#he will pay for his transgressions

[thedman0310]

I want this twink annihilated

[iheartbookbran]

lol imagine you’re Colin Bridgerton and you’ve spent the last three weeks pinning for your best friend who’s being courted by a vegetarian so now you have to jump through hoops and loops (and some finger tricks) to get her to marry you instead.

she accepts your proposal and as you’re still riding that high reality comes crashing down all around you as you realize marrying her means Portia Featherington will be your future mother-in-law…

[luckycharmer]

Do you have feelings for Creek? Yes, actually

That feeling is schadenfreude

[majinbangus]

Silly thought but-

Wearing a fit with no pockets, you have no purse, no nothing to carry your phone, but that's okay because your man said he'll carry it in his pocket, he has more than enough space in those jeans of his. He tells you you don't need to bring your wallet either. Today's all on him.

So he's out treating you to some shopping (gotta spoil his love and all). You're at the register, looking cute while he's digging in his pocket to pay. He can't find his wallet. That's okay, he'll check his other pocket. Still no wallet. Alright, he's starting to get upset with himself. Did he really forget the one thing he needed for today? He promised you he would take care of everything. Take care of you.

He pats himself down once, twice, thrice, but still nothing. He forgot his wallet at home. He's about to curse himself out and apologize to you for bringing you out for nothing, but then you put a placating hand on his bicep, squeezing with a sweet smile he doesn't deserve, telling him it's alright. And just when he's about to rebuff that, you- you-

You reach into the front of your shirt, fingers dipping between your breasts, and pull out your credit card, making quick work and paying for the things he should be paying for, before he can react.

You put your card back in your bra and grab your bagged items, smiling at him, telling him you want to eat at that new restaurant down the street. He doesn't snap out of his haze until you're tugging at him.

Grumbly and grunting, he snatches your bags outta your hand, mumbling something about you not lifting a finger and promising to make it up to you for forgetting his wallet and making you pay for your day out, the day he was supposed to spoil you rotten. But he sucks up his indignation because you're smiling and happy to be spending the day with him, and that's all he really wanted.

He would have also promised a light punishment because how dare you presume you would have to pay for anything when he was there to take care of you, but since he did in fact forget his wallet, he was willing to let your transgression go. Just this once. He would not be forgetting his wallet ever again, and you would not have to worry about paying a dime for anything you ever needed or wanted while he was around.

-

reader ftw with the bra as a pocket hack

[inknopewetrust]

𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬

summary: after facing embarrassment from Aegon’s intrusive visit, Sylvi helps Aemond find attraction with someone closer to his own age. [aemond x fem!reader] [wc: 5.0k]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), hand job, fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, aemond’s abuse by her is not tolerated here 🙂‍↔️, HotD themes.

quick links: masterlist | gif credit: @seaside-storm

The sounds of the Silk Streets in the early hours of morning were not for the faint of heart.

You had grown accustomed to them over the years of your residency—the noises, the people, the actions and wants of those who seek the services of an establishment like the one Sylvi ran.

It was not your proudest achievement; not one you’d shout from the rooftops but one that kept the food on the table.

It wasn’t hard. It was sex. And you learned to enjoy it with what little freedom was left when the coins were tossed and your body was aching.

Between your fingers one of those coins twirled absentmindedly as the curtains of your bedding swished at the retreat of your latest payer. There were seldom benefits from the occupation you took up yet the pay, after years of understanding and learning, had grown exponentially.

And the coin that tossed between your fingertips was enough to put food on the table for a few days; enough to buy a dress or to get passage to another town.

It was a reward for service you did not mind.

Sylvi had taught you what you needed to know. How to move, how to pleasure. She helped you determine what felt good and what would feel unpleasant to both you and a partner.

But she had her transgressions far beyond the positive.

One of them stalked the building in a fume.

The laughter that had propagated such anger left an hour ago but the remnants of the jesters stuck heavy in the air. They opened curtains and made spectacles of the givers and the receivers; they stared too long at you in the nude to make you feel at ease.

In the distance, you heard your name called yet you continued to flip the coin.

Aegon, the King as he was now, was no friend to the servants of pleasure. You consider yourself fortunate that he never sought you—as desirable, as insatiable, as you were.

It saved you from a world of hurt from a man as fickle as he was.

Although his reputation preceded him and the ire that still held itself like a cloud over the house was from his head, his brother, Aemond, was a welcome guest.

Though he too was someone you had not laid with either.

He had never lingered far from the woman of the house.

“Y/N.”

Said woman pulled back the curtain of your bed roughly. Against the pillows and covered in a robe the color of a midnight black, you lazily gazed at her.

“Did you not hear me call?” Sylvi asked impatiently. Her irritation was stinging.

“I was busy, Madame,” you responded loosely.

You arched your back and with it came cracks of relaxation. It felt good after being holed up in your bed for two hours.

“You know how Dornish men are,” you informed her. “That one was quite… spirited at this late hour.”

“What happy news for you,” she panned before nodding her head in the direction of her usual hideaway. “I seek a favor.”

“A favor?” You questioned with a mewl.

“It is for the one we do not speak of.”

Sylvi’s eyes gave you a warning. Aemond Targaryen… the one who fumed.

She had never asked for a favor regarding the Prince before and it intrigued you. It would fall a lie if you spoke of never having imagined what a man like him would be like in your bed.

He was a magnificent creature.

Tall and carved from the marble of a great sculptor, Prince Aemond was no stranger to the gazes of the pleasure folk. The way their eyes shined and pupils grew large, you were surely one of them.

It did not hurt that he was no more than the age you were now and had not yet taken a wife.

It was silly, however, to imagine a whore being the wife of a Prince. He had barely sparred you glances when he visited.

Dreams. That is all that it would remain.

“And you seek me?” You questioned, dropping the coin on your clothed stomach.

“I have a proposition for you,” she clarified. “One that will pay you well for your service.”

“The receiver is willing?”

“Yes.”

Her alcove was far nicer than yours.

Lavish with silken pillows and warm candlelight, it was near romantic if you forgot the circumstances of her actions. It smelt of lavender and oils; the kind she wanted throughout the establishment but could only create the corner she wanted here.

It was the first time you had been invited into the space.

Sylvi walked around you as you stood just inside of the curtains. She held the tassel of her robe between her fingertips, swinging it gently.

“We do not speak on what happens here, understood?” She asked you.

“I understand, Madame.” She nodded her head in approval.

“Good,” Sylvi affirmed.

On a ledge behind the bed, she grabbed a small sack of coins and tossed them to you. It landed with a jingle at the edge of the bed.

With delicate hands you grasped the strings and pulled open the bag to see coins worth the entire building. You dropped it, looking at Sylvi with wide eyes.

“T-This… this is far too much,” you scoffed.

“It is what the Prince offered,” she spoke as if the currency was nothing more than what the common folk paid.

There had to have been 10 gold dragons inside of the pouch.

The total jostled you.

You had long understood that the job you took on was ill-inspired. The money you had made was reasonable and never made you feel ashamed to take it.

But this… the currency enough to buy twenty horses; enough to buy a home or sail to Essos with no intention of returning… it did bring shame.

“And for such a currency what does the Prince expect of me? I will not be humiliated—“

“I have no intention of humiliating you.”

The voice cut through glass.

Behind you, with the curtains of Sylvi’s bedding swaying to a gentle close the man of her proposition appeared. You turned around with your mouth agape from the inability to finish your thoughts and as many mortals had before, your mind ceased its thoughts.

He was ethereal, otherworldly.

And he was fully nude.

You stuttered stupidly to greet him.

“P-Prince Aemond,” you managed. “I apologize. I did not intend to speak out of turn.”

He hummed, observing you as you did him. You straightened your back at the sensation. His eye piercing and cold—in a room basked in warmth he was not the bringer of it. Aemond let his mind roam the faults and perfections of your body and needn’t say what it was aloud.

He trusted Sylvi in a twisted way. If she said you were right for the job, surely she would not steer him wrong.

“So,” Aemond’s eye flicked to Sylvi. You took the opportunity to observe the blue gleam of the sapphire that filled the vacancy of his other.

“This is she?”

She introduced your name to him and his eye met yours.

“And the terms have been accepted?”

“They have, My Prince,” you spoke without hesitation.

“Aemond,” he clarified. “You are to call me Aemond.”

You tried his name on your lips and it was breathless. As his eye stalked your body, he took the initiative to take the step forward. The understanding of your willingness emboldened him to bury his brother’s words.

He was seldom humiliated but the reasons he flocked to Sylvi were different from the ones he sought from a willing companion: to release and forget.

Aemond approached you with soft steps and it was suddenly difficult to remember how to breathe. You held your breath, waiting, as his arm extended to you and his fingers brushed the fabric of your robe along your collarbones. He traced the skin with his fingers, along the edges of your robe as the delicate lacing became rough under his fingertips.

He was testing the waters.

You remained focused on his face as your heart rate began to increase. Every thump faster aligned with the draws of his fingers; long and nimble, softer than the men you were used to on days as long as these.

He was fluid and natural. There was no scared boy inside of him, but the hardened man he wanted the world to see.

Sylvi rounded her bed and you were reminded that she was still there as she looked at you.

“Touch her, Aemond. Touch her as you do in your dreams.”

At her command, his hand stilled. You half-thought her demands had sent him into a spiral of regret. Perhaps he would apologize for his lustful responses, scurrying away and back into the pit of dragon’s he came from.

Instead of listening to her in haste, he asked you a question.

“Where are you from?”

You were taken aback but remained stoic. Your job was to put on a performance no matter how surprising his words felt. No patron had ever asked you about, well, you.

You were nothing more than an orifice for their wanton needs.

“Honeyholt,” you responded quietly.

“Not far from Oldtown,” he commented, tracing the lace but never touching your skin. His hand grazed it until he reached the knot of your robe.

You shook your head, “no.”

“Did you enjoy it there?”

“It was far less exciting than King’s Landing.”

“May I?”

You had never had a patron ask permission before either.

You felt like a girl being dotted on. It was a strange feeling, one that had turned so drastically from a mere thirty minutes before—being treated like a doll to be thrown from one to be pampered… it was not what you were expecting.

“You may, Aemond.”

His finite hands worked the knot swiftly to let the robe fall open. When it did, he let it sit there for a moment as he took in the shape of your breasts underneath the fabric, he could see the mound of your pussy, and the way you stood completely still in wait.

He felt powerful when he normally felt meek.

Sylvi had been right. He did need this.

Aemond could feel the woman’s eyes behind him and whether they were on himself or you he would not know, but he felt them heavy.

He took his hands and pushed the fabric from your shoulders. It pooled around your feet in one push.

You breathed in deeply, nipples pebbling at the coolness now meeting you.

It was obvious, however, that your mere body was not enough to rouse him to hardness. If you spent anymore time watching him as he watched you, the sun would be up and his duties would call him away.

“Touch him,” Sylvi instructed you. “Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” you responded to her but did not look at her. She took a seat on her bed as you moved to stand toe to toe with Aemond.

“May I touch you?” You asked in the same voice of permission he had given you.

“You may,” and he said your name with a weight hearty on his tongue.

With his permission you reached for his right hand and placed it on your breast. His timidness was beginning to show through the hesitancy of his actions. The slow grip on your breast slowly became more comforting the more time he took.

“It’s alright,” you whispered as though Sylvi was not there and you were alone with the Prince. “You can touch me.”

You felt more pressure from his palm. Drawing your own hand to his chest, you began to feel the outlines of his muscles. Aemond was lean and fit, skinny but not sickly.

Each muscle was tense under your touch. He shuttered a breath through his nose and your hand recoiled in the slightest.

“I apologize,” he spoke as lowly as you had before. “I have not been with another in a long time.”

He had not been with another other than Sylvie in a long time, he meant.

“I can be slow, My Prince.”

“Aemond,” he corrected you.

“Aemond,” you said sheepishly in your forgetfulness.

“I do not need you to be slow.”

You nodded in reply and placed your hand back on his chest. You followed it down until you began to broach the zone in which your talents needed to please not only him, but Sylvi also.

If you were a disappointment, there would be no clothes nor food nor horses nor castles in your future.

“Then I will not go slow, Aemond.”

He hummed, intaking a breath as your fingers gently, kindly, fluttered over his cock. You looked up at him with your eyes hooded, eyelashes batting and he thought for an instance that no woman had ever looked at him that way.

Sylvi hadn’t and it awoke something with him.

You began to work him with your hand as he let his hand fall from your breast and brought it up to the back of your neck. He massaged the space briefly before holding onto you with a tighter grip.

In your hand he began to show himself to you. Growing in length, you licked your lips in anticipation and swallowed the bug that formed in your throat.

“Aemond,” you questioned as you stepped closer. You parted your legs to stand between one of his and he stopped you only by moving his other hand to grip your chin.

He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

The feel of your hand on his cock was enthralling. So smooth and soft, gripping him in hardness at the right moments but never suffocating and never hurting.

“Yes?” He was near breathless.

You took his response with no words but a shifting of your hand. You left his shaft and snaked your hand to his balls, cupping them the best you could. His staggered breath brought a small, sly smile to your lips as he gripped your chin tighter and his eye narrowed.

“Would—“ in his grip, you could barely get words out. He changed his positioning to hold both sides of your neck. “Would you like to see what I can do with my mouth?”

“It would be a waste to not,” he grunted when your hand put pressure on his balls.

He released your neck and watched as you sank to your knees obediently. In your position, he was reminded of the good and pious that prayed to the Seven. Your eyes were so innocent but your mind wicked; your hands were pleasurable and your words soothing.

It was a change and it was working for him.

You sat with your knees apart, feet against your backside and heels digging into the flesh. You ran your hands down your body as he watched you delicately before running your hands up his legs and resting on his upper thighs.

Placing a soft kiss on one of his thighs, you worked yourself toward his member as it beckoned you. You grasped the base of his cock with your hand, placing a sweet kiss on his ever-swollen head.

You let saliva gather at the front of your mouth and let it dribble out and onto his cock before taking him with your mouth.

Aemond was heavy on your tongue. His warmth was sending electricity from your mouth to your core; you felt the throb of want begin to pool at your center. He took both of his hands and placed them at the top of your head but did not push. He did not force and he allowed you to escape when you needed to breathe.

But he was in another world.

Never had he been taken in such a way but his mind liked playing tricks. It was not his first and when he thought back on the times he had been pleasured as such it was not as enjoyable.

Yet, he forgot her stares and focused on you. A woman closer to his own age and one that had a system of morality of questions and seeking answers in regards to pleasure.

You took his extended gratitude and kindness and returned it with your own.

With every pull of your mouth, you filled the space with what your mouth couldn’t take with your hand. You squeezed at his base and it made him see stars. In your vision you could see him watching if you looked up.

How his blue gem gleamed at you…

As you turned your head and used your salvia and some of his pre-cum that began to leak to wet his shaft, you moaned at the sensation. It sent you tingling, drawing a hand away from his thigh; you brought it between your legs and began to rub circles on your clit.

The wetness gathered quickly. You shut your eyes as the two parts of you, mouth and cunt, were being used to your own delight. As you opened them again, Sylvi caught the corner of your eye.

She rubbed herself over her clothes and you halted. Hand retreating from your body in an instant; the salvia that had gathered landed on your thigh with a splat and your hand loosened what held onto him. Aemond let one of his hands fall loosely beside him as he looked up and kept focus on the wall in front of him.

He needed to change. He had asked her for this change for his own sake and it was time for it to happen.

“Sylvi,” Aemond muttered absentmindedly.

“Yes?” She prompted as if he were to ask her to join the two of you. Her tone made you nervous but he never let his other hand fall from your head.

She went to remove her own robe but he stopped her with a turn of his head.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

Slyvi paused her hands against her body, dejected at Aemond while her eyes bounced between the two of you.

You, your hand still on his cock and your lips barely kissing it. Him, with his hand on your head and mind completely taken by you.

“Aem—“

“Do I have to repeat myself?” He asked her calmly. His heart beat so fast at his strength. Never did he believe he’d be able to breakaway.

“No,” she rose from the bed and made for the entrance.

Your breath was hot on his dick when she stopped again. For one moment Sylvi waited for Aemond to call her back but she was met with silence; a heavy weight of agony as she stood there and received no reply.

It was her retreating footsteps that brought relief to your bones.

Aemond’s other hand returned to your head.

“I did not wish for her to watch us,” he informed you.

You looked up at him from your spot on the floor. Along your chin were remnants of spit or spent, he wasn’t certain. All the same, he took a thumb and gathered it from you. He brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked the gathering from it.

“I did not either.”

“Good,” he hummed. “Now get on the bed.”

You needn’t be asked twice.

Aemond refrained from touching you as you rose from the floor and sat on the bed. Once you were seated, he leaned down to grab your ankle and pushed back on your shoulder to lay down. The message was received quickly and you laid back and brought your other leg bent beside you.

You were completely at his mercy. Your walls clenched around nothing when he ran his hands over the skin of your legs. You extended your arms above your head; feeling the soft silk pillows and coolness of the sheets below your body. The sensations were overwhelming.

“I’ve never been with a woman like you before,” Aemond’s hands roamed further, pulling you down on the bed to meet his body but not entering you.

“And what kind of woman am I?” You sighed contently.

“A kind woman.”

“How do you know me to be kind?” You asked him.

One of his hands feathered the skin between your leg and lips. They grazed it again and this time, running his fingers through where you wanted him most. A selfless breath left your lips.

“Your eyes are kind,” he bent down to lay a kiss on your knee. “There are not many kind eyes here.”

He stuck one finger in, followed by another. Your hand reached for the pillows quickly, back arching at the sensation. You once thought his fingers to be long and nimble but they were much more. You felt them so clearly and cleanly.

They reached within your walls; touching the plushy skin as it grew in wetness and emitted slick sounds of pleasure.

Once he felt you were ready, he wanted to test his third finger.

“Gods,” you stuttered out as his third finger slipped in and it became so quick. He was running away with himself as the sight of your pleasure overtakes him.

“F-fuck.”

The words continued to fall from your lips as he picked up his pace. His fingers moved in and out, in and out, and then a rapid succession of moving them up and down. Your body trembled at the noises. The wet, squelching sound of a mess too far gone.

He may not have been as experienced as other men, but he had ruined you for all in the future.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your thigh again. He bent down to watch you writhe at his actions. “What do you need from me? Hm?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you panted. “Just you Aemond.”

“Just me?” He murmured. “What of my cock? Do you want to feel me inside of you? Finish inside of you?”

The idea sent you spiraling. You imagined how his cock would feel longer and thicker than his fingers. How it would plead against the spot to make you come undone.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I want to know what it feels like.”

He removed his fingers to grasp his length in his hands. Aemond pumped himself briefly before lining his head up with your entrance, gripping your hip as you stayed splayed before him.

And then he slid in.

Seldom could explain the moment but you had seen stars. You saw the galaxies spoken of by the Maester’s and worlds beyond your own. There was no feeling but him filling you so fully and totally.

He shut his eye. The blue sapphire still glittering in the light; Aemond saw peace grow with a gasp. Everything in his mind went blank with white noise. All he could hear was himself as he sheathed himself inside of your warmth with a simple push. He filled you until he could no longer.

It was sinful to feel so good.

He held himself there for a minute. You wanted to sit up, hold his body close to yours and feel his muscles contract under your touch but stay as pliant as possible.

Against your convictions, Aemond leaned forward and cupped your cheek with his hands. It was entirely intimate for a man you had just met.

But his touch lingered lifetimes. It was as if you knew him forever, and this singular moment was one of plenty.

Stilled inside of you, his thumb caressed your bottom lip.

“May I kiss you?” He asked promptly.

You moved your hips in a roll to urge him to move, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his shoulders. His lips brushed against yours.

He pulled his hips back and slowly slid himself back in.

You nodded your head the best you could against the sheets and he ticked at you. His nose nudged yours, your lips begging to be touched but he neglected them.

“No,” he cooed. “I need you to say it. Say you want me to kiss you.” Again, he slid out, back in and your hips met him there.

“Kiss me, Aemond. Kiss me, please.”

Pushing his cock deeper into you, your mouth fell agape and he used the opportunity to capture his lips with your own, swallowing your moan and losing himself in your intimacy.

He never thought a woman like you could make him feel so selfless.

Aemond knew nothing of you but felt everything. He needn’t understand the pieces of you to feel the rewards of lust and anger spilling out of him.

His mouth is so warm and wet. Aemond’s tongue danced with yours as your whimpers became gasps with the jacking of his hips into you. Your hands are bruising on his shoulders; grip tight and breaking had you been a stronger woman.

Aemond broke his kisses and moved his hand to your neck. His thumb put pressure on the bottom of your chin, pushing your head backwards and sending your spine arching.

If he took you any further, you’d split yourself in too. You mewled in pleasure and he let out a low chuckle, eyes low and observing as he pounded his cock in your pussy faster.

“Oh,” one of your arms shot up above your head and he took his other hand, the one not on your neck, and intertwined your hands together.

“Do the others fuck you like this?” He hummed.

“No,” you called into the air. “Not everyone is as good as you, My Prince.”

As your eyes met his, you felt your heart exploding. No one would ever hold you like this again. No one would know you in the secrets you shared here—so open and viewable yet shroud in the comfort of veils.

You like this. He knows you do. And fuck, he does too.

“You like being held like a worthy lady,” Aemond purred. “Like you’re not a whore.”

“You like being strong when they underestimate you.”

His hand around your throat tightened but didn’t suffocate you. Aemond’s fingers that intertwined with your own stayed together as he changed his speed. Slowing down and drawing his dick out to the tip and stuffing you again, he snickered.

“You are not weak.”

“No,” he narrowed his eye. “I’m not.”

“In here,” you groaned. “In here you can be anyone, Aemond.”

He knew it to be true.

Instead of responding with a smart retort or a scathing comment that would rival one of his brothers, he nodded his head and let it fall in the crook of your neck.

Within you, his solemn romanticism built a fire. It was aching; clenching your walls around him as your breaths became more heated and laced with a finish. His skin on yours glistened with sweat the more strenuous your meetings became.

You were holding onto a thin string when he lifted his head again and planted a kiss on your lips.

So personal, so intimate from what you were used to.

“I-“ you barely got a syllable out before your body shook with your orgasm hitting you like a brick through a glass window. Aemond removed his hand on your neck to grip your back as your body lifted from the sheets.

Your cunt had his cock in a vice. So tight and smooth with your wetness, he felt the stuttering sensation of his own building in a quick anticipation and as the shaking in your legs began to lessen, he pulled out of your pussy without warning and pumped himself before spilling his spent on your stomach.

Your eyes saw stars on the ceiling of the brothel. Aemond kissed between your breath as his fingers swiped through his cum. He drew a line from your stomach, between your breasts, and to your lips. You took his fingers covered in him into your mouth and licked him clean.

Once there was nothing left, his wet fingers palmed your breast with a sigh. You untangled your combined fingers and gingerly outlined the bottom of his scar.

He leaned into your touch absentmindedly before eagerly kissing you again.

Aemond would never confess why he did it.

It was an urge he had never felt; built in the emotions of his mind as he was wrapped in your kind embrace and away from the world that had created the cruelness that lived with him. You were not cruel. You were good and a sanctimonious creature at his alter of wavering faith.

You revived him.

And he barely knew you.

When he pulled away, you brushed a hand over his disheveled hair and smiled.

The feeling within him was foreign but it was hungry. He hungered for the bubbled nature of want that brewed in his bones. Aemond sought the feel of your hands on him and the way you settled in his motions without complaint or verbally assuring him what he was doing was “good for him,” when in reality, he knew it was not.

So in turn, when you smiled, so did he.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you.

[gremlingottoosilly]

mafia konig and reader during pregnancy become extremely sensitive, cry easily and get angry easily. like she would sob and throw a pillow at him just because he was the reason why she became like this 🥺

Oh, Konig is almost ready to quit the mafia business and go to a secluded farm in the middle of the Alps where he could raise goats with you until the end of times. You're just so...sensitive. And soft and vulnerable, and it absolutely destroyed him because he can't just leave you alone like this, lonely and crying, but he also can't bring you everywhere with him since you're in a very vulnerable and compromised state right now. He is trying his best to delegate the work to his right-hand men, but operating the biggest gang in the whole country isn't exactly 9 to 5. He sometimes has to leave you to tend to his business, and it always breaks your heart with just how easy the decision comes to him...or, at least, you think it's easy for him. You have no idea he is destroyed inside every time he has to leave you in that teary and vulnerable state. Konig is trying to pay for his transgressions with nice gifts and lavish outings, but it's not like he actually wants you to go outside without an army of bodyguards... He accepts your anger with dignity. Konig understands that you're angry at him for impregnating you and then working too much, so he lets you beat him and use everything in your power to hurt him. He knows you don't mean it - you're just hormonal, you just need to let go of some steam, and he was reading that pregnant women can become extremely horny, so...he tries to act as cuddly and clingy as possible whenever he is around, just so you could have your husband as a big and soft pillow. Konig tries his best to be the perfect husband for you - even though you're aggressive and horny at the same time, he just takes your every emotion and drinks it up. tries his best to be your perfect hubby, even if it's extremely hard. For example, like the time you asked him to be rough in bed again, and he obviously couldn't since you were pregnant, so you became angry and called him a pussy, then you started crying, and...the rest is history, actually. History of him finally convincing you to settle for a bit of edging and orgasm play as he was slowly fucking you until you were going crazy for some action, and then fells asleep in his arms. Don't even get him started at lactation...you'd be so teary, going to his office to ask him to help relief some pressure in your chest, so he actually spends too much time licking and sucking on your nipples, helping you get the milk out before the baby is born to take care of it...although, maybe, he won't let the baby take it away so easily.

[smalleevee]

accidentally curved the guy i like in my own home last night...can we get an L in the chat please

[tache-noire]

i can't believe i hate jungle boy now

how do you fuck up this bad!!!!!

[himegureisu]

Spill

Summary: Your new neighbor bumps and spills coffee onto you on your way to work.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

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“I’m sorry,”

This attractive older man’s first words ever to you since your move to the complex was an apology.

Your white blouse and his shirt were soaked and stained brown from the homemade iced coffee in your hands moments ago. His pocket square is incapable of much absorption to do anything.

“I���m so sorry,” his deep voice a distraction from the damp clothes, “I can pay for the laundry,”

“If we’re both going to be late today, why not make the most of it?” you suggested, as he was about to object, “I can tell you don’t get much time to yourself from the way your tie is so uptight,”

His lips turned up a bit at the jab and faintly laughed.

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?”

“If you can give me a ride to the nearest specialty coffee shop and tell me what has you distracted, I can forgive your transgressions,”

“That’s quite a tall order, Miss?” he inquired, as you introduced yourself, and did likewise, “Aaron Hotchner, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI. You can call me Aaron,”

“Okay, that enough tells me that you desperately need to go and probably save a life,” you ushered him on his way, “I’ll be fine,”

“No, I insist. I…” he paused, “To my team, my definition of early is too early and their early is on time. I’ll actually be on time for once,”

“Okay then, Aaron,” you returned by your door, “Where’s our rendezvous point?”

“Just meet me out front,”

“Okay, just don’t bump into anyone else anymore,”

He smiled.

Your cheeks briefly burned at the sight of his dimples before he walked away. In ten minutes, both of you were seated in his car, in fresh clothes, on your way to the specialty coffee store you texted ahead.

“Are you sure it’s okay for us to detour?” you asked.

If he's from the FBI then they do important work and you don’t want to hinder that.

“I promise it’s okay,” he assured, turning a corner closer to the store, “It also keeps them on their toes. By now, they’d be betting on why I’m not there yet and their ideas can get crazy,”

“This is my stop,” you observed the bright lights and slow activities, “Let me know when you get back?”

“I never did tell you what distracted me about work,” he turned, in realization, and you smiled, “But I did distract you from it,”

“Can you wait for one last moment?” you asked. He conceded, to savor being late for once, and came back drink at hand, “For you. I know how coffee in government offices tastes,”

“They leave much to be desired.” he acknowledged, and taken with a smile, “Thank you,”

“Thank you for driving me here,” you kissed his cheek, as he stiffened for a second, “Now go save a life, g-man,”

In the bullpen, they’d briefed the team of the situation, and then his thoughts wandered on how he’d ever contact you when you never left your number. He could knock on your door but the case would take days and asking Garcia was a death sentence in itself. However, when the sticker on his coffee cup peeled there was a printed note that he hadn’t seen before.

From the moment I saw your suit, I knew you take black coffee but maybe we can change it up sometimes. Just hit me up when you get back.

Your number attached, but he wasn’t going to wait. From the other side of the city, your phone rings.

[opencommunion]

"On October 19, Sarah Mahamid watched helplessly from a window as Israeli security forces shot her younger brother. Taha, 15, had been playing with a friend outside their house in the occupied West Bank city of Tulkarem. The 19-year-old screamed as her brother fell to the ground. Their father, Ibrahim, ran out of the front door to get his son, but a sniper shot him too.

... Nearly 1,500 Palestinians have been unlawfully killed by Israeli forces in the West Bank in the past 16 years – 98 percent of them civilians, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). Each of them, like Taha and Ibrahim, has a story and loved ones who mourn them. The frequency of the killings have spiked in recent years with Israel killing 509 Palestinians in 2023. That is more than double the number recorded by OCHA in any previous year. ... Israeli officials have for years backed a shoot-to-kill policy regardless of whether the Palestinians being shot posed a threat. Israel has even authorised its army to shoot at stone throwers and has handed out assault rifles to Israeli Jews living in illegal settlements in the West Bank.

Settlers killed 17-year-old Omar Abdel Ghani Hamid when they attacked his village in the West Bank on April 13. Omar was one of several young men who had confronted the settlers to stop them from beating up Palestinians and attacking their homes. Omar’s father, Ahmed, said his son and his friends scared the settlers away even though they were not carrying weapons. However, one of the settlers returned with a pistol and shot Omar. ... Army raids and extrajudicial killings are part of a broader attempt to keep Palestinians in the West Bank 'afraid,' said Zaid Shuabi, analyst and activist with the Palestinian rights group Al-Haq. But it has ultimately led to the formation of a new generation of armed groups, often established by young people who are fed up with the occupation’s transgressions. Israel’s response to this new wave of resistance has been to target entire communities to crush the morale of Palestinians, Shuabi said.

'They want to reshape the Palestinian mind into thinking that we shouldn’t even dare to resist. And if we do, then we will pay a high price,' he told Al Jazeera. 'This is about intimidating us. They want to put us down … and to colonise our minds.'

Sarah believes that was the purpose behind the Israeli attack on her family. She said that while her father and brother bled to death on the street, Israeli soldiers entered her house. The Israeli army then cut off the water and electricity to their home. At one point, one of the Israeli soldiers began beating Sarah’s other brother with the butt of his rifle, telling him to keep silent.

Moments before the soldiers left, Sarah mustered up the courage to ask why they terrorised her family. 'He said, ‘To scare you,’' Sarah told Al Jazeera. 'I couldn’t believe it. I wondered what was wrong with them. They killed my brother and my father just to scare me.'"

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[teabutmakeitazure]

Pinprick in the Backdrop

The background is something you should always pay attention to.

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

>Warnings: not specified to avoid spoilers. please proceed with caution.

>Word count: ~15k (slow burn)

>a/n: proofread to the best of my capabilities. if there's any spelling error, pls ignore

There are always some people you see everyday without fail on the train. Some you find on your way to the station and in the train, some on the train, and some when you step out of it. Most of you have never talked to each other, but you recognise them. Even if the middle aged lady who always sits near the door of car 7 changed her hair colour completely.

You can still recognise them. Seeing their face isn’t a requirement. It’s their existence that matters. It’s especially funny when you call the teenagers by name on Halloween despite the costumes they’re wearing.

Perhaps you missed a great opportunity to go into criminology or become a detective. Maybe even a spy. However, what’s done is done. You can’t say you hate your job, so you suppose it’ll do as long as you’re able to live a comfortable life and send some money back home to your parents.

Speaking of money, your boss - or should you say the man who also overlooks the finance department - has been absent from work for two weeks. It’s the main reason why your salary this month hasn’t come in yet. Why they decided to not pay you all is a mystery, but why your boss has disappeared is a bigger mystery. The money you have left in your account isn’t enough for the entire month, so they better pay you all soon.

-

The penitence of innocents always baffles you. There was nothing you could have done, nothing you could have changed, so why? Why does the human conscience produce these feelings of guilt? Maybe it’s because you unconsciously recall times when you were cruel or times when you had ignored to cherish the moments.

At the end of the day, it’s puzzling feelings like these that make you human. Black jacket hugged closer to your body, you head back to your desk, shaking the mouse as you try to wake up the monitor. Your boss is dead. The reason why it took so long to confirm was because he died in a different country and his cell phone was destroyed.

Another mystery is why he flew to a different country on a weekend, and that too for just four days. He didn’t even have any family there. They all live here, so imagine their surprise when they find out his ‘business trip’ was actually a personal one. You don’t question why they didn’t bother to contact his workplace when he didn’t return.

Quite a lot has happened within the span of a few days. First there was the news of your boss being pronounced dead. That was followed by the memorial they had in the office, and lastly, your salaries finally came in. You can refresh your savings now.

Still, the radical change in circumstances you cannot get over. Your boss, the half bald guy whose biggest transgression was making jokes in poor taste, dead? The information you all were given is vague. He left for a different country, somewhere in the Mimbo Republic to be specific, from Yorbia, where you are. It’s not your job to dig into people’s business, but this seems too fishy because his family also refuses to utter a word.

Thus, like all women trying to find information on a man they are interested in, you turn to the internet. Scrounging through news articles of accidents and injury and deaths, you finally find a few noteworthy ones from the day he supposedly passed away.

The darkness in your bedroom adds to the suspense, light solely coming from your backlit keyboard and the open window. It doesn’t help that it’s past two in the morning, almost three, but you’re determined as you scan through descriptions of a ‘buy and sell’ gone wrong.

Two hundred people. That is how many died at that event.

To be fair, the entire administration and security also kicked the bucket, and the attendees were around one hundred according to the article. None of this still makes sense. Was your boss among those people? If yes, why would he be at such an event?

Scratch that, his family definitely knows something.

After spending a little less than an hour snooping around, you finally shut down your laptop and go under the covers. It’s understandable when sleep doesn’t come easily.

-

The commute to work was the same as usual. The only difference was that one of the girls in your neighbourhood was nowhere to be seen on the train. Maybe she skipped school today. Despite the ordinary day, you are in no mood to entertain when familiar footsteps grow closer and closer to your desk.

“Hi, [Name]!”

You wish you left the building for lunchtime after all.

“You’re not going out for lunch?”

With the most uninterested face you can make, you shrug, eyes not leaving the monitor. If he gets the hint, he leaves.  If he doesn’t… you’ll just excuse yourself and leave.

“So you’re not eating?” He’s behind you now, eyes fixed onto your monitor as he tries to make sense of the gibberish. “Your work requires a lot of thinking. You should eat something.”

“Not right now,” you sigh. “I have a whole hour left. I’ll eat when I feel like it.”

You know what this guy is doing. His engagement recently went wrong when he found out his ex-fiance was cheating on him, and now he’s seeking out someone to fill the hole. Quite literally in his case, but whatever. Perhaps you would have given him the time of day if he wasn’t so obvious and desperate… or if you ever bothered to remember his name.

It’s worse when you remember that you didn’t recognise him after the break-up. Chills. That’s what you felt. It’s best to keep your distance. He isn’t the same guy who gushed about the love of his life 24/7. There’s something unstable around him.

“Well, whenever you feel like it, just shoot me a text.” His hands grab the edge of your backrest, just millimetres away from touching your back. “I want to treat you to lunch.”

Closing the tab and opening another one, you voice your response. “Sorry, but I brought food from home. I’ll be eating that.”

“Oh.” he sounds disappointed. “No worries. I’ll treat you some other time then.”

Note to self. Bring lunch from home everyday from now on. If that’ll help keeping him off your back then so be it.

-

It has now been two weeks since your boss’ memorial was held. His replacement has already been hired, but you can’t bring yourself to bother too much. Some of your coworkers have started cozying up to him and buttering him up which is intimidating the poor man. Workplace politics is something you could never have prepared yourself for.

Another thing you couldn’t have prepared yourself for is adulthood. Why is it so hard to choose what to eat? You can’t live off of takeout because it’s not healthy, and whenever you fail to finish eating the fruits you got before they go bad makes you feel like more of a failure. Thus, with great determination, you end up buying half a dozen apples.

If you eat one daily, you’ll finish them all in under a week. More items are added to your trolley and when you finally exit the self-service checkout, you roll your shoulders, readjust your backpack, manoeuvre the plastic bags into a more comfortable position, and begin the walk home.

It’s nighttime, just one hour away from the shops closing. You know you’re safe because almost all of the people you are familiar with. There are only some here and there who you haven’t seen before, but they’re all normal.  It’s evident from the way ‘it’ is stable around them. ‘It’ is light and calm. 

After a fifteen minute walk, you’re at your apartment building. Unfortunately, you wasted too much time walking around after you got off work and now you’ll have to eat dinner late. Well, it’s not like your sleep schedule is fixed anyway. Another day of sleeping late shouldn’t hurt. It’s the weekend now anyway.

-

It is on this wonderful Saturday afternoon that you realise you don’t have friends. Clarification. You don’t have friends where you live.

After graduating, all of your friends either stayed in the same city or moved away somewhere else entirely. None of them came here, or anywhere in Yorbia for that matter. It’s realisations like these that force you to ponder over your future. What are you going to do? What’s your aim? 

Before, it was to graduate and get a decent job. Now that you have that, what now?

With the lack of ice cream in your freezer, maybe you should start with procuring dessert. What about takeout as well? You could go for an evening walk, watch the sunset and get food for dinner altogether. That sounds nice.

Laptop turned on, you type in the address of a shady website and start browsing through the movie catalogue. Today, you will relax. Having hours of screen time isn’t a good idea, but it’s the weekend. Mistakes don’t count.

-

Maybe I should get mama and papa to move in with me after papa retires. That’s your thought when you head to the supermarket to get ice cream with takeout in hand. Getting food before ice cream wasn’t the best idea since it’ll be cold by the time you get home, but what’s done is done.

Life is lonely here. Sitting at home, alone, eating takeout and ice cream out of the tub while shows you’ve rewatched more than five times play on the TV. Maybe you should make some friends, but where?

Your workplace doesn’t have anyone, let alone any girl, your age. You also haven’t met anyone you wanted to be friends with. They’re all blended into the familiar background.

Paying with your card, you leave the self-service checkout counter and ready yourself for the walk back home. It’s more fun when you’re leaving the house for a walk, not the other way around.

Still, you take in the people around you like you do all the time. Most people you know, you recognise.  You’ve been seeing them for so long. There are always a few who are a little odd as ‘it’ is a little unruly around them, like your notorious coworker. However, ‘it’ is still light and faint but most importantly familiar. That’s the most comforting thing about it. The familiarity is what’s important.

So imagine the surprise and utter shock you feel when ‘it’ is as dark as the night sky around a stranger you have never seen before.

The darkest you have ever seen is something similar to how dark yellow is compared to pure white. So seeing something as contrasting as jet black to white, you can’t help it when the bags fall from your hand and onto the ground.

You’re frozen on the spot, mouth hung open as you stare wide eyed at the stranger who stands just a few metres ahead of you. He doesn’t notice at first, too busy speaking over the phone to pay attention, but when his eyes fall onto you, they’re slow and knowing, like he’s been aware of your gaze since you saw him among the others around you.

A few deep, trembling breaths, and you grab the bags off the ground and dash by him as fast as you can without it seeming too obvious you saw something. This time you do not pause to soak in the familiarity of the surroundings. Your only goal is to get home.

-

Bringing lunch from home is starting to get tiring. You have to wake up earlier and pack leftovers as well as make sure you have leftovers or cook something the night before in case you don’t. All because some weirdo who’s hung up on his ex can’t take a hint. To be fair you don’t have the guts to outright say no as well.

Maybe you should work on that.

Today, you decided to take a walk on the pier near your apartment building. It’s also a fifteen minute walk away since it’s close to the supermarket. Nevertheless, you sit down on a bench and just watch the water. 

It’s soothing, being idle like this. God, you really need a break.

Families and couples who you usually see around walk about the area. There’s something so special about this. This comfortable bubble you’ve created. Sure, you’re lonely with most of your social interaction being the neighbourhood kids or the teenagers on the train, but it’s all so comfortable.

It’s warm. Maybe you should ask your parents to visit. They’d like it here. The accessible sea and half middle aged or above population would be something they’d like.

The sun has gone down now, and the moon has started to become visible. So, with reluctance to let go of the passing time, you get up, backpack once again on your shoulders, and start the walk back home. Maybe you should also get an actual bag instead of using the one you did in university. You know, something that’s more feminine.

Regardless, as long as this one works, you’ll use it. No need to get a replacement if the thing isn’t destroyed yet. Wait, scratch that. Should you get more ice cream? Brownies maybe? The supermarket is right here and they have a section for freshly baked items. The brownies were amazing when you last got them.

You abruptly turn on your heel, completely determined to get what you are now suddenly craving. One step forward and you collide with something, getting pushed back a few steps from the force of whatever kind of brick it was. Barely are you able to regain your balance. Had you fallen, your laptop would not have survived.

You raise your head to look at what it was you walked into, ready to curse while there are no children around, but are completely frozen when you see him again. ‘It’ is large, so much more prominent and stronger than what you have seen in all the years you’ve lived. It’s like it’s protecting him, gently swirling around him like a protective layer.

It’s menacing, to say the least. You have no strength to utter a single word when the stranger steps closer to you, tilting his head as he inspects you for any injuries.

Or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

You’re absolutely horrified at how ‘it’ seems to dissipate as he steps closer, the presence of it almost completely gone. It’s now as noticeable as it is for everyone, but you can still see the darkness of ‘it’. No way does it help that you can now also feel the mancing aura it has.

“Are you alright?”

Blinking at him, you come back to the present situation, the background noises coming back to invade your senses. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, and your chest feels extremely heavy. Why is it so hard to breathe?

“Ah, it seems like the collision stunned you. It’s okay. I apologise for bumping into you.” The stranger smiles, and it causes bile to rise up your throat. You don’t like how he’s still looking at you like that. Like he’s looking for something.

“Hello? Are you alright, miss? Really, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckles. You, on the other hand, fail to see what’s so humorous.

It takes a few more seconds to compose yourself, but your heart still beats loudly, spelling out the letters R-U-N in bold capital letters. However, social etiquette forces you to take a deep breath, bow, and voice your apology.

The stranger fails to get another word in before you awkwardly fast walk away with the nagging memory of the bandage covering his forehead and dark bangs messily falling over them.

-

Today, you walk home from the train station as fast as you can. The encounter yesterday has shook you to the core, and until you don’t see this stranger for a month straight, you will not cease the hurried travel back home.

Whoever this man is, you do not want to be within even a 10 metre radius of him. Something is definitely off about him, and in your experience the darker ‘it’ is, the worse person they are. You just don’t know what ‘it’ as dark as his means.

Nevertheless, fate likes to throw a pie on your face and laugh at you because he’s standing right outside your apartment building.

Fuck. That’s your only thought. Maybe you’ll hang around the neighbourhood or walk on the pier until he leaves. Yeah. better make yourself scarce. Unfortunately, fate throws another pie because when you turn your back and start quietly walking away, he notices you and calls out.

The bastard calls out to you.

Oh fuck me, you think. So much for not wanting to see him again. What does he even want? Does he want to know why you look at him like you’ve seen the man murder people countless times before?

“Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing your evening,” he says as he jogs up to you. How he noticed you while you were literally a building away you do not know. “I saw you leave this building in the morning, so I figured you live here. I’m sorry for intruding like this.”

‘It’ is still barely there like yesterday. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the suffocating aura he has. Awkwardly, you sputter out a greeting. “Oh uh, h-hi.” The bandages aren’t there today, but those Godforsaken earrings are still there and his forehead is still covered by a hat. Does he have a receding hairline he doesn’t want to show?

He’s smiling at you, and you’re now noticing how wide and innocent looking his eyes are.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Again, I’m sorry about the collision yesterday.”

You look at him for a few more seconds, heart beating erratically in your chest. “[Name]. And it’s okay. It was an accident on my part as well.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, eyes fixed on you and giving you his full attention. “Ah, that’s a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely lady.”

You have never cringed this hard in years. Still, you force yourself to awkwardly laugh just to be polite and attempt to cut the conversation short. There’s no reason you should stick around. It’s utterly pointless and risky considering how his mere presence makes you feel.

“Excuse my forwardness,” Chrollo says, “but I was wondering if there are any good restaurants here I can try. I’m staying here at a hotel nearby until I find a proper accommodation, so I was hoping you could give me some recommendations.”

You open your mouth to say something just to stop short of any sound exiting your mouth. What comes next is an apology. Be useless to him. Don’t give him any reason to seek you out again. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t lived here long enough to know.” Wait, that makes it sound like I just moved here which makes me an easy target if he’s a serial killer. “No- what I mean is that I’ve lived here for a while but I usually cook, so I’m afraid I haven’t explored the food here. I only get takeout from the restaurant behind the supermarket nearby.”

Grey eyes blink at you, the gaze attentive. The corners of his lips are still turned upwards, and his lips slowly part to allow him to speak. Everything seems more detailed. You can’t wait to shrug him off.

“If I may, I’d love to explore the food here with you.”

Fuck. Did I just get asked out? No no. Be realistic. He just needs someone to cling to in this new environment or he’s a serial killer trying to make you lower your guard. You sigh. Whichever it is, you refuse his offer regardless. “I’m sorry, Chrollo.” The fall of his smile is instant. It’s almost creepy. “I don’t plan on eating out too much. I enjoy cooking, so I’d like to stick to cooking as much as I can.” Seriously. What is it with men and taking you out to eat? “Thank you for the offer though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to get ho-”

“I don’t mind cooking together as well.”

“...” What? There’s no way he just said that to you.

“If you prefer cooking, I have no issues with cooking together.” He’s still looking at you, expectantly this time, and you feel like the ground beneath your feet is crumbling away. Why can’t men take a hint?

“Ah, I really should get home soon. Isasmo must be waiting for me. I promised him I’d be home early.”

“Isasmo?”

“Mhm.” You’re shaking your head now. The presence of a man awaiting your return or curious about your whereabouts always works. “He gets very worried if I don’t get home on time. I don’t want him to worry, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Chrollo chuckles. Closing his eyes, he gently shakes his head. The loss of his gaze is short lived, but when it’s back, it cuts through your being. “Sorry for keeping you. I didn’t know you had someone waiting for you at home.”

Like earlier, your heart starts beating in your ears. How he’s keeping you on edge you have no idea. It’s maddening. “Alright. I’ll be heading home now.”

He smiles. “No ‘see you later’?”

Because I don’t want to see you later! “Goodbye!” With that, you dash past him and quickly enter the comfort of your apartment building without looking back. Honestly, you should start coming home at different times. Just to throw him off in case he swings by again.

-

Today, you discovered that your other coworkers are ‘talking’. Due to your sad lack of friends, you have no way of getting in on what’s going on, so you’ve resorted to hanging around corners whenever you hear someone talking or walking around with headphones on so that people think you can’t hear them.

Oh you can definitely hear them.

After a few days of gathering information you have learnt that the coworker who has still not given up on his pursuit of taking you out for lunch is acting a bit weird. Honestly, you called it way back. The day his engagement broke, he started acting differently.

You know because you can see with your own eyes at a glance instead of having to rely on long term observation. It also doesn’t help that ‘it’ has become slightly darker. It’s no way as dark as Chrollo’s, but it is noticeable enough to be discernible.

Speaking of Chrollo, why is he at the pier? No, scratch that. Why is he looking at you?

Quickly, as to not make it seem suspicious, you grab your phone from your pocket, press it to your ear, and start acting like you just accepted a call. With that legendary tactic that got you out of countless social interactions in university, you turn on your heel and start walking in the opposite direction.

When confirmed that he isn’t following after you and is nowhere to be seen, you pocket the device and continue on your merry way. The wind is chilly, the moon is hiding bashfully behind a cloud, and a tub of ice cream has been picked up.

Goods in hand, you arrive at your apartment. It doesn’t surprise you that midnight comes quickly. It is only after the clock shows 12: 30 am that you release the unhealthy snack for the night from the freezer and sit in the extremely poorly lit bedroom and stare at your laptop screen.

This time, however, you aren’t gaming, only browsing through more than eleven opened tabs (you lost count after eleven) and growing more puzzled by the minute. The incident that may have led to your boss’ death is gaining attention, especially on the conspiracy theory websites. Some say that the entire thing was a result of the mafia’s activities, while some claim that a notorious band of thieves did that to steal everything.

You have no evidence or trails that your boss died while participating in that ‘buy and sell’, whatever that means, but it sure does make you suspicious because you recently found out one thing. His body wasn’t recovered.

The more you think about it the worse it gets. Despite not wanting to, you’ve doom scrolled for so long that you’ve ended up on a five year old conspiracy theory post claiming that a group called ‘The Phantom Troupe’ goes around the world stealing stuff. The comments are mostly people confirming it, some even claiming to be hunters and saying that it’s true and common knowledge among hunters.

If they’re that dangerous and destructive, why doesn’t the Hunter’s Association take action? It’s all just a bluff or an exaggeration. 

Lights all off, you get up to place your laptop onto your desk, but catch sight of something moving in the corner of your eye. It was barely there, something black or dark, but knowing that you left your living room window open, you simply sigh.

It’s completely quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you can hear your own breathing. Setting aside the fact that the awareness forces you to have to manually breathe, you slam the window shut but rest your forehead against the cool glass. Eyes stare down at the empty neighbourhood, and you start wondering how you got here.

It sometimes feels like a dream. Highschool feels like just a few weeks ago, and yet here you are. It’s surreal. 

Five minutes of reminiscence are all you allow yourself, hands promptly grabbing the deep green curtains and drawing them just to freeze when you catch sight of something shining right behind you for just one moment. Turning your head around at an unholy speed only gives you neck pain because there’s nothing there.

Curse you conspiracy theorists. You will be extremely mad if you have a nightmare or lose sleep.

-

Your coworker didn't show up today. It almost makes you feel sad because you can get lunch from outside without having to deal with him. Ah, but the food you brought…

Nevermind. You'll eat it at home. Shoving the lunchbox back into your bag, you grab your wallet and head to the elevator. Headphones are on like usual in hopes of catching any stray gossip from around you.

Oh and do you catch a big one. Your coworker isn't replying to any texts or calls. He's ignoring everyone. The guy from accounting said in the elevator that he might be hungover since he has a drinking habit. Honestly, you should try and advance your relationships with these people from simple greetings. They’re better information sources than the news.

Nevertheless, you breathe a sigh of relief, merrily heading outside the building to head to the little hole in the wall restaurant you've been eyeing for a while.

The streets are busy as usual, almost everyone's lunch hours overlapping at this particular moment, so it isn't a surprise that you bump into a few people while trying to make your way. Although… it is a surprise when you bump straight into Chrollo.

Headphones are promptly pulled down to hang around your neck, and you brace yourself to visually deal with the pressing feeling that’s constricting your chest. ‘It’ is there but the comfort of the crowd allows you to deal with it with less effort.

You still don’t know why he’s like that. You don’t know why ‘it’ is like that around him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “we should really stop bumping into each other.”

It’s the middle of the day and he’s dressed like he’s going to a funeral. Long black coat, black hat extending over his forehead, black button down, black dress pants, black-

What the actual hell are those shoes? Is that big yellow thing a nail that was screwed in? What the fu-

“Is something the matter?” Head tilted to meet your downward gaze, Chrollo’s expectantly looking into your eyes. There’s a moment of silence between you both, but you fill it with action as you move to the side to not take up space on the street.

With a very noticeable deep breath, you sigh. “Nothing’s wrong.” Something is wrong. His thing around him is creeping you out and making you uncomfortable. “I’m just a little tired.” Make yourself seem uninterested. You don’t particularly like this guy, remember?

He nods. “I see.” A pause and the dreaded question is voiced. “Do you work somewhere around here?”

“Yes,” you reply simply.

“Is it your lunch break?”

“Yes…” you hesitate.

“Perfect.” Like how your luck with the male human specimen has always been, Chrollo proceeds to utter the most undesirable string of words. “If you haven’t eaten, I would love for you to join me for lunch. I found a restaurant and was heading there just now.”

Despite knowing it’s hard to get out of this, you still try. “Ah, actually, I only came for a walk. I brought food with myself.”

“It won’t go bad,” he negotiates. “Please. Just this once at least. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Chrollo’s voice is light, cheerful when he says that. You are tempted, but still want to go where you were originally heading. Maybe you could sneak to the restaurant you wanted after shaking him off somehow. But before that, just to confirm what he has in mind, you ask him where.

And being the joke that your luck is, it decides to practise its humour right now because he took the name of the restaurant you were heading to. It also doesn’t help that your eyes widened and Chrollo commented on it, saying that he ‘caught you’. Screw luck. Screw having your way. Life is just a horrible comedy show with dad jokes and shitty puns coming one after another.

A while later, you are seated across from a man who has broken the record of most uncomfortable you have ever been. This time, however, ‘it’ isn’t what’s making you uncomfortable. It’s the way he looks at you like he knows something or is trying to know something.

You hate to admit it but after spending more than five minutes in his presence, you’ve gotten used to the suffocating feeling.

Even if you would rather not be desensitised to it.

It’s quiet between you both, Chrollo choosing to observe you shamelessly while you try your utmost best to avoid looking at him or showing that you’ve noticed his blatant gaze. It’s not busy in here, so that doesn’t help either. Phone in your hand, you scroll through social media apps, tapping away countless stories of people out and about.

The silence got comfortable, but he opened his mouth.

“I forgot to ask,” he says, voice low, “what do you work as?”

Your eyes briefly flit up to meet his but return to the screen immediately. “Data analyst.”

“Data analyst? You must be quite intelligent,” he chuckles.

“If crying through eight semesters of school is smart, then I suppose so.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks. “You got through it though. I count that as smart.”

Is he trying to flatter me? “Is that so?” You close the app and open a different one, indifference dripping from your tone. “What about you then? You didn’t say anything about yourself. For all I know, you could be a serial killer.” Fuck. Did I really just say that?

To your surprise, he laughs. The bastard laughs. “I’m afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. I’m not a serial killer. I am, however, a fan of the arts.”

You remove your eyes from your phone screen, looking up at him even with your head tilted downwards. “You don’t look the part.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Those in STEM are all weirdos,” you state. Eyes move back to your phone, and you’re briefly reminded of the awkward lunches and dinners you went through during freshman year when you didn’t have friends. “The arts ones are pretentious. You look sophisticated, more like a theatre kid.”

Forearms now resting on the table, Chrollo leans towards you, an action you do not notice. “I’m quite sure that sophisticated and pretentious are synonyms, and even if they aren’t, they’re similar enough to be.”

You sigh. “‘A pretentious person works at the appearance of things. They want the appearance of substance, while either not understanding or not caring about actual substance. Sophistication, on the other hand, implies an authentic accumulation of knowledge and/or experience, and the ability to apply those things in advanced ways.’”

“...”

“That’s what an internet search says.” You look up, eyes slowly rising to meet his, but are startled when you see him considerably closer than earlier. He’s leaning forward, and out of instinct, you lean backwards. “So,” you continue, albeit nervously, “you’re wrong.”

Unfazed, he chuckles. “That means you think I have ‘authentically accumulated knowledge’. Why, I’m flattered.”

Again, you physically cringe with a crinkled nose at his smile and tone. “I’m only stating my observation. There are no intentions behind it.”

“Still,” Chrollo smiles, “you did think positively of me-”

“Food’s here!” He stops speaking immediately at your interruption, only shaking his head a little when you start eating. There’s not much time left for your break, so you’d rather get done with it and get back as fast as you can. 

Not having the luxury of savouring the food to your desire is sad, but you don’t think about it. ‘Next time for sure,’ you tell yourself. The fact that Chrollo didn’t let you pay for your portion just makes you want to get takeout next time. At least you won’t stare at him in horror again.

Even if slowly being desensitised to ‘it’ isn’t a preferable outcome.

-

Good news is that you haven’t seen Chrollo for a little more than a week. Bad news is that you haven’t seen your coworker for a little more than a week.

If you had a jenny for whenever a superior at work disappeared for more than one week, you’d have two jennys. That isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. There’s got to be some kind of haunting going on. First your boss, then him? Another coworker? Another superior?

Sure, it’s been more peaceful without him here, but you don’t want another person to end up missing just to be pronounced dead. Neither is it good for the company’s reputation, nor is it good for the work environment. There’s already been word spreading around that they’ve started looking for his replacement.

Maybe that’s smart. Maybe… because not even the police have found any leads on his whereabouts yet. His entire apartment is just as it was, dirty laundry in the laundry basket, his phone and wallet still on his nightstand, bed not made, food left to cool still on the kitchen counter…

It’s a little eerie if you think about it.

Scratch that, it’s downright creepy. Where could he have gone? They even found half drunk bottles of different alcoholic drinks on his dining table. Did he get drunk and run off somewhere? Where could he have gone? Did he… get killed?

You have no idea of what’s going on. That is why you, being the detective that you are, have your laptop open in front of you at 1 a.m. as you scrounge the internet for any missing persons cases from this town. So far nothing noteworthy is coming up, the most being missing girls but nothing about a grown man disappearing to never be heard back from or seen again.

An hour or two of more searching bears no fruit and an additional hour of trying to sleep is rewardless. With great annoyance, you get up and throw on the biggest coat you own, something dark grey that almost reaches your ankles. Grabbing your keys and phone, you make the most foolish decision to take a walk at what you think is probably four in the morning.

The pier is silent. The only person you saw was a police officer on his bike drinking a hot cup of coffee.

It’s empty too, and cold. Is the nighttime really so serene? Hands are shoved into your pockets and your feet bring you to your destination on their own. It feels like walking on cotton, yet it doesn’t feel bad. It somehow feels soothing.

The empty pier’s cool wind blows through your hair. Enjoying this kind of loneliness is somewhat of a liberating experience. Did your missing coworker seek out something like this before he went missing? Did he want to feel the kiss of the cool late night wind on his cheeks? You lean over to look at the waves below, hair cascading around your face. You are met with the reflection of the starry night sky, and it isn’t long before you pull back.

Fifteen minutes of waddling around are all you allow yourself before pulling yourself back home. The keychains jingle when you turn the key in the keyhole, breathing a sigh of relief when you are finally back inside. Your feet immediately take you to your bedroom, hands grabbing the coat and throwing it to the nearest surface, and you immediately jump under the covers.

Face meeting something pink and smiling, you sigh again. “Goodnight Isasmo.” The pink axolotl’s smile remains and you cuddle the plushie before snuggling into the bed’s warmth. You hope sleep comes easy.

-

Three weeks. It has now been three weeks since your coworker has been missing. He has now been promoted to ‘missing person’ and his face, along with his cinnamon(?) hair, is now on every other newspaper or screen. It has also been three weeks since you last saw Chrollo, but you aren’t bothered by that. It’s actually a good sign. Never seeing him again is a favourable outcome.

Regardless, your coworker’s name is now permanently etched into your memory. Raaz Olen. That's his name. He has no direct family left, parents having passed away around a decade ago, and the only sibling alive is an older sister who wants nothing to do with him. It's a sad background if you think about it.

You sigh, turning off the computer screen before rubbing your eyes. Life has been uneventful these days. The most exciting thing you recently did was video chat with your old friends. Your best friend, the one who is about to replace your position in her life, suggested downloading a dating app because according to her you need some ‘action’. Were the eight semesters of action not enough? What’s so wrong with peace?

Yet in a moment of weakness, you caved into the idea and committed the act. A cropped group photo to show your arm awkwardly cropped out was uploaded and now there have been quite a few messages and matches. This unfortunate experience has only further proved why you say you have bad luck with the male human specimen. Their first move is to ask about your past relationships, and being salty over their shamelessness, you recount in detail just how agonising it was to be in love with what only hurt you back, to pine after what only reduced you to tears.

You deliberately left out the part that the object of your desire was your degree. At the very least, their uninterested replies were entertaining. Ah, such laughable insecurity. The app will go when you’ve had your fun. Until then, you suppose you’ll use it as a last ditch resort for entertainment.

If you do end up scoring a free dinner… well, no. You would rather not risk a date with a serial killer or worse, someone who wants a second date. The chances are slim, but never zero.

Another notification from the app dings, and you briefly check your phone to see a notification from someone who matched with you. There’s a “Hey! You’re very pretty,” as his message, and you almost scoff at the repetition. The amount of times you have been called ‘pretty’ by strangers on this app is laughable. Did they fall short of words? Maybe that’s just the standard compliment in the world of men.

You end up placing your phone face down, ignoring any following dings, and get back to work. There is only one hour left until you get to go home, and you would prefer not to leave this task for tomorrow to complete.

-

An old lady you see everyday on the train on your way back passed away. Despite having only exchanged greetings with her a few times and carried her bags for her at least a dozen times, you felt oddly sad when you heard of her death. Yes, you only knew her name and that her kids, her three sons, never called after moving away, but you felt like something had been taken when you heard.

Not something big but something small. Something you would not be bothered with by being gone but something you would definitely notice and feel the absence of. You took a day off to attend her funeral since it was hosted by the old age home she was living in, yet you ended up taking a day off after that as well.

Three boys, three men, lost a mother that day and none bothered to show up.

-

“Okay mama. I’ll pick you guys up from the airport. No, I don’t own a car. We’ll get a cab- it’s perfectly safe here! You’re not going to get mugged on the way from the airport, relax!”

More fretting comes from the other side, and you simply continue stirring the soup. The worries aren’t what annoys you. It’s the panic.

After around ten more minutes of reassurance, the call is disconnected and your soup is ready. It’s been a month since Raaz went missing, yet you cannot say you have moved on. It bothers you that a man like him can just vanish. Also, seeing his replacement walk around the office simply makes it worse. You prefer a person who would make you uncomfortable with interactions because of how ‘it’ seems to be rather than a person whose eyes wander where they aren’t supposed to.

Alas, on this fine Friday evening, soup has been cooked and a plan for your parents to visit you at the end of the year has been made. Your father agreed to use his annual leave to come visit you, and the only thing left is for the tickets to be purchased. If they like it here, you could convince them to move here! Maybe even look into your father working at the same place as you.

All is going according to plan! Now what to do about the guy who keeps pestering you to meet up…

You switch apps on your phone to see that he’s sent another few messages, mainly asking if you’re free this weekend. If you consider the sleep you need to catch up on and the show you want to binge, then you have no free time. Besides that, you really don’t feel like going out on a date. Should you just uninstall the app? Messing with the people you matched with has gotten tiresome. Perhaps you should.

Thus, with a few taps to your screen, your account on the application is deleted and the application itself is uninstalled. Honestly, you consider that a job well done. That calls for a reward; the reward being a coupon that can be redeemed anytime which grants you permission to do one stupid thing.

You know you would do the stupid thing regardless, but having a sort of system like that makes you feel less guilty when facing the consequences.

-

Being pulled into an alleyway with a hand firmly planted onto your mouth is not what you ever could have expected to happen to you on this Monday afternoon. Maybe your condemnation for toying with all those men on the dating app has caught up or maybe it’s one of those men here to force you to accept his advances.

Either way, you did not expect to start crying first thing when in a situation like this.

A hand strokes your arm, attempting to soothe you, as the other remains over your mouth. You can feel your assailant’s body heat and his breath over your ear when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Be quiet and it’ll be painless for both of us,” he says.

You furiously nod, sensing the threat, and he immediately lets go. Legs promptly spring to run, but the hand grabbing your arm renders your efforts futile. It is when your struggling ends in you falling onto the ground and him twisting your arm behind your back painfully that you relax, repeatedly tapping the dirty ground with your palm to show that you give up.

There are no faces that come to mind when you think of who you could've angered to this point, so the surprise that floods your blood vessels when you see Raaz’s face under the black hoodie makes you almost dizzy. His hair is dirty and unkempt, facial hair clearly not maintained as he was always clean shaved, and there’s a wildness to his eyes. You try your best to not pay attention to how ‘it’ is darker than before. You liken the difference to how dark brown is compared to beige, but you realise that ‘it’ is more menacing than it ever was.

Raaz is clearly unstable, yet you yourself can’t stop shaking from the lingering adrenaline.

“Stay quiet and listen to me,” he orders. “I need a place to hide. [Name], you have to help me. You will help me.”

Hide? What does he need to hide from? You dust off your clothes as you stand, a groan leaving your throat when the soreness in your arm makes itself known. He immediately grabs it again, afraid you’d run, but let’s go when you angrily shrug it off. “What happened to you?” you ask. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“I will be if you don’t help me.”

Taken aback, you try to think over the situation. Raaz, someone who you always thought was or had the potential to be unstable, is here, clearly frazzled and on the run from something or someone, and wants you to help him hide. What does he want? To stay at your apartment? Risk your life for him?

“I-if it’s that bad,” you start, voice already shaking, “I can’t help you.” The betrayal on his face makes ‘it’ stronger, and you freeze, barely able to get your words out. “If you’re not able to hide in such a big city, I-I don’t- I don’t think you’ll be safe anywhere I can keep you.”

Raaz grits his teeth, his hoodie now pulled down to reveal dirty cinnamon hair, and takes a step forward. Out of fear, and to maintain distance, you take one back but panic when you’re unable to lift your feet. One glance down and you see something shiny protruding from the ground wrapped around your ankles. It broke pavement to crawl around your feet and now they’re stuck to the ground.

You gasp when two arms settle on your shoulders firmly. With a shaky breath, you gather the courage to look up into Raaz’s crazed eyes, all colour draining from your face when his hands grab your face instead. Nails dig into your cheeks, harshly tugging it closer to his. When you retaliate by clawing at his wrists, he simply grabs your hair instead.

Tugging the strands, your head is pulled back, neck exposed. You can see him breathing heavily, ‘it’ growing more erratic and frightening. Like all rabbits stuck in a trap, you thrash, attempting to free yourself from his grip, to miraculously free your feet and be able to run into the safety of the public street.

“You-” he pauses, eyes widening. Your hair is immediately let go of, and he whips his head at record speed, looking over his shoulder. The panic is oozing from his countenance, hands shaking and lips trembling. You think you’re looking at a man running away from death just to be caught up with at every corner and turn.

Curses spill from his mouth, and he turns completely. You feel the grip on your feet loosening, and taking the opportunity, you pry your feet out of the grip. Raaz has still turned his back to you, head moving as he searches for something. When he does not react to your escape from your restraints, you run.

A hand barely grabs your hair again, but you are out of the alleyway before his pursuit is successful. Feet hastily take you back to the office building, and the first thing you do is run to the nearest bathroom. No one is inside, and you take the opportunity to catch your breath, letting all tears escape from your eyes before you wash your face and fix your appearance. The adrenaline is still in your system, and you’re left not knowing what to do.

How the hell is Raaz still alive? And what is he running from? Why does he have a target on his back?

You do not know him beyond a coworker who was not over his relationship ending. Who knows? Maybe his ex-fiance did what she did because she found something out and didn’t want to risk staying with him.

Either way, you can’t get the look he had on his face out of your mind. 

-

Embarrassment is all you can feel when you exit the police station with a ‘call emergency services if you see him again’. Why don’t they understand that you might not be alive to call emergency services if you see him again? Bitterness is in your mouth as you hop on the train to get home. It’s dark now, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t scared.

You honestly don’t know what you did wrong to have gotten caught up in all that. Regardless, you’re looking over your shoulder as you walk home from the station, adrenaline coursing through you as you make your way through. It’s when you’re home and have checked all the rooms and windows that you breathe a sigh of relief.

Whatever the hell happened, happened. You’ll keep emergency services on speed dial and try your best to dial them if anything happens again.

If only sleep comes easy after all this.

-

It’s been a week since your encounter with Raaz. Today is Tuesday, the previous week’s Monday being the fateful day. You’ve since been bringing lunch from home like before and find it a little funny how Raaz is the one who’s making you bring leftovers again. 

Anyway, to the matter at hand. Someone’s been inside your apartment.

You can tell because you left a pencil lead in the gap between the door and door frame of your closed bedroom door. It was still closed when you got home, but the pencil lead was broken and on the floor which is something that could not have happened unless someone opened the door with the lead still in the gap.

You had been doing that ever since the incident with Raaz and today is the day your paranoia proved to have grounds. Now what are you supposed to do? Live with the information that someone has been inside your home?

Isasmo stares at you from under the covers, his dopy black eyes peeking out. You’ve checked the rest of your apartment and other than Isasmo and you, there is no one. Or at least no one you are aware of. Maybe you should look into moving.

Should you inform the police? Maybe you should, but what would you say? “I was paranoid so I put pencil lead in the gap between my door like a psychopath and guess what? It was broken when I got home! I’m being stalked!” They might laugh at you or place you under observation, the latter of which is preferable.

You end up sucking up the courage and going to file a report, a picture of the broken pencil lead on the ground being your only piece of evidence. It’s an uneventful walk, one where you are completely alert and looking over your shoulder as you get to the nearest station. After being ridiculed for being ‘delusional’ and ‘overthinking’, they agree to file a report and ‘look into it’ when threatened to find your dead body in your apartment one day. Seriously, what does a girl have to do to be believed? Die? 

You shake your head on the way home as you think over your conversation at the police station. The older officers ridiculed you but thankfully a younger one got them to at least file a report. Though you’ve been told you’ll be contacted if their investigation yields results, you doubt there will be one to begin with. Well, at least the pencil lead was intact when you got home. That is a relief.

-

It’s been a little more than a week since you filed a report at the police station and none of your pencil leads have been broken again. You would have thought the first one to break might’ve been done by something else had you not noticed that you’re almost out of pencil lead. You had counted 7 in the package just this morning and now there are 4…

Who’s messing with you? Do they think it’s funny? What if you’re paranoid? Are you sure you counted properly?

A sigh leaves your lips as you drop backwards onto the bed. Is this really what you have been reduced to? Curse whoever is doing this. The police have not contacted you again, so you went there yourself today and they said they didn’t find anything. As if they actually searched.

It makes you mad, yet you can’t do anything. Since there hasn’t been anything besides the pencil leads in the closed doors’ gaps, you chalk it up to suspicion. Whether you are delusional or the authorities, only time can tell.

-

Work has been slow lately, and you are reminded every single day of how boring your life has become. There has been no new gossip circulating and your attempts at making any new friends have not bore fruit. Your old friends have also started contacting you less as they’re busy in their own lives. Sure, you hardly have time yourself with how your job takes up two thirds of your day but you also don’t have a social life. That’s why you basically have nothing to do besides work and binge watch stuff.

Goodness, are you turning into your father? The temptation to download the dating app again whispers into your ear sometimes, but you fight it. You will only do so when you are seriously looking for someone, not when you are looking for fun. 

Bag on your shoulders, you pocket your phone and head to the elevator. Despite the fact that there isn’t much work, it’s dark when you’re done. Maybe you’ve gotten slow, not work.

The elevator doors open and you promptly leave, heading straight for the train station. It's an uneventful journey, and you choose to fill the silence by plugging in your earbuds. You step out of the train station, adjust your bag again, and head for the supermarket. The grocery list on your phone is pulled out, music flowing into your ears as you go about getting groceries.

Now with two plastic bags in hand, you make your way home. If you had restocked milk earlier - and not gotten lazy - you wouldn't have to haul two heavy plastic bags back home. Delivery is an option, but you won't be at home during the day to receive them. If only they offered delivery during the weekend.

Your phone rings, but you don't check who's calling. It's probably your mother, and it would be inconvenient to stop and drop the bags to pull your phone out. With a sigh, you continue walking. However, your trek is cut short when a hand grabs your wrist in a crushing grip, and pulls you closer. The music is still blasting in your ears, and you start sucking in a breath to scream only to stop when the grip turns almost bone breaking.

One look and you see Raaz's face under the black hood. He narrows his eyes at you and pulls you with him, bags still in hand and earbuds still in. When at his desired destination - a random alley like last time - you are pushed in front of him and you almost fall face first. You brace yourself and end up staggering but the bags fall and slide in opposite directions.

“Bad news, [Name].”

You barely hear him, hands reaching to pull out the earbuds and pocket them. Turning on your heel, you face him. He doesn't look any better than last time, only worse. ‘It’ is quieter, but you can sense how erratic it is. It feels like he's hiding how unstable he is only to do a poor job.

“You're going to go down with me,” he smiles. “Since you refused to help me hide, you now have a target on your back too.”

Disbelief contorts your expression into one of disgust. He's bluffing. He has to be. “Stop lying, Raaz. I'm not stupid and I'm not going to help you.”

He laughs, loud and sad. “That's what your mistake was. You never said yes to lunch and then I… then I ended up drinking again because another woman I love didn't want me.” A hand runs through his dirty hair before it slides down his hood. “I drank so much I bumped into the devil I was running from. And then… ah, fuck. I ended up telling him who I was thinking it was just another guy at the bar.”

Raaz looks you in the eye, and you take a step back from the sheer intensity only to find your feet restrained to your ground like during the previous encounter. It baffles you, but before you could question it or let alone panic, he's talking again.

“Now you're going to go down with me unless you help me. I'll let you go. I-I’ll get over you and Liza if you help me. You won't be harmed… probably.” He shrugs at the last part, and you find yourself not believing him at all.

Still, you prod further in hopes of making a false promise and being able to get away. There's no need to reason with him to go to the authorities. If it could've been helped, he would've gone there himself. “And just what,” you ask, “are you asking of me?”

“Money,” he replies instantly. “I burned all my savings trying to run. I need money so I can get a ticket and get the hell out of here.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about. How do you expect me to trust you?”

Your question makes ‘it’ flare up for a second before calming down, and Raaz doesn't miss the way your eyes widened for a minute. “I suspect you can see things. I'm right, aren't I?”

“Answer the questi-”

“Your legs,” he deadpans. A finger raises to point at your feet, and he continues. “I restrained them. Do you know how?”

You gulp, but humour him anyway. “How?”

He smiles. “I can manipulate metal.” A beat of silence passes before he talks. “That's why I'm like this. Someone wants me dead for this and I know he can do better but he's too busy fucking with me to make it quick.” Raaz inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “I don't even know what he wants by dragging it out, but I'm going to make sure he regrets it.”

“You aren't even sure I'll be okay if I help you,” you state.

However, he just smiles at your complaint. “When someone's too busy chasing the big fish, they ignore the little ones.”

“Fine,” you concede. If it’ll get this psycho off your back, you'll give him money. “How much do you need?”

“Half a million jenny,” he says, clarifying when your jaw hangs open, “and I'm being generous. I'm going to have to fly illegally and it's going to take money.”

“I… I don't have much.”

“You're a data analyst, [Name]. You'll get your bonus after two months. Do something, anything.”

You suck in a breath. Maybe you could take some out of your credit card and some as a loan. You really don't want to pay interest, but you'll have to if you want this problem solved. “Okay.” The deal is sealed and you are sent on your merry way with an address typed into your notes app.

You can't believe you just agreed to that.

-

It's dark and quiet. The taxi dropped you off a few blocks away, leaving you to walk to the warehouses that once used to be rented by people for storage. The people running the business sold it off to someone who never bothered to continue it. Now you're here, cold and scared as you stand outside the dilapidated structure.

The garage door opens on its own, Raaz's face peeking from the darkness inside. His eyes light up at the sight of you. “You're here.”

You're ushered inside despite your protests. All you wanted to do was throw the bag of money to his feet and be back on your merry way but you just had to be pulled inside by a freaking metal pole of all things. Now you're here, standing with your feet restrained to the ground as Raaz counts to make sure you brought as much as he asked.

The only problem is, he's now talking on the phone and he just mentioned how he's got ‘both the girl and the cash’. Oh, and now there's something that's restraining your hands and despite how much you wiggle and pry your hands apart, it doesn't budge.

When Raaz glances your way from staring at all the money inside the bag, he just smiles. “I'm sorry for dragging you into this, [Name], but a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.”

Anger is the first thing that makes itself known because you took out a loan with interest for this dunce and he goes ahead to stab you in the back. Maybe you should've told the police about him. Shit. You shouldn't have been so stupid. But it is also the police's fault for never taking you seriously. If they had, you would've actually sought them out a third time.

“What are you doing?” Your voice grows louder, angrier and more desperate. “Let me go! You said you wanted money and you got it so let me go!”

Raaz clicks his tongue, and what he says next makes things clearer. “Don't get me wrong, someone has been after me but if I do as the boss says, he'll get me out of Yorbia safely.” Something fades in his eyes as he continues. “It's not like it's my first time. If I didn't have this side gig, I wouldn't be alive right now. There are too many people after you when you're like this.”

Something hard and solid slithers up your body and covers your mouth, cutting short any words from your mouth. Raaz stands, the light behind him hitting his back to make him look more menacing. “You'll be taken soon. I asked them not to hurt you and sell you immediately. Though cruel, it's a small price to pay for my own protection.”

You can hear an engine rumble outside, and a buzz in his pocket is all he needs to start stepping towards the garage door behind you. He moves while looking at you, hand awkwardly reaching behind him to pull up the garage door as his eyes remain fixed on your body. “Tie her up quickly. It'll wear off if I look away so make it-”

Thump.

Something heavy drops onto the ground and immediately the metal grip on you loosens a little. You can hear footsteps and a kick before the sound of the door closing. It's agonising, being forced to be still and helpless while something happens behind your back that is definitely not in your favour.

More footsteps and a figure in black stalks towards the bag of money only to ignore it entirely and head for the door in the back. You take the opportunity to fight against the restraints, wiggling and trying to move your arms but it's metal and you only end up exhausting yourself. You hear a sigh from the other room and freeze.

When the person is back, you are more confused and helpless when you see Chrollo's face. This time, there is nothing covering his forehead and you see something black covered by his bangs. It's when he steps closer that you make it out to be a tattoo of some kind.

“Your involvement was a surprise, but a welcome one,” he says. ‘It’ is calm and his voice is even calmer. He steps even closer, now standing just two steps away. “I had thought you were working with him, so imagine my surprise when it turns out he was using you. Or trying to, at least.”

You make a face but the metal wrapped around your mouth stops you from being able to convey it properly. Chrollo smiles at the display, the corners of his lips curling upwards out of amusement. “Do you need help?” His question only makes you grimace. “I'll free you if you tell me about your ability.”

You have no idea what the hell he's talking about, but you nod anyway, desperate to have the rigid metal wrapped around you gone. Chrollo steps forward and you expect him to reveal a chainsaw or some other tool, so it's perfectly reasonable when you shriek as his hand grabs the metal and literally rips it away from your body. As he pries away the last of it, you end up gaping at him, mouth wide open as you stare at him in disbelief.

Hands hanging by your sides, your features contort into one of fear as soon as he stands. Chrollo is now looking you in the eye expectantly and you have no idea what to answer him. Thus, you take a deep breath, confidence coming from the fact that ‘it’ is still calm and not threatening at all. Your lips part to speak and you briefly catch a hint of satisfaction is his grey eyes. “Do you… come here often?”

Chrollo blinks, once then twice. He raises a brow. “Pardon me?”

“You know… do you hang out here frequently?”

Confusion grows on his face, but he quickly recovers. “No. I don't.” A few moments of silence pass and he speaks up with a sigh. “You're completely clueless about the circumstances, aren't you?”

Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and you look down at your shoes as you nod. Nervousness makes you bite your lip. You were about to be who-knows-what by Raaz before Chrollo strolled in casually. Speaking of, where's Raaz? You turn around, eyes falling onto Raaz lying on the floor and a hat discarded next to him. A realisation hits you, a hand on your shoulder disturbing your thoughts.

“What do you make of this situation, [Name]? What do you think is going on?”

You carefully eye him. Not sensing a threat, you voice your thoughts. “Raaz… was involved in illegal activities. It's why he disappeared. He was running from someone too and the people he worked for promised that he'd be safe as long as he did what they asked.”

Chrollo hums. “And what did they ask of him?”

“A woman to sell off…?”

“You sound unsure,” he smiles. The hand on your shoulder slips down to your wrist, thumb massaging the skin. “He was involved in human trafficking,” Chrollo reveals. “His fiancé didn't cheat on him. She was trafficked.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, more pieces of the puzzle coming out of nowhere. Nevertheless, the most surprising thing is how Chrollo is here. The hand circled around your wrist is wiggled out of, and the question on your mind is voiced. “How are you here?”

Chrollo tilts his head at you. “I could ask you the same.” When you raise a brow at him, he chuckles. “I'm here for your coworker over there. He told you about someone who was after him. That would be me. However, I'm not after his life.”

You raise your brow higher, prompting Chrollo to continue. “You’re a Nen user, right?” When you ask him what he's talking about, he grows more confused. “You're a Nen user without the awareness of being one? Interesting.”

A hand finds its way to his chin, but Chrollo is lost in thought for only a few moments. “What do you suppose I should do with your coworker? He used to ask you out, correct?”

“Yes? Does that matter?”

“Perhaps,” he smiles.

You gulp, sensing a kind of game he's playing with you. “Don't hurt him. Hand him over to the police. They'll… they'll know what to do with him.” Your request is heard, but Chrollo does not seem to care for it because he clicks his tongue and pushes his hands into the pockets of his black trenchcoat.

Crouching down in front of Raaz, he grabs his hand and you look away. A moment later, you look again and Raaz's palm is flat against the cover of a book in Chrollo's hand. Where the hell that book came from, you have no idea.

“Now that that's done,” he says, now moving to stand, “what to do with you…”

Your blood runs cold at the question. If this situation is anything to go by, Chrollo is not any better than Raaz. In fact, he may be infinitely worse. Regardless, you still do not feel any kind of threat from him, ‘it’ being considerably less suffocating than it was the last time you had met him. Perhaps it is the lingering adrenaline that makes it seem so, but you are not afraid of him at the moment. Thus, being the person that you are, you try at making him spare you.

“Maybe,” you start, “you could, you know, let me go home. I'm not going to say or do anything. I couldn't be bothered about this. I'll take the jenny I was scammed out of and go home. Or you could keep the money if you want! As long as I get to go back home.”

Your negotiation attempt makes Chrollo think. He spends a few moments pondering over the situation, eyes still focused on you. When he parts his lips to speak, you have already prepared yourself to not be let go. “I'll let you go if you agree to meet me tomorrow evening. I suppose I can think over what to do with you in the meantime,” Chrollo says.

The offer makes you take a step back. “Really? You won't scam me like Raaz did?”

“I can make a promise if it eases your mind.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He's smiling at you teasingly and you in no way are feeling any sense of danger from him. Begrudgingly, you agree. “Fine. Where should I meet you?”

“Give me your number. I'll send you the location.”

You make a face at the request, but surrender when he pesters you with promises of no ill will. An hour later, you are at your apartment, the bag of jenny still with you as you start planning to immediately pay off the loan you took out.

-

It is 7 pm. You stand somewhere to the side where Chrollo had asked you to come, the man in question nowhere to be seen. He asked you to come around 7 pm and you ended up getting here at 6:36 pm. It’s been 24 minutes since you’ve been standing here in wait.

Though you’ve been waiting alone with your thoughts for so long, the dread starts settling in now. It does not help that you can feel a familiar suffocating aura before you turn to look at its source casually strolling up to you on the busy street. It also does not help that your alarm had been explicitly painted on your face as soon as he was within a 6 feet radius.

“I was expecting you to not come,” he says. “This is certainly a surprise.” Chrollo smiles at you again, the curve of his lips somehow more menacing than the darkness around him. There’s a hat covering his forehead like before, you note. It seems that he certainly wants to hide the tattoo in public.

“I suppose my life is on the line. I would rather not walk around with another target on my back. You don’t seem like someone I would want after me, if Raaz’s condition was anything to go by.”

“An excellent deduction. I’m not someone you would want coming after you, at least not for your life or ability.” You gulp his clarification, proceeding to ask what he concluded for the course of action he must take. Chrollo chooses to let a few moments of silence pass, listening to the bustle on the busy street before replying, “I’ll tell you in due time. First…”

That is how almost half an hour later you are sitting at a restaurant, Chrollo across you, and a menu in front of you. What the hell is going on, you have no idea. You came here to find out if you’re going to be kidnapped or killed. Not to be taken out for dinner. When asked what you’d like to have, you insist that you aren’t hungry, something that Chrollo makes it a point to ignore as he ends up ordering for you. It is even more disorienting when it ends up being something you’ve had multiple times for lunch during the workdays.

“So,” you start, nervousness seemingly dripping from your countenance, “I suppose the final verdict will be given for dessert?” When Chrollogives no answer, you continue. “At least give me a hint. Death or imprisonment?”

He blinks at you. “It’s a surprise.” With that simple statement, he is back to observing you, one hand on the table and tracing the rim of the glass tumblr in front of him. “I hope Isasmo isn’t worried about your circumstances.”

Ah shit, he remembers. “Nope. He doesn’t know.”

“You hid everything? I suppose that’s reasonable. An axolotl wouldn’t be able to help in any way.”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat picking up. “You… how do you know?”

Chrollo’s response is simple, but it isn’t any less chilling. “You talk to him everyday.” He’s still watching you, eyes crinkling at the corners from his amused smile. It’s maddening having to be on the receiving end of this. When you do not grace him with a response, Chrollo does not say anything further as well.

The silence is excruciatingly painful. Chrollo's gaze, however, is more uncomfortable than being called out in class for an answer and not knowing it. Thus, a bright idea pops into your mind, a legendary question that easily makes any conversation better. “So,” you start, bracing yourself, “you like jazz?”

The only reaction you get is speechlessness before Chrollo clears his throat. “Not particularly. You?”

You shake your head. “Not my style.”

Resting your face in your palm, you look away, eyes anywhere but him. The surroundings seem more interesting, the two couples and a few lone people in the background having more to tell than the person you thought was going to end up hurting you. Well, it’s not your fault you got caught in the crossfire of whatever was going on.

“What,” Chrollo says, perking you up, “was your relationship with Raaz?” He’s tracing the rim of the glass again, something that bothers you because of the discrepancy between the action and his expression. Regardless, you answer truthfully. There is no guarantee he already knows and is simply testing your truthfulness.

“He was my coworker. He used to ask me out for lunch numerous times. That’s all.”

“And did you go to lunch with him?”

You shake your head. “No.” 

Chrollo simply makes a thinking face before he’s back to normal again, hands sliding underneath the table. Silence once again hangs in the air, the tension thick enough to be cut through with a knife. You are completely unaware of Chrollo’s aims and motives, yet he knows you more than you could have ever thought.

Which reminds you…

“Chrollo.” He perks up at the call of his name instantly. You continue. “Someone was most definitely coming into my apartment during my absence. Was that you?”

The smile he gave you told you everything. A groan comes from your throat, the annoyance over being paranoid and doubting yourself while being sure that something was amiss catching up. “And just why were you breaking and entering?”

He clicks his tongue. “I thought you were working with Raaz.”

“Yet when you didn’t find anything the first time, you still persisted.”

“New evidence can pop up anytime,” he shrugs.

How someone can be so nonchalant over something like this, you have no idea. Sure, you were worried at first but annoyed later on, but still!

“So have you decided what to do with me?”

After a moment of contemplation, you are given a smile and a promise to be informed of your inevitable outcome after dinner. Yet after dinner you are taken to a nearby pier with no sign of the final verdict being given anytime soon. Now settled on a bench next to Chrollo, the little distance between you both resulting from your death glares whenever he slid close to you, you decide to enjoy the cool breeze before asking him again.

And you do. You ask him again what he’s decided to do with you, and all you are given before the knowledge of your inevitable end is a smile and a tilted head. This is when you notice how long Chrollo’s hair is.

“I was considering an… ‘arrangement’,” he says. The words cause your heart to start beating faster. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head or your family if you agree.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction, and you start praying he does not turn you into some kind of personal slave. “If,” he continues, making you start fidgeting with your hands out of nervousness, “you agree, you’ll live comfortably without a care in the world.” Another pause and the anticipation grows. The sound of chatter in the background is completely mute and the wind has already stopped blowing.

“What I’m proposing is… well, you allow me to court you. I will take the necessary steps, and you simply have to accept.”

The minute Chrollo utters those words, you freeze. A reply is on the tip of your tongue, and you know it is not a wise idea yet you open your mouth anyway. “If you wanted to ask me out so badly, you could’ve just walked up to me and asked instead of threatening to kill me or my family.”

All you receive in response is a shrug before he formulates a reply. “Would you have said yes if I asked under normal circumstances?”

“No.”

“Then my point has been proven.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should test the waters. “And what if I said no? What then?”

Chrollo leans back on the backrest, now more comfortable before he continues his negotiation with you. “Was Raaz’s predicament not enough of an example?” The wind blows again, and he leans forward, eyes on the water. “Not that I would prefer that, but you understand what I’m referring to.”

And you do understand what he’s referring to. You understand because you saw what became of Raaz. Nevertheless, you need more information to negotiate. Perhaps you might be able to find a way out during his ‘courting’. “Are you a homeowner,” you ask. “And do you live in the house you own?”

Chrollo looks at you from the periphery of his vision, suspicion making him more alert. “No, but I can purchase a home anytime.”

“Alright,” you nod. “And do you have a stable income?”

“As long as the world has treasure and resources, I will.”

“I see.” You pause, thinking of more questions to ask. “What about family?  How much family do you have? Any siblings?”

“None,” he replies, “Any other questions?” He’s looking at you directly now. “Or would you like to leave some things to be discovered later on?”

You purse your lips at the comment. So he has money and no family. Sounds mighty suspicious or concerning. Depends how you look at it. You’re looking at it both ways. Silence settles once again as you think over what to say next. Chrollo seems content to leave you with your thoughts, as he doesn’t make any move to break the silence.

But when the silence is broken, it is broken by your capitulation. Chrollo is pleased as expected, yet there is no sign of relief or contentment on your end. Perhaps you could purposely make the relationship fail, and then he might let you go. At the very least, this arrangement is better than having your parents and yourself hunted down by a criminal.

-

It has been 3 entire weeks since you accepted Chrollo’s conditions. Your job is going fine, boring as usual, and seeing Raaz’s replacement still reminds you of the feeling of cold metal restraining you and keeping you in place.

It’s maddening, having to relive that feeling everyday. However, what’s worse is seeing Chrollo inside your apartment numerous times a week, mostly when you come home from work. He hasn’t made a move to stay the night yet, always excusing himself to ‘work’ or saying something along the lines of you not being ready for that step. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for it, but you don’t like being indirectly told that he pulls the strings and holds the power.

That’s why you’re here. Everything in the past several weeks has led to this and the tension and stress of those weeks has boiled down to reveal someone very tired and just a little spiteful. You knew he was someone to stay away from, and you did stay away from him. Or tried to at least.

“You said you wanted to speak to me about something?”

The devil has voiced your intentions, and you are now obliged to jump straight to the point. Having just got off work, you’re tired and a bit annoyed due to the lack of proper sleep. Despite that, you suck in a breath, continue strolling with him in the park, and give your response. 

“We should break up,” you say, a sense of finality in your words that conveys your message that you shan’t be swayed in your decision. “Or stop this, considering this isn’t a normal relationship.” You had refused to hold his hand today, saying you want to keep them shoved into your pockets since they’re cold. They are currently sweating. “I don’t love you, and I don’t feel any bit comfortable. Continuing this would just make the both of us miserable.”

The break up dialogue sounded better in the TV shows you’ve watched, but you let it slide and continue. “Let’s just… see other people, okay? You’re probably just lonely. You said you have no family, and I can’t be the replacement. I don’t feel it working. I don’t feel loved and I sure as hell can’t love back.”

There is silence before Chrollo stops in front of you. He turns, facing you, and you are suddenly reminded of the children playing nearby and your bag being on his shoulders. “Is it because you remember the circumstances? If that’s the case, I can make you forget them.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant.” You flex your sweating palms inside your pockets, nervousness skyrocketing. “I just… it’s not working Chrollo.” There is desperation in your voice now. “You may find this arrangement fulfilling, but it’s not the case for me. I don’t even know what you do for a living! I don’t know your last name and-” You cut yourself off. You’ve gone off-topic.

“What I’m saying is,” you continue, “I’m certain this isn’t working out. We should go our separate ways.”

Silence once again settles, but it is soon broken by the sound of footsteps. With your head down, you see Chrollo’s shoes when he walks up to you. A hand on your chin raises your head to meet his eyes, and you gulp out of nervousness when his lips part to speak. “The condition was that I would court you and you would accept. There was no room for rejection to begin with.”

He pauses, looking for any reaction on your face. When he fails, he continues. “If you don’t feel loved, you should communicate instead of breaking up. A relationship thrives when both parties communicate, right?”

You brush off his hold, lips twisting in slight disgust. “You aren’t getting my point-”

“Explain it to me then.”

“I just did.”

“Your argument lacks claim and reason. It isn’t even an argument to begin with.”

A frustrated groan and you bring your hands out of your pockets. With a few slaps to your cheeks, you try again. “I don’t like you and I can’t stand you. If this wasn’t something that came as a result of what happened to Raaz and I met you as a stranger and ‘it’ wasn’t as creepy as it was, I might’ve given you the time of day but none of it happened!” Chrollo looks at you like you’ve grown two heads during your outburst, but you do not care. “Chrollo, you creep me out and I don’t like you. I can’t accept you and fall in love with you. What more do you not understand?”

He blinks, once then twice, before grabbing your shoulders. The action makes you freeze, the suffocating feeling from ‘it’ growing and becoming more visible and menacing now prevailing. “Elaborate on ‘it’.” The grip on your shoulders slides down to your arms but you do not feel any less threatened. Maybe that’s why he never stayed the night. You’re too frightened at times.

“There’s… something around you.” Revealing this feels wrong, but you know you have no choice now. “It’s dark, the darkest I’ve seen yet on any person. It’s scary and overwhelming and I don’t like it. Sometimes it’s calm and tolerable and sometimes it’s huge. It doesn’t have anything to do with emotions, or that’s what I think.”

Chrollo hums, letting you go. ‘It’ does not simmer down until a few more minutes pass, and he only speaks after it does. “It’s your Nen ability. You cannot see Nen, but your ability is an exception.”

“What do you mean?”

Chrollo glances around before stepping closer. He points to his right palm with his eyes and in a moment, a book suddenly just appears in his hold. Any questions on your end are silenced with the excuse of being in a public space. The only answer you get that evening is that the book is Chrollo’s ability.

Any further probing is told off immediately. Chrollo does not wish to say anything further, changing the topic promptly and continuing to converse like you did not just attempt to break up with him. The lingering fear from his threats slowly starts seeping in, and you once again grow bewildered over how your circumstances have changed.

-

You're in the kitchen when Chrollo says you need to pack your bags. He had gotten up from the living room sofa and strolled into the kitchen when he broke the news. Now, as he stands in front of you, your back to the counter, and recounts the essentials you need to pack, you blankly nod. Everything is a blur. You cannot control your actions, only watch them like a third party.

He turns his back to you now, sighing at your silence, but before he can take a step forward, you plunge a knife into his back. The silence is deafening, but when you pull out the blade to see your handiwork, you are greeted with only a handle.

The blade sits in Chrollo's palm, and he's looking directly at you.

All your muscles are frozen, and you cannot discern whether the ringing in your ears is from the adrenaline or from being stared down. Minutes pass this way, and it is only when you throw the handle somewhere to the side that it subsides.

“Pack the essentials,” Chrollo says, his voice cutting through the silence. You’re now noticing the TV is turned off. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

You just noticed Chrollo’s palm is unscathed. How odd.

[yaksha-lover]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Summary: Lilia has always been an enigma to you; slipping through your fingers at every attempt to get close - follows fae!reader’s relationship with lilia from childhood to the war to present day in briar valley

Lilia Vanrouge x Fae!Reader, small background Meleanor x reader hehe

wc: 3.8k

cw: i’m too into medieval fantasy so i created unnecessary lore (clown noises), also i haven’t read book 7 so prob butchered canon, (but spoilers), angst, grief, unrequited (?) love, pining, mild description of war events/tragedy

Even then, he hadn’t seen you. Before the wars and before the bloodshed, when there’d only been long grass to tickle your ankles and azure skies allowing you to guess at clouds, Lilia had never seen you.

There’d always been something, someone, to distract him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier this way, to imagine that there’s something other than disinterest and disgust keeping you apart.

The forests of Briar Valley are filled with pine trees, their scent so potent you wished you could bottle the air and take it home.

That was where you and Meleanor had met Lilia. You’d grown up in the royal castle, the two of you spending afternoons giggling about the latest court gossip and eating all the sweets you could before the queen could scold her daughter.

That day is one of your fondest memories, and not entirely because of him. The trunk of the giant oak tree was hard against your back, but you hadn’t been able to think about anything but the feel of your princess’ head in your lap. She’d simply closed her eyes and demanded you read to her, dark hair spilling around your legs.

“As you wish, Mel,” you’d agreed, gathering up one of her favourite books.

She’d only popped an eye open to tease you. “Mel, is it? Not princess? Perhaps I should have you punished for such transgressions~” She giggled.

“If I am to be placed in the dungeon, then who will feed you ice cream and read to you, dear princess?” you countered, ruffling her hair.

“Hmm, I suppose your insubordination will have to forgiven…but only if you allow me to remain on your lap for an adequate amount of time. Any sooner, and I’ll have to punish you myself~”

She was temperamental yet whimsical, delighting you as much as she terrified you. Mostly, Meleanor was your best friend. Your only friend, truly. There weren’t many children your age around the castle; you were only there because your father sat on the high council as the master of coin.

After you’d been reading aloud to her for some time, a sudden rustle in the trees caught the both of you off guard. The princess had jumped up quickly, all the combat lessons she’d taken with the head of the Queen’s guard finally paying off.

Out from the vegetation, a short, dark-haired fae who looked to be around your age emerged. He was fitted in what could only be described as rags; torn and stained all over. Despite his disheveled look, you thought he had a certain charm about him.

Meleanor, who’d grown taller than you ages ago, towered over him. It was almost a pitiful sight.

The princess had narrowed her eyes and asked: “Where have you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he’d answered simply, looking down at his feet. “I’m no one.”

That was the meekest you’d ever seen him, no indication of his true vibrant personality.

From that day in the forest, Lilia had been with you. Meleanor had begged the queen to let him stay in the castle, to grow up with you and her as another companion. The princess’ tears worked especially well on her mother, so of course she’d gotten her way.

As she grew up, the princess only became more and more beautiful. You weren’t the only one who noticed, either. The three of you were still young at the time, but Lilia seemed fond and more than fond of Meleanor. The princess returned his affections, but perhaps not with the same intent; she almost smote him when he’d jokingly proposed to her with a ring of grass. It made you angry, for a while. She was your friend first, and now Lilia had come to hog all her time and attention.

It was hard to see your only friend pulled in a new direction, especially one that seemed so far away from you. That was back when you were small; things settled quickly after that, with the three of you falling easily into friendship. There would still be times, occasionally, when you were envious of the friendship shared by Meleanor and Lilia, but it was on both ends. You simply wished to be included, not to have the princess or Lilia all to yourself. That was never a possibility, after all.

As you grew, it wasn’t long before Meleanor fell in love with Levan. You’d been…annoyed, at first, at how fast your friend had seemed to leave you behind yet again.

“You promised to take me flying today, dear princess,” you’d said, trying and failing to keep the gloom out of your voice. “Don’t you remember?”

Meleanor looked up from brushing her hair, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “Forgive me, I cannot turn away Levan…my heart will not let me.”

“But it will let you turn me away?”

She turned now, facing you directly, some of her signature anger evident in her expression. Her violent temper only seemed her grow with her adolescence. “Stop this foolishness! You are my friend, but Levan is my beloved. If you find issue with that, you will leave my castle at once.”

As though you couldn’t feel more humiliated, she’d moved, stopping in front of you and tilting your chin to meet her gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you’d whispered, wondering when things had changed.

And then she’d pulled you into her arms, and suddenly she’d felt all too familiar again, hugging you and telling you she loved you, asking you to always stay by her side. As her dearest friend.

Being cold to Levan only pushed you further from Meleanor, so you were forced to accept his presence. Once the initial hostility dissipated, you found that Levan was quite pleasant.

If Meleanor was always destined to be with another, then you were happy it was someone as great as Levan, at the very least. With your princess’ time now being taken up by her lover, you and Lilia spent much more time alone together than before.

The first time you had the courage to broach the subject of marriages and pairings had done nothing but splash the cold water of Lilia’s indirect rejection on to you. With how cold and empty you felt, it was as though the shivers went bone deep.

Your father had insisted on looking for a match for you. A political marriage to improve your family’s standing, surely. You had protested and held it off as long as you could, but now his asks were becoming unavoidable.

You’d thought - hoped - that Lilia might be interested. He wouldn’t be your father’s number one choice, but he would still accept it; Lilia may not have been of noble birth, but his status as a respected general amongst the court bought him points. Marrying him would certainly be better than any stuffy old fae you’d be forced to settle down with.

It wasn’t just avoiding others, either. You wanted Lilia, as loathe as you were to admit. He was your friend, a close companion, and perhaps you’d even desired more.

It was difficult to voice to yourself that your affections went beyond platonic when you were not so delusional as to imagine that he felt the same in any way.

No, you felt like an afterthought to Lilia. As though you were merely Meleanor’s friend, and not his own. He wasn’t so kind to you as he was the princess, and the affection he held for her, although now platonic, went beyond anything you could imagine receiving from him. Even Levan seemed to bond with him easier than you had after knowing him for years. It was like he tolerated you more than anything; when Meleanor was off with Levan, you were the only option left.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much when he said he didn’t wish to marry. The ‘you’ part seemed unspoken, even though he claimed reasons of freedom and lifestyle instead of saying anything about you.

Regardless, he’d made the decision for you. Your father would ship you away from the castle, to be married to a stranger, leaving behind your beloved…friends.

At least he would have, had the war not begun so suddenly.

-

If you believed Lilia had hardened his heart to you before, then becoming a war general had hardened his heart to the world. Although it was the last thing on anyone’s minds, had you tried to bridge the gap between the two of you, not only would you have failed, but you might’ve gained a nice scar along with it.

To the untrained eye, Lilia seemed to thrive on the battlefield; swift with strength that went unmatched by any. But you knew better. There was a sense in which Lilia lost himself in action, where he seemed so distant from the boy you’d grown up with; perhaps it was his own way of coping with the horrors he’d been forced to experience, fae he fought alongside being slaughtered. In the end, it hadn’t mattered who they were before the battlefield; nobles and common folk alike fought and fell.

It was torturous to wait out the war in the castle. Every letter that came made your heart race, fear taking ahold as you read through the list of your fallen companions. It almost seemed inevitable that one day Lilia or Levan might appear on the list and send you into despair. Your only saving grace was Meleanor, the two of you keeping quiet company during this time, both not allowed to join the conflict and feeling useless for it.

You begged your father to let you join Lilia; you weren’t the most skilled fighter, but your healing magic excelled beyond any other, and you could hold your own for the most part. He’d denied you until so many had been lost that the queen asked for your service. None of you had known just how close tragedy was, how your departure for Lilia’s camp would mean leaving behind your beloved princess to die.

-

“Go back,” Lilia had growled at you. It was the very first thing he’d said since you’d come to his camp.

“I’m here to help, instead of rotting away in the castle while my people suffer!” You’d followed after him as he strutted between tents, giving orders to the other soldiers.

He’d shook his head, glaring at you. “You’re a spoiled little noble, you know nothing of the battlefield. Go back home. It’s not safe here.”

“I know I’m sheltered, but I’d like to try and help where I can! I don’t care what happens to me.”

Lilia stopped in his tracks, not facing you as he spoke.

“You don’t care? You’re selfish, you know that? What would Meleanor do without you? What would I-” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. Go back. Don’t make me make you.”

“Perhaps I am selfish, but what about me, Lilia? Shouldn’t it matter that I can’t possibly imagine a life where we’re not together, fighting side by side?” Your voice goes quiet. “I had a dream, an awful dream. One where you were dead…I’m afraid. I don’t want that dream to become real.”

You’d thought, for a moment, that his hardened gaze had wavered, but the next second, he’d ordered one of his subordinates to take you back to the castle. Perhaps the softness you believed you saw within him was only a trick of the light.

-

You’d been a fool. A fool in grief and despair, but a fool nonetheless.

Meleanor’s death had pulled you away from yourself, made you into some automaton which possessed none of your good qualities, for which you had to wonder if there were any to begin with. She’d been your friend, your only family. You should’ve been with her; you should’ve died with her. You should’ve done anything you could, and you’d failed.

It was only by a day that you’d left the castle and missed the fight that occurred.

Meleanor fought bravely, a knight had told you. And Meleanor died.

You waited for Lilia to come back. To come home to you. Your heart sang, a brief reprieve from all the aching when you found out he was alive; he was all you had left.

He never came, at least not to see you.

You fled the castle. There’d been no goodbyes to your father and no concern for Meleanor’s child.

If she’d been around, she surely would have killed you for your selfishness, but your head swam with grief and so you left everything behind.

-

It had been…surprising, to hear from Malleus. You’d heard amidst your travels that your father still sat on the small council, so perhaps he’d heard of you from him, considering they were together in Briar Valley. Who else would have known about you and your relationship with his mother?

There was General Vanrouge, but he…why would he even mention you at this point?

You’d taken to calling him that in your mind, if only to distance yourself a little more from your past. You heard he’d returned to Briar Valley years after you’d departed, but other than acting as a guardian for the prince and a curious human boy, you had no idea what he was up to.

It was a wonder the world was as big as it was, meaning you’d never run into the general during your travels.

And here, on the desk of your hostel, sat a letter from the crown prince. Your Meleanor’s son. The one you’d left behind.

With the distance of time, a new feeling stirs in your chest. One of unease and shame, yet another failure to the Draconia’s. You hoped the boy was doing well. Would it even be possible to accept if he wasn’t?

Well, he was asking, along with Meleanor’s mother, that you pay them a visit once again. The Queen…you’d abandoned her too, in a way. You dared not hope that she thought of you as another one of her children, but in a way, you’d loved her as a mother.

Heat burned at your cheeks. With your focus on Meleanor, Lilia, and Levan, you’d forgotten there were more people you considered your family. More people that you’d left behind in Briar Valley.

After all this time, you owed them an explanation, no, an apology. You owed them your return home.

-

Malleus greets you at the gates.

You’re stunned, for a moment. Dark locks of long hair sprawled elegantly across his shoulders, two curved horns peaking out from his head. Piercing green eyes that look into your soul.

He’s the spitting imagine of your best friend.

You try to move forward, but a green-haired fae stops you in your tracks, moving between you and Malleus.

“Keep your distance! Have some respect for your Prince!”

Malleus is quick to shake his head. “Leave them be, Sebek. This is Lord Tyrell’s child. My mother’s childhood friend.”

Sebek is quick to step-aside, bowing before you in apology, allowing you to step forward and hug Malleus. He’s motionless for a moment, and you’re worried you’ve crossed his boundaries, before he slowly slides his arms around your back, returning the hug.

“The resemblance between you and your mother…it is truly incredible. Pardon me for getting emotional, but I wasn’t expecting you to look so grown up…last I saw, you were merely an egg.”

He looks at you, smiling gently. “It’s nice to meet a friend of my mother’s. I feel I hardly know anything about her. Even Lilia refuses to speak of her.”

Your heart stirs at the mention of your former friend’s name. “I hope I can provide some memories of her.” You look away from him. “I only wish I could’ve done so sooner…I apologize, Malleus. I should have been here for you, just as Lilia was. I should have taken care of you, not left you behind when you were only a child…”

He shakes his head once again. “You are here now. That is all that matters.”

“Thank you, I hardly deserve your kindness.”

He returns your smile. “It is what my mother would have wished for, is it not?”

-

He leads you through the halls of the castle, but you wouldn’t have needed his help to get around. Every wall in the castle is burned into your brain, engrained with a variety of memories.

The halls are vastly the same as you remember; the same silver trim, the velveteen carpets, and the Draconia sigil hung on banners.

Only one thing stands out as different to you: there’s one more portrait than before.

Normally the Draconia family portraits were done about every century, so it made sense that one had been added semi-recently. This one is just of Malleus and Maleficia, occupying a rather empty-looking frame. Even if you didn’t know about Meleanor and Levan, you would know something was missing from it.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the appearance of a Silver-haired boy. He pauses to stare at you for a moment before smiling.

“You must be MC. Father has told me so much about you.” He bows lightly.

“You’re Silver? Lilia’s boy?” You take his hands in yours. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. We’ve promised to help some of the younger knights with their training, so Sebek and I won’t be able to stay for dinner, but I hope you’ll stick around. It would be nice to hear about you from more than the stories my father shares.”

“I’ve been gone so long, I certainly intend to stay for a while. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you some stories of your father when he was younger.”

With a nod, Silver is off.

Malleus leads you into the dining room and you catch your first glimpse of Lilia Vanrouge in over a century.

-

He’s different and the same, all at once. He’s maintained his youthful looks, but his hair has radically changed; cropped and pink, where it once flowed in its red glory.

You turn to greet Maleficia first, bowing in front of her. “It is an honour to dine with you, your grace.”

“Stop that nonsense. Come to me, my dear. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

The queen embraces you gently in her frail frame.

“I am truly sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s already forgotten,” she whispers back. “The past is the past, and we are here now. Please, take a seat, so we may dine together once again.”

Maleficia and Malleus sit at the head of the table on each side, so you take your place across from Lilia.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you offer.

“You as well,” Lilia replies, seemingly at a loss.

The dinner proceeds, Maleficia and Malleus asking questions about your travels. Lilia chimes in occasionally, but he’s uncharacteristically silent. Or perhaps characteristically? You hardly know him anymore, after all.

Once the final course comes and goes, Maleficia stands from the table. “Malleus, let us take our tea in the garden today. I believe these two have a lifetime of catching up to do.”

With that, the two of them are off.

-

“I missed you.” You don’t intend the words to come, but they spill out of your heart anyway.

“As did I.”

You fidget with the cutlery in front of you. “You’re still so formal with me after all this time. Have we truly become strangers?”

“You could never be a stranger to me. Not a day has gone by without you being in my thoughts.”

“And yet you never went looking for me. You returned to the castle only after I left, starting a family, raising Silver and Malleus…”

“They needed me. You know that.”

“You left me. You were all I had left after…I would have done anything, followed you anywhere. I would have helped you take care of Silver, Malleus. But you left without saying a thing.”

“I never knew…”

“Of course you did. Everyone did.”

“Nothing good would have come from us being together.”

“At least you’re finally being honest about your feelings. If you hated me as I feared, you should have sent me away the moment I came.”

“Hate? No, it was never like that. The distance between us…it seemed quite impossible to traverse.”

“Distance? We grew up in the same castle for hundreds of years…”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then to what?”

“You know how they all thought of me. The senate, your father, all believed I never deserved to be so close to you and Mel-” Lilia takes a moment to breathe. “To you and the princess.”

The mention of her name has you squeezing your eyes closed. Even after hundreds of years, it hurts to remember your beloved friend, her sweet memory tainted with the despair of her death. “Why does it matter what they thought?”

“They never would have allowed it. You know that.”

“No, that’s not true. My father said…”

“He lied. He was the first to send me away after her death.”

“He what? I- I was told you left, torn apart by grief.”

“I was in pain, but I always planned to return home…return to you. But the senate, they declared that there was no place at court for me anymore. That I failed- I failed at protecting Meleanor.”

A short silence rings between you. It’s perhaps the first time either of you have heard her name said aloud in centuries.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I never knew.”

“I never wanted you to. I’d rather you hate me than your family.”

“I understand. But you were my family, too. Perhaps the only one who truly had my best interests in mind and not some political scheming or such. And now look at you: Silver, Sebek, Malleus. Against all odds, you’ve found yourself a new family.” While I’ve ended up alone, you don’t say.

“You know I’ve always said, families are better the bigger they are. Perhaps it’s far too late, but-”

“Later’s better than never.”

A moment of understanding passes between you two, perhaps for the first time.

“Your hair…you look quite different from when I last saw you.”

“Hmm, Red was going out of style, I suppose. Although I’m sure you wish I hadn’t changed it. You always did prefer red.”

You shake your head softly. “Perhaps in the past, but we’ve both changed, haven’t we? No, I was going to say that it becomes you.”

The silence that settles between you is filled by an exchange of gentle smiles and a skimming of one hand over the other, until the two finally link together.

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”  

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked. 

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head.  So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the  canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

 You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions.  Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

 Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,  

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering,  you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.    

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t. 

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left,  the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega.  An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do.  You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.   

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.  

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.   

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.  

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

˙

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.  

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic.  Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.  

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.  

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished.  “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most­–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does. 

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.   

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him. 

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines,  remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture. 

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature. 

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh. 

How he had fucking ruined you. 

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him. 

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down,  “I…I-“ 

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you. 

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.” 

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough. 

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You,  the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

 He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

[ru8yx]

Jeremy from A Stepmother’s Märchen fluff headcanons please 💕

JEREMY VON NEUSCHWANSTEIN X READER

Jeremy, bound by the unbreakable ties of unwavering loyalty, stood beside you like a steadfast sentinel, ready to come to your defense at a moment's notice.

Scandal, gossip, or accusations held no sway over him, as his devotion to you remained unshakeable.

No matter the situation or the challenges that arose, Jeremy would be your first line of defense, unyielding and resolute in his allegiance.

When Jeremy falls for someone, his heart is consumed by an eternal devotion.

He believes that you truly deserve the world, even if your desires may seem peculiar. Your words, no matter how outlandish, become a melody of beauty to his ears.

Even if your affections may be elsewhere, his love remains unwavering.

He fervently prays for your happiness, knowing that genuine love is about selflessness, and he finds contentment in serving as your guide and supporter, no matter who your heart may ultimately choose.

Jeremy, devoted to your safety and honor, will fiercely defend you against any noble, regardless of their status.

Should even the slightest suggestion of misconduct arise, he would not hesitate to unsheathe his sword in retaliation.

The noble offender would not only face a battle against steel but also a public humiliation, as Jeremy would ensure that the offender's transgressions are exposed for all to see.

Jeremy's protective nature and unwavering loyalty ensure that no harm shall come your way, and he will fiercely guard your safety at all costs.

Jeremy, upon glimpsing you, would instantly push aside any sense of exhaustion. He would rush to your side, his gaze filled with tender affection and curiosity.

Gently lifting your hand, he would bring your knucklesto his lips, all that while maintaining a warm and intimate gaze.

His eyes would speak volumes of admiration and devotion, their intensity mirrored in the slight tremble of his lips as he bestowed a gentle kiss upon your hand.

In that moment, time would stand still as he savored the connection and inquired about the details of your day.

Jeremy would pay meticulous attention to every facet of your being, taking notice of even the smallest details.

He would present you with exquisite jewelry that reflected his own features, adorned in the same shades of verdant green and golden hues.

With these gifts, he aimed to silently proclaim to both you and the other nobles that he held a special place in your heart.

He envisioned himself as your devoted partner, the one who would greet you with a smile each morning, offer solace in times of sorrow, and stand steadfastly by your side as your adoring husband.

Jeremy longed for the sight of you and his family bonding as one, sharing moments of genuine happiness and laughter.

The thought of you forming a relationship with his younger siblings and stepmother filled him with joy, for they held a special place in his heart. He envisioned you all coming together as a unified family, cherishing each other's company and support.

Though his presence may not always be guaranteed, he yearned to see you continue to lean on one another in his absence, creating a tight-knit and loving family bond.

|❝ im sorry if it wasnt what u wanted!!! I took me 20 mins to write it since i was in a hurry😭❞

[perseidlion]

There's a lot that has been made of the Cat King and whether he's "bad" or "problematic." Putting aside that's a silly conversation to have about a fictional character (who is there to add conflict and drive the story forward) it also misunderstands Cat's Whole Deal (TM.) Think of him like one of the fae. He's very decidedly not human, and although he isn't called a fae canonically (and I don't think he actually is) he is called a spirit. And there are some things he does that are decidedly fae-like.

He strikes bargains.

He protects his domain.

He punishes those who transgress his domain.

His punishment is a curse combined with a task.

He has aspects of a trickster figure which is common in fae mythology.

He has his own unspoken rules, but if you break them, you still need to be punished.

Edwin slights Cat by forcing his will on one of his subjects. In Cat's world, that is a crime that needs to be answered for. He offers sexual favours, which Edwin refuses, so he gives him another option. It isn't an impossible task, but it is an inconvenient one. In Cat's world, letting Edwin off with no punishment is simply not something he would do. So all the questions about whether he's problematic or that he violates consent are silly in this context. Of course if he was a real human man and he forced Edwin to stay somewhere against his will, that would be bad. But that's not what's happening here. He's a spirit with a domain and Edwin misstepped and had to pay the price as a result.

It is also important to keep in mind that he is an ANIMAL spirit who just happens to be able to take human form. That also explains some of his behaviour (including the horniness and the cowardice to some degree.)

This also makes the age gap discourse moot, too. It's the same kind of dynamic as a teenager and an ancient vampire. Except in this case, Edwin is not really a teenager and has existed for over 100 years.

I love Dead Boy Detectives but man, those characters are not teenagers. They don't act like teens, they don't look like teens and they run around, cross international borders and live on their own. They are at the very least out of high school, if not in their early twenties. It actually feels silly that the show keeps calling them kids when the story doesn't treat them that way.

BUT that is really neither here nor there and is a topic for another day! My point is just that it is silly to apply human morality to Cat and condemn him based on that.

If you just don't like him, and/or don't like him and Edwin, that's totally fine. But there's no need to condemn him/that dynamic based on how his behaviour would be interpreted in real life. That's frankly, pretty silly.