moment here in time. The way you seem to absolutely revel not only in their touch, but their love is simply icing on the cake.

“Which is exactly why when she broke through to my mind, and started implementing those false memories within me, I didn’t believe them at first.” You say, swallowing thickly as your whole body tenses within their hold once more. “So, when she threw me back into feeling exactly as I did during the darkest part of my life, only to-“ your voice catches as you squeeze your eyes shut, “to continue adding more fuel to the fire, I broke.”

“Is that-“ San is the first to speak after all of them being silent for so long. “Is that when she made you scream?”

You shift your head to look at him, nodding slightly once you meet his gaze. “I think so.”

You blink, turning your head back around to stare passed all of them again.

“I think she put her own memories of you into my mind, but instead of her being on the receiving end, it was me.” You breathe, staring blankly ahead. “After all, it’s the people that we care about the most that can shatter us the quickest.”

The way they all collectively inhale sharply at your words has you taking a deep breath. Again, you feel Seonghwa tighten his grip slightly over your hip.

“They were.” Yunho clears his throat. “They were all hers. We would never look at you like that. We couldn’t. I would rather gouge my own eyes out than make you believe I would ever look at you with anything other than love in my gaze.”

“We all would,” Jongho confirms, nothing but sincerity reflected in both his tone and eyes.

You smile faintly. “I believe you.”

Eight gentle caresses of your mind serve as their response, helping to ease a bit more of the tension that consumes your figure for the time being.

“I do not want to allow her to continue to have a hold over me, even after death,” you swallow. “However, it is a lot easier said than done.”

“What can we do?” Mingi’s voice rumbles out above you, chin shifting from resting on the top of your head in order to place his lips upon the crown. “What can we do to make it better, Starlight?”

“You’ve already done more than I could ever ask for,” your honest reply warms their hearts more than you’ll ever know. “I don’t think I would have been able to talk about things so soon were it not for all of you. Were it not for what you all have done, and continue to do for me. What you all mean to me.”

Soft rumbles of affection greet your ears, and your heart flutters in your chest knowing that they’re all here to comfort you for the moment.

“For now, all I ask is that you stay with me.” You feel yourself fully relax against Mingi’s chest, allowing yourself to feel all of them surrounding you with their touch, their comfort, and their protection.

“Always, My Love,” Hongjoong breathes, thumb gently stroking along the skin of your knee as he continues to hold your legs over his lap.

“We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Yunho smiles softly at you.

“Thank you, My Divine, for sharing this with us,” Seonghwa reaches up to grab your hand gently in his own, bringing the back of it to his lips and placing a lingering kiss upon your skin.

“Thank you for trusting us.” Yeosang turns his head towards you, keeping it resting against the skin of your thigh as he meets your gaze.

“We will always be here for you, in whatever ways you need us,” Jongho adds, squeezing your shin lightly for emphasis.

“If you ever need anything from us, anything at all,” San soothingly rubs his hand in circles over your lower back, feeling you physically relax beneath his touch. “Please, Baby, never be afraid to ask.”

“We would do anything for you,” Wooyoung places his hand upon your shoulder, thumb caressing your skin lightly.

“All we want is to make you happy,” Jongho smiles softly.

“We love you, Starlight,” Mingi leans his head forward to rest his forehead against your own. “Please, never forget that.”

This time when tears spring to your eyes, it’s for a completely different reason. Now, you cannot help the way your chest floods with warmth, an undeniable happiness flooding your veins as your heart positively sings inside your chest.

“My Kings,” you melt into their embrace, a tender pull to your lips upwards as nothing but affection drips within your gaze. “I love you, too.”